Married Lovers

  “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.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Where’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.