Over the last five years–two years after first arriving in America–she’d accumulated five hundred pairs of shoes–most of them Jimmy Choos. They were her most prized possessions. Nobody would ever come between Anya and her shoes.
“Where did you and my father meet?” Mandy asked, vexed that she’d been forced to take Hamilton’s new wife to lunch. Her dear father had insisted–and there was no point in refusing Hamilton when he wanted her to do something.
She’d elicited the help of Lucy and Mary Ellen, she’d even invited Birdy Marvel, who so far had not put in an appearance, which was probably just as well since the baby Diva was usually so stoned out of her pretty trashy little head that she couldn’t even follow a conversation.
They were sitting on the patio at Spago. It was a glorious spring day and usually Mandy would be enjoying herself, but not today, not with three screaming brats running around her house to come home to–and some young Russian gold-digger whom she was being forced to entertain. Things were far from perfect.
Anya’s expression was blank. “A dinner party,” she said at last. “In New York.”
“Whose dinner?” Mandy asked, pushing for information.
“I do not remember,” Anya said, fervently wishing she were somewhere else. She was just as uncomfortable as Hamilton’s daughter, for she had still not had an opportunity to speak to Ryan and discover if he’d told anyone about her shameful past.
Was it possible that Mandy knew?
Yes, it was possible.
“You don’t remember?” Mandy said, imbibing her voice with just the right amount of disbelief. “How peculiar that you wouldn’t remember where you were the night you met your future husband.”
“God!” Lucy exclaimed, sipping a Mimosa. “I’ll never forget the first time I set eyes on Phil. He was at Brett Ratner’s house sitting by the pool in the most ridiculous Speedo you’ve ever seen! His rolls of fat were on fire, and the man was so hairy, like a gorilla!”
“Sounds enchanting,” Mandy murmured. “I bet you couldn’t wait to lure him into bed.”
“After a while we started to talk,” Lucy said, smiling fondly at the memory. “And before long he ambushed me with his amazing and outrageous stories. Phil is such a brilliant raconteur. I fell in love with his words.”
“I met my husband–well, I suppose I should say ex-husband- on a blind date,” Mary Ellen piped up. “We shared a mutual business manager who thought we’d make a great couple.”
“Hardly a blind date,” Mandy interjected. “You were both famous so you probably knew all about each other.”
“I suppose,” Mary Ellen agreed. She was not sure why Mandy had invited her to lunch. She’d decided to accept the invitation because it would probably please Don if she began mixing with his friends, and more than anything she wanted to please him. Don Verona was such a catch, so handsome and eligible and witty. The press loved him, and they’d already labeled them a couple. It was an exciting time.
She fervently hoped her ex was finally regretting dumping her in front of the entire world. Bastard!
“Well, yes, of course she knew what he looked like,” Lucy pointed out. “But even so–he could’ve turned out to be a big bore.”
“What–instead of a cheater?” Mandy said.
Mary Ellen gulped down her glass of sparkling water. Ignoring Mandy’s barbed comment she said, “And you, Mandy, where did you meet Ryan?”
Mandy flashed back seven years. She was twenty-five and desperate to settle down with someone her father hadn’t chosen for her. Hamilton was always pushing men he could control in her direction, and she was always shying away. Instinctively she knew–in fact her shrink had warned her–that she had to meet a man who was not under her father’s influence–a strong-minded man who could stand up for himself. So who better than independent film-maker, Ryan Richards?
She’d been following his career and liked what she saw. He was young, hot and happening. The perfect candidate. The perfect antidote to Daddy.
After finding out everything she could about him, she’d set her stalking skills to work. Within three months he’d asked her to marry him and she’d said yes.
Hamilton was not pleased with her choice. Too damn bad. She was.
“Ryan saw my photo in the Hollywood Reporter and relentlessly pursued me,” she said, weaving fantasy. “How could I resist?”
