“No, it’s not her birthday, stupid,” countered Andrew, aged nine and quite stocky with Harry Potter-style glasses and sticking-up hair.
“Daddy says you’re special, so you should have special things,” Abigaile sighed. “I wish I was special, Mommy.”
“You are, sweetheart,” Lucy said, patting her little daughter on the head.
“No, she’s not,” Andrew snorted. “She’s stupid!”
Nanny put her head around the door. “Homework, children,” she called out. “Come along. Snap to it.”
Thank God for Nanny, Lucy thought. She could never manage without her.
Abigaile and Andrew rushed off.
Phil appeared, balancing several small packages. “I’m an idiot,” he boomed, his voice louder than ever. “An oversexed, dumb-ass goddamn idiot.”
“That’s true,” she said, playing it cool as he thrust bags from Cartier, Tiffany and Prada at her. “What’s all this?” she asked.
“Gifts for my beautiful amazing forgiving understanding wife.”
“What makes you think I’m forgiving?” she said, narrowing her eyes.
“Because I adore you,” he proclaimed. “I worship you. You mean everything to me.”
“In that case…” she said, sensing a great and unexpected opportunity.
“Yes?” Phil said anxiously. “Anything you want. Just name it.”
“Help me get my career back on track,” she said quickly. “I have a plan.”
Returning home from her shopping spree, Mandy was surprised to find Evie and Noreen sitting in her living room. She did not recall Ryan telling her they were coming over, and she wasn’t exactly thrilled. Dropping several Neiman’s and Saks bags, she threw Ryan a questioning look.
“Hi, everyone,” she said. “Did I forget you were coming over?”
Ryan took her arm. “There’s been a terrible tragedy,” he said in a low voice. “Marty shot himself.”
For a moment she thought he was joking, then observing their serious faces, she realized he wasn’t.
As Ryan relayed the story to her, she thought how bizarre it was. Why did Marty shoot himself at Evie’s, when he could’ve done it at their Silverlake house and saved everyone a lot of trouble? A selfish bastard right up until the end.
Mandy had a sinking feeling that Evie and the boys were coming home to roost, for they certainly wouldn’t want to stay in the rented house, not after this.
She wasn’t quite sure what to say. Somehow–I’m sorry for your loss–did not seem appropriate.
She looked at Ryan who was pouring brandy into several glasses. “I suppose I should cancel our reservation at Spago,” she said lamely.
He fixed her with a grim stare. “Yes, Mandy, I suppose you should.”
They’d made love outside. Now, less than two hours later, they’d made love again–this time inside the house.
Could this weekend get any better? As far as Don was concerned–no. And Cameron had no complaints.
“You never tell me anything about you, your family, your ex-boyfriends, how you got into the personal fitness business. I don’t even know where you’re from,” Don said, lazily reaching over and stroking her hair as they lay on his bed in the bedroom, sun streaming down on them from an open skylight.
Don was getting curious. She wasn’t sure she liked that.
“Chicago,” she said at last. “When my mom died, I left home and traveled around the world with a friend from school.”
“How old were you?”
“I guess I was about eighteen.”
“That’s a very adventurous thing to do for one so young,” he remarked.
“I was always an old soul, always capable of looking after myself.”
Now that was a lie. If she was so capable, why had she let Gregg get away with abusing her? Why hadn’t she run at the first sign of violence?
“How about ex-boyfriends?” he asked, his curiosity aroused. “Anyone I should be jealous of?”
“What is this?” she said, starting to get edgy. “An inquisition?”
“I’m interested,” he said, still stroking her hair.
“Here’s the thing, Don,” she said, willing him to stop with the questions. “It’s just not that interesting.”
“How’d you end up in L.A.?” he asked, determined to keep going.
Enough was enough, it was time to turn the questioning around. “How did you?” she countered, sitting up.
“I’m that strange breed–a tried and true L.A. native.”
“That’s unusual, isn’t it?”
“It sure is,” he said, thinking how naturally beautiful she was. “Most people come to L.A., they’re not born here.”
“And your parents–are they still alive?”
“My mom’s around.”
“Do you see her often?”
“Once in a while.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “She lives in the valley with a house full of cats and a live-in girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend? You mean partner girlfriend?”
“Yeah,” he said casually. “My dad ran out on us when I was six, so it kinda put her off men, then a few months after he beat it she changed tracks.”
Silently Cameron thought that his dad deserting the family, and his mother becoming a lesbian explained a lot. Don Verona. Player. Of course.
“Hey,” he said, perplexed. “How did this get turned around and now I’m the one answering all the questions?”
“Cause you love talking about yourself,” she said, smiling. “It feeds your ego.”
“No, it doesn’t,” he protested.
“Yes, it does.”
“Says who?”
“Says me, and I’m hungry. Isn’t it about time we sent out for something to eat?”
“And so she changes the subject,” he drawled, reaching for his phone and checking the messages. “You’re such a slippery one, you never reveal anything.”
There were three messages from Phil, which made him think that something must be up.
