Drop Dead Beautiful (7 page)

“It’ll be late,” he’d warned.

“I’ll be waiting,” she’d answered. “Keeping the bed warm for you, baby.”

If anyone had told him eight years ago that Venus Maria, one of the most famous women in the world, would be keeping the bed warm for him, he would’ve laughed like a freakin’ loon.

Venus Maria. Platinum-blond superstar. A woman so famous she was now known by only one name: Venus. Everyone knew who she was. They bought her CDs, flocked to her movies, wore the hottest jeans in town with her name emblazoned on the label, sprayed themselves with her latest signature scent, and worshipped at her live stadium performances.

Venus was a freakin’ icon. And
he
was her boyfriend. Her much
younger
boyfriend—well, not
that
much younger, thirteen years. And that meant nothing. It wasn’t as if he was some snot-nosed boy toy—he was a very successful movie star in his own right. He had a house, plenty of money, and a sizzling career. He didn’t
need
Venus’s fame to tag on to; he had his own.

Besides, if the situation were reversed and she was thirteen years younger than him, nobody would give a rat’s ass. Hollywood was awash with old geezers whose wives and girlfriends were decades younger than them, and nobody said a word. Unfortunately, he and Venus got the treatment. Front page of the tabloids always carrying on about their age difference. Was she going to marry him? Was she pregnant? Were they breaking up? Was she too rich for him? Was he famous enough for her?

At first he’d got off on all the attention, then after a while it started to get to him. He was a star, too; he didn’t appreciate all the trash talk he had to endure.

Venus loved him, he knew that. The big question was: Did
he
love
her?
Or did he love everything she represented? The extreme fame and superglamor. The adulation and nonstop fan worship. Sometimes he simply wasn’t sure whether it was love or infatuation.

And if he
really
loved her, would he cheat on her the way he had that afternoon?

For a moment he flashed onto the young girl who’d followed him up to his house in her rundown truck with the broken taillight. She’d followed him willingly, and he’d given her exactly what she expected.

Screwing her was a trip. Her lips, so soft and sweet, not to mention the sticky tightness between her legs.

And yet … he couldn’t help feeling guilty.

Sort of … because if he caught Venus screwing another man, he’d go ape shit. Venus was his girlfriend—
his
freakin’ girlfriend—and if she played around on him, it would mess with his head big-time.

Not that he was possessive—at least he didn’t
think
he was. Venus was the possessive one. She could be bossy, a bit of a control freak, but she could also be supportive and loving, the way she was tonight. Although … from the look in her eyes, he knew she expected sex, and man, tonight was not the night. After Alex’s brutal workout his body was bruised, wrecked, and beaten.

“Come to bed, baby,” she purred. “I’ll give you a back rub, you know how you like that.”

Yeah, sex was
definitely
on her agenda, and what was he supposed to do about
that?

Nothing, because a sane man didn’t turn down a superstar, not if he wanted to continue being her boyfriend.

“A back rub sounds kinda hot,” he mumbled.

“Of
course
it does,” she murmured, husky-voiced and ready for action. “’Cause
I’ll
rub you, then
you’ll
rub me. …”

“That’s a plan,” he said, pulling off his T-shirt. “Only first I gotta shower.”

“Why?” she asked, reaching up and stroking the back of his neck. “Funky works for me.”

“How about
skunky
funky?” he said, extracting himself from her touch. “Look at me—I’m in sweat overdrive, babe, an’ I got a hunch you won’t go for that.”

“Okay, take a shower,” she sighed. “But hurry up, you
know
how impatient I get.”

She wasn’t kidding about
that
. Miss I
want it now!
Venus never let up when she had her mind set on something.

“You got it, ma’am,” he said, reverting to his former self, the dumb-ass kid who’d hit Hollywood eight years ago thinking all women deserved respect.

How green was
he?

Green and fortunate, because after several months of bumming around trying to make something happen, working as a waiter and sleeping on a friend’s floor, he’d found himself an agent who’d sent him on an interview for an NBC sitcom. He’d scored the part, been in six on-air episodes, and just when he’d imagined himself as the second coming of Matthew Perry, the show was canceled and he was back where he’d started—waiting tables at the Cheesecake Factory in Brentwood.

