Married Lovers

  First he asked how she was, now he wanted to know about Ryan. What was going on with him?

  “Why don’t you ask him yourself?” she suggested, gesturing toward her husband. “He’s right over there.”

  “Are you two having problems?” Hamilton asked, giving her a long intent look.

  She felt a blush rise and color her cheeks. Oh yes, Hamilton would love it if she and Ryan were experiencing difficulties.

  “Why would you even ask something like that?” she said, determined to remain calm.

  Hamilton favored her with one of his annoying chuckles, and turned away to talk to Phil.

  Anya stared at her.

  Ha! Mandy thought. If she’s expecting me to stand here and talk to her, she can think again.

  Grabbing her glass of wine, Mandy hurried over to join Ryan, Don and his girlfriend–whose name she couldn’t remember.

  It didn’t matter; her loyalty was with Mary Ellen, and if she knew Don, this one was nothing but a temporary replacement.

  Lucy had a quick word with the chef before dashing to the back of the house where she’d stashed Marlon in a cubbyhole of a maid’s room after smuggling him onto their property earlier.

  Marlon was edgy and nervous. He wasn’t in favor of Lucy’s plan to surprise everyone with him and their script. What if the great Phil Standard didn’t like it? What if her plan backfired and nobody liked it?

  “Stay in control. Be nice,” Lucy said, hoping to calm him. “None of them will read it here. They’ll take it home. Between you and me we’ll tell them the thrust of the script, and we’ll make it sound so enticing that they’ll probably want to make an offer on the spot! Anyway, that’s what Phil thinks.”

  “When can I come out?” he whined. “I’m gettin’ claustrophobic stuck back here.”

  “Be patient. We have to eat first.”

  “Yeah, well, how about me?” he complained, cracking his knuckles–an annoying habit he’d developed recently. “I’m hungry too.”

  “I’ll get you some food,” she said, watching him turn into a sulky nine-year-old before her very eyes.

  He was not good under pressure, she’d have to remember that.

  Dinner was an avocado and Cajun shrimp salad, followed by thinly sliced steak, whipped potatoes, and a mélange of vegetables. Dinner-table conversation encompassed everything from politics to sex. Phil enjoyed bringing the conversation around to sex, it always ensured a lively discussion. One of his favorite table games was–“Who is the most famous person you’ve ever fucked?”

  Usually he won, but not with Hamilton and Don at the table, so tonight he didn’t bring it up. Instead he concentrated on politicians’ predilections toward hookers. “They love getting their dicks dirty,” he crowed. “Don’t they know that if they pay for it they’ll always end up getting caught.”

  “Everyone gets caught,” Hamilton said sagely. “Nobody gets away with anything.” He stared directly at his son-in-law sitting across the table. “Right, Ryan?”

  “Why are you asking me?” Ryan said, irritated.

  “Yes, why are you asking him?” Mandy said, joining in. “If there’s one person in this room who has nothing to hide, it’s Ryan.”

  Anya’s eyes darted from Ryan to her husband. Something was definitely going on with Hamilton. Did it have anything to do with Ryan?

  No. That was impossible. She believed Ryan when he said he had told no one about her. Ryan Richards was a man of integrity.

  “Pola,” Hamilton said, speaking to his wife for the first time since they’d arrived, “what do you think of Ryan? Do you think he might have something to hide?”

  Anya shrugged, endeavoring to keep her face expressionless, although small shivers of apprehension attacked her body.

  “I barely know Ryan,” she said at last. “I am not the right person to answer that question.”

  “Jesus, Hamilton,” Phil boomed. “What’s your sudden interest in poor old Ryan tonight? He done something to you we don’t know about?”

  Hamilton’s eyes turned into lethal slits. “Maybe,” he said ominously. “Why don’t you all be the judge.”

  And with those words he reached into his breast pocket and produced an envelope of photos. Taking them out one at a time, he proceeded to pass them around the table.

  “What do you think, everybody?” he asked, his expression deadly. “Does Ryan have something to hide–or not?”

  Chapter Fifty

  Saturday morning Gregg awoke with a crusty hangover and a cheesy blonde Cameron look-alike lying in bed beside him. In the cruel light of day the girl no more resembled Cameron than his mother–a woman he loathed.

