Married Lovers (14 page)

E
verything was organized. Mandy had hired a chef, three waiters and a barman, which was excessive for nine people, but what the hell–she wasn’t about to help out, and her housekeeper was unable to come back that evening on such short notice. Mandy had a mind to fire the woman, but then she’d have to train someone new, and she had no intention of suffering through
that
nightmare again.

It was all Ryan’s fault. When they were first married she’d insisted that they hire a live-in couple, but he’d said absolutely no way–he enjoyed the freedom of
not
having help living on their property. It was a battle he’d won. Usually when it came to domestic matters she got her own way, but sometimes Ryan was adamant, and that had been one of those times. No live-in help.

She was embarrassed to tell any of her friends. Lucy and Phil employed a couple from Guatemala, two daily housekeepers, a laundress, an English nanny for their two children, and three assistants who worked from their house. According to Lucy, she needed all the help she could get, what with Phil–the messiest man on the planet–the kids and their menagerie of assorted animals.

Impulsively Mandy reached for her phone and called Lucy, who answered immediately.

“I’m in the car,” Lucy announced, driving with one hand on the steering wheel. “On my way to interview a writer for my idea.”

“Does Phil know?” Mandy asked.

“Fuck Phil,” Lucy snapped. “He’s a dictatorial asshole.”

“Are you two still not speaking?”

“Oh, we’re speaking all right,” Lucy said ominously. “I just won’t let him anywhere near me in the bedroom, and as much as he gets on the side, Phil hates it when I don’t allow him his nightly fix.”

“Nightly?” Mandy was impressed. It must be true about Phil and his insatiable sexual appetite, not to mention his enormous penis. Not that size was that important, and besides, Ryan was hardly lacking in that department.

Once, at their annual Christmas party, Phil had come onto her in the bathroom. He’d locked the door, muttered that she was a hot little piece of ass, shoved her back against the vanity and attempted to stick his thick tongue down her throat.

She’d pushed him away and informed him she was not the kind of woman who cheated on her husband, especially when her husband was supposedly one of his closest friends.

Phil had laughed himself red in the face (he was totally drunk), unlocked the door, and promptly informed anyone who’d listen that she was a frigid bitch.

Ha! she’d thought at the time. He should only know the things Ryan and I get up to in our bedroom. Frigid, my ass
.

Of course that was then–early days–before two miscarriages and a stillborn baby, before marriage took over and she and Ryan grew so used to each other that sex didn’t seem that exciting anymore.

However, if Ryan was dissatisfied with their sex life, she’d better do something to liven it up. He’d uttered the dreaded word “divorce” and that was quite unthinkable. She realized he was drunk and angry at the time, so of course he hadn’t meant it. But still…

Mandy couldn’t stand her father’s shrieks of triumph if she and Ryan ever got a divorce.

“I warned you he was a goddamn loser,” Hamilton would yell. “A loser with weak sperm!”

Yes, Hamilton never tired of informing her that the miscarriages and the stillborn baby were all the result of Ryan’s weak sperm. Even Mandy was shocked that he would say such vile words.

She sighed, and considered how best to make the peace with Ryan. The first step was the family dinner, and having arranged it, she saw no reason why she had to suffer through it alone.

“Are you guys busy tonight?” she asked Lucy.

“Why?” Lucy responded. She’d learned never to say yes until she found out the reason the question was being asked, especially when the question was coming from Mandy.

“I’m putting together a small, more intimate dinner for Ryan,” Mandy said, trying to make it sound enticing. “It’s at the house. I’d love it if you and Phil could come.”

Lucy took a moment before answering. An intimate dinner at the Richards’ house sounded like the perfect opportunity for her to corner Ryan and talk to him about her story idea. “I’ll have to check with Phil, but that sounds nice,” she said, slowing down as she approached her destination. “I’ll call you back.”

“Do that,” Mandy said, thinking that at least she wouldn’t have to entertain Ryan’s family by herself, which was a big relief. Plus the Standards were always good value–a once-big movie star and an Oscar-winning screenwriter. The Richards family should be so lucky.