Two months later he got a call from his agent informing him that Alex Woods wanted to see him. Alex Woods— mega producer/director/writer supreme! Holy shit!

The day of his interview with Alex was forever etched in his mind. He’d walked into an imposing office nervous as a virgin on a date with a porn star. And there she was, standing around as if she had nothing better to do. Venus.
The
freaking Venus. She of the platinum-blond hair, sexy stance, and out-of-this-world bod.

“Hi, Billy,” she’d said, as if she actually
knew
him. “Thanks for coming in today. I’m a big fan of your work.”

Thanks for coming in! Big fan of his work!
Was she freakin’
kidding!
He would’ve done anything for a meeting with Venus—she was the jerk-off queen of all his fantasies.

Alex Woods was slouched behind a large untidy desk,
speaking on the phone. He’d glanced up and waved distractedly in Billy’s direction.

“Sit down, Billy,” Venus had said, indicating a sprawling couch.

Billy sat. Venus sat.

He’d thought he was freakin’ dreaming it was all so surreal.

Later he’d read a scene with her in front of Alex and Lucky Santangelo, another producer on the movie.

He was good; in fact, he was
better
than good—in his mind he’d nailed the part and then some. And why not, with Venus as his inspiration standing opposite him in dangerously low-cut yoga pants and a belly-baring top? Not only was she this freakin’ worldwide superstar, she was also surprisingly friendly and nice. She actually treated him like an equal. She actually
talked
to him before he had to read. Who’d’ve thought?

Two weeks later his agent called with the words every actor yearns to hear. “Congratulations, Billy. You got the part.”

He remembered stammering, “I got the
what?”
And then he’d hit the clubs with a few of his buddies—including his closest friend from back home, Kev, whose floor he’d been sleeping on for the past few months. He’d gotten bombed out of his mind and ended up with a forty-year-old Puerto Rican stripper who’d called him Blondie Pie, and given him a mild dose of the clap.

A week later he was on the set of Alex Woods’s new movie,
Seduction
, acting opposite Venus. It was the start of his ride. And what a ride it had turned out to be.

Shower over, Billy returned to the bedroom bare-assed naked. Venus gave him an appreciative once-over and beckoned him to join her on the bed.

Fortunately, the Donkey King—the name a former girlfriend had bestowed on his penis—was up and at ’em, at the ready to do whatever his master bade.

“Come here, you crazy sex maniac,” Venus crooned.

Yeah, like
she
could talk.

He headed for the bed, and the soft, sexy, comforting warmth of his girlfriend. The same girlfriend he’d cheated on earlier that day.

Shit! Better make it up to her,
he thought, quickly forgetting about his bruised and battered body.
Better be ready to rock and roll all night long
.

And while Billy was making out with one of the most famous women in the world, Alex Woods was drinking Jack Daniel’s on the rocks at a bikers’ hangout somewhere in the mountains off the Pacific Coast Highway. He didn’t feel like going home to his architecturally perfect house situated on a prime piece of Broad Beach property.

He didn’t feel like staring out at the black ocean or switching on his movie-size TV screen.

He didn’t feel like making conversation, or anything else for that matter, with Ling, his Asian girlfriend—a twenty-nine-year-old lawyer with a serene attitude and amazing sexual skills.

What
did
he feel like doing?

He felt like being by himself, getting drunk, and thinking about Lucky Santangelo.

Lucky was always on his mind. Always …

So that’s exactly what he did.

Tomorrow was another day; he could forget about her then and resume life as he knew it.

Only that never happened. Lucky was his secret obsession, and as long as Lennie was around, he knew it had to stay that way.

Chapter 9

If it wasn’t for Lucky Santangelo, Henry Whitfield-Simmons might have been a big star. Or at least that’s what
he
believed. He knew he was far superior to Billy Melina, the actor who had stolen his role in the Alex Woods film that Henry had been so sure he was about to get.

Henry considered Billy Melina to be an inferior human being, with no acting ability whatsoever. He’d seen his movies. He’d sneered at his movies. It was a travesty that Billy Melina had been hired in his place, and gone on to become a famous star.

