Hollywood Sinners (8 page)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Los Angeles

C
ole Steel stepped off his state-of-the-art treadmill and wiped his brow. Not that there was much perspiration there—Cole was a man who did not break sweat.

‘Are we done yet?’ his agent Marty King gasped in desperation, taking a breather at the rowing machine. He was a squat man in his fifties with jowls, ginger spray-on hair, his eyes were shifty and a touch watery with age, and when he exerted himself his skin broke out in a patchy pink rash. He was also the canniest agent in Hollywood, with a catalogue of A-list clients and major deals to his name.

‘Not yet,’ said Cole, polishing off a two-litre bottle of mineral water. ‘I didn’t get that martial arts equipment installed for nothing.’

Marty King sighed and wiped his own, copiously sweating, face. They were in the bespoke home gym at Cole’s Beverly Hills mansion, complete with its own indoor pool, hot tub, sauna and steam; and of course all this goddamn kit—Marty died a little bit every time, he swore it. But Cole was a man who liked to work out, and even more so when he was talking business.

‘Put this on,’ said Cole, slamming a body protector at his agent.

Marty grimaced but did as he was told. When Cole started pumping iron he was like a maniac and you just had to strap in for the ride. It was the same mind-space he adopted when acting: complete immersion and total focus. Marty himself was grossly unfit—was partial to his steak, his women and his cigars—and had spent the last half-hour with the rowing machine on its lowest possible setting, still managing to wear himself out. And now the sparring. Jeez, it was enough to kill a man.

Cole strapped on his strike pads and took a couple of early punches. Each one practically winded Marty and he was relieved when, five minutes later, it was over. Cole moved on to a kick spinner, lifting his leg high into the air, karate-style, and pounded the shit out of the bags. Marty was grateful to sit out.

‘How was Chicago?’ he asked. How the hell did this guy manage it? His client was barely out of breath.

‘Good,’ said Cole.

‘And Lana?’

He kicked the bag especially hard. ‘Fine.’

‘Cute piece on you both in
LA Star
,’ observed Marty, taking a drink of water. ‘Very domestic. More in love than ever, or something?’

‘You got that right.’

Marty sat back. ‘And the movie?’ Cole was shooting a family drama about an alcoholic father trying to make contact with his estranged son. ‘Everything OK?’

Cole did an impressive rotating kick and the bag nearly flew off its spring. ‘Everything’s fine, Marty.’

Marty was quiet a moment, sensing trouble. The men had been working together for over twenty years and he could tell when something was on his client’s mind. But Cole Steel was, even after all this time, a closed book. If he didn’t want to talk, nothing would make him.

‘I heard Lana’s movie’s premiering in Vegas,’ Cole said, unstrapping his pads.

Christ, thought Marty, he really did have eyes and ears all over this town. He doubted even Lana or the rest of the cast knew yet.

‘I heard that too,’ said Marty carefully. ‘Frank Bernstein’s got money behind the production.’

Cole’s eyes narrowed. ‘Vegas is vulgar.
Eastern Sky
is a sophisticated piece of work, it deserves better. I’m not happy about it.’ His jaw clenched. ‘And I don’t like the look of that Robert St Louis or whatever his fancy name is—the guy’s got ideas, I can tell.’

‘Not a lot I can do,’ said Marty, holding out his arms.

Cole grabbed a towel and held it to his face. His hands were pink and hairless, like a little boy’s, or a mouse’s.

He took a seat next to his agent, opened his mouth to say something then closed it again. Then, after a moment: ‘Lana’s not happy, Marty.’

Marty shrugged. ‘Not relevant. The point is what the public sees, end of story.’

‘Even so,’ mused Cole. ‘She’s evasive about her past, always has been—’

‘Who isn’t?’ interjected Marty. ‘I’ve sure as shit done things I’d sooner forget.’

‘But there’s something…something I can’t put my finger on.’

‘You’re paranoid,’ diagnosed Marty, starting to think about lunch. ‘Forget it, Lana’s a sweet kid. Remember what Clay told us? Her whole freakin’ family’s dead. How much d’you think she wants to talk about that?’

Cole stood. ‘Let’s eat.’

Upstairs they dined on Cole’s private terrace beneath the shade of a palm tree. Cole picked disinterestedly at his lobster spaghetti while Marty devoured his.

‘You don’t eat much,’ he observed, wondering if he could tuck into Cole’s plate once his was done. ‘What’s the matter, work-out didn’t get you an appetite?’ His client better not be worrying about his weight like some lollipop starlet—if anything, he could do with gaining a few pounds.

Cole made a face. ‘Just got things on my mind.’

