Hollywood Divorces / Hollywood Wives: The New Generation (25 page)

‘You just said it’s yours,’ Quincy reminded him.

‘Don’t you get it, Q? I can’t do this,’ he said, getting up and pacing around the room. ‘I don’t want to be with Carol, I don’t want to marry her. I don’t even want to spend any time with her. Now she’s having
my
kid. Damn! I’ve already lost one, and I’m not saying that this could turn out to be anything like that, but Jesus Christ, I’m fucking
trapped.
’

‘You should’ve used a rubber,’ Quincy said.

‘It was one of those nights. She told me she was on the pill and I believed her.
Fuck!
I don’t know what to do.’

‘Nothing you
can
do,’ Quincy said. ‘You gotta eat it.’

‘Is that what I gotta do, Q?’ he said, staring at his partner. ‘Is that what I gotta do really? ’Cause I don’t think I can do that.’

‘You got no choice.’

‘No,’ he said glumly. ‘I guess I don’t.’

The first thing Taylor thought about when she awoke on Wednesday was Oliver Rock. How could Larry have done this to her? How could he have hired Oliver without consulting her first?

They’d argued all night. ‘I don’t
want
a new writer,’ she’d said.

‘Yes, you do,’ he’d said. ‘Oliver recently sold a script for a million bucks. He’s hot right now. He’s exactly who you need.’

‘How do we know he’s any good?’

‘I’m
telling
you he’s good. I read his script, it’s got heat. If you want me involved, you have to accept what I say.’

When it came to the movie business, Larry was in charge. There was no arguing with him. He thought he was giving her what she wanted, and in a way he was.

The good news was that, with Larry involved, her project would finally take flight, especially as he’d offered to put his name on as executive producer. Suddenly she’d started thinking about how exciting it would be to actually star in and direct her own movie. So what if Oliver Rock rewrote the script? As long as the movie got made, that was the main thing.

But she was still angry. How dare Larry go behind her back? And how dare Oliver accept the assignment?

When she got downstairs in the morning, Larry was settled on the patio eating his usual breakfast and reading the
New York Times.

‘I’m off to work,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you later.’

‘I thought you had a late call,’ he said, putting down the newspaper.

‘I want to get to the studio early to go over my lines.’

‘Are we in agreement on your project?’ he asked. ‘Can I confirm the meeting and go forward?’

She bent down and kissed him on the cheek. It wasn’t smart to be
too
independent. ‘Okay, go ahead. I do appreciate your help. It’s just that I was shocked you chose someone so inexperienced.’

‘Trust me, Taylor,’ Larry said, in his most annoying ‘I’m always right’ voice. ‘When it comes to talent, I know what I’m doing.’

‘I understand, darling. I’ll see you later.’

‘Another late night?’

‘No, it’s a short day, I’ll be home before seven.’

‘Good.’ He hesitated a moment. ‘Maybe we can spend some private time together for a change.’

She knew what he meant by that. They hadn’t had sex in a while, and he was getting anxious. ‘Of course, sweetie,’ she said, lightly kissing him on the forehead. ‘And while you’re at work today, think about what I said.’

‘And that is?’

‘The role in your movie. I’d be perfect.’

Lynda Richter flew into town like a hot-air balloon–big, blustery, and full of energy.

Letting herself in with a key, she marched into the bedroom and stood over the bed where Nicci was still sleeping.

‘Surprise, surprise!’ she said in a loud voice. ‘And I’ve caught the bride-to-be sleeping. Wakey, wakey, dear, you must have tons of things to organize.’

Nicci looked up at her, bleary-eyed. ‘Mrs Richter,’ she mumbled, ‘I wasn’t expecting you until Friday.’

‘Decided to come early,’ Lynda said briskly. ‘Didn’t Evan mention it?’

‘He must’ve forgotten.’

‘Bad boy. He’ll be home on Sunday, so I thought I’d make everything cosy and comfy for him by the time he gets here. I’m sure you’ve got too much on your mind to think about poor little Evan at a time like this.’

‘He’s not poor little Evan,’ Nicci said irritably, wishing that she was up and dressed so that she could properly confront this intrusive woman. ‘He’s working hard on his movie, and he’s a big boy now. I can look after him.’

‘I’m sure you can, dear, although I’m certain you’ll need help with the wedding,’ Lynda said, pausing to swoop up a couple of dirty Kleenex and a half-empty mug of cold coffee from the bedside table. ‘This place is a
mess.
What time does the maid get here?’

‘Soon,’ Nicci said.

‘I can see I’d better have a word with her,’ Lynda said, running her finger along a shelf and inspecting the dust. ‘Dear me. Maids never do a damn thing unless you’re on their tail day and night. Of course, Evan’s a man, so they never listen to
him
, but shouldn’t
you
have talked to her by this time?’

‘About
what
?’ Nicci said defiantly.

