Married Lovers (33 page)

She wondered what Hamilton had done in Japan. She didn’t ask. Silence was a far more powerful tool.

He’d brought her back a dress, a slinky satin dress–bright scarlet and extremely form-fitting with deep side slits.

“You’ll wear it tonight,” he informed her.

“Are we going out?” she inquired.

“Yes. We’re attending a dinner party at Phil and Lucy Standard’s house. You met them at Mandy’s.”

She remembered a tall, striking woman with long jet-black hair–and a heavy-set rumpled bear of a man with a beard. The man with the beard had been sitting next to Ryan at the live sex
show in Amsterdam. She recalled him roaring with laughter and applauding. When he’d met her in L.A. he hadn’t remembered her. Why would he? In his eyes she was nothing but a disposable whore. She’d loathed him then, why should tonight be any different?

Now Hamilton was forcing her to go to his house, eat his food, and be in the presence of his hateful face.

Would Mandy and Ryan be there, since they were all friends? Yes, and she dreaded seeing them.

Later in the afternoon she approached Hamilton in his study. “I’m feeling unwell,” she said. “Would it bother you if I stayed home tonight?”

There was a malevolent spark in his eyes. “Yes, Pola,” he said, tapping the tips of his fingers together, “it would bother me a great deal. We leave here at seven thirty. Be ready.”

U
nbeknownst to Cameron, Gregg visited her house whenever he felt like it. He knew where she was at all times. He knew where she deposited her two dogs every day with her Japanese neighbor. He knew exactly when and what time the cleaning woman arrived–twice a week–Tuesdays and Fridays between nine and one.

When Cameron wasn’t there he treated her house as if it was his home–which in a way it was. They were married, weren’t they? He was her husband, wasn’t he? He had rights.

He watched sports on her TV. Drank her booze. Ate her snacks. Jerked off in her bedroom. In fact, he did whatever the fuck he wanted to do. Best of all he kept a sharp eye on an appointment book she left lying on the kitchen table. He didn’t have to follow her anymore, he knew every one of her movements, her book really helped him out.

After she’d spent the weekend at the beach with Famous Prick, Gregg observed that she’d seen him only twice. One time she’d gone with him to a funeral–Gregg had followed her to
that
one–very depressing. And on Thursday night she and Famous Prick had shared a quiet dinner for two at
Il Sole
, a cozy restaurant on Sunset.

Cameron had turned into a workaholic. She spent most of her
time at
Paradise
, occasionally taking off to work with private clients at their homes.

One day, certain that she was out, Gregg sashayed into
Paradise
and introduced himself to the busty little piece of Mexican ass sitting behind the reception desk. He told her he was a journalist for a big sports magazine in Sydney, Australia, and that he needed information about
Paradise
so he could write the place up in his magazine.

“Fantastic!” Lynda cooed, batting her eyelashes at him. “But you should really speak with one of the owners.”

“Who are the owners?” he asked, giving her some major eye-contact.

“There’s Cole, but he’s busy with a client. And Cameron, she’s out right now.”

“That’s a drag. I’m on a time deadline and I gotta speak to someone today. Who is this Cameron anyway?”

“Cameron Paradise–the place is named after her ’cause it’s her baby. ’Scuse me,” she said, reaching for the phone.

“What’s
your
name?” he asked when she got off the phone.

“Lynda,” she answered coyly, enjoying the attention.

He played it smart with Lynda. Invited her for a sandwich on her lunch-break, promised that he’d write something very positive about
Paradise
in his magazine, and that he’d send it to her and she could surprise her bosses with it and take full credit. “We’ll even run your photo,” he said, sealing the deal.

Over a quick tuna fish sandwich Lynda spilled everything, thinking it was all for this great piece he was preparing to write.

Yeah. Sure. In your dreams, you Salma Hayek wanna-be.

So…Cameron had told no one that she was a married woman. Interesting.

And now she was carrying on a full-blown affair with Famous Prick as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

The time had come to burst her fucking bubble.

The time had come to take his wife back.

T
he first guests to arrive were Hamilton and his new bride. Lucy greeted them at the door herself She’d opted to wear a low-cut bronze Hervé Léger dress–her new gold and diamond casual necklaces strung around her neck, her Cartier watch on her wrist. With her long black hair and porcelain skin she cut a dramatic and sexy figure.

“
So
glad you could make it,” she said warmly, kissing Hamilton on both cheeks, while offering Anya/Pola a casual wave.

“I was worried you’d be stuck in Tokyo, and have to cancel.”

“I never get stuck anywhere,” Hamilton opined. “One thing about me–if I have a schedule, I stick to it.”