‘Well, get over it.’ Marty chewed enthusiastically before washing down his mouthful with a slug of iced tea. ‘We got everything we wanted, right? You got yourself a beautiful wife and no one’s any the wiser. You’re clean, you’re makin’ good movies. Lana’s about to break through to the big time—’

‘Maybe that’s the problem,’ said Cole, dabbing his mouth with a pristine white napkin.

‘What?’

Cole took a deep breath. ‘I gave Lana this opportunity, so her success, in effect, belongs to me. Now I’m hearing good things, excellent things, about her performance. She’ll almost certainly get an Award nomination, if not win the damn thing.’

‘Wasn’t that the point?’ asked Marty, shovelling in some more spaghetti. Tomato sauce clung to the corners of his mouth. ‘It was in the terms of the contract. There’s got to be something in it for her, too, Cole.’ At his client’s stormy expression, he clarified, ‘Apart from marriage to the most famous man in the world, of course.’

‘I accept that,’ Cole said generously. ‘But the feedback I’m getting exceeds even my initial expectations. Lana’s going to be
big
, Marty. And the point is that her career’s set to go stellar just as our marriage ends. How is that going to make me look?’

Marty waved away his concern. ‘We went through this right at the start. Irreconcilable differences, right? You’ll stay friends, secretly she’ll still love you, blah-blah-blah. Then it’s on to the next.’

Cole locked his fingers together on the table. ‘I want to keep this one,’ he said.

Marty took some time to digest this. He finished his mouthful, drained his glass and put his cutlery together before saying easily, ‘So we’ll renew the contract with Lana. Whatever you want, Cole.’

‘It’s not that easy, though, is it?’ Cole hissed. A drop of spittle flew from his mouth and landed on Marty’s knuckle. ‘She’s unhappy. I know it. She can’t wait to get out.’

‘You treat her good, don’t you?’ asked Marty, surreptitiously wiping his hand under the table, knowing they were skirting the issue.

‘Of course I do,’ said Cole. ‘I’m kind to her, I look after her; I give her everything she wants. Except…’

Marty made a gruff sound in his throat. ‘Well, that’s another problem,’ he said. As soon as the words were out of his mouth he knew they were a big mistake.

‘Problem?’ Cole leapt on it like a lion on its prey. ‘Is that what you call it? A
problem
?’ His agent could never know the true root of his impotence, why he was forever this way—to him it was an affliction, a sickness, a disease.

‘Of course not,’ said Marty calmly. ‘It’s just—’

‘Just what?
You think it’s my fault I can’t get it up?
’

‘Shh!’ Marty looked panicked. ‘You don’t know who’s listening.’

‘No one’s fucking listening. All ears here belong to me—that’s how powerful Cole Steel is. Tell me, Marty: who needs a hard cock when you’ve got that kind of respect?’

Marty tried not to look alarmed. Cole had gone completely red in the face.

After a moment Cole slumped back in his seat, suddenly defeated. ‘And if Lana leaves me, that’ll be two failed marriages.’ He pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘It’s only a matter of time before some smartass reporter traces it back to the bedroom.’

‘That won’t happen,’ said Marty, as kindly as he could. ‘At most it’ll be idle rumour—no one’s gonna seriously believe that Cole Steel can’t—you know, won’t—you know—’

‘You’re right.’ Cole pointed a finger at his agent. ‘Nobody touches me, you got it?’

Marty nodded. He felt sorry for Cole. The very idea of impotence filled him with a cold dread, and seeing the cost of it paid in full by his client was the stuff of nightmares. They’d tried Viagra, the works, but nothing had made a difference—Cole’s prick was about as responsive as a fish out of water. Nothing turned Cole Steel on these days apart from his own glory.

‘As long as that Kate diLaurentis keeps her big mouth shut,’ Cole growled.

Marty laughed hollowly. ‘We paid her enough goddamn money, she won’t say a word.’

Cole rubbed his chin thoughtfully. The kitchen staff came to clear their plates and he waited until they’d hurried off before continuing.

‘Apparently she’s losing it,’ he said, looping a finger up next to his head. ‘
Loco.
’

‘Yeah, I’m sure,’ sighed Marty, ‘everyone likes to say that about Kate. Thing is they don’t realise she’s a sharp little cookie. She’d never reveal anything, wouldn’t dare. Besides, she’s got her own failing reputation to think about.’

‘You think I’ve got a failing reputation?’

‘No,’ said Marty firmly, ‘I don’t. Because it’s my job to manage that and I don’t lose. I never lose.’

Cole nodded. ‘That’s good,’ he said, ‘I like that. But the fact still remains I want to hold on to my wife, and you’re going to make sure that I do.’ He pushed his chair back from the table. It screamed on the tiles.

Marty made a helpless gesture.

‘You never lose, right?’ Cole raised a cleanly plucked eyebrow. ‘Find a way to make it happen. Whatever it takes.’

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

‘S
he said
what
?’ Rita Clay put down her Americano and looked at Lana in disbelief.

‘Yup.’ Lana nodded. ‘Kate asked if Cole could get it up for me. Can you imagine? It was a miracle the other guests didn’t hear. She’s a liability.’

It was a beautiful day and Lana and her agent were having coffee at the Beverly Wilshire. Lana wore a baseball cap and sunglasses to deter paparazzi but had been photographed twice on the way in.

Rita emptied a sachet of sugar into the steaming liquid. She was arrestingly beautiful—tall, with dark, smooth skin and a cap of cropped, dyed blonde hair.

‘Kate won’t say a word,’ she said. ‘She’s afraid, that’s all. Her career’s in freefall, her husband’s a cheating goddamn sex addict and her children barely know who she is.’ She checked her reflection in a silver compact and applied a slick of plum lipstick.

‘So?’ Lana put down her drink. ‘Doesn’t that give her more reason to spill?’

‘She’d never risk it, Lana. This is the last ten years of Kate’s career we’re talking about, her heyday. Do you think she’d want the world to know that was as much of a sham as her life is now?’ Rita shook her head. ‘No way. She’s a livewire but she’s certainly not stupid.’

Lana nodded while she digested this. Rita had a point.

‘How are things?’ her agent asked quietly, knowing how tough the arrangement was. It was a move they had discussed at length when Cole’s people had approached them.

Lana’s first instinct had been to turn the offer down—she was adamant about making her own way forward and told Rita in no uncertain terms that she did not want marriage. But the counter-argument was strong: Lana, who’d been twenty-four at the time, would not see an opportunity like this again. It was a sensible, logical step for the advancement of her career. Knowing this, Cole had scouted a number of suitable young actresses and settled on one for whom the contract would be difficult to ignore: Lana could spend a lifetime chasing success like that and even then would only catch a sniff of it. Hadn’t she arrived in LA determined to forge a new identity; hadn’t she told Rita when they’d first met that she wanted to change her name, forget the past, become a new person? This was her one-way ticket.

‘It’s not the easiest,’ she admitted, ‘but I can hardly complain. The house is beautiful, I have a job I love… Cole doesn’t beat up on me, he doesn’t treat me badly. Countless women have it a hell of a lot worse.’

‘Are you happy?’ asked Rita.

Lana took a moment to consider this, before saying without a hint of bitterness, ‘I don’t know if that has anything to do with it.’

It was a five-year marriage contract—that was all. Before signing on the dotted line she’d remembered the hellish years she’d spent growing up in Ohio. Marrying a man she didn’t love was nothing compared with that. It had been goodbye, poor-little-Laura and hello, blockbusting movie star Lana Falcon. Cole was king of this town: as his queen she would be untouchable.

So what if she didn’t love him? Since when did that matter? She had given her heart only once before, given everything, and look where that had got her…

‘Lana?’ Rita looked concerned and reached out to touch her friend’s arm. ‘Are you OK?’

‘Sure.’ She frowned. ‘I didn’t sleep great last night. I’m just tired.’

Rita winced. ‘Talking of the whole sleeping thing…’ Her expression was sympathetic.

The women’s eyes met and after a moment they both burst out laughing.

‘Don’t,’ cried Lana, ‘it’s not funny!’

‘Sorry,’ Rita managed, wiping her eyes, ‘I can’t help it.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I know it’s not funny, I know it’s not.’

‘It’s a small price to pay,’ Lana nodded.

‘I expect it is,’ agreed Rita, and they fell about again.

Lana suspected some kind of impotence was at the root of the no-sex clause, but it was impossible to be sure. Cole expressed no sexual desire whatsoever, about anything—she guessed he was just programmed that way. When she had first moved into his mansion she had expected him to visit her rooms at night—she wasn’t stupid enough to think that a couple of lines in a contract would get in the way of a red-blooded male. But Cole had been steadfast to his word. Her first thought was that he must be getting it somewhere else—as long as he was discreet, she would turn a blind eye; after all they were nothing to each other—but that didn’t seem to be the case. For some time she had assumed he was gay, but men didn’t appear to do it for him either.

‘You must be so…’ Rita searched for the word, before whispering it.
‘Frustrated.’

Lana shifted in her seat. If only she could tell her friend about Parker Troy, but there was no way. It was an appalling breach of her contract and as her agent Rita would be outraged.

‘It’s worth it,’ she said, dodging the question. And it was: Lana’s abstinence was reflected handsomely in the financial terms of the contract.

Rita narrowed her eyes. ‘Hmm,’ she said, tapping a long red fingernail on the table.

‘I suppose it’s more that I sometimes feel…I don’t know, caged,’ said Lana quickly, trying to move the subject on.

‘Well,’ said her agent, sipping her drink, ‘that’s because you are. For another two years.’

‘But Cole keeps tabs on
everything
. I’m forever having to lie about filming running on.’

‘Lie?’

Lana met her gaze. ‘You know, if I need more time on set.’ She bristled. ‘We’re all entitled to a little freedom, aren’t we?’

Rita’s face broke into a smile. ‘Sure, sure.’ She pulled out her purse. ‘I’m just saying, Cole has eyes all over Hollywood. I just don’t think you can hide anything from him.’

‘I’m aware of that,’ said Lana evenly. ‘It’s precisely my point.’ Did Rita know something? No way—she couldn’t.

But Cole’s controlling ways were becoming more extreme with each day that passed. Just two weeks back she hadn’t been able to sleep and so had ventured out into the mansion’s grounds to have a walk and clear her head—and to think, to her shame, about Robert St Louis.

The night had been dark and quiet, with just the sparkle of the Hills glittering in the distance. Then, stepping beyond the perimeter, the security lamps had surged to life and flooded her in white light. The dogs had sprung up from their stations, barking furiously, their chains rattling. She had felt like a fugitive about to be arrested, especially when she had looked up to see Cole silhouetted against a window in his dressing gown, arms folded, looking down at her with an unreadable expression.

‘How’s the movie?’ asked Rita briskly, signing off the check.

Lana forced herself back to the real world. ‘Good.’ She smiled. ‘It’s great to have a role I can really get my teeth into. It’s a fabulous part—so much depth.’ She knew she had been lucky securing the
Eastern Sky
gig, and that, too, was down to Cole and the arrangement. Within weeks of entering the contract she and Rita had been approached by Sam Lucas. At the time Cole had informed her in a meaningful way that the right performance could gain her an Award nomination.

‘That’s excellent,’ said Rita, meaning it. ‘Oh, that reminds me: they’re bringing in new blood for the part of Sophie, the English girl.’

Lana nodded.

‘They’ve already found someone they want.’ Rita pulled on her jacket. ‘She’s a model in London, apparently, wants to get into acting.’

‘Poor girl,’ said Lana wryly.

‘Well, Sam Lucas thinks she’s the soul of virtue. I heard he took one look at her shot and knew...’ Rita raised her hands in a grand gesture‘...“
It’s Sophie
.”’

‘Ah, the immortal accolade every actress wants to hear.’

‘She’ll be over in a few weeks. Bet she can’t wait to meet you.’

As Lana grabbed her things she remembered when she’d first started out herself. Ten years she’d been in LA. Ten years since she’d last seen Robbie Lewis. Ten years trying to forget.

She’d kept it brief when Rita had asked about Belleville: she was from a broken family; she didn’t wish to discuss it but she was happy to agree to the right story for press purposes. They had settled on a smart bio, a family tragedy not far from the truth, and Rita sent out clear messages to the industry that Lana Falcon did not like to discuss her upbringing as an orphan—who would? Even Cole hadn’t been so unkind as to ask her too many questions when the contract was finalised. If anything it made her more promotable—in an industry where reality TV exposed an individual’s every private sanctum, Lana Falcon was that rare thing: an enigma.

‘New York, right?’ asked Rita as the women made their way out to the car.

One of Cole’s drivers was waiting.

‘Hmm?’ Lana asked as he opened the door.

‘Whoa, you really are a million miles away today, huh?’ said Rita, exasperated. ‘You’re going with Cole to NYC?’

‘Oh, yes, yes, of course,’ said Lana, distracted, rummaging in her purse. She checked her cell and had a missed call from Parker.
Shit.
He’d have to wait till she got back. Cole was filming scenes on location and a press opportunity had been lined up.

‘I’ll call you in the week,’ said Rita, giving her a hug. ‘Be in touch if you need anything.’

Lana smiled. ‘Thanks for the coffee.’ She squeezed Rita’s hand before sliding into the back seat of the car. ‘And thanks for everything.’

Rita watched as her friend vanished behind the tinted glass. Something about Lana today hadn’t been right. Marriage to Cole Steel wasn’t for the faint-hearted, but instinct told her it was more than that.

Lana Falcon had always been a mystery. And she was determined to find out why.