Sitting in his office with panoramic views of Burbank, Don was irritable, and he was taking it out on everyone around him. He complained that his coffee was lukewarm, his morning Danish
was stale, the air-conditioning in his office was too cold, and the line-up for that evening’s show was weak.

“What didja do,
fall
outta bed this morning?” his producer, Jerry Mann, inquired. Jerry–who was in his late fifties with a bald head, deep suntan and easygoing manner, had been around the block and then some. In his time he’d worked with Carson, Griffin and Letterman. He was knowledgeable and smarter than most people, old-school seasoned, and there was nothing about the talk-show business he didn’t know, plus nothing threw him, which is why Don enjoyed working with him. They were partners in a show Don had never wanted to do, but within months of being talked into it by the head of the network, his ratings had started to rise and now, eight years later, he was at the top of his game. His original ambition had been to become a news journalist for a network like CNN, covering war zones and places of interest. But no, fate had taken him in a different direction.

“Never got to do my work-out this morning,” he grumbled. “My trainer didn’t show.”

“You sound like a fuckin’ poodle,” Jerry quipped. “Get on one of those fuckin’ machines you got stashed at your house, an’ do it yourself.”

“He needs Cameron,” Jill Khoner, the segment producer who’d recommended Cameron in the first place, said. “She’s the best trainer in town, really motivates you to do more and more. Am I right, Don? Are you grateful? Even if I say so myself, I did you the biggest favor.”

“Yeah,” Don said, careful not to sound too enthusiastic. “Cameron is pretty motivating.”

“We all think she’s gay,” Jill confided with a secretive little laugh, as if she knew more than she was saying. “Never dates. Never talks about men. What do
you
think?”

I think I want to slap that snide smile off your face. My dream girl is not gay.

Or is she?

Was it possible
that
was the reason he was getting the big turn down? Could it be that Cameron Paradise was a muff diver, a carpet muncher, a dyke?

No!

Maybe
.

Oh shit! Wouldn’t
that
be something. And yet…when he’d asked her…what
had
she said?

He tried to remember. Something like–
because I won’t go out with you, does that make me gay?

“Don?” Jill persisted. “What
do
you think?”

Jill wasn’t leaving it alone. She was probably waiting for his expert opinion, because everyone knew that when it came to women–Don Verona
was
an expert. Or so they imagined.

“Never gave it any thought,” he said, as casually as he could manage. He didn’t want anyone getting a sniff of the fact that he really liked Cameron. A lot. “She’s an excellent trainer, that’s all that matters to me.”

“Yes, and she’s opening her own fitness studio,” Jill said enthusiastically. “I can’t wait!”

“Are we discussing tonight’s show or what?” Don said, rapidly changing the subject.

The truth was he was pissed that Cameron had cancelled on him, and he didn’t want to listen to one more word about her.

“Birdy Marvel,” Jerry said, clearing his throat. “She’s performing a song from her upcoming CD. It drops next week. Then maybe a short interview with you?”

“No!” Don said adamantly. “There’s no way I’m talking to that no-brains pop star who
you
insisted on booking. One song and she’s gone. No plopping her panty-less ass down on my couch. Has everybody got it?”

“Yes, Don,” Jill replied, thinking how sexy her boss looked when he was in a foul mood. She wondered who he was fucking.
Rumor had it that recently he’d been into hookers. She couldn’t blame him. The press were relentless when it came to famous people and dissecting their relationships.

“Whatever you want,” Jerry said, shrugging. “But you gotta know, her fan base is huge.”

“And I don’t give a shit,” Don said. “So, are we clear? One song and goodbye.”

“Faster!” Phil groaned.

A muffled sound came from the young Asian woman crouched between his legs.

“I said faster, woman!” Phil urged as her mouth clamped even more tightly onto his dick, attempting to pick up the pace.

It wasn’t happening for him, she simply didn’t get it. No technique, and if a woman didn’t have technique he couldn’t come.

