Goodbye, Don Verona.
Now she knew how Mary Ellen felt. Or did she? Unlucky Mary Ellen splashed across the tabloids again, portrayed as loser girlfriend of the month. It wasn’t very nice. And Cameron was partly to blame.
But hey–it wasn’t as if she’d stolen him. Don had told her quite clearly that he and Mary Ellen were not an item, except she’d witnessed the actress emerging from his bedroom early one morning.
Sighing, she wondered if she’d made a mistake. And as she was wondering this, three dozen purple roses arrived with a note that read–You’re not bossy, you’re organized. And I’m definitely in like. See you later? D.
What was the question mark all about? Did it mean that she was supposed to call him?
I told you not to get involved. I warned you it would be a distraction. Weren’t you better off with Marlon where it was just sex for sex’s sake?
No. I have no regrets. I knew exactly what I was doing.
Before she could think about it further, Charlene Lewis walked in, followed by a sallow-faced man who Cameron presumed was Charlene’s bodyguard–someone had to watch the diamonds.
“Too busy to come to me,” Charlene scolded, resplendent in a lime-green cat suit and full makeup. Clouds of Angel enveloped anyone who ventured within two feet of her. “I’ll try it here once,” Charlene continued, wagging a finger at Cameron who was standing by the front desk contemplating her flowers and Don’s note, “but I’m sure you’re aware how much I cherish my privacy.”
Her huge diamond ring caught the light, blinding Lynda, who scowled at Charlene–one of her least favorite clients.
“Are you Cameron Paradise?” the bodyguard asked, shoving his way in front of Charlene.
“Yes,” Cameron said, thinking how rude the man was. “And if you’d like to wait—”
Before she could finish her sentence, he thrust an official-looking document at her. “Consider yourself served,” he said, and swiftly departed.
It was a busy day at The Grill. Ryan found himself stopping at almost every table before he made it to Phil and Don, who were already seated.
“You’re late,” Don said, tapping his watch. “I can only spare an hour. Got to get back to the studio. Don Rickles is on tonight–for him I have to prepare.”
“Rickles is something else,” Phil said admiringly. “A true original. I presume you’re ready to have the shit insulted out of you?”
“Ready and happy about it,” Don said, waving a greeting at fellow talk-show host, Craig Ferguson, who was sitting at a nearby table. Craig and Jon Stewart were the only late-night shows he made an attempt to watch–their monologues were always insightful and sometimes quite brilliant.
“What’s new?” Ryan asked, noting that Don seemed particularly relaxed–a sure sign that he’d recently gotten laid.
“What’s new is that my insane wife is insisting we throw one of those dumb-ass dinner parties that you all seem to like so much,” Phil complained. “People wandering all over our house, crapping in our toilets, disturbing the animals. On top of which I have to feed a bunch of ungrateful assholes. I’m not happy about it, I’m not in favor of it—”
“But you said yes,” Don interrupted with a knowing grin. “She had your balls in the palm of her hand, and before she squeezed—”
“I said yes,” Phil admitted, stroking his beard which looked like it was in dire need of a trim. “’Cause what’s a fellow supposed to do if he’s after a little peace in his everyday world?”
“I thought you had yourself a little piece every morning,” Don quipped. “That’s the word on the street.”
“Had to fire her,” Phil grumbled. “Lucy didn’t like me doing it so close to home.”
“How do you get away with it?” Ryan asked, ordering a Jack Daniel’s because he felt like it.
“Drinking–in the middle of the day?” Don said, raising a caustic eyebrow. “What’s going on with you?”
“You sound like a fuckin’ A.A. sponsor,” Ryan snapped. “And since I’m not an alcoholic–keep your shit to yourself.”
“Somebody needs to get laid,” Phil said, guffawing.
“Aw, leave him alone,” Don said good-naturedly. “He’s trying to work something out. Right, buddy?”
