Hollywood Wives--The New Generation

  “How about putting on some blues or soul?” Saffron suggested, biting into a slice of mushroom and tomato pizza. “I’m not into this rap deal.”

  “Thank you,” Evan said pompously, “At least someone’s got ears.”

  Nicci and Brian exchanged a look. He mouthed, “I like it.”

  She grinned and mouthed back, “So do I!”

  And then, with perfect timing as usual, Lissa arrived.

  Ramone almost fell off his chair when he saw who it was. Evan immediately jumped up and fussed around her as if she were the President. Saffron scowled.

  Nothing like a star to get the evening going.

  “We’ve almost finished dinner,” Nicci said.

  “Don’t worry, I’ve already eaten,” Lissa replied graciously, sexy and sleek in black silk pants and a halter top, her platinum hair loose around her shoulders. “Thought I’d drop by and say hello.”

  “And we’re very pleased you did,” Evan said, offering her his chair. “It’s always a pleasure to welcome my future mother-in-law.”

  “Don’t call me that,” Lissa said coolly. “It sounds so comedic.”

  Saffron grimaced at Nicci behind her back. “Told you so,” she muttered.

  “Lissa Roman,” Ramone said reverently, addressing her directly as if they were old friends. “Your fine videos—they kick ass like a mule.”

  Nicci and Brian exchanged another look. “Who is this moron?” he mouthed incredulously.

  She shook her head, desperately trying to control a sudden fit of the giggles.

  “Glad you like them,” Lissa responded politely.

  “The one with the crucifix, the black dude, an’ the three white chicks,” Ramone continued, eyes on fire. “That—if I may say so—is one steamin’ video.”

  “And you are?”

  “Ramone Lopez,” he announced, flaring his nostrils. “I should be in one of your videos.”

  “I’m glad you’re so sure,” Lissa murmured.

  “ ’Course I’m sure,” Ramone said confidently. “I’m an actor, an’ I dance too. Maybe you saw me on Law & Order? I played Rezio—the kingpin drug dealer. Man, I was kickin’ it big time.”

  “Missed that, I’m afraid.”

  “I can do anythin’,” Ramone boasted, shooting her a meaningful look. “An’ I do mean anythin’.”

  “This is not a freakin’ audition,” a furious Saffron hissed in his ear. “For God’s sake cool it.”

  He ignored her. Ramone Lopez—no relation to the exquisite Jennifer—was sitting in a room with Lissa Roman, and he was seizing the opportunity.

  “So, waddaya think, Lissa?” he said, preening. “I gotta give you my number, yes?”

  “Well . . .” Lissa said vaguely, then turning to Nicci, she swiftly changed the subject. “Pizza? What kind of chef did you hire?”

  “Don’t ask,” Nicci said, grimacing.

  “The chef was a mistake,” Evan said.

  “Some big mistake,” Brian agreed.

  “Have you met Brian, Evan’s brother?” Nicci said. “He’s the polite one with the great attitude.”

  “Hi, Brian,” Lissa said. She could smell the pot wafting off him. She turned to Saffron. “Your mom’s locked in the recording studio, even I can’t get through.”

  “What does your mom do?” Ramone asked Saffron, quick to sniff out another likely opportunity.

  “She’s a cleaner,” Saffron snapped, glaring at him.

  “Then what’s she doin’ in a studio?”

  How dumb could one guy get? “Cleaning, of course,” Saffron said, giving him an if-looks-could-kill glare.

  “Oh,” Ramone said, focusing back on Lissa. “I sing too,” he said, leering in what he considered a sexy fashion. “An’ play the saxophone.” A long, meaningful pause. “I use my mouth.” He gazed into her eyes. “A man needs plenty control to play such a . . . sensual instrument. Y’know what I’m sayin’?”

  “Christ!” Saffron exclaimed in disgust, jumping up from the table.

  Nicci excused herself and followed Saffron out to the patio. “Sorry,” she said frantically. “You’re like so right. I admit—it doesn’t work.”

  “Can you believe that loser?” Saffron said, eyes flashing. “He’s freakin’ auditioning. On my time.”

  “Look—it’s not Lissa’s fault,” Nicci pointed out. “Ramone’s all over her.”

  “It’s not my mom’s fault either when every guy I ever brought home kissed her ass and ignored me.”

  “Some night!” Nicci said, wrinkling her nose.

  “Yeah,” Saffron agreed, and then she started to giggle. “Why am I getting mad anyway? The dude’s not worth it. He’s just another stud with a big dick and no brains.”

  “Dime a dozen,” Nicci said, suddenly giggling too.

  “You got it, girl,” Saffron agreed.

  And then they both broke up laughing.

  •

  CAROL WAS LEARNING new tricks. Either that or she’d decided that hooking Michael sexually was the way to go.

  “Oh my God, I’m so wet,” she moaned as they made love balanced on the edge of the bed. “You make me so very hot, Mikey. I love the way you fuck me.”

  He did not appreciate her sudden vocal abilities. Nor her calling him Mikey, an abbreviation of his name he’d never liked. Sex to Michael was not a lot of explicit talk, it was more touching and feeling and being together as one. Carol’s dialogue reminded him of his ex-wife, and that wasn’t a good thing.

  “Please—I want you to put your cock in my mouth,” Carol crooned. “I want you to come all over my—”

  “Be quiet,” he said abruptly, interrupting her.

  “What?” she said, startled.

  “Don’t speak like that.”

  “But I thought—”

  “It’s not for me, Carol,” he said. What he really wanted to say was, “It makes you sound like a cheap hooker—exactly the way my wife turned out to be.”

  Carol was crushed and humiliated. Amber had assured her that, after cooking, the second best way to a man’s heart was a little sexy talk in bed. “Low-down an’ dirty does it every time,” Amber had confided with a wicked chuckle. And Carol had listened.

  “Sorry,” she muttered, highly embarrassed.

  But it was too late, he’d already withdrawn.

  Chapter Fifteen

  * * *

  AFTER HALF AN HOUR of being hit on by Saffron’s boyfriend, tempered by a few surly remarks from Evan’s stoned brother, Lissa realized she had made a big mistake. Excusing herself, she hurried into the bedroom and called Michael from her cell phone.

  “Sorry about this,” she whispered. “I know I’m probably interrupting you in the middle of dinner or something.”

  “It’s ten o’clock,” he said, keeping an eye on Carol as she scurried into the bathroom, obviously upset. “I’m not in the middle of anything. Why are you whispering?”

  “I did something stupid.”

  “You didn’t go home, I hope?”

  “No, I uh . . . took a cab up to my daughter’s fiancé’s house for dinner. Not a good idea. I am now trapped.”

  “In other words,” he said, ridiculously pleased to hear from her, “you need rescuing?”

  “I hope you’re in the rescuing business.”

  “Give me the address,” he said, reaching for a pad and pencil. “Rescuing is my specialty.”

  “Please get here fast, Michael. I’ll wait outside.”

  “You’re that desperate?”

  “Believe me.”

  She gave him the address, clicked off her cell phone, and returned to the living room.

  “You’re not leaving?” Nicci said, coming in from the patio.

  “ ’Fraid so.”

  “Everything all right?” Evan asked.

  “Uh . . . yes. It’s just that I have an early rehearsal for my Vegas show, so I should get going. My backup dancers are all twelve,” she joked. “Gotta keep up.”

  “I’ll w
alk you to the door,” he offered.

  “No need,” she said quickly. “My driver’s right outside.”

  Ramone was on his feet in a second. “Better give you my number,” he said, frantically groping in the pocket of his tight pants for a piece of paper.

  “Give it to Nicci,” Lissa said. “I’ll be sure to pass it on to my agent.”

  “I’m makin’ you a promise,” he said, honoring her with another long, smoldering stare. “I am the man for your next video.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind, Ramone.”

  “See you at the wedding, mother-in-law,” Brian said with a lazy grin.

  Little stoned shit, she thought. He knows I don’t like the title. Thank God Nicci chose the other brother.

  Once outside she took a long, deep breath. What a bad move that was, she thought. Nicci and her friends—no thank you.

  •

  “I GOTTA GO OUT,” Michael said, as Carol emerged from the bathroom wrapped in his white toweling robe.

  She knew immediately it was because of what she’d said, the dirty words which were so foreign to her. She was mad at herself. Why the heck had she listened to Amber?

  “Michael,” she said, “I have to explain. You see, it—”

  “No need to explain anything,” he said, anxious to get going. “I really do have to go out.”

  “Oh,” she said, deflated.

  “There’s a client who’s in trouble,” he explained, trying to let her down easily because she looked so crestfallen. “An important client.”

  “Can I help?” she asked hopefully.

  “No.”

  “Then I’ll wait up for you,” she said, clutching his robe tightly across her body.

  “Uh . . . Carol, I think it’s better if you go home tonight,” he said, pulling on his pants.

  “Why?”

  “ ’Cause I’ll probably get back late,” he said, reaching for his favorite sweatshirt. “And I wouldn’t want to wake you. It’ll suit me better if you go home.”

  “It’ll suit you better,” she repeated, getting a touch tight-lipped.

  He could smell a fight a mile away, and now was definitely not showdown time.

  “For me, honey,” he said, giving her a quick kiss to soften the blow. “Sometimes I need to be alone. You can understand that, can’t you?”

  She nodded miserably. He wasn’t giving her much choice.

  •

  MICHAEL ARRIVED in record time. Lissa hurriedly climbed into his Jeep before he had a chance to get out. “Thanks for coming,” she said breathlessly.

  “No problem,” he said, shooting her a quick look.

  “The hotel was closing in on me,” she explained, noting how good he looked in Levi’s and an old sweatshirt. “I had to get out.”

  “No explanations,” he said, starting to drive.

  “I wish I could go to my own home now,” she said wistfully, as they headed down the hill.

  “And what’ll you do if Gregg turns up at four in the morning ready for a fight?”

  “You think he might?”

  “Pissed-off husbands are capable of anything,” he said, shooting her another quick look. “You’re not gonna like me asking this—but does he have a gun?”

  “Aren’t you being overly dramatic?” she replied, drumming her fingers on the dashboard.

  “Does he?” Michael persisted.

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “Maybe he keeps one on him.”

  “Now you’re making me nervous.”

  “Didn’t mean to do that.”

  “Are you suggesting that if he did have a gun he might use it?”

  “You never know with people,” Michael said, his handsome face serious. “I’ve seen things you wouldn’t believe.” “Really?”

  “Yes, really, Lissa.”

  She was silent for a moment. Why had she phoned Michael to come and get her? She could’ve called for a cab, summoned Chuck, contacted Danny.

  But no, she’d called Michael Scorsinni. Why?

  Because you like him.

  No. I don’t. Well, yes, maybe I do, but not in a romantic way.

  Sure.

  “I hope I didn’t drag you out of bed with your girlfriend,” she said, fishing for information.

  “What girlfriend?” he responded with a half smile.

  “There must be someone special.”

  A beat while he didn’t answer. Then, “Do you fancy stopping for ice cream?”

  “Ice cream?” she said, laughing softly. “What are we—back in high school?”

  “I’m having a sugar attack,” he explained, which was a lie, he simply wanted to spend more time with her.

  “Ice cream—no,” she said slowly. “But I wouldn’t mind a drink.”

  “I don’t drink,” he said, staring straight ahead.

  “How come?” she asked, studying his almost perfect profile.

  He took a long slow beat. “Lissa, I’m a recovering alcoholic,” he said at last, wondering why the hell he was revealing such a personal piece of information to a woman he barely knew.

  “Oh,” she said, suddenly uncomfortable. “Sorry.”

  “Hey,” he said easily. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. I’ve been sober ten years, it’s no big deal.”

  “Then why do you call yourself an alcoholic?” she asked curiously.

  “Because that’s what I am,” he stated flatly. “And that’s what I’ll always be.”

  There, he’d told her. He usually waited a while before telling people. But he kind of liked the idea of being totally up front with this woman. Not that they were headed toward anything other than a business relationship.

  “Do you go to AA?” she inquired.