He felt himself softening and pushed her away.

She laughed nervously. Lucy had accused her of having a hyena laugh, and Lucy was right, as usual.

Lucy gave great blow-jobs. Movie star blow-jobs. Although she wasn’t a movie star anymore. And that’s precisely why they were fighting, because he wouldn’t help her become one again.

Phil Standard was no dummy. He had an incredibly beautiful, sexy and talented wife whom he did not wish to share with a voracious public. When he and Lucy had first met ten years ago she’d been surrounded by agents, publicists, directors, handsome co-stars, producers, stylists, makeup artists and a whole coterie of hangers-on. He’d managed to lure her away from the entourage, made her fall in love with him, knocked her up, married her, and somehow or other he’d weaned her off all the movie-business crap and got her living a normal life–well, about as normal as it gets when you work in movies. As a hugely successful screenwriter
he’d never felt the urge to surround himself with an entourage, so gradually he’d gotten rid of hers.

They lived a pretty good life. Great house, interesting friends, two pre-teen kids who so far had not given them too much trouble, their beloved animals. Plus he gave Lucy anything she wanted. A new car. A beach house, a vacation in Bali, designer clothes and handbags and shoes galore. She could buy anything she desired.

And now this bombshell. She wanted her career back.

No! He wasn’t having it.

A career would expose her to all kinds of temptations, and even though–in his mind–it was perfectly okay for him to screw around because it meant absolutely nothing–it was certainly
not
okay for her. When it came to his wife, Phil Standard had a ferocious jealous streak.

“That’s enough, Suki,” he growled, as the Asian girl started up with a little hand action. “I’m not in the mood.”

Suki crawled out from beneath his desk. “Something I did wrong, Phil?” she asked, looking hurt.

“It’s not you, it’s me,” he said, using the most famous line known to man.

“I could…”

“No, Suki,” he said, zipping up his pants. “Not today.”

“Hi,” Lucy said, staring at the young man who opened the door to his run-down beach shack in Venice. He was wearing a ripped UCLA T-shirt, faded jeans and no shoes. His bleached blond hair was mussed and slightly damp, as if he’d just stepped out of the shower.

She had not expected studly. She’d expected studious.

“I’m Lucy Standard,” she began.

“Pleasure to like…uh…meet you, ma’am,” he said, offering her a handshake.

Ma’am?
Was he kidding?

“C’mon in,” he said in his vaguely Southern drawl. “’Fraid it’s a bit of a dump, but like my dad taught me–ya gotta do it for yourself. No hand-outs.”

“Ah yes,” she said, stepping inside. “Your dad is a very fine lawyer.”

“He sure is. My mom always told me that, even though they got divorced when I was seven.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Yeah. He moved to L.A. We stayed in Tennessee. But now that I’m in L.A. too, my dad and I are getting close again.”

“That’s nice,” Lucy said, stepping inside and surveying the bright one-room apartment overlooking the Venice boardwalk. There was a futon in the middle of the floor, clothes tossed in heaps, stacks of newspapers and magazines, and an old pine desk piled high with books, plus a computer and various pieces of electronic equipment.

“I suppose I should tell you what I have in mind,” she said, observing a thick layer of dust everywhere except the desk.

“Shoot,” he said. “I’m hot to get on it right away.”

“I bet you are,” she murmured, while wondering if it was a bad thing to entertain impure thoughts about a strapping teenage boy. “By the way,” she said, keeping it casual. “How old are you?”

He threw her a look. “Does age make a difference, Mrs Standard?”

“Call me Lucy,” she said quickly. “And…uh…no difference at all. It’s just that—”

“Yeah, I know,” he drawled, favoring her with a boyish grin. “My mom always says I look younger than I am. But you liked my scripts, didn’t you?”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“Then age isn’t a problem, is it?” he said confidently. “Don’t wanna blast my own achievements, but I got a lot more going for me than some clapped-out thirty-five-year-old fart.”

He thought thirty-five was old-fart time! Which meant that he probably viewed her as ancient. Charming!

