“They’re beautiful,” she said. “Oh yes, and I also saw the tabloids.”
“Ignore ’em,” he said casually, as if they didn’t matter. “It’s all total crap. They never get anything right.”
“But what about Mary Ellen?” Cameron said. “I feel bad for her.”
“Not your problem.”
“I know, but shouldn’t you phone her?”
“For what?”
“To explain.”
“Yeah, I’ll give her a call,” he said, with no intention of doing so. He hadn’t forced Mary Ellen into his bed, she’d come willingly. It wasn’t anyone’s fault that they shared no chemistry, and furthermore he’d sent her an expensive orchid plant as a consolation prize. “Are we on for dinner tonight?” he asked, abruptly getting off the subject of Mary Ellen.
“I don’t know,” Cameron answered tentatively. “Are we?”
“It’s your call.”
Why was it her call? Shouldn’t he be saying–I must see you–last night was amazing?
Yes, he should.
“It’s been pretty hectic here today,” she said, keeping it casual. “I sense an early night in my future.”
“You do, huh?”
“You don’t mind, do you?”
“Not at all, but I was thinking that maybe this weekend we’d take your dogs and mine and veg out at my Malibu house. Does that work for you?”
Yes, it definitely worked for her.
“Sounds great,” she said.
“Anyway, I’ll see you in the a.m. We’ll make a plan. Try to watch my show tonight, Don Rickles is on, it’ll be a riot. Rickles is still the funniest guy around.”
“If I’m awake.”
“Haven’t you ever heard of TiVo?”
“Don’t have one.”
She clicked off her phone feeling strangely disappointed. What had she expected? He was Don Verona, he wasn’t just another guy.
Tomorrow morning she decided to send Reno to work out with him. Don probably wouldn’t like it, but if she was going to continue seeing him, that’s the way it had to be.
Well…at least she had the weekend to look forward to. Maybe he’d open up then, be a little warmer and more loving.
Loving? Is that what you want?
Absolutely not.
I warned you not to get involved.
Oh, screw off!
Back at the studio Don contemplated his conversation with Cameron. She’d sounded a tiny bit cool, hardly as into him as he would’ve expected after last night. Determined not to have her back away, he’d played it cool himself, not coming on too strong. Although after one night of exceptional sex and tantalizing company he was almost on the verge of asking her to move in with him.
How insane was that? He was Don Verona, for crissakes, not some love-sick jerk with a hard-on and a crush.
And yet…he couldn’t stop thinking about her. The way she looked, the way she smelled, the way she was in bed…everything about her was a turn-on.
Making him wait had only heightened his attraction toward her. He was hooked in a very big way. And he liked it.
Or did he?
Jesus! She was confusing the hell out of him, messing with his concentration. And that he didn’t need.
Jerry ambled into his office smelling of cigars and garlic–a bad mix.
“We’re gonna have a great show tonight,” Jerry offered. “Everyone around here gets excited when Rickles puts in an appearance.”
“I know,” Don said, nodding. “Smart move giving him all three segments. We’ll both have a blast.”
“No dumb starlets flashing their panties–or lack of ’em–tonight,” Jerry said with a hearty chuckle. “Disappointed?”
“Are you kidding me?” Don replied. “That ditzy blonde last night sent her stylist to my dressing room with a card on which she’d written her private number and a scrawled message–Call me–let’s continue our interview all the way to my bedroom.”
“Didja call her?” Jerry asked, eyes bugging.
“Jerry,” Don said patiently, “I’m seeing someone. And even if I wasn’t, desperate actresses with fake tits are not my style.”
“So who’re you seeing?” Jerry inquired, his interest perked.
“Nobody you know,” Don replied, not ready to share.
“If you read the tabloids, you’d know,” Jill Khoner announced, entering the office with the proposed questions for the Rickles interview.
“I’ve read the tabloids,” Jerry said. “It’s neither of those two.”
“How do you know?” Jill asked, handing Don a sheaf of papers.
