Hollywood Wives - the New Generation (13 page)

Who knew? Maybe Quincy was onto something, maybe she
was
a
keeper.

Prowling the bars, an angry gleam in his eyes, Gregg Lynch was
furious that a nothing piece of ass like Deidra had spoken to him the
way she had. How dare she think that a girl who worked in a department
store could tell
him
how to run his life? He was married to
Lissa Roman, for crissakes. Did she honestly believe that he'd divorce
his wife for her? What kind of a dumb cunt was she?

Women were all the same. Rich, famous and beautiful, or passably
attractive with a great pair of tits, they were all the same. Mangy,
nagging cunts. He didn't like any of them. They were there for the
fucking, that's all they were good for.

And paying the bills
, he thought. Although lately, Miss
Moneybags, Lissa Roman, was getting a little tight around the edges.
The last time he'd asked for a hundred thousand to put into the market,
she'd demurred, saying that her business manager had invested all her
available cash, and that he'd have to wait. That
really
pissed him off. He didn't believe her. He was her husband, she should
give him whatever he wanted, no questions asked.

He was especially annoyed at Deidra because tomorrow was a big day
for him. He was working with a new producer, a young up-and-coming guy
he was paying to record a couple of his songs. Tonight he'd wanted to
relax, get it on with Deidra, go home, have a good night's sleep, and
be out of the house early. Now he was screwing himself over by prowling
bars and getting wasted. And it was all Deidra's fault.

By midnight he was sitting in a strip club on Sunset Boulevard,
flicking twenty-dollar bills at an energetic girl with silicone boobs
and sinewy thighs. She rode the shiny pole like it was her long-lost
lover, and after a while, Gregg decided he wanted to fuck her.

That is, until the manager sidled over and said, 'Mr Roman, it's a
pleasure to welcome you to our club. Come in any time - the check's on
us.'

He was furious that he'd been recognized. Even more furious that the
prick had called him Mr Roman. Wouldn't do to get caught by the
tabloids, Lissa would be pissed. She had a bug up her ass about her
precious reputation. 'Name's Lynch,' he growled. 'Gregg fucking Lynch.
Got it, asshole?'

The manager did not appreciate being called an asshole. 'Sorry, Mr
Lynch
,'
he said tightly. 'I know you as Mr Roman.'

'Whaddaya mean, you know me as Mr Roman?' Gregg said, scowling. 'My
wife
is Roman, I'm
Lynch
.'

'Maybe you should cool it with the drinking,' the manager suggested.
'Are you driving?'

'What the fuck does it matter to you?'

'State law. We can be held responsible if you have an accident. I'll
arrange a taxi to take you home.'

'Fuck you,' Gregg said. And he stumbled out of the club muttering to
himself.

By the time he arrived home he was in a state. He staggered into the
master bedroom, and there she was - queen of videos, princess of
movies,
little Miss Sex Bomb - asleep in their bed, looking more beautiful than
ever.

Most broads when they removed their makeup looked like death took a
holiday. Not Lissa Roman. No. She was
always
fucking
gorgeous. A prime piece of ass, and she was all his.

He was so drunk that he wasn't aware of what he was doing as in a
fit of spite he dragged her out of bed by her hair.

She awoke, screaming.

'S your husband,' he slurred. 'Remember me?'

'My God, Gregg,' she exclaimed, cringing away from him. 'You scared
me.'

'Did I now?'

She could smell the booze wafting off him. 'You're drunk,' she said
accusingly.

'That okay with you?' he said sarcastically. 'I got the Queen's
permission?'

She stared at him for a moment, wondering what to do.

Tomorrow's Friday. Tomorrow he'll be out of my life forever.
Tonight's the last time I have to face him.

'Why don't I go downstairs and make you some coffee?' she said
soothingly.

'
You
wanna make
me
coffee?' he sneered. 'Why
doncha
call
somebody't' do it? 'Cause
you
sure as
shit never lift a finger.'

'Gregg, I've been rehearsing all day, I'm exhausted,' she said
quickly. 'Perhaps it's a good idea if I sleep in the guest room.'