“I’m nineteen,” he added with another disarming grin. “An’ I am so freakin’ ready to conquer Hollywood. So…uh…Mrs Standard–Lucy–let’s get right to it.”

“W
here’ve you been?” Cole demanded stony-faced. “I had to cancel two clients an’ hustle my ass over here quick time.”

“I’m so sorry,” Cameron said, overcome with a sudden rush of guilt. “A friend had…uh…an emergency. I went to help out.”

“What friend?” Cole asked suspiciously, peering at her. There were no secrets between him and Cameron–or so he thought.

“It was…uh…Katie and Jinx, they got involved in some kind of crazy fight,” she lied. “I ran over to their place to prevent them from killing each other.”

Now why wasn’t she telling Cole the truth? That she’d met someone with whom she’d fallen madly in lust, he was married and totally unavailable, which meant there was nothing she could do about it.

“And your cell quit?” Cole said, still uptight. “You couldn’t let me know you wouldn’t be here? The phone guy called
me
to say he didn’t know what lines were supposed to go where. You were the one that was dealing with him. I had to leave in the middle of a work-out with the head of a network. Man, he was
way
pissed.”

“Oh dear,” Cameron said sheepishly. “Guess my phone must be off.”

“I left you three messages,” Cole said accusingly, his handsome face quite sulky.

“Yes, I can see,” Cameron said, checking out her voicemail. Three from Cole. Two from Don.

“I gotta get back to work, that’s if you’re
sure
you got no more emergencies to deal with,” he said sarcastically.

“I’m sure,” she replied, wondering if he noticed that for some unknown reason she couldn’t stop smiling. Not that anything had happened between her and Ryan, it was simply an amazing connection, a meeting of the minds, a feeling she could spend twenty-four hours a day with him and never get bored.

After leaving Silverlake they’d talked some more. She hadn’t revealed much. Didn’t care to.

He hadn’t pushed. Ryan Richards was special, she’d sensed it the first time she saw him.

When they’d arrived back at the hotel to pick up her car he’d asked her if she could fit him into her schedule for some personal training.

“Of course I can,” she’d said, thinking,
Thank you, God! Married or not, at least I get to see him again
.

They’d settled on six p.m. five days a week, which meant that she’d have to cancel a client she already had booked at that time, but the way she felt, she would’ve cancelled Brad Pitt.

Then he’d suggested that their breakfast and the trip to Silverlake might be better if it was kept between the two of them.

She’d agreed.

One day and they already had shared secrets. Why did that make her heart beat even faster?

You’re getting off track
.

No, I’m not
.

Excuse me? You’re opening up your own studio with weeks to go and a thousand things to do. Yet you spent the morning hanging out with a virtual stranger
.

He’s not a stranger. He’s a new client. I need every new client I can get
.

Who the hell do you think you’re fooling?

Her conversation with herself was halted by the entrance of Lynda, accompanied by Carlos. Lynda was all smiles, and Carlos was in full macho strut.

“Oh my! This place is amazing,” Lynda exclaimed, looking feisty in a clinging red tank top and tight jeans which emphasized her Jennifer Lopez-style butt. “Do we get the tour?”

“Sure,” Cameron said. “As long as you don’t trip over any loose wires.”

“Yesterday was my last day at
Bounce
,” Lynda announced, fluffing out her clouds of brown curly hair. “I think Mister Fake Tan’s got a suspicion about what’s going on.”

“Well, if he does, there’s nothing he can do. None of us signed any contracts.”

“He says that doesn’t matter,” Lynda worried. “He says he’s gonna sue you an’ Cole for loss of business.”

“Let him try,” Cameron said calmly. “I’m not bothered, are you?”

“Not me,” Lynda said boldly. “I’m coming to work here, an’ sister, this girl can’t wait!”

Carlos gave her an obvious nudge.

“Oh yes,” Lynda continued. “Carlos met this contractor guy, some dude who owns his business, makes mucho bucks. An’ we were thinking—”

“No!” Cameron interrupted. “Absolutely no more fix-ups!”