Damn! Ryan thought. He slept with her. I know it. It’s written all over his too-handsome-for-his-own good goddamn face.
Fucking asshole.
Fucking prick.
Why did he have to include Cameron in his long list of conquests?
Why the fuck?
“How many people are you thinking of inviting?” Mandy asked, casually dipping a shrimp in plum sauce and popping it in her mouth.
Lucy shrugged. “I haven’t really thought about it.”
“Well, think,” Mandy said, in full bossy mode. “I can’t advise anything unless I know how many guests are on your list.”
“Hmm…” Lucy frowned. She knew she wanted to launch her script–but the group shouldn’t be too large. “Maybe twelve including Phil and me,” she said at last. “Our big table just about accommodates twelve.”
“Then two chefs, three waiters, a barman, valet parking, and two helpers,” Mandy said briskly, ticking off the amount of help on her fingers. “I’ll e-mail you the number of my party organizer, she’ll do everything for you.”
“God!” Lucy exclaimed, imagining Phil’s face when she handed him the bills. “It sounds expensive, Phil will be pissed, he hates spending money.”
“What man loves it?” Mandy observed. “Men are all tightwads unless they happen to be a big spender–and there’s not very many of those around–not in this town.”
“True,” Lucy agreed.
“Have you ever known an actor to pick up a check?” Mandy continued. “Believe me, that’s a rarity–unless you’re out with Michael Caine.”
“I worked with Michael once,” Lucy said, remembering the English movie star and his exotically beautiful wife, Shakira. “He was a sweetheart–he taught me so much about acting.”
“And as I said–generous,” Mandy added.
Lucy gave a vague nod, she was busy thinking about who she should invite to her dinner. The Richards, of course, and Don with a date, Hamilton and his new wife–although she wouldn’t mention she was asking them to Mandy–one never knew with Mandy, it might not be a popular move. She’d also invite a couple of key producers who might be interested in her script. Maybe Anne and Arnold Kopelson–producers of such successful movies as Seven and The Fugitive. Or the Bruckheimers, although Jerry was knee-deep in übersuccessful TV shows such as the CSI series–so he might not be available.
Marlon–she decided–would be her surprise guest. She’d bring him out over dessert, introduce him to everyone, and then they’d hand out copies of the finished script.
She might even do a reading. Yes, that was a brilliant idea, although she’d need an actor to read with her. Hmm…someone who wouldn’t send Phil into a jealous rage.
It never occurred to her that Marlon might set her possessive husband off.
“You’re so quiet,” Mandy remarked. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about Phil spending money, the man is loaded. What’s he saving it for? Dinner parties are fun, and if you listen to me and hire the right people, yours will be great.”
Lucy nodded her agreement. Yes, it would be. She’d make sure of it.
ANYA
At first Anya wasn’t sure what she wanted from Seth. Was it his money?
No, because he was certainly not rich.
Was it his power?
He didn’t have any power. He was a hardworking lawyer at a big law firm.
Was it his life?
Ah…to be an American housewife with a baby and a husband to look after. Was that her dream?
She didn’t have dreams anymore, they’d all been shattered the day she’d watched the soldiers slit Svlenta’s throat, and shoot the girl’s parents in the head, then set their house on fire while she cowered in a corner, whimperin
g with fear. No more dreams after that as she was passed around from man to man, all of them relentlessly using her. No more dreams…
Seth Carpenter would be her stepping stone to better things. She had to start somewhere, and he was it.
Before Velma had so cruelly deserted her–leaving her to the mercies of Joe–Velma had drummed into her head the three things to say to a man that would ensnare him for however long a girl wished to keep him around.
Anya had not forgotten Velma’s wise words.
Your cock is so big.
You’re the best lover I’ve ever had.
You make me come so hard.
She tried the first line on Seth after they’d made love on the bed he shared with his wife while the baby was asleep in the other room. It was lunch-time, and the rain was pounding down outside. She’d opened her legs and welcomed him inside her as if he was the first man she’d ever allowed to visit such a sacred place.