'Perhaps it's a good idea if I sleep in the guest room,' he said,
mimicking her voice. 'Fuck
you
! I'll tell you where you're
gonna sleep - right here next to your husband.' And he started
unzipping his pants.

She had no intention of enduring another rape. Oh, no! Enough was
enough. She glanced at the phone. One buzz and Chuck would come
bounding upstairs.

She reached for it.

'No fuckin' way!' Gregg said, wrestling the phone out of her hand.

'I'm calling Chuck,' she said, speaking fast. 'He'll make you
coffee. You're recording tomorrow. Surely you want to be in good shape
for that?'

'Whadda
you
care?' he said belligerently. 'I'm fucking
bored with you. Bored living in this house, I hate it. I hate you.'

'You're drunk. Sleep it off.'

'Don' wanna do that,' he said stubbornly. 'Wanna fuck my wife.'

And he began pawing her.

'Don't touch me,' she warned, backing away.

'Don' touch you?' he repeated, and grabbing hold of her, he ripped
the
front of her nightgown, exposing her breasts. 'How's that for not
touching you?' he said, with a maniacal laugh. 'How's that,
bitch
?

She continued to back away. He came after her. He was easier to
avoid than last time because he was so drunk and unsteady on his feet.
As he tried to grab her again, she kneed him hard in the balls. He
staggered a bit, but kept on coming. Then, just as she was about to run
from the room, he grabbed her leg, toppling her to the floor.

'How does it feel?' he crowed, standing over her and unzipping his
fly. 'How does it feel't' be down, bitch?'

She managed to get to her feet and once more tried to make it to the
door.

He came after her again.

'Leave me alone,' she yelled. 'Don't
ever
touch me again.'

'You're
my
fuckin' property,' he shouted. 'I'll touch you
whenever I goddamn want to.'

And then he lifted his arm and hit her across the cheek.

Somehow she managed to flee from the room, her heart thumping. She
made it into the guest bedroom, slamming and locking the door behind
her.

He was too drunk and confused to follow. With a loud guttural groan,
he fell across the bed, still clothed, and passed out.

Friday morning, Nicci awoke early. She lay in bed for a moment
staring at the stark white ceiling, thinking about everything. Saffron
was right, her wedding was creeping closer every day, so the sooner she
filled Lissa in about Antonio coming to L.A. the better. No good
putting it off any longer.

Propping herself up on one elbow, she watched Evan sleeping beside
her. Yes, she decided, he'd make a great husband. He was smart and
interesting and crazy about her. They'd even discussed having kids.
What more could she ask for?

You're only nineteen
, her inner voice whispered.
And
you're marrying a man who wants a wife, kids, and a settled life. He'll
be having an amazing time making his movies on location, while you'll
be stuck at home taking care of a bunch of screaming brats
.

No way
, she told herself sternly.
I love him. Marriage
to Evan will be cool. If there's one thing I need it's some stability
in my life - considering I've never had any
.

The previous night they'd celebrated his home-coming by making love.
Evan was not as experimental as she would have liked, he was more into
pleasing her, which was nice, but did not exactly lead to wild,
uninhibited sex.

I'm nineteen
, she thought.
I
want
wild uninhibited sex
.
Not that she hadn't experienced it already, but it hadn't been with
Evan.

Surely the fun and excitement and getting crazy wasn't all over?

She slid out of bed without disturbing him and hurried into the all
limestone and chrome bathroom. Stripping off her T-shirt, she stood
under the shower and decided that she'd skip her kickboxing class and
visit her mom instead.

Saffron was right, the least she could do was warn her about
Antonio's impending visit. It was only fair.

Lissa slept fitfully. By six a.m. she was up. She took one look in
the bathroom mirror and realized she was in trouble. Her left eye was
swollen and bruised. The bastard had given her a black eye.

She had no intention of leaving the safety of the guest room until
he'd left, so she listened at the door until she heard him go down the
stairs. Once she was sure he'd gone, she unlocked the door and hurried
into her bedroom, immediately calling Michael.

'He's on his way out,' she whispered into the phone. 'Can you get
here as soon as possible?'

'I'll be right over,' Michael said.

'Please. It's important that he never comes back.'

'I get it, Lissa.'