‘About cleaning the house so that it’s spotless,’ Lynda said. ‘That’s what we pay them for, dear.’

‘Excuse me,’ Nicci said, jumping out of bed. ‘I’m taking a shower and getting dressed.’

‘Late night?’ Lynda said, raising an eyebrow.

‘A party with a friend,’ Nicci replied.

‘A party?’ Lynda said disapprovingly. ‘Surely you shouldn’t be running around to parties when you’re about to get married?’

‘It was my best friend’s parents’ anniversary,’ Nicci said, wondering why she was bothering to explain to this bossy, overbearing woman. ‘My mother was there.’

‘Oh, your mother,’ Lynda said. ‘I’m looking forward to meeting her.’

‘It’ll have to be next week,’ Nicci said. ‘She’s off to Vegas for her show.’

‘What show is that, dear?’

‘She’s opening the Desert Millennium Princess Hotel with a one-night show.’

‘Are we going?’ Lynda asked.

‘
I
’m not,’ Nicci said.

‘Well,
I
’d like to,’ Lynda said. ‘Can it be arranged?’

‘Evan never told me you wanted to go.’

‘I didn’t know such a show was taking place,’ Lynda said. ‘The three of us should go to offer respect to your mother.’

‘My mother doesn’t like me to see her perform publicly,’ Nicci said. ‘It makes her uncomfortable, and she protects me from the media.’

‘I’ve never
heard
such nonsense,’ Lynda said vigorously. ‘Before you, dear, I used to accompany Evan to all of his premières. The cameras
loved
me. I was on
E.T., Access Hollywood
and—’

‘What about Brian?’ Nicci interrupted. ‘Did you accompany him too?’

‘Brian can look after himself,’ Lynda said dismissively. ‘He always has.’

‘Well,’ Nicci said, ‘I’m sure you know where the guest room is.’

‘Of course I do, dear,
I
decorated it,’ Lynda said. ‘In fact, I decorated this entire house. Now, where’s that damn maid of yours? I’d better make sure she’s spring-cleaned my room before I unpack. And then I want to go see your dress, and hear all about the wedding arrangements.’

Nicci hurried into the bathroom and shut the door.
This
was going to be a nightmare.

‘You little
shit
!’ Taylor said, sweeping into Oliver’s seedy apartment.

‘What now?’ he said, reminding himself to lock his door in future.

‘How dare you?’ she said, steaming.

He was sitting at his computer, bare-chested, wearing cut-off jeans and a Lakers baseball cap. She was dressed for work in sweats and sunglasses–the transformation would take place when she reached the studio. On the way, she’d stopped by Oliver’s to tell him exactly what she thought of him.

‘What kind of balls do you
have
accepting an assignment to work on
my
script from
my
husband?’ she demanded.

‘Brass ones,’ he said, with a ribald snigger.

‘What’s
wrong
with you?’ she said coldly. ‘If Larry ever found out about us, the consequences would be disastrous for
both
of us. Don’t you
understand
that?’

‘Cool it, Tay,’ he said casually. ‘I thought you’d be pleased.’

‘
Pleased
? Why would I be pleased?’

‘’Cause it means we can see each other again,’ he said, standing up, all skinny, rippling
young
muscles. ‘Gotta say I’ve missed you.’

This caught her completely off-guard. As far as she was concerned her affair with Oliver Rock was over. Except…he did look exceptionally appealing today. He wasn’t stoned…and…he’d missed her.

She glanced down. He had a hard-on, and it was fast coming towards her.

‘Didja miss
me
?’ he asked, putting his arms around her waist and pulling her close.

This was the moment she was supposed to say, ‘No, I didn’t. And get your juvenile hands off me.’

However, it was too late for that, because his juvenile
hands were all over her, and it was as if he’d pressed a trigger, because once she felt his touch she was powerless to push him away.

‘Oliver,’ she managed, ‘we shouldn’t—’

His lips shut her up as they descended on hers, biting and sucking, while his fingers sneaked under her sweatshirt, lightly stroking her nipples, causing her to gasp with excitement.

He took her hand and placed it on his impressive erection. She unzipped his pants, releasing him.

‘Eat it,’ he commanded.

‘I don’t have much time—’

‘Eat it,’ he repeated.

There was something about Oliver Rock. The arrogance of youth. The confidence that she would do exactly as he asked.

She got on her knees and opened her mouth to oblige him.

He put his hands on top of her head and pushed down. She took as much as she could, deep-throating him with a great deal of expertise.

He groaned and came fast. She swallowed. Taylor knew how to please a man.

He was ready to go again immediately–one thing about Oliver, he was not selfish. He pulled down her tracksuit pants, tore off her highly expensive black lace thong, and bent her back across the table next to his computer.

She shuddered with excitement as he thrust himself inside her. Knew she should tell him to wear a condom.

Too late. She was past the moment of no return.