“I’m sure you do,” Lucy said, flirting a little bit. “I remember when we worked together, you were always so organized.” A beat. A flutter of her long eyelashes. “It was one of the things I enjoyed most about working with you–your unswerving dedication.”

It immediately struck Hamilton that the actress wanted something from him. No doubt during the course of the evening he’d find out what that something was.

Don and Cameron arrived next. Don, so handsome and charming, displaying his usual self-deprecating humor. And Cameron, quite lovely in silky pants and a loose top.

Phil was busy playing genial host to the hilt, dismissing the barman–telling the man to go help the chef in the kitchen–while he poured the drinks himself. He was intrigued to find out what Lucy had in store. Her script presentation could turn out to be a major embarrassment, but he was on for the ride, he owed her that.

The first thing Mandy realized when she and Ryan walked in, was that she was overdressed in her Narciso Rodriguez backless purple dress and Elsa Peretti diamonds. Where were the parking valets? The other help she had distinctly told Lucy to hire? And why was Phil behind the bar?

Even more infuriating–what was Hamilton doing there? And Don Verona with that pushy blonde who’d stolen him from Mary Ellen?

“Where is everybody?” she asked Lucy in a hoarse stage whisper.

“Change of plan,” Lucy said, all wide-eyed innocence. “Didn’t I tell you?”

“No, you didn’t,” Mandy hissed. “Who else is coming?”

“This is it,” Lucy said. “Phil thought it best to keep it small.”

“Thanks for letting me know,” Mandy said, unable to keep a lid on her aggravation.

“Sorry,” Lucy said, too excited about her upcoming surprise to worry about Mandy being upset.

“And may I ask why Hamilton is here?” Mandy demanded.

“Phil wanted him,” Lucy replied, making a quick escape to the kitchen to check on the chef.

Mandy was furious. She’d been expecting an elegant evening with interesting and important guests. Instead she was stuck with her father and his wife, and Don plus his current fling. Why had she bothered to dress up and get her hair done? It wasn’t worth it.

“Let’s make this an early night,” she muttered to Ryan as Phil poured their drinks.

Ryan didn’t really hear her, he was too busy making eye-contact across the room with Cameron.

“Lucy should’ve told me it was a small dinner,” Mandy complained.

“I thought you two spoke every day,” Ryan said.

“We do, that’s why I can’t understand why she didn’t tell me.”

“Here comes your old man,” Ryan said. “I’m going over to say hi to Don.” And picking up his glass of vodka, he headed for the couch.

Hamilton descended on his daughter. “How are you, my dear?” he asked. “Doing well, I hope?”

It was so unlike Hamilton to give a damn about how she was. Maybe he was mellowing in his old age. Anya stood behind him in an unflattering and quite tarty scarlet dress, looking sulky. Somehow, the mere sight of her father’s latest wife put Mandy in a bad mood.

“Everything’s good,” she said. “I’m sure you heard about Ryan’s sister’s husband blowing his brains out.”

“No,” Hamilton said, completely disinterested. “I’ve been in Japan scouting locations.”

“Another big blockbuster in the works?” Mandy asked, wondering when he’d give it up. Hadn’t he had enough of the limelight? She wished he’d hand his company over to Ryan, and she wished that Ryan would accept it. But that wasn’t going to happen any time soon.

“As always,” Hamilton replied, proffering his glass to Phil for a refill, then once more engaging his daughter in conversation. “How is Ryan?”

First he asked how she was, now he wanted to know about Ryan. What
was
going on with him?

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” she suggested, gesturing toward her husband. “He’s right over there.”

“Are you two having problems?” Hamilton asked, giving her a long intent look.

She felt a blush rise and color her cheeks. Oh yes, Hamilton would love it if she and Ryan were experiencing difficulties.

“Why would you even
ask
something like that?” she said, determined to remain calm.

Hamilton favored her with one of his annoying chuckles, and turned away to talk to Phil.

Anya stared at her.

Ha!
Mandy thought.
If she’s expecting me to stand here and talk to her, she can think again
.

Grabbing her glass of wine, Mandy hurried over to join Ryan, Don and his girlfriend–whose name she couldn’t remember.

It didn’t matter; her loyalty was with Mary Ellen, and if she knew Don, this one was nothing but a temporary replacement.

Lucy had a quick word with the chef before dashing to the back of the house where she’d stashed Marlon in a cubbyhole of a maid’s room after smuggling him onto their property earlier.

Marlon was edgy and nervous. He wasn’t in favor of Lucy’s plan to surprise everyone with him and their script. What if the great Phil Standard didn’t like it? What if her plan backfired and
nobody
liked it?

“Stay in control. Be nice,” Lucy said, hoping to calm him. “None of them will read it here. They’ll take it home. Between you and me we’ll tell them the thrust of the script, and we’ll make it sound so enticing that they’ll probably want to make an offer on the spot! Anyway, that’s what Phil thinks.”

