What I Did for Love (16 page)

“I’ll take care of Georgie.”

“She’s basically on her honeymoon, and—”

“I said I’d take care of her. When you talk to Greenberg, don’t let him forget how perfect her comic timing is and how much female audiences identify with her. You know the drill. And remind him about all the press she’s getting. That’s going to sell tickets.”

Not necessarily. Georgie’s success as a tabloid darling had never translated into big box office. She nudged the legal pad on her desk. “Yes, well…You know I’ll do my best, but we have to remember this is Hollywood.”

“No excuses. Make it happen, Laura. And make it happen quick.” He gave her a curt nod and walked out.

Her head ached. She’d been so thrilled six years ago when Paul had chosen her instead of one of the other agents at Starlight to represent Georgie. She’d viewed it as her big break, belated recognition for a decade of hard work during which she’d been passed over by a dozen young Ivy League hotshots with half her experience. She hadn’t understood that she’d made a deal with the devil, a devil named Paul York.

Her dreams of becoming a Hollywood power player seemed laughable now. She didn’t have the cockiness of the other agents, or their flash. The only reason Paul had hired her was because he wanted a mouthpiece he could control, and the top Starlight agents wouldn’t play his game. Her livelihood, which now included a luxury condo, depended on her ability to carry out Paul’s wishes.

She used to pride herself on her integrity. Now she barely remembered what the word meant.

Over the next
four days, Bram met with another potential investor, who was no more willing to gamble on him than the rest had been. Georgie took two more dance classes, got an inch snipped off her hair, and worried about her future. When that became too depressing, she tried persuading Meg to go shopping. But Meg was wise to the ways of Hollywood.

“If I wanted my face plastered all over the pages of
US Weekly,
I’d go out with my parents. You guys chose this life. I didn’t.”

Meg went horseback riding instead, and Georgie endured a difficult lunch with her father at L.A.’s newest luncheon hot spot, where they sat in a leather booth beneath a sheet metal chandelier.

“
Revenge of the Bimbo Vampire
is brilliantly written and really funny,” he said, digging into his grilled steak salad. “You know how rare that is.”

He pushed the bread basket at her, but she didn’t have much appetite. For the past two weeks, Chaz had been feeding her mountains of mac and cheese, slabs of lasagna. True, the edges of her bones had begun to lose their sharpness, and her cheeks had stopped looking like fatal cave-ins, but she was fairly certain that wasn’t Chaz’s intent.

“I’m sure it’ll do amazingly well. But…” She poked at a bowl of lemon risotto and fought to hold on to her resolve. It was her life, her career, and she had to carve her own path. “I need a break from playing emotional lightweights. I’ve paid my dues, Dad, and I don’t want to sign on for another comedy. I want something that’ll challenge me, something I can get excited about.”

She didn’t bother bringing up the six-month vacation she’d fought for so fiercely. She needed to get back to work as soon as possible just to avoid spending so much time around Bram.

He leaned back in the booth. “Don’t be a cliché, Georgie—another comic actress who wants to play Lady Macbeth. Do what you’re good at.”

She couldn’t let herself cave. “How do I know I won’t be good at other kinds of parts when I’ve never had a chance?”

“Do you have any idea how hard Laura is working to get you a meeting with Greenberg?”

“She should have talked to me first.” As if Laura would even think about consulting her.

He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He looked tired,
which made her feel guilty. It hadn’t been easy for him, widowed at twenty-five with a four-year-old to raise. He’d dedicated his life to her, and all she had to give him in return these days was resentment. He slipped his glasses back on and picked up his fork only to set it back down. “I’m guessing this laziness of yours—”

“That’s not fair.”

“This lack of focus, then, is Bram’s influence, and frankly, it scares me that he’s passing his unprofessional attitude on to you.”

“Bram doesn’t have anything to do with it.”

As she pushed around her risotto, she waited for him to point out how much more cooperative she’d been during her marriage to Lance. Her father and Lance had seen eye to eye about everything, so much so that she’d often thought Lance should have been his kid instead of her.

But Paul was picking his battles. “They’re planning to release
Bimbo Vampire
over the Fourth of July weekend next year. A perfect summer movie. It has blockbuster written all over it.”

“Not if I’m in it.”