Her climax was so powerful that she screamed out his name. Then, while she was still coming, he withdrew, quickly buried his face between her legs, and began sucking and licking–prolonging her orgasm until she cried out for him to stop.

‘Oh, God,’ she moaned, feeling quite weak. ‘That was amazing.’

‘’S nice t’ be back in business together,’ he said, with a cocky grin. ‘I think it’s all gonna work out pretty good, don’t you?’

T
he streets on the drive downtown were congested with traffic. Eric found himself quite bad-tempered by the time he reached his destination. It was only after he received the goods he’d ordered that his mood turned pleasant.

After the balance of the money he owed changed hands, he found himself in possession of a passport, driver’s licence, and social-security card. All the documents were impeccable. Nobody could possibly tell they were fakes.

He studied them for a minute as he sat in his car. Norman Browning. By next week he would be Norman Browning, and Eric Vernon would have ceased to exist. He liked his new name, it had a certain quality, almost a literary bent.

He put the documents in his jacket pocket. First-class work. It had cost him, but it was worth every cent.

Next he stopped by another connection and picked up a gun. Not that he was planning on using it, but it would certainly keep Arliss and friends in line if need be.

Eric felt confident about the kidnapping. Grab Nicci, demand money, pick up the ransom, get on the next plane to the Bahamas, and goodbye, Eric Vernon.

He drove back to his apartment in the valley feeling very satisfied.

When he opened his front door he was surprised to see
an envelope slipped underneath. Eric didn’t get mail, nobody knew his address, he had no friends, so why would anyone write him?

He picked up the pink envelope with his name scrawled across the front. ‘Eric Vernnon’–The Vernnon was misspelled with two Ns. It alarmed him. Who was sending him mail? Was it that moron, Arliss? Had he gone out of his way to find out where he lived?

He tore open the envelope. Inside was a piece of pink notepaper decorated with flowers and stinking of some vile perfume. Scrawly handwriting covered the page.

Eric stared at the piece of paper in horror. Pattie, the barmaid. How the hell had she found out where he lived? Nobody knew. Nobody was supposed to know.

He simmered with fury, then grabbing his jacket, he set out for the bar to find out.

Sam’s Place was more or less empty. The regulars didn’t congregate until five or six, and there was no Pattie either. Sam, the owner of the place, sat on a high stool behind the scuffed bar, studying the sports page of the paper. Down the other end of the bar was a hunched-over drunk.

‘Early for you, isn’t it?’ Sam said, glancing up from his newspaper.

‘What time does Pattie get here?’ Eric asked.

‘Five,’ Sam replied.

‘Where does she live?’

‘Can’t give out that information,’ Sam said.

‘I’m sure you can,’ Eric said, slipping him a ten.

Sam glanced at the ten, shoved it in his pocket and said, ‘Around the corner to the left. The brown building, you can’t miss it.’

‘If you see her,’ Eric said, ‘don’t tell her I was looking. I want to surprise her.’

‘She’s a slag, you know,’ Sam remarked.

‘What?’ Eric said.

‘She’s a slag.’

‘What’s a slag?’

‘English for hooker. Get it?’

‘I’m not trying to sleep with her,’ Eric said, offended. ‘I owe her money.’

‘You’re a strange one,’ Sam said, squinting his small, piggy eyes. ‘You’ve never said two words to me before today.’

‘Didn’t know you were looking for conversation,’ Eric said.

‘You hang out with the guys enough. Anythin’ goin’ on I should know about?’

‘Nothing,’ Eric said. ‘Why?’

‘I got a feeling somethin’s goin’ down. An’ if it is, I wouldn’t mind bein’ included.’

‘Keep your feelings to yourself,’ Eric wanted to say. But he stayed silent, loathing the fat man.

This was a joke: some skank got hold of his address and now everyone was into his business.

He left the bar, muttering under his breath, thinking about his options. He could wait and see Pattie when she came in to work that night. Or he could pay her a visit now and find out exactly how she’d discovered his address.

Damn her! He’d suspected she liked him, but it had never occurred to him that she’d try to find him.

Since he didn’t want everybody in the bar knowing his business, he finally decided to go to her apartment.

He drove around the corner, looking for the apartment building. It was a four-storey structure, seedy and rundown. He parked on the street, got out of his truck, and pressed the buzzer.

‘Yes?’ a woman’s voice said.

‘Pattie?’

‘Wrong apartment,’ the woman said.

He tried the second bell. No answer.

The third. A barking dog and nothing else.

Then the fourth. ‘Is Pattie there?’

‘Who wants her?’

‘Eric.’

‘Eric? Is that really you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh,’ she said, sounding flustered. ‘What’re you doing here?’

‘Can I come up?’

‘I’ll buzz you in.’

She pressed the buzzer and the downstairs door swung open.

Eric entered the building. He didn’t know what he was going to do. He only knew that he had to find out why she’d been tracking him.

And when he did…