Even though his failed audition had taken place many years previously, Henry brooded about it on a daily basis. He knew for a fact that if it wasn’t for Lucky Santangelo,
he
, Henry Whitfield-Simmons, would have been the one up there on the screen with Venus Maria in
Seduction
. Even now, although the day of his audition was eight long years ago, Henry had never forgotten nor forgiven. Lucky Santangelo, a producer on the film, was the one to blame;
she
was the one who hadn’t wanted him. He was positive of this because while auditioning, he’d observed Lucky sitting across the table with the casting people, staring at him with her black unfriendly eyes while tapping her fingertips impatiently on the table. Alex Woods wasn’t present that day, nor was Venus Maria.

Henry was about to read a second scene when he’d noticed Lucky signal to the casting people that she’d seen enough. How unspeakably rude!

Henry was justifiably angry, for not only was she rude, Lucky Santangelo had ruined his future. She’d taken his one chance and thrown it away with her careless actions.

Shortly after his failed audition, Henry had been summoned to go on a fishing trip with his father. It was just the two of them on a small fishing boat out on the lake, because Logan Whitfield-Simmons truly believed that getting back to the simple things in life was the best way to bond with his uncooperative and unambitious son, whom he didn’t understand at all. Logan never understood anybody who was unproductive and had no work ethic. He was determined to instill some sense into his only son.

“When are you going to join the family business?” he’d asked, bristling for the right answer.

It was a leading question that initially Henry ignored, until eventually it led all the way to a vicious argument.

“You know perfectly well I want to be an actor,” Henry had yelled, filled with frustration. “It’s my ambition, and
you
can’t stop me.”

“Can’t I?” Logan had answered, his long face grim.

“No!” Henry had shouted. “Not you, not Mother,
nobody
.”

“You’ll be an actor over my dead body,” Logan had shouted back.

Soon the yelling had escalated into a serious screaming match. Logan was very angry with his useless son, who refused to listen to reason, and Henry had no intention of giving up his dream.

They screamed insults back and forth, until the older man suddenly fell silent. His face paled and he clutched his left arm. “Je … sus,” he’d managed, before collapsing onto the bottom of the boat. “Get… me … my … pills.”

Henry did nothing. He merely sat and watched as his father writhed in agony for at least five minutes before dying of a massive heart attack. Only then had Henry taken the boat back to the landing dock. He wasn’t sorry, not at all. It was his father’s own fault—he’d caused the fatal heart attack himself by shouting at him.

Logan Whitfield-Simmons’s funeral was a heavily attended and somber affair. The Whitfield-Simmonses were a well-known and respected family in Pasadena. In fact, they were a well-known family across America. Logan Whitfield-Simmons was always at the top of
Forbes
magazine’s richest people in America list, while Penelope Whitfield-Simmons was lauded on the society pages for her extensive charity work, elegant clothes, and Fortune 400 friends. Great things were expected of Henry, their only son and heir. He fully intended to disappoint.

After his father’s funeral Henry felt a certain freedom. Without asking anyone’s permission, he borrowed his mother’s credit card, went out and purchased an extremely expensive sports car. Two days later he smashed the car up in a head-on collision. Unfortunately for Henry, he emerged from the accident with a broken pelvis and hip, and since his hip never set properly, he was stuck with a permanent limp, putting paid to his dreams of becoming a famous actor.

After his accident Henry rarely left the house. Mostly he stayed in his room watching movies or hunched over his computer.

Penelope was not concerned that her son stayed at home and did nothing; having him around was company for her. “My son, the computer nerd,” she would sigh to her friends. “Henry knows more about computers than anyone. He’s threatened to teach me one day, although who has the time to understand all that newfangled technology?”

Henry lived a whole other life on the Internet. There were girls to visit, places to go he’d never gone before, naked girls he didn’t have to talk to, because Henry had never been good with the opposite sex. Henry Whitfield-Simmons was still a virgin. As far back as he could remember, his mother had always warned him that girls would chase after him because of the family’s wealth and position, and that he should always resist their advances. He’d taken note of her wise words, and never had a girlfriend.