“Don’t do that, Georgie. Negative thoughts bring negative results.”

“
Cake Walk
is going to tank. We both know it.”

“I agree they made some bad decisions, and that’s why you need to have your name linked with
Bimbo Vampire
as soon as possible. All this publicity has given you a window of opportunity that won’t come again. If you pass on this, you’ll regret it the rest of your life.”

She suppressed her anger by reminding herself that her father always looked out for her best interests. From the beginning, he’d been her staunchest champion. If she lost out on a part, he’d tell her the casting agents were the losers. That was the thing about him. He’d always done his best to protect her. He’d even refused to let her take the starring role of a child prostitute when she was twelve. If only his protectiveness had been rooted in love instead of ambition.

Once again, she considered how things might have been different if she hadn’t lost her mother. “Dad…If Mom hadn’t died, do you think you’d have gone on with your own acting career?”

“Who knows? It’s useless to speculate.”

“I know, but…” The risotto was too salty, and she pushed it aside. “Tell me again how you met.”

He sighed. “We met in college our senior year. I was playing Becket in
Murder in the Cathedral,
and she interviewed me for the college newspaper. Attraction of opposites. She was a complete scatterbrain.”

“Did you love her?”

“Georgie, it was a long time ago. We need to focus on now.”

“Did you?”

“Very much.” The impatient way he bit out the words told Georgie he was only saying what he knew she wanted to hear.

As she gazed down at her uneaten risotto, she found it ironic that she’d grown more comfortable with her disreputable husband than with her own father. But then she didn’t care about Bram’s opinion.

Maybe one of these days she’d stop caring about her father’s.

Before the end of their lunch, Georgie’s guilt got the better of her, and she invited him to dinner that weekend. She’d ask Trev, too, and make Meg stick around. Maybe she’d even call Laura. Her puppet agent was good at keeping conversations going, and with Bram and her father tossing darts at each other, she’d need a mediator.

Chaz threw a fit when Georgie told her she intended to hire a caterer. “My meals have always been good enough for Bram and his friends,” she declared, “but I guess you’re too high class.”

“Fine!” Georgie retorted. “If you want to cook, then cook. I was only trying to make it easy on you.”

“Then tell Aaron he has to help me serve.”

“I’ll do that.” She had to ask: “What friends of Bram’s did you cook for? He doesn’t seem to have a lot of people hanging around.”

“Sure he does. I cooked for his
girl
friends. For Trevor. And he had that big director guy, that Mr. Peters, over a couple of months ago.”

Hank Peters really had met with him. Interesting.

The bad publicity
from the balcony photos finally began to die down, but she and Bram needed to make another public appearance before it started up again. On Thursday, two days before the dinner party, they visited Pinkberry in West Hollywood. Bram hadn’t commented on their lack of a sex life in days. It was disconcerting. He behaved as if sex weren’t even an issue, except he couldn’t seem to keep his shirt on, and he touched her arm whenever he went by. Georgie had started to feel as if she were burning up.

He was playing her.

The West Hollywood Pinkberry had become a celebrity favorite, which meant the paps always hung around. Georgie chose navy slacks and a scooped-neck white blouse with a row of six retro red plastic buttons down the front. It had taken her an hour to get ready. Bram was still in the jeans and T-shirt he’d pulled on that morning.

Georgie ordered her frozen yogurt topped with fresh blueberries and mango. Bram grumbled about wanting a damned Dairy Queen and didn’t get anything. As they came out of the shop, the half a dozen photographers who’d gathered sprang to attention.

“Georgie! Bram! We haven’t seen you guys in a few days. Where have you been?”

“We’re newlyweds,” Bram shot back. “Where do you think?”

“Georgie, anything you want to say about Jade Gentry’s miscarriage?”

“Have you talked to Lance?”

“Are you two planning a family?”

The questions kept coming until a photographer with a pronounced Brooklyn accent called out, “Bram, are you still having trouble landing a decent job? I guess Georgie and her money came along just in time.”

Bram tensed, and Georgie snaked her arm through his. “I don’t know who you are”—she maintained her smile—“but Bram’s days of slugging photographers who act like worms aren’t all that far behind him. Or maybe that’s what you want?”

A few of the other paps regarded the man with disgust, but that didn’t prevent them from keeping their cameras ready in case Bram lost his temper. A shot of him throwing a punch would bring thousands of dollars, along with the possibility of a lucrative legal settlement for the photographer who’d provoked the attack.

“I wasn’t going to hit him,” Bram said as they finally broke clear. “I’m not stupid enough to fall for that crap.”

“Only because you fell for it so many times in the past.”

He cocked his head toward the paps, who were on their heels. “Let’s give them their money shot.”

“Which is…?”

“You’ll see.” He took her hand and pulled her down the sidewalk, the paps trailing close behind.

The
small shop with its rich, mustard yellow exterior reminded Georgie of an old-fashioned British haberdashery. Above the door, an art nouveau figure of a woman curled around the glossy black letters that spelled out the shop’s name. provocative. The two
o
s formed her breasts.

Georgie had heard about the upscale sex shop from April, but she’d never visited. “Excellent idea,” she said.

“And here I expected you to go all prudish on me.” Bram’s hand settled in the small of her back.

“I haven’t done prudish in years.”

“You could have fooled me.” He held the door open for her, and they stepped inside the store’s perfumed interior accompanied by the shouts of the photographers and the deafening click of shutters. Trespassing laws would keep the paps outside, and they scrambled for position, trying to get a shot through the window.

The Edwardian interior featured subtle mustard yellow walls and warm wooden moldings. A painted spray of peacock feathers encircled the chandelier, and erotic Aubrey Beardsley drawings mounted in gold frames decorated the walls. She and Bram were the only customers, although she suspected that would change as word of their presence spread.

The shop was a buffet of sexual fantasy. Bram zeroed in on the erotic lingerie collection, while Georgie couldn’t pull her eyes away
from an artistically arranged display of dildos in front of an antique mirror. She knew she’d stared too long when Bram’s lips brushed her ear. “I’ll be happy to lend you mine.”

Georgie’s stomach took a tiny dip.

The clerk, a middle-aged woman with long brunette hair, a tastefully shrink-wrapped top, and a gauzy skirt, snapped to attention as she recognized them. Her peep-toe stilettos sank into the carpet. “Welcome to Provocative.”

“Thanks,” Bram replied. “Interesting place.”

Breathless from the excitement of having two such notorious celebrities in her store, the clerk began listing the shop’s special features. “We have a fabulous bondage center through that arch-way. Lovely whips, paddles, nipple clamps, and some really luxurious restraints. You’ll be surprised how comfortable they are. All our toys are high quality. As you can see, we have a wide variety of dildos, vibrators, some jade cock rings, and”—she gestured toward a glass case—“a really beautiful set of pearl anal beads.”

Georgie winced. She’d heard of anal beads, but she’d never quite figured out how or why anyone would use them.

As the clerk turned away to survey the shelves, Bram whispered, “Been there, done that. Although not with you.”

Her stomach took another dip.

The clerk addressed Georgie. “I just finished unpacking a new shipment of jeweled merkins. Have you ever worn a merkin?”

“Give me a hint.”

With a prim smile, the saleswoman clasped her hands at her waist like an art museum docent. “Merkins were originally pubic wigs worn by prostitutes to conceal either thinning pubic hair or syphilis. The modern versions are much sexier, and with so many women going bare, they’ve become quite popular.”

Georgie was both erotically and philosophically opposed to ripping out all her pubic hair. The idea of completely giving up something so womanly to look like a prepubescent girl smacked too
much of kiddie porn. But the salesclerk had already opened a display case and taken out a jeweled, triangular piece set with sparkling purple, blue, and crimson crystals. Georgie examined the object and saw a small V-shaped indenture at the bottom point of the triangle, obviously put there to showcase the cleft beyond. “Naturally, all our merkins come with adhesive.”

Bram picked up the merkin to examine it, then returned it to the clerk. “I think we’ll pass. Some things don’t need extra decoration.”

“I understand,” the woman said, “although this one does have matching jeweled nipple covers.”

“They’d just get in my way.”

Georgie’s flush told her she was in big trouble.

“We have amazing lingerie,” the clerk said to him. “Our three-petal bras are very popular. Your wife can wear them with all of the petals up, or just the side ones fastened. Or she can peel them all down.”

Georgie’s breasts tingled.

“Very efficient.” Bram slipped his hand under her hair and touched the back of her neck. Her skin pebbled.