They’d been building toward this moment for weeks. He’d been coming home at lunch-time almost every day, and very slowly she’d drawn him in, until he was so desperate to have her that she was quite certain he couldn’t wait a moment longer.
“Your cock is so big.” The admiring words made him swell up with pride.
Actually, his cock was not big at all, but Anya could see how the words worked magic.
After the first time it was easy to leave telling clues around the apartment—an earring in the bed, a pair of black lace panties in the bedroom.
Diana was not stupid–it didn’t take her long to discover what was going on.
By this time Anya had Seth exactly where she wanted him. He was besotted with her, and could not imagine spending another day without her, so when Diana fired her and threw her husband out, Seth did exactly as Anya hoped he would, he suggested that he rent an apartment, and that she should move out of the hostel and come live with him.
Step one accomplished. An American man of her own.
It was a promising start.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Somehow Ryan got through lunch, going out of his way not to ask Don any questions. It infuriated him that his best friend had the attitude of a strutting peacock, he was so pleased with himself it was sickening. And of course, Don could not resist mentioning his latest conquest. “I’ll be bringing Cameron to your dinner,” he informed Phil. “So be warned–keep your sweaty hands to yourself. She’s not the kind of woman who appreciates getting groped.”
“Who’s Cameron?” Phil boomed.
“Someone I’m kind of getting involved with,” Don allowed, a sly smile creeping across his face.
Ryan experienced a sour feeling in the pit of his stomach. How involved? Was Cameron just another one of Don’s conquests? Or was this time the real thing?
“What happened to TV Girl?” Phil asked, busily attacking a formidable steak and a side order of French fries.
“TV Girl is not for me,” Don said, dismissing Mary Ellen with a casual shrug.
“And this new one is?” Phil wanted to know.
“Could be,” Don replied, his smile widening. “Ryan’s met her. Cameron’s a peach, right, Ryan?”
Ryan grunted; he was not about to encourage this burgeoning affair. The truth was, he was hoping it would go away as quickly as possible.
“Y’see, he’s in like too,” Don said, laughing. “But seriously, Phil, this one’s special, you’ll see.”
“You fucked her?” Phil asked in his usual crass way.
“For crissake,” Don said, shaking his head. “If I had, you’d be the last person I’d tell.”
“Never stopped you before,” Phil observed.
“Jesus Christ! You are such a horny old dog.”
“It takes one to know one,” Phil said, happily chewing on a succulent piece of steak.
“You’ll have to get rid of the children and the animals for the night,” Mandy decided, all bossy and in control. “You can bundle them off to your mother’s.”
“My mother is living in Palm Springs with a twenty-six-year-old out-of-work landscaper,” Lucy said dryly. “I doubt if she’d be interested in babysitting.”
“Really?” Mandy said, surprised. “You never told me.”
“You never asked,” Lucy retorted. “Besides, why would I even mention the woman after she wrote that tell-all book about me filled with nothing but disgusting lies.”
“Wasn’t that years ago?” Mandy said, vaguely remembering a scandalous book about the very famous Lucy Lyons that had caused a mild sensation at the time. “Before you married Phil?”
“Ten years,” Lucy stated, trying to control the feelings of anger and hurt that swept over her whenever she recalled her mother’s betrayal. “I was at the height of my career, so the bitch couldn’t help herself from cashing in.”
“Mothers!” Mandy sighed. “I never had one–merely a series of step-mothers, each one more annoying than the last.”
“Maybe you lucked out,” Lucy said bitterly. “Mine is not exactly a day at the beach–more nightmare on Elm Street.”
“Well then,” Mandy said, bored with the subject of mothers, “have you got a neighbor who’ll take the kids?”
“Can’t I just tell Nanny to make sure they stay in their rooms?”
“Absolutely not,” Mandy said, her voice firm. “Kids are disruptive, they’ll come running in and start annoying everyone. Besides, the staff hate tripping over kids, it ruins their entertaining flow.”
Lucy couldn’t help wondering how Mandy knew all this, considering she had no children of her own. “I can ask Nanny to take them to her aunt’s house,” Lucy said. “That’ll work.”
“And the animals,” Mandy reminded. “Oh yes, and you should get in a proper cleaning crew to spiff up your house.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s the thing to do since you haven’t entertained in I don’t know how long. I can’t remember the last time you had people over.”
“That would be because we haven’t entertained at home since the night of our wedding,” Lucy revealed. “Phil was too cheap to throw the reception elsewhere.”
“Oh my God!” Mandy exclaimed. “Has it been that long?”
“Time goes quickly when you’re having fun,” Lucy said with a dry chuckle.
“I was sleeping with that sexy German chef my father loathed,” Mandy recalled, eyes gleaming at the memory. “I hadn’t even met Ryan–was he there?”
“Ryan was away on a location shoot, but Don was very much present with his first wife–the the ballet dancer. You remember her?”
“How could I forget?” Mandy said. “All the guys were drooling over that one. She had exceptionally long legs and her party trick was doing the splits. What a show-off!”
“You must admit she was quite a stunner. Don was a very happy camper.”
“Not for long,” Mandy said quickly.
“You’re absolutely right,” Lucy said, as it all came flooding back. “Didn’t he divorce her a year later after he caught her cheating with their building contractor?”
“Oh yes!” Mandy squealed. “Who could forget that.”
“Don was beyond furious,” Lucy said.
“I’m sure it didn’t do much for his ego, although he soon bounced back,” Mandy said. “But then our Don always does. Anyway,” she added, through with reminiscing, “the kids must go, and the animals. Work it out.”
“I’ll try,” Lucy said unsurely. “Although Phil will not appreciate losing his parrot for the night; he’s crazy about that damn bird.”
“The one you told me screams fuck you all the time?”
“That’s the one,” Lucy said grimly.
“If it was in my house I’d shoot the little bugger,” Mandy said, tapping her freshly manicured nails on the table.
“If I did that, Phil would shoot me,” Lucy replied.
“Ah, but think of all the publicity if he did,” Mandy said with a sly chuckle. “You’d be right back in the headlines.”
>
“Thanks, Mandy,” Lucy said tartly. “I do believe there are better ways of getting there.”
“Mary Ellen’s coming for coffee,” Mandy announced. “After lunch we’re going to try and check out that new fitness place again–Paradise. Why don’t you come with?”
“I might do that,” Lucy said thoughtfully. Yes, if she was to resume her career she’d better be in fantastic shape.
Joining a gym was definitely top of her list of things to do.
“Hey,” Don said, speaking on the phone in his car.
“Hey,” Cameron responded, taking a quick peek at her watch. It was almost three and Don was finally calling.
It infuriated her that she was fast becoming the kind of girl who waited for a man to call her, instead of picking up the phone herself and calling him. They’d had great sex. He’d run out of her house early in the morning. He should’ve called before this.
“How are you today?” he asked.
“Really good,” she answered caustically. “Considering I just got served with a writ from Mister Fake Tan.”
“Who’s Mister Fake Tan?” he asked, sounding faintly amused.
“The asshole I used to rent space from. He’s suing ’cause he claims we’re taking business away from him.”
“Did you sign an employment agreement with this guy?”
“No. I told you,” she said impatiently. “I merely rented space in his gym and paid commission.”
“Then it’s no problem,” Don said smoothly. “I’ll have my killer lawyer deal with it.”
She knew she should say–No, I’ll deal with it myself. But Don’s killer lawyer sounded like a far better option.
“Okay,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound like too much of a weakling.
“I’ll send a messenger to pick up the relevant papers.”
“Are you sure?”
“For you anything,” he said gallantly, then after a quick beat–“Did you get my flowers?”