  “I try to make it to a weekly meeting.”

  “Even though you don’t drink anymore?”

  “It keeps me sane.”

  “Well then,” she said lightly, “I wouldn’t want to tempt you by luring you into a bar.”

  “Nothing tempts me, Lissa,” he said, rubbing his chin with his index finger. “I got willpower of steel.”

  “Lucky you,” she murmured. “I wish I did.”

  “So,” he said. “We’d better come up with a place where you won’t be recognized.”

  “How about my hotel room?” she suggested, realizing that it probably wasn’t appropriate, but it was the only private place she could think of.

  “No,” he said, shaking his head.

  “I promise I won’t jump you,” she responded, amused.

  He ignored her stab at humor. “It’s not a clever idea for me to be seen going into your room,” he said. “If Gregg got to hear about it . . .”

  “I’ll give you the key,” she said, strangely reluctant to say good night. “Wait five minutes, then come up.”

  He glanced across at her. “You’re serious?”

  “Why do I have to explain myself?” she said, a tad irritated. “I’m not tired and I feel like talking. Is that okay with you?”

  “You’re the client, Lissa,” he said evenly. And then he smiled. “Although you gotta realize I’ll have to charge you overtime.”

  “You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Scorsinni,” she said, smiling also.

  “Yeah.” Another long beat. “I know.”

  •

  “YOU’RE VERY QUIET,” Larry said on the drive home. “I had a good time. How about you?”

  Taylor adjusted her seat belt. She didn’t know what to think. She’d just spent an evening with Oliver Rock’s parents, his proud parents for crissakes, and Larry wanted to know if she’d had a good time.

  “It was enjoyable,” she managed.

  “Yes,” Larry said firmly. “It was. I’d like to see more of Isaac and Jenny.”

  “We will,” she murmured.

  “You’re our social director,” Larry said. “Make it happen.”

  Was he giving her an order? She wasn’t one of his minions he could boss around.

  Maybe she shou
ld give him a blow job just to prove who the real boss was. Then again, maybe not. She was tired and hardly in a terrific mood.

  “The Rocks were nice too,” Larry said. “We should invite them over with Isaac and Jenny. Make a date for next week. Okay?”

  “No, it’s not okay,” she wanted to say. “They’re my lover’s parents for God’s sake. It’s not okay at all.”

  But, of course, Larry didn’t know that. And she had no intention of him ever finding out.

  •

  “THANK GOD Lissa’s gone!” Saffron exclaimed, jumping up and cornering Nicci. “I’m dumping Ramone big time,” she confided. “Have you ever seen such a suckup loser?”

  Nicci wasn’t listening, she had one eye on Brian, who was also on his feet.

  “Thanks for dinner, Nic,” he said, heading for the door. “Now I gotta split.”

  “It was horrible, wasn’t it?” she responded, half hoping he’d disagree.

  “Pretty bad,” he said with a jaunty wink.

  “We can always do it again,” she said, observing that Miss Russia was already standing by the door—no doubt anxious to get him to herself so she could ravish his sexy body.

  “Gonna pass on that.”

  “Maybe at your house next time?” she suggested, imagining him and the Russian indulging in wild sex.

  “Don’t have a house. Got an apartment, an’ it’s a pit.”

  “Why am I so not surprised?”

  He gave her a long, stoned look. “Don’t ever use that chef again.”

  She stared right back at him. “Don’t ever bring Miss Russia here again.”

  A slight grin. “Oh, so now you’re a girlfriend critic?”

  She moved a little closer to him. “Can I ask you something, Brian?”

  “Ask away.”

  “How come you’re with someone who doesn’t even speak English?”

  “Who needs conversation?”

  “Is sex the only thing on your mind?”

  “You’ve been spending too much time with my brother, Nic. Better get yourself a life.”

  And so the evening ended. Nicci was crushed. It had not turned out exactly as expected.

  “That was a shitty night,” Evan grumbled, after everyone had finally left.

  He was right, it couldn’t have been any worse.

  “Now can you turn that crap music off?” he said, busily emptying ashtrays. “It’s giving me a headache.”