“One quick call to Phil and I’ll order food,” he promised.
Cameron jumped off the bed. “I think it’s about time I took a shower.”
“What?” he said, throwing her a meaningful look. “You can’t wait two minutes?”
“Join me,” she said, her voice full of promise. “I’ll keep the water cold for you.”
“Don’t you mean hot?”
“For you–cold. You’re insatiable.”
“And you’re complaining?” he said, raising an eyebrow.
“Not really,” she said, heading for the bathroom with a smile on her face.
Nothing like great afternoon sex. Cole and Dorian would be proud of her.
“I’m going over to Ryan’s,” Phil informed Lucy after hearing the news about Marty’s suicide. “There’s no reason for you to come.”
“Perhaps I should.”
“No. You weren’t that fond of Marty, there’s no need for you to tag along.”
“You weren’t that fond of him either.”
“That’s beside the point. I feel bad for Evie, she’s such a sweetheart. I’ll run by, give her a hug from both of us.”
“That’s nice of you.”
“It’s what friends are for, isn’t it?”
Lucy nodded. Loyalty to his friends was one of Phil’s most endearing qualities.
“I love my gifts,” she said, because it was obvious he was trying hard.
“Excellent,” he said, sounding more confident now that she didn’t appear to be about to dump him–a thought that frightened the crap out of him. “Because I love you, my dear. You are always number one in my heart, and you always will be.”
Lucy had forgiven him, but not all the way. He had to keep his promise and do something major about getting her script off the ground before she totally forgave him.
And then…once she was Lucy Lyons again, he wouldn’t dare risk cheating on her.
Having been married five times, Ha
milton J. Heckerling knew women very well; he also knew how devious they could be. Over the years he’d caught two of his wives having affairs, another one squirreling money into an offshore account, and one wife had been supporting her entire extended family by forging his signature on checks.
Yes, Hamilton knew a thing or two about women. He understood that if a man was smart he would keep a very strong eye on them, especially if the wife in question was forty years his junior.
Pola was a true beauty. She catered to his every whim. But he did not trust her. Not one little bit.
Since their marriage he’d never left her alone, so when he decided to make a business trip to Japan without her, he put in place the appropriate arrangements to make sure he knew exactly where she was and what she was doing every minute of every day.
The report that came through on his e-mail, accompanied by photographs, was the last thing he’d expected.
It was shocking. Quite shocking.
The proof was in the pictures.
ANYA
Elliot Von Morton was well aware that his affair with Anya wouldn’t last. He was a high-powered divorce attorney, he’d seen the worst of what went on between men and women, he was wise enough to know that it couldn’t last.
One thing he did know for sure–Anya had turned into a drug–his drug. When he was with her, all sense of reason deserted him. She was a prize he’d never imagined he’d find. A young beautiful creature who understood his sexual needs and catered to them like a dedicated maestro.
There was nothing she wouldn’t do. Nothing that shocked her.
She had a past, this girl with the face of an angel. A dark past Elliot had no desire to investigate. He was quite certain there were things he would not care to know about. She was his now, and that’s all that mattered.
The day his divorce became final, things changed. Anya changed. She became sulky and not so obliging.
Elliot did not understand why, but it didn’t take long before Anya enlightened him, “I want you to marry me,” she said. “I want to be Mrs Elliot Von Morton.”
At first he refused to entertain the idea. He was fifty-six years old, and to marry a girl young enough to be his daughter would be beyond foolish. But Anya was adamant, and the more he said no, the more she stopped catering to his very specific sexual needs.
He soon began noticing how flirtatious her attitude was becoming toward his male friends and acquaintances, and it worried him that she might leave him and move on to bigger and better, exactly as she had done to Seth.
Dammit! Why not marry the girl? He’d spent enough time and money on her. He’d pulled strings and arranged for her to become an American citizen. He’d facilitated her need to change her name. He’d buried her past–whatever that might be. The truth was that he’d re-invented her. She’d come to him as a slutty-looking waif, and he’d turned her into an impeccably groomed and stylish young woman.
Yes, Elliot decided, he would marry her. He had nothing to lose and everything to gain.
It wasn’t a big wedding–quite low-key, in fact. They honeymooned in the Bahamas and returned to New York after a week. Elliot did not wish to stay any longer–he missed his chains and whips and handcuffs. Elliot was addicted to the pain Anya inflicted.
Anya was not sure what she was addicted to. Shoes. They were the only thing that gave her any pleasure. Other than her shoe collection, nothing mattered. She was empty inside, unable to feel anything except a cold indifference. She had thought that marrying an important man like Elliot might fill the void, but no, nothing helped.
And then one day Elliot took her to the première of a movie one of his clients had produced, and she met Hamilton J. Heckerling. He was older than Elliot. And richer.
In Hamilton’s eyes Anya recognized a ruthlessness that matched her own. Hamilton J. Heckerling was a far more glamorous figure than Elliot Von Morton. Elliot worked in a New York office. Hamilton J. Heckerling roamed the world making huge blockbuster epic movies.