“When can I come out?” he whined. “I’m gettin’ claustrophobic stuck back here.”

“Be patient. We have to eat first.”

“Yeah, well, how about me?” he complained, cracking his knuckles–an annoying habit he’d developed recently. “I’m hungry too.”

“I’ll get you some food,” she said, watching him turn into a sulky nine-year-old before her very eyes.

He was not good under pressure, she’d have to remember that.

Dinner was an avocado and Cajun shrimp salad, followed by thinly sliced steak, whipped potatoes, and a mélange of vegetables. Dinner-table conversation encompassed everything from politics to sex. Phil enjoyed bringing the conversation around to sex, it always ensured a lively discussion. One of his favorite table games was–“Who is the most famous person you’ve ever fucked?”

Usually he won, but not with Hamilton and Don at the table, so tonight he didn’t bring it up. Instead he concentrated on politicians’ predilections toward hookers. “They love getting their dicks dirty,” he crowed. “Don’t they know that if they pay for it they’ll always end up getting caught.”

“Everyone gets caught,” Hamilton said sagely. “Nobody gets away with anything.” He stared directly at his son-in-law sitting across the table. “Right, Ryan?”

“Why are you asking
me
?” Ryan said, irritated.

“Yes, why are you asking him?” Mandy said, joining in. “If there’s one person in this room who has nothing to hide, it’s Ryan.”

Anya’s eyes darted from Ryan to her husband. Something was definitely going on with Hamilton. Did it have anything to do with Ryan?

No. That was impossible. She believed Ryan when he said he had told no one about her. Ryan Richards was a man of integrity.

“Pola,” Hamilton said, speaking to his wife for the first time since they’d arrived, “what do
you
think of Ryan? Do
you
think he might have something to hide?”

Anya shrugged, endeavoring to keep her face expressionless, although small shivers of apprehension attacked her body.

“I barely know Ryan,” she said at last. “I am not the right person to answer that question.”

“Jesus, Hamilton,” Phil boomed. “What’s your sudden interest in poor old Ryan tonight? He done something to you we don’t know about?”

Hamilton’s eyes turned into lethal slits. “Maybe,” he said ominously. “Why don’t
you
all be the judge.”

And with those words he reached into his breast pocket and produced an envelope of photos. Taking them out one at a time, he proceeded to pass them around the table.

“What do you think, everybody?” he asked, his expression deadly. “Does Ryan have something to hide–or not?”

S
aturday morning Gregg awoke with a crusty hangover and a cheesy blonde Cameron look-alike lying in bed beside him. In the cruel light of day the girl no more resembled Cameron than his mother–a woman he loathed.

He woke the slag up, got rid of her, sat on his bed and brooded about what the fuck he was doing. He was following and tracking a woman who was already his, the fucking devious cunt who’d thought she’d killed him. Oh yes, she’d left him for dead and gone on her merry way.

Well, not so fast, bitch, because now the time had come to do something about re-claiming his bride. Miz Cameron Paradise was riding high and mighty, and now it was her turn to experience a sharp jolt of reality. And what better way to do that than in front of her friends and Famous Prick boyfriend? The boyfriend who didn’t even know she was married.

Earlier in the week he’d noted that she’d written in her appointment book
Saturday, dinner at the Standards’ with Don, 8 p.m
.

Was it a big dinner? Small gathering? He didn’t care, he was following her anyway. Tonight was the night for retribution.

He spent most of the afternoon drinking with a rowdy bunch of Australians who hung out at a pub near the Venice boardwalk.
They were a wild group of guys–although he could drink most of them under the table and still have room for more.

Later in the day, he staked out his usual spot near Cameron’s house, biding his time until Famous Prick came to get her.

Famous Prick turned up on time, driving a ridiculously flashy car.
What an asshole!
Gregg thought. Trust Cameron to choose an asshole.

She got into the car, and they set off.

Gregg followed at a discreet distance, tailing them all the way past Brentwood and up into the hills.

The Standards–whoever they were–sure lived off the beaten track in a huge rambling ranch house set way back from the road. The large property was gated, but the gates weren’t closed. Rich people in big houses. Hollywood was full of them.

Gregg stopped his car outside the open gates, reached down to the floor of the passenger seat and picked up a bottle of Scotch he’d started on earlier. Nothing like getting back in action to cure a hangover.

After taking a few hearty swigs he left the car and made his way by foot up the long winding driveway. He was feeling better already. Yeah, better and ready for action.

The big problem was, he had no clear plan of what he was about to do, but whatever he decided, he knew for sure that he was not leaving without his bitch wife.

Cameron was his, and if he couldn’t have her–then sure as shit–nobody else could.