Gregg was on his way out as Nicci drove up to the house. She
realized for the hundredth time that she couldn't stand him. He had
cowlick hair, a permanent tan and big muscles. Why did her mom always
go for looks? Didn't personality count too?

'Hi, Gregg,' she said, jumping out of her car, hoping that he
wouldn't try to make
conversation
. He had an 'I'm stripping
you naked' way of looking at her that was not at all welcome. 'Is Mom
up?'

He cast an appraising eye over her. 'Lookin' foxy, Nicci,' he said,
licking his dry lips. 'Shouldn't walk around like that. One of these
days somebody's gonna take advantage of you.'

'And it sure as hell ain't gonna be my stepdad, is it?' she said
sharply, wishing she'd worn something more substantial than low-rider
shorts and a stomach-baring tank.

Christ! He had a hangover from hell, and now he had to listen to
this little cunt's smart mouth. Things were going to have to change
around here. He deserved some respect, and Lissa better make sure he
got it. 'Your loss, baby,' he said, getting into his Ferrari, a wedding
gift from Lissa.

Turning her back, Nicci entered the house, encountering Nellie,
Lissa's long-time housekeeper. Nellie, a stout, capable woman who
originally came from Germany, lived to take care of her famous boss.

'Mom around?' Nicci asked.

'In her bedroom,' Nellie replied, adding a stern, 'Knock before you
enter.'

Nicci headed for the master suite and barged right in.

Lissa was sitting in the darkness on the side of the bed speaking on
the phone. The drapes were drawn tightly shut and she was still in her
robe. As soon as she saw Nicci, she covered the mouthpiece with her
hand. 'What are
you
doing here?' she asked.

'Nice greeting,' Nicci remarked, plucking a handful of grapes from a
dish on the bedside table. 'Your own daughter, and that's all I get?'

'I didn't mean it that way,' Lissa said, slightly flustered.
'Usually you call when you're coming over.'

'I've got something to tell you,' Nicci said, perching on the end of
the bed. 'Didn't want to get into it over the phone.'

'Right now?'

'I thought this would be a good time.'

'Well, it's not,' Lissa said, thinking that her daughter's timing
couldn't be worse. 'You'll have to wait outside while I finish this
call.'

'Whatever,' Nicci said, getting up and slouching out of the room.
She always slouched when in the company of her mother. Lissa was so
freaking amazing, that she made Nicci feel totally insignificant in the
looks department.

Shutting the door behind her, she stood outside and attempted to
listen.
Hmm… very interesting
, she thought.
Greg's on
his way out, and Mom's on the phone. Maybe she's getting it on with
another guy
. Damn those big heavy doors! She couldn't hear a word.

Wandering into the kitchen, she opened the fridge, removed a carton
of orange juice, and swigged from the carton.

'Your mommy wouldn't like that,' Nellie scolded, busily polishing
the granite counter.

'I'm not Mommy's little girl anymore,' Nicci reminded her.

'No, but you certainly act like it,' Nellie muttered disapprovingly.
'And you're too damn skinny. You need to put some flesh on those bones.'

'God! Why do I feel like I'm still living at home?' Nicci
complained, pushing back her long bangs. 'Now I know why I left.'

'It wouldn't hurt you to drop by for a decent meal once in a while,'
Nellie nagged.

'I eat like a pig,' Nicci said. 'Can't help it if my metabolism
keeps me this way. Anyway, Nellie, only
you
think I'm too
thin.'

After a few minutes Lissa emerged from her bedroom. She was now
dressed in a white silk shirt, casual pants and Nikes, her platinum
hair piled on top of her head, opaque black wraparound sunglasses
covering her eyes.

'Whassup?' Nicci demanded. 'You're like so
mysterious
this
morning. And how come you're wearing shades in the house?'

'Let's go sit in the den,' Lissa said, her face serious.

Nicci followed her mother into the den and flopped into a chair.

Lissa shut the door. 'Here's the situation,' she said tensely. 'And
this information is for you only.'

'I thought I was the one who came here to tell
you
something,' Nicci said, wondering what was up.

'I'm throwing Gregg out,' Lissa said, sighing deeply.

'Nooo?'

'The locks are being changed, his things will be packed up. By the
time he gets back this evening, everything will be taken care of.'