“Have you heard about our VIP dressing room?”

It all came back to her from a conversation with April. She tried to look thoughtful. “I, uh, think a friend might have mentioned something.”

“It has a peephole in the back wall,” the clerk said. “You can open it if you like. There’s a smaller dressing room behind for your husband.”

Bram laughed, one of his few genuine laughs since the balcony photos had appeared. “If more men knew about this place, they’d stop saying they hate to shop.”

The salesclerk gave Georgie a knowing smile. “We have an exotic collection of men’s briefs, and the peephole works two ways.” She couldn’t hold back any longer. “I just have to say that I loved you both in
Skip and Scooter.
Everybody’s so excited about you getting
married, and don’t let all those stupid stories bother you.” She had to break off as more customers entered the store. “I’ll be right back if you need anything.”

Georgie gazed after her. “A list of whatever we buy is going to be all over the Internet by dinnertime. Massage oil would be safe.”

“Oh, I think we can be a little more exciting than that.”

“No whips and paddles. I’m so over S and M. At first it was fun, but making all those grown men cry got boring after a while.”

He smiled. “No dildos, either, even though I know how much you want one. Which is no surprise, since—”

“Will you get over it?”

“Over it…Under it…” He touched the bow of her top lip. “Inside it…”

A bolt of heat zipped through her body. She was going to melt.

He nudged her toward the lingerie collection, where softly lit shadow boxes displayed kinky bra-and-panty sets, garter belts, and skimpy teddies with front ties and see-through panels. All the lingerie was beautifully made and ultraexpensive. Bram held up a bra with a silky drawstring across the top of each cup. “You’re what? About a—?”

“Thirty-four double D,” she said.

He lifted a dark eyebrow and snagged a 34 B, which was exactly right, not surprising considering his knowledge of female anatomy. Several more customers entered the store, but for now, everybody was giving them space.

“Just so you know,” she whispered, as much to herself as him. “This isn’t a date, and the peephole door is staying shut.”

“This is definitely a date.” He examined a one-piece bondage body wrap made of black mesh. “Great workmanship.” He fingered the satin ties. “A lot softer than leather.”

“I love leather.” She snatched up a pair of low-cut leather briefs constructed with a man-pouch in front.

“Not in a million years,” he retorted.

She stole the bondage wrap from him. “Too bad.”

They had a stare-down. He broke first. “Okay, you win. I’ll trade you.”

“Deal.”

They exchanged garments, as if this were for real instead of two actors playing a skillful game of pretend. Bram added several cupless bras to her pile and some panties missing their crotches. She picked up a few more items for him in leather, but when she found an interesting pair of chaps, he looked so pained she put them back. He returned the favor by abandoning a torturous-looking corset. Finally, they exchanged garments, and the clerk led them to the back corner of the shop and the VIP dressing room. She unlocked a paneled wooden door with an old-fashioned skeleton key and hung Georgie’s garments on a curly brass hook before taking Bram away to his dressing room.

Georgie stood surrounded by antique rose walls; a full-length, gilded mirror; a tufted footstool; and wall sconces with fringed, rose-colored shades that gave the space a soft, flattering glow. The room’s most intriguing feature sat at eye level in the back wall, a door about one foot by one foot with a tiny knob shaped, not so subtly, like a partially opened clamshell with a pearl at its tip.

Enough was enough. Game over. Definitely over. Except…

No. Absolutely not.

A tap sounded on the wall. “Open up.”

She tugged on the “clamshell” and opened the door. Bram’s face peered back at her through the black iron grillwork. Hardly a peephole. The antique rose walls framing his face should have feminized his face but only made him appear more masculine. He rubbed his jaw. “I’m embarrassed to admit it, but this place has seriously turned me on.”

He wasn’t one bit embarrassed, and the store’s over-the-top atmosphere had seriously turned her on, too. She twisted her fake wedding ring. Melrose Avenue might be only a few blocks away, but
this erotic emporium made her feel as though they’d stepped into another world. An oddly safe world where an untrustworthy man could look but not touch. A world where everything was about sex and where heartache wasn’t a possibility.

“I wish we’d taken a look at that bondage equipment,” he said.

She couldn’t resist playing with fire. “Just out of curiosity…Which one of us did you want tied up?”