“How romantic,” Lucy said, not revealing that Phil had told her that Mandy had introduced herself to Ryan at the première of his second movie and from that moment on she’d never let go. According to Phil, the poor guy hadn’t stood a chance. Like her father, Mandy was relentless.
“Did you hear from Don this morning?” Mandy asked, turning back to Mary Ellen.
“Actually, no,” Mary Ellen replied, somewhat crestfallen because Don hadn’t taken her home the night before. At least he should have called and apologized, but not one word. “I guess he’s very busy,” she added lamely.
“We were all at the opening of some new fitness place last night,” Mandy explained to Lucy. “Bit of a rat fuck, but the place might be worth investigating.”
“I need a new trainer,” Lucy said, waving at Wolfgang Puck who was diligently making his usual rounds of every table.
“I met a hunky trainer with an amazing body,” Mary Ellen offered. “He gave me his card. It’s a membership gym, I think I’ll join.”
“Give me his number,” Lucy said, fiddling in her purse for her BlackBerry while wondering how soon she could take off. Marlon had texted her that he had more pages for her to look at, and she couldn’t wait to read what he’d come up with.
Anya gazed off into the distance. She had nothing to say to any of these women. In a way they reminded her of the actresses from Sex and the City–all three of them immaculately groomed with their glossy hair and perfect complexions; dressed stylishly with ridiculously expensive accessories; indulging in light conversation that went nowhere.
Sex and the City was still her favorite TV show. She’d purchased the boxed set of DVDs and watched them often.
“Whereabouts in Russia are you from?” Lucy inquired, trying to include her in their conversation because she felt sorry for the girl–she was so young, Hamilton had to be at least forty years older than her. Naturally Mandy was ignoring her. Mandy could be such a bitch without even trying. She should at least give the girl a chance.
“Moscow,” Anya replied, adding–“It is a magnificent city. Very cold in the winter.”
“She sounds like a tourist guide,” Mandy muttered under her breath.
“Excuse me?” Anya said.
“Nothing, dear,” Mandy said airily. “Oh goody, here comes Birdy. Now we can have some fun.”
“I’m renting you a house,” Ryan informed Evie. “And I am not listening to any arguments.”
“That’s so foolish,” Evie said, immediately getting into it. “Why should we move? We’ll go back to Silverlake. Marty can’t come near us with the Restraining Order and all.”
“That’s what you think,” Ryan said ominously. “I spoke to a detective friend of mine, and he warned me that you shouldn’t get too comfortable simply because you’ve got a piece of paper. According to him those things don’t mean shit; people ignore Restraining Orders all the time, and that’s exactly when something really bad goes down.”
Evie stared out of the window watching her three boys splashing about in the large swimming pool. Was it right that she was about to deprive them of a father? Should she give Marty another opportunity to make amends?
“I don’t know, Ryan,” she said hesitantly. “Maybe I should give him one more chance.”
“For crissake!” he said, frustrated and angry. “Get it through your head, you’ve got to move on. Marty is never going to change, and deep down you know it.”
“I suppose so,” she said, reluctant to admit that maybe he was right.
“Then it’s settled,” Ryan said firmly. “I’m renting a house for you, and enrolling th
e boys into a local school. Don’t worry about money, I’ll take care of everything.”
Unbeknownst to Evie, he’d already called a realtor and viewed several rental properties. He hadn’t taken her with him because he knew she’d try to back out of moving.
It was all well and good having Evie and the boys around, but he was anxious to return to work. His latest movie was in the can and would be coming out in a couple of months, so therefore it was time for him to start prepping his next project, a gritty drama set on the streets of downtown L.A. The script was almost finished, and very soon he’d have to start concentrating on putting his crew together, scouting locations and casting. Getting back into production was his favorite thing to do.
Upon waking that morning he’d made a decision that he had to stop thinking about Cameron Paradise. He was only going to drive himself nuts by going over what might have been, and that was destructive and stupid. She was Don’s new girlfriend–end of story.