“’Cause they’re both getting kiss-off flowers.”
“Jesus!” Don said. “Go ahead and discuss my love life. Feel free.”
Jill laughed. “And what exactly were you doing with our dyke friend?”
For a moment he was lost for words, and that wasn’t like him. But Jill was totally out of line, so what the hell–he went for it.
“Cameron is not gay,” he said forcibly. “And even if she was, I don’t like you using the word ‘dyke’ as if it’s something to be ashamed of.”
“Sorry!” Jill said, exchanging a startled look with Jerry. “I didn’t realize—”
“What didn’t you realize?” Don said, fixing her with a steely look.
Jill knew exactly when to shut up.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Mary Ellen arrived at Mr Chow trailed by a ferocious pack of paparazzi who were immediately barred entry. Bitching and complaining, they were forced to gather outside while Mary Ellen ran into the restaurant to join Mandy and Lucy.
She appeared stressed, although it was obvious she had made an effort to look her best in a short white Donna Karan dress and a light blue Richard Tyler jacket. Her eyes were hidden beneath enormous Dolce & Gabanna black-out shades, and she kept on squeezing her hands together in an agitated fashion.
“What’s the matter?” Mandy asked, as Mary Ellen sat down at their table.
“Your friend, Don Verona,” Mary Ellen hissed. “He’s another cheating low-life sonofabitch! I hate him!”
“Oh God! What’s he done now?” Mandy inquired, always anxious to get the details.
“Well,” Mary Ellen said, still agitated, “I thought we had something good going on, but apparently he thought otherwise.”
“That’s Don for you,” Mandy said, acting as if she knew him better than anyone.
Digging into her oversized Prada purse, Mary Ellen produced a page torn from Truth and Fact and proceeded to read out the headline. “LADIES’ MAN–DON VERONA–STILL DOUBLE DIPPING.” She threw down the offending page in disgust. “Double dipping! How does that make me look?”
“Not great,” Lucy said sympathetically.
“Damn right!” Mary Ellen snapped, completely out of the girl-next-door mode. “Don Verona is a lying creep. And so is that bitch–Cameron Shitface Lying CUNT!”
“Why don’t you tell us how you really feel,” Lucy murmured.
“She feels like crap,” Mandy said, picking up the torn page and reading more. “And quite frankly I don’t blame her, do you?”
“I thought he was the one,” Mary Ellen said sadly, a lone tear emerging from her black shades and snaking its way down her cheek. “Now he does this to me.”
“Did you sleep with him?” Mandy asked, mentally ready to take down even more details.
“Of course she slept with him,” Lucy said scornfully. “Who wouldn’t? The man is a hunk.”
“Is he as expert in bed as everyone says?” Mandy asked. She’d been dying to get the real inside on Don’s bedroom prowess for years, and now was the perfect opportunity.
“Yes,” Mary Ellen muttered. “Although I gave him head for fifteen minutes and he didn’t reciprocate.”
“Not acceptable,” Mandy said.
“Ha!” Lucy exclaimed, quickly joining in. “You should sleep with Phil–that’s all he wants to do.”
This was news to Mandy, who wou
ld now regard Phil with new eyes. Men who really enjoyed going down on a woman were not thick on the ground. Ever since her first fake pregnancy Ryan had not gone down on her once. It wasn’t that she cared, sex was hardly her favorite activity, although when she put her mind to it she could be an enthusiastic participant. At fifteen she’d perfected the art of giving a great blow-job, just so boys would really like her.
It had worked–she’d landed Ryan, hadn’t she?
“I think I’ll become a lesbian,” Mary Ellen mused. “That’ll really give the rags something to gossip about.”
“Interesting choice,” Lucy mused. “Have you seen how beautiful the actresses are on Showtime’s The L Word?”
“She was only joking,” Mandy said, throwing Lucy a look. “Weren’t you, dear?”