“It’s not a fix-up,” Lynda objected, managing to look pained. “This dude is a
building
contractor. Carlos thought he might be able to help you out here.”

“Yeah,” Carlos said, joining in. “He’s into cash deals only–but everything for the right price and fast. You should meet him.”

“Whaddya think?” Lynda asked.

“I think I’ll take his number.”

“It doesn’t hurt that he’s not bad-lookin’,” Lynda giggled. “Kinda hot in a Tony Soprano way.”

“Oh for God’s sake,” Cameron sighed.

“Gotcha!” Lynda squealed, clutching onto Carlos’s arm. “This one’s married, which means that even if you fell madly in love, the man is taken!”

Yes
, Cameron thought,
and so is Ryan. He’s married and off-limits so why even go there?

Because I can’t help myself, that’s why
.

Ryan rented offices in a small building on Ventura Boulevard. This suited him fine, because when he was in production there was plenty of extra space to rent, and when he was between projects he made sure his expenses were at a minimum, keeping just two offices and one assistant. He’d never believed in wasting money, it all went into the movie he was currently working on. This infuriated Mandy, who thought that like her father he should have grandiose offices to impress potential investors, and when he was making a movie, she thought he should allot himself a much bigger piece of the pie.

Ryan refused to work that way. If his movies made money, so did he. If they didn’t…well, he wasn’t about to steal from anyone. And why should Mandy worry? She had plenty of money of her own.

His assistant, Kara, a competent black woman who’d been with him for over ten years–handed him his message sheet. He shut himself in his office and checked through the list. There were the usual business calls, plus Don, Phil, and two from Mandy. She’d already left three messages on his cell; obviously she was anxious, and probably deeply pissed. Well, too bad, because so was he.

He thought about his breakfast with Cameron for a moment. They’d had a real connection, and he was sure she’d felt it too. But there was nothing he could do about Cameron until he’d told Mandy he wanted out.

God! If he was truthful with himself he knew he’d been postponing the inevitable. Their marriage was over, surely Mandy knew it too? The thing about not inviting his family to his fortieth birthday was the signal he’d been waiting for. It was time to end it.

He reached for the phone and called his wife.

He was expecting screaming, but what he got was the nice Mandy, the sweet Mandy, the Mandy who rarely put in an appearance anymore.

“Are you all right?” she asked, all solicitous and low-key.

“I’m fine,” he answered guardedly.

“When you didn’t come home last night I was worried about you,” she said softly.

“Listen, Mandy,” he said, clearing his throat. “We need to talk.”

Ah
…Mandy thought.
We need to talk
. The words no woman ever wants to hear.

“And we will,” she said quickly. “But first you should know that your entire family is coming to our house for dinner tonight.”

“Huh?” he blurted, taken by surprise.

“I tried to tell you last night,” she continued, squeezing a note of hurt into her voice. “But you weren’t in the mood to listen.”

Oh
shit!
Was she kidding? His family. At their house. Could he have misjudged Mandy?

“All of them?” he said at last.

“Yes, all of them,” she replied. “I spoke to your mom five minutes ago, and she assured me that everyone is coming. I wanted it to be a surprise, but you were so mad last night that
I thought I’d better tell you. I’ve had it planned for weeks.” A long silent beat. “Are you pleased, sweetie?”

She didn’t usually call him “sweetie”, but the occasion merited it. She wanted him to feel as bad as possible about the way he’d treated her. Ryan Richards needed a healthy shot of guilt.

“Uh…yes,” he said. Christ! He’d been screaming at her about not including his family, and she’d had this planned all along. Why hadn’t Evie said anything?

Probably because her mind was elsewhere.

“I don’t know what to say,” he muttered.

“That’s all right,” Mandy said, all magnanimous and forgiving. “You were upset. You thought I’d left your family out. You should know that I would never do that.”

Damn! He felt like the world’s biggest shit. He’d had all these negative thoughts about her–including asking for a divorce–and now this.