Cameron had to play out whatever was going to happen between her and Don, and he had to do the same with Mandy.
It was the only sane decision he could make.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The clean-up crew at Paradise were in full action when Cameron walked in. Cole, Dorian, Lynda, Cherry and Reno were all sitting around the office eating take-out pizza from the California Pizza Kitchen–everyone’s favorite–while helpers ran around with large black trash bags clearing up the debris of what had turned out to be an extremely successful opening party.
“She’s here! Madame Paradise herself!” Dorian called out, jumping up and affecting a mock bow.
“Not so loud,” Cameron groaned, holding her head. “Have a little consideration.”
“Oh, is madame feeling a touch delicate?” Dorian inquired, trying to sound solicitous, but not quite pulling it off.
“Delicate!” Lynda exclaimed, bountiful breasts straining to escape a skimpy orange tank top. “That girl was reelin’!! An’ so would this girl be if I’d had Don Verona chasin’ me around all night.”
“Go ahead,” Cameron sighed, wishing everyone would lower their voices. “Once again talk about me as if I’m not here.”
“We made the L.A. Times,” Cole remarked, waving the newspaper at her. “Big picture of Mary Ellen with your friend Don, and a stoned Birdy Marvel with her latest tattooed stud.”
“And,” Cherry said, joining in–“Jillian mentioned us on Good Day L.A. this morning. She recommended us as the hot new place to get movie-star abs. Dorothy said she can’t wait to get here, and Steve said he’ll be right behind her. How great is that?”
“Natalie’s running a four-minute segment on her show tonight,” Cole said. “The phones haven’t stopped. We are off to a fantastic start.”
“I’m sorry I missed all the excitement,” Cameron said, sinking into a chair. “Can someone please remind me to never drink again. Never ever!”
“Consider yourself reminded,” Dorian said with a cheeky grin. “Although I have to say you’re quite something when you’ve had a few. Very free and easy.”
“Please! I don’t want to hear about it,” she said, her head still throbbing sledge-hammer style. God! She’d really done it. Drunk too much and probably behaved like an idiot. She had grainy memories of Don driving her home, and she vaguely remembered slobbering all over him. How humiliating!
Thank God Katie was with them, otherwise she probably would’ve done something she’d regret in the cold light of day. As it was, Katie had watched out for her. And she had to give Don points for behaving decently, because once he’d helped Katie get her into her house and onto her bed, he’d taken off.
When she’d finally awoken in the morning, feeling like the dregs in the bottom of a stale bottle of red wine, Katie was preparing to leave for the airport.
“I’ve called a cab,” Katie had informed her. “You look like crap, and if you don’t choose Don Verona you’re out of your freaking mind.”
“Oh,” she’d moaned, head throbbing. “Do you have to go? I need to hear what I did last night. Was I appalling? Does everyone hate me?”
“Everyone loves you,” Katie said matter-of-factly. “I walked the dogs, brought in the papers, your couch has springs from hell. Oh yes–and Don’s sent you an unbelievable arrangement of roses. Gotta go, my cab’s waiting.”
“Call me later.”
“I will.”
Katie had rushed off, back to the arms of her would-be rock star fiancé, and Cameron had finally made it to Paradise.
She looked around at everyone’s smiling faces, and realized that Cole was right, they were off to a fantastic start.
It was a little surreal that all her dreams were finally coming true; she should be enjoying the moment, not suffering from the worst hangover she’d ever experienced.
Damn Ryan Richards. It was all his fault.
Don started calling around noon. “I’m planning our evening,” he informed her, sounding very self-satisfied.
“Please don’t,” she croaked. The thought of going anywhere except back to bed was not a welcome one.
“You’d sooner unplanned?”
“I’d sooner crawl into my bed and go to sleep so that I can wake up tomorrow feeling like a human,” she explained, hoping that he understood.
“Oh no,” he said warningly.
“Oh no what?”
“Oh no,” he repeated in a firm voice. “You are not wriggling out of our deal.”