Anya decided it was a way of living that might appeal to her, so she set about seducing Hamilton, and when she discovered that his fetish was watching women together, she knew he was all hers.
There was only one problem. Elliot Von Morton.
He did not remain a problem for very long. Sadly, he expired in the middle of one of their sexual games–suffering a massive heart attack.
Anya had not heard him utter the “safe” word–a word that signaled he’d had enough.
Six months later Hamilton announced their engagement at a New York dinner party.
Shortly after that, Anya became Mrs Hamilton J. Heckerling.
Chapter Forty-Seven
“We’re on the biggest friggin’ roll ever!” Cole announced. “We’ve signed almost fifteen hundred memberships in ten days–it’s unbelievable what’s happenin’.”
Cameron agreed. It was unbelievable, a success neither of them had imagined. Don’s killer lawyer had dealt with the Mister Fake Tan situation–the whole thing had gone away, so now they had nothing to worry about except keeping up the pace.
“We’re gonna havta expand,” Cole declared. “This is just the beginning, babe. We’re on fire!”
They’d already hired two more trainers and a massage therapist, and what with so many new clients, space was at a premium.
“I’ll speak to Iris,” Cameron said. “I know there’s an empty floor downstairs, it might be perfect.”
“Yeah, call her first thing Monday.”
“I will.”
Cole threw Cameron a long penetrating look. “What’s up with you lately?” he inquired, leaning across the desk. “You should be doin’ handstands, yet you’re sittin’ here all quiet an’ moody. You’re not your usual self.”
“I’m tired,” she confessed.
“New boyfriend runnin’ you ragged?” Cole said with a sly smile.
“Don’s great,” she said half-heartedly. “He gives me my space.”
“Then what?”
“Nothing, Cole,” she said, wishing he’d leave her alone. “Really–I’m fine.”
Although she wasn’t fine, she was utterly confused. The previous weekend she’d spent with Don at the beach, it had been idyllic–comfortable and fun and the usual amazing sex because Don was a master in the bedroom–and anywhere else they cared to get it on. But on Tuesday he’d informed her he had a big aversion to funerals (like who didn’t?) and that he simply couldn’t go to Marty’s without her by his side. And of course he had to attend, out of respect for his best friend’s sister. And who was his best friend? Ryan Richards.
So she went with him, albeit reluctantly.
Walking into the church, the first person she saw was Ryan. Their eyes met, and that was it. She’d felt the same way she had that night outside Chow’s. It was a seminal moment.
Later, when everyone went back to the Richards’s house, she and Ryan had experienced a short time alone together. She’d walked outside to the back patio while Don was busy talking to other people, and two seconds later Ryan was there.
“Hey–” he’d said.
“Hey–” she’d responded.
They’d stared at each other for a long silent beat, sparks flying.
“Uh, I hope Evie’s okay,” she said at last, feeling quite dizzy.
“I hate to say it, but I know she’s better off.”
“And you?” she said, noting that he looked stressed. “Is everything okay?”
“I’ve been better,” he replied, suppressing an insane urge to grab her hand and get the hell out of there. “How about you?”
They were both being so polite, and yet who cared? She wasn’t listening to the words coming out of his mouth–she was too caught up in his bluer than blue eyes. So intense, so sexy, so tempting.
Leaning toward her, Ryan said in a low voice–“I’ve been thinking about you.”
“You have?” she replied, feeling ridiculously light-headed.
“You’re with my best friend,” he said,
clearing his throat. “So I guess you’re on my mind.”
“In a good way, I hope?”
“Cameron,” he said sincerely, “all I want is for you to be happy, and if Don makes you happy—”
“He does,” she said, a tad too quickly.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” she said, unconvincingly.
“You don’t sound it.”
“Well, I am.”
“Don can be difficult, you know. He has a reputation. Loves women, but has a habit of moving on when it suits him.”
“Why do you keep on warning me about your so-called best friend?”
“Maybe I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“Does it really matter to you?”
“You know it does.”
“Hey–hey–hey–what’s going on with you two?” Don said, appearing beside them. “Trying to sneak off for an illicit affair behind my back?” He grinned, enjoying what he knew to be a foolish assumption. “Making a run to steal my girl, Ryan?”
“Right,” Ryan responded, summoning a forced smile. “We’re busy planning our escape.”
“That’s okay,” Don said, still joking as he threw his arm around Cameron and deposited a kiss on her cheek. “I think I got a lock on the situation. Right, beautiful?”
She smiled weakly. It was the kind of humor she didn’t need.
Later, driving her back to Paradise, Don had said, “You know, I think Ryan really likes you. Good thing I got you first.”
“What makes you think that?” she’d murmured.
“I dunno–he’s kind of different around you. Like he’s got a thing for you.”
“It’s your imagination,” she’d said, her heart pounding.
And ever since then she’d been thinking about how to break it off with Don.
Tonight they were going to a dinner at Phil and Lucy Standards’. Maybe tonight she’d tell him it was over.
She’d miss him, but she knew for sure that he simply wasn’t the one.