“If we’re going to drop by that new fitness place we’d better get moving,” Lucy said, glancing at her watch. “I have to meet a writer at four.”
“What writer?” Mandy asked.
“A young guy I hired,” Lucy answered vaguely, wondering if Marlon would try to kiss her again. She hadn’t minded that much when he’d made his first attempt. It was quite refreshing to be desired by someone other than her husband, and Marlon did desire her–oh yes, big time.
“I can’t go to that gym,” Mary Ellen said, spitting her anger. “It’s where that woman works.”
“What woman?” Lucy asked, not making the connection.
“The one who’s throwing herself all over Don,” Mary Ellen said, her voice rising. “The bitch who pretended to me that she was just his trainer.”
“Maybe that’s all she is,” Lucy offered.
“Sure,” Mary Ellen responded, a spiteful twist to her mouth. “She’s training his cock to head straight for her lying cunt!”
“Mrs Heckerling is on the line,” Kara said, buzzing Ryan in his office where he was in the middle of a meeting with his line producer.
“Give me a minute, Keith,” he said. “I’ve got to take this.”
Keith ducked out of the room and Ryan picked up the phone.
He really didn’t have to take the call at all, but he was anxious to hear what Anya had to say seven years later.
“We should meet,” Anya said, her voice low and secretive.
“Why’s that?” he responded.
“I need to talk to you,” she said. “Hamilton is flying to Japan next Saturday. I can see you then. Is there a place we can meet that is discreet?”
Discreet? Ryan thought. In L.A.? A mogul’s young wife and the mogul’s son-in-law. Nothing discreet about that. TMZ and Perez Hilton would lap it up.
He considered their options.
A hotel room?
No! No! No!
A motel somewhere like Culver City?
Even worse!
A bar?
Forget about it.
Then it came to him. A friend’s house. Somewhere completely private.
Don’s house.
In a perverse way, Ryan felt that Don owed him.
When Cameron left Paradise with Cole, she was not expecting an onslaught of photographers. They rushed her, merrily flashing away while shouting out a laundry list of questions.
Are you and Don Verona an item?
Have you known him long?
When are you seeing him again?
How do you feel about Mary Ellen?
Are you two rivals?
She held onto Cole’s arm. “This is ridiculous,” she whispered. “I’m nobody. Why are they doing this?”
“I guess you’re somebody now,” he said, not as put out as she would have expected.
“I’m making a run for my car,” she informed him.
“Good luck,” he said. “Try not to freak. I’ll check in with you later.” Then he gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and headed for his motorcycle.
She made it to her Mustang, still trailed by photographers. The attention was horrendous. She wasn’t used to it and she didn’t like it–in fact, she hated it. If going out with Don Verona led to this, she wanted no part of it.
When she reached her house there were two men and a small truck blocking the entrance to her garage. She honked her horn, and one of the men meandered over to her open window.
“You’re blocking my way,” she pointed out.
“Are you Miz Paradise?” he asked.
Oh Christ! Not another writ.
“Who wants to know?” she said, staring at him suspiciously.
“We have a delivery for Miz Cameron Paradise.”
“What delivery?” she asked, frowning.
“A TiVo and TV,” the man said. “Compliments of Mr Verona. If you let us into your house, we’ll set everything up.”
An hour later she was staring at a brand new flat screen high def TV and a complicated TiVo that she had no idea how to work.
Was this a reward for sleeping with Don Verona? Great! Did he send every one of his conquests a new TV?
The whole thing was surreal. She didn’t want his gifts, she would have preferred a more intimate phone call. But apparently that was not about to happen, so a TV and TiVo it was, whether she wanted them or not.
While Cameron was trying to figure out why Don had sent her a TV, Don himself was preparing to be interviewed by Natalie de Barge. He was not happy about it, but since he’d given Natalie his word there was no backing out.
Fanny, the P.R. for his show, was puzzled. “You can’t stand being interviewed,” she reminded him. “Why are you doing it?”
“I made a promise,” he said off-handedly. “Besides, Natalie de Barge is controllable; she won’t ask me anything I don’t care to answer.”
“She’s not in control,” Fanny muttered ominously. “Her producer is. You know that.”
But nobody argued with Don when he’d made up his mind to do something, so Fanny went along with him to the studio where Natalie shot her hugely successful daily celebrity gossip-fest.
Natalie greeted Don with a hug and a whispered, “How about our investment taking off so fast? You must have the magic touch.”
“I’ve been told that a time or two,” he drawled.
“Hmmm…” Natalie said, smiling flirtatiously. “That’s something I’ll get to wonder about all day.”
“What?”
“Your magic touch.”
“Yeah?” Don said, smiling back at her.
“Do you need makeup?” she asked. “The girls in the makeup room are creaming to meet you.”
“Sorry to disappoint, never wear it.”
“Not even on your show?”
“Nope.”
“Most guys on TV require more makeup than Marie Osmond,” Natalie joked. “I should’ve guessed that you ride barebacked.”
“That too,” Don said, grinning.
“Let’s get on with this,” Fanny interjected in her best bossy publicist voice. “Mr Verona has an extremely full schedule.”
“I’m sure he does,” Natalie murmured, thinking how much she couldn’t stand publicists. They were always interfering, shoving in their two cents’ opinions while attempting to control their clients. There were a few competent ones around, but Natalie did not consider Fanny to be one of them. Over the years they’d experienced several run-ins. However, Natalie decided, Fanny was not about to win this one, especially as Don had promised her this interview.
“If you’re ready, Don, we can go straight through to the studio,” she said, linking her arm through his, successfully shutting out Fanny, who silently fumed as she was relegated to walking behind them. “You can watch in the Green Room,” Natalie threw over her shoulder.
“That’s all right,” Fanny answered, clenching her teeth. “I prefer to be on the set.”
“Is that okay with you, Don?” Natalie asked.
“Sure,” he said, anxious to get the ordeal over of answering questions as opposed to asking them.
“It’s fine, Fanny,” Natalie said off-handedly. “You can be on the set.”
Black bitc
h, Fanny thought.
Dried-up white hag! Natalie thought.
The interview went smoothly enough until Natalie decided to get personal. Well, she didn’t actually decide, her producer did, telling her through the earpiece stuck in her right ear that since the story of Don and two women was splashed all over the tabloids, it was her duty as a competent journalist to ask him about it.
He’d just finished telling an amusing antidote about Warren Beatty and Justin Timberlake who’d appeared together on his show, when Natalie launched in with questions about his love life. How come two divorces? Who are you seeing now? Are the stories the tabloids print true? What is going on between you and Mary Ellen Evans? Are the two of you still dating? And why does she have such bad luck with men?
Inwardly annoyed that she’d crossed the boundaries he’d set, Don deflected most of her questions with tact and charm. But when it came to Mary Ellen he was at a loss for words. She was one conquest he never should have made.
Finally it was over, and he left abruptly, listening to Fanny crow about how she’d warned him he shouldn’t have appeared on such a gossip-fueled show.
Too late now, he thought wryly.
Depending on how Natalie cut the segment, he’d end up looking like an uncaring son of a bitch, or a player who was only interested in the game.
It was a no-win situation.
On his way home, Ryan stopped by Evie’s to see how she and the boys were settling in.
“They’re in heaven!” Evie informed him. “A swimming pool and a basketball court, it’s too much.”
“Next week you’re seeing a lawyer,” he said sternly. And so am I, he thought.
Evie gave a half-hearted nod. She’d finally come to the conclusion that Ryan was right and that she had to sever all ties with Marty and start afresh, but it wasn’t easy.
The boys were delighted to see their uncle. He played hoops with them for a while before heading home, deciding that tonight could be the night he confronted Mandy.
But no, once again it was not to be. She had six girlfriends over and an Indian guru who was teaching them the meaning of life.