“What deal?” she asked innocently, although she knew perfectly well what he meant. A date. Their first date. Although technically it was their second because she had gone to Ryan’s birthday party with him.
“Miz Paradise,” he added sternly, “do not even think about fucking with me.”
“Can I tell you something, Don?” she said softly.
“Go ahead.”
“You do not want to see me tonight.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.”
“I look like crap, and I feel even worse.” She paused for a moment, hoping he wouldn’t force her to keep her part of the deal. “Believe me, I’ll be horrible company.”
“You?” he said gallantly. “Never.”
“Please,” she begged. “Can we do it tomorrow night instead?”
“Do it?” he said, amused.
“You know what I mean.”
“No, Cameron.”
“Please, Don, please,” she urged.
“Ah jeez,” he said, weakening. “I suppose, if you insist.”
“Thank you!” she said gratefully.
“I’ll see you in the morning though, right?”
“Seven a.m. sharp. Can you try to be dressed and ready to get to work?”
“Yes, ma’am!”
She clicked off her phone and couldn’t help smiling. There was something very appealing about Don. Maybe he was the one, and Ryan was simply a silly crush.
Somehow or other she got through the day. At four o’clock they all gathered around the TV in the office to watch Natalie’s show on the New York feed.
Natalie–seductively gorgeous in her low-cut green Versace–roamed around interviewing celebrities, asking them about their fitness regimes and health tips.
Don was funny. “As long as I can haul my butt out of bed in the morning I consider myself fit,” he joked. “But seriously, Miz Cameron Paradise is responsible for some of the best bodies in town.”
Natalie–who’d produced the segment herself–cut to a shot of Cameron arriving.
Everyone in the office cheered.
“So here’s my recommendation,” Natalie said, once more taking center stage on the TV screen. “If getting into shape fast is your goal, then Paradise is the place to go.”
“That was unfuckingbelievable!” Cole enthused. “Sis really came through.”
“And you, madame,” Dorian said, turning to Cameron, his voice filled with admiration, “looked better than anyone. You’re such a star! Our star!”
She did not want
to be anybody’s star, all she wanted to do was to go home and crawl under the covers.
And right after Natalie’s show, that’s exactly what she did. Two extra-strength Tylenols, two big bottles of Evian, a burrow into the depths of her comfortable duvet, and she was out.
Meanwhile, Cole got together with Natalie at Argo to celebrate. He’d wanted Cameron to come with him, but she’d flatly refused–opting for bed.
“The piece you ran was so fuckin’ great!” he said. “Thanks, sis. You’re a keeper!”
“Gotta help baby bro’ make it big,” Natalie said with a warm smile. “Where’s Cameron? I have to tell you–our our website is buzzing, everyone’s dying to find out more about her. I might even interview her on our show.”
“She’s suffering from a major hangover,” Cole explained. “Too many shots of somethin’ or other.”
“Are you saying that with a body and a face like that, she drinks?” Natalie asked with a note of surprise in her voice.
“I guess last night she was feelin’ it,” Cole said, drinking beer from the bottle.
“I guess so,” Natalie murmured.
“Here’s my question,” Cole said, getting serious. “Who’s our mystery investor droppin’ the big bucks?”
“Can’t tell you,” Natalie said, sipping a Cosmopolitan.
“Waddya mean you can’t tell me? I’m your brother. An’ not only that–we’re in business together.”
“We certainly are,” Natalie said, completely unfazed.
“So give,” he insisted, taking another swig of beer.
“Can’t. It’s a privacy issue.”
“Shit, Natalie! Cameron wants to know.”
“Sorry, baby bro’, no can tell. But as long as he’s putting up big bucks and not asking for anything in return–why is anyone bothered?”
“Cause who doesn’t want anything in return?” Cole said, perplexed.
“My silent investor doesn’t. He’s rich, and he’s doing this as a favor to me, so don’t worry about it. None of the extra money he’s putting up affects our original deal.”