“Starting off? You.” His voice took on a low, husky note. “But once you demonstrated proper submission, we could trade off. Now what do you say you try on that black mesh thing for me?”

The lure of romping with the devil in this sexual playground was nearly irresistible. “What do I get in return?”

“What do you want?”

She thought for a moment. “Step back.” When he did, she put her face to the grille and saw that his smaller dressing room had dark gold walls and oversize iron bolts to hold the garments she’d chosen for him. “Those black leather briefs.”

“No way.”

“Too bad.” She shut the door.

“Hey!”

She took her time opening it again. “Have you reconsidered?”

“If you go first.”

“Right. Like I’m going to fall for that.”

They had another stare-down. She kept her eyes steady even though her heart was beating like crazy.

“Come on, Georgie. I’ve had a bad week. Trying on some clothes for me is the least you can do.”

“I’ve had a bad week, too, and these aren’t clothes. They’re sex aids. If you want this so badly, you go first.”

“How about we do it together?”

“Deal.” She shut the door again. Her hands were shaking. She stepped out of her navy and white polka-dot ballet flats.

Several minutes passed before he knocked from the other side. “Are you ready yet?”

“No. I feel stupid.”

“
You
feel stupid. This thing has a frickin’ codpiece.”

“I know. I chose it, remember? And I’m the one who should be complaining. These corset straps are arranged so they don’t hide anything.”

“Open the door.
Now.
”

“I’ve changed my mind.”

“On the count of three,” he said.

“You have to step back so I can see.”

“All right. I’m stepping back. One…two…
three.
”

She opened the door and looked through.

Bram looked back.

Both of them were fully clothed.

Bram shook his head. “You have serious trust issues.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “At least I took off my shoes. You didn’t even do that.”

“New deal,” he said. “The door stays open. You take off one thing. I’ll take off one thing. I’ll even go first.” He pulled his shirt over his head.

She already knew he had a great chest. She’d spent enough time sneaking peeks at it. The muscles were defined but not so overdeveloped that he lost I.Q. points, because, really, how sexy could a man be who had nothing better to do all day than work out?

“I’m waiting,” he said.

A quick calculation told her she was wearing more clothes. Was she really going to do this? Having sex with Bram offered no guarantee that he still wouldn’t cheat, but he also wasn’t stupid. He knew the kind of microscope they were under and how difficult it would be for him to get away with anything. Besides, Bram always took the easy way out, and in this case, that would be her.

She slipped her hand behind her neck and removed her silver necklace.

“No fair.”

Her trip to the devil’s playground demanded at least a few swings from the monkey bars. “Drop your jeans. You have a codpiece waiting.”

“I still have my shoes on, remember?” He stepped back so she could watch him kick off a single sneaker.

“That’s cheating.” She pulled away and slipped a small diamond stud from her earlobe.

“Talk about cheats.” Another sneaker came off.

“I’ve never cheated in my life.” She removed the remaining diamond stud.

“I don’t believe you.” One sock.

“Maybe at Pictionary.” Her wedding ring.

As they removed each new item, they took turns stepping back from the grille so the other could see. Up and back…up and back…a sensual dance of reveal and conceal.

His second sock hit the carpet. “Did a man ever dribble honey down your belly and lick it off?”

“Dozens of times.” She toyed with the top button on her blouse, playing for time, still not certain how far she’d go with this private peep show. “How long since your last lover?”

“Too long.” He slipped his thumb inside the snap at the top of his waistband.

“When?” She squeezed the red plastic button between her fingers.

“Could we talk about this another time?” He popped the snap.

“I don’t think so.” Bringing up past lovers should be diminishing her desire, but that wasn’t happening.

“Later. I promise.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“If I welsh, you can walk across my bare back in stilettos.”

“If you welsh”—her top button seemed to open of its own accord—“you’ll never see these again.” She unfastened her blouse button by button, then let it slide off her arms. She wore a lacy white La Perla bra with matching panties he didn’t yet know about.

His hand went to his wrist. Slowly, he slipped off his watch—she’d forgotten about his stupid watch—leaving him only in jeans with—what?—beneath. She couldn’t catch a deep breath. She moved back and unfastened her navy slacks. Looking him squarely in the eye, she tugged them down.