“What time will you be home?” she asked.

“Later,” he said.

“Not too much later,” she said. “You’ll want to shower and get ready, they’ll be here at seven.”

He wished she would turn into her usual nagging self, but it was not to be.

She left him with a trapped feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Trapped in a marriage with a woman he did not love, and there seemed to be nothing he could do about it.

Driving home from Venice Beach, Lucy felt quite invigorated. Telling Marlon–yes, that was the kid’s name–apparently his mom had been a big Marlon Brando fan–about her story idea was so exciting, because he got it, he actually got it, and not only that, he immediately began coming up with his own ideas to add to the story, and they were fresh and edgy. There was a lot to be
said about dealing with someone so young. Marlon wasn’t jaded, he had an enthusiastic attitude she admired.

It occurred to her that if he wrote a hot script she wouldn’t need Phil or Ryan, she’d have her agent shop it with her name attached to star, and they’d go for the best deal.

Although she had to admit that she liked the idea of working with Ryan, he was sensitive when it came to his actresses, and she needed–in fact craved–Ryan’s particular brand of sensitivity.

Hmm
…she thought.
How about if Phil agrees to be script consultant as a gesture of good will toward me?

Reaching for her cell, she called her cheating husband.

“Where have you been?” he asked, sounding put out that she wasn’t at home tending to his every need.

It was too soon to tell him what she was up to. “Shopping,” she answered vaguely.

“Shopping? Again? Don’t you have everything you need?”

“Not quite,” she answered. “Oh, by the way, Mandy and Ryan invited us to come by their house for dinner tonight, a small group. Okay with you?”

“Whatever you want.”

I want my career back
.

“Good. Have your assistant call Mandy and accept.”

“Are you on your way home?”

Are you still fucking anything that moves?

“I’ll be there soon.”

“You ruined my day,” Don said, waving everyone out of his office as he spoke to Cameron on the phone.

“Why’s that?” she asked.

“Last night at Ryan’s party I was kind of under the impression we had a connection,” he said, drumming his fingers on his desk. “Then come this morning an’ you bale on me. That’s not nice.”

“Sorry,” she murmured. It seemed as if she was having to apologize to everyone today.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” he replied, mock-stern. “What was so important that you couldn’t make it?”

Revealing that she’d skipped out on him so that she could have breakfast with Ryan was not an option. She knew he liked her, but only because he wasn’t getting anywhere with her. She also knew that he and Ryan were close. But what could she do? It wasn’t her fault she was so attracted to Ryan. Controlling her feelings was not always possible.

“Something personal came up,” she said carefully. “I’ll be there tomorrow.”

“Anything I can do to help out?”

“No, Don, nothing. But thanks for asking.”

“You’re sure?” he said, wishing she’d let him in just a little bit. She was so fucking elusive and it bugged him.

“Positive,” she said firmly.

“Maybe I can buy you dinner,” he suggested, feeling like the school nerd asking the prom queen for a date.

“I can buy my own dinner,” she said, knowing that she probably sounded like a bitch, but she couldn’t help it; her mind was firmly on Ryan.

“What’s up with you?” he burst out. “You’re so fucking independent.”

“Something wrong with being independent?” she said, distracted as the phone guy attempted to get her attention.

“No, but—”

“I have to go,” she said abruptly.

“If that’s the way you want it, sweetheart,” he said, experiencing a sudden flash of anger that she found it so damn easy to blow him off. Maybe Jill was right, maybe she
was
gay. “Gotta go too,” he said quickly, before he made even more of a fool of himself.

“I’ll be there tomorrow,” she said, cool as can be. “Bright and early.”

Bright and early my ass
, he thought bitterly as he clicked off his phone. Enough of this chasing after her. It was ridiculous. He could have any woman he wanted, and the woman he wanted was probably gay, so fuck it, no more driving himself crazy.

He buzzed his assistant. “Get me Mary Ellen Evans,” he snapped.

One thing was for sure. Tonight he was getting laid.