  He woke the slag up, got rid of her, sat on his bed and brooded about what the fuck he was doing. He was following and tracking a woman who was already his, the fucking devious cunt who’d thought she’d killed him. Oh yes, she’d left him for dead and gone on her merry way.

  Well, not so fast, bitch, because now the time had come to do something about re-claiming his bride. Miz Cameron Paradise was riding high and mighty, and now it was her turn to experience a sharp jolt of reality. And what better way to do that than in front of her friends and Famous Prick boyfriend? The boyfriend who didn’t even know she was married.

  Earlier in the week he’d noted that she’d written in her appointment book Saturday, dinner at the Standards’ with Don, 8 p.m.

  Was it a big dinner? Small gathering? He didn’t care, he was following her anyway. Tonight was the night for retribution.

  He spent most of the afternoon drinking with a rowdy bunch of Australians who hung out at a pub near the Venice boardwalk. They were a wild group of guys–although he could drink most of them under the table and still have room for more.

  Later in the day, he staked out his usual spot near Cameron’s house, biding his time until Famous Prick came to get her.

  Famous Prick turned up on time, driving a ridiculously flashy car. What an asshole! Gregg thought. Trust Cameron to choose an asshole.

  She got into the car, and they set off.

  Gregg followed at a discreet distance, tailing them all the way past Brentwood and up into the hills.

  The Standards–whoever they were–sure lived off the beaten track in a huge rambling ranch house set way back from the road. The large property was gated, but the gates weren’t closed. Rich people in big houses. Hollywood was full of them.

  Gregg stopped his car outside the open gates, reached down to the floor of the passenger seat and picked up a bottle of Scotch he’d started on earlier. Nothing like getting back in action to cure a hangover.

  After taking a few hearty swigs he left the car and made his way by foot up the long winding driveway. He was feeling better already. Yeah, better and ready for action.

  The big problem was, he had no clear plan of what he was about to do, but whatever he decided, he knew for sure that he was not leaving without his bitch wife.

  Cameron was his, and if he couldn’t have her–then sure as shit–nobody else could.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Reactions to Hamilton’s photos as they were passed around the Standards’ dinner table differed.

  Mandy cried out in shock.

  Anya simply stared blankly at the incriminating photos.

  Cameron shook her head in disbelief.

  Don let out a long low whistle.

  Phil suppressed a crazed guffaw.

  Lucy was livid. Her script surprise was supposed to be the big deal of the night. This had ruined everything.

  And Ryan–well, Ryan was speechless as he realized that somehow he’d been set up.

  The photos–six of them–were a series of shots of him and Anya in Don’s house. Anya, standing in front of him naked but for the lacy black thong, while he–thank God–remained fully dressed.

  He knew exactly what the photos represented, but to an uninvolved observer they told a completely different story.

  “Anything to hide now?” Hamilton crowed, quite enjoy
ing himself.

  “You bastard!” Mandy hissed at her husband. “How could you do this to Daddy and me?”

  “It’s not what it looks like,” Ryan managed, unable to face Cameron across the table. God! What must she think of him?

  “I’m under the distinct impression it’s exactly what it looks like,” Hamilton said coldly. “It looks as if you are about to fuck my wife while I’m conveniently out of town. I knew you were a no-good sonofabitch the moment Mandy dragged you home, and now you’ve finally proved it.”

  Ryan glanced at Anya. Now was the time for her to speak up, rescue him like he’d rescued her seven years earlier. But she remained silent, her face devoid of expression.

  “We were talking, nothing else,” Ryan said, making an attempt to explain, and realizing how lame he must sound.

  “Talking?” Hamilton sneered. “Is that right, Pola, dear? The two of you were just talking?”

  She kept her silence, eyes downcast.

  “You two must have so much to talk about,” Hamilton said with a sarcastic smirk. “My wife and the man who’s married to my daughter.”

  Surprising everyone, Mandy leaped to her feet and unexpectedly slapped Ryan hard across the face. “Bastard!” she yelled for the second time. “How dare you humiliate me!”

  Don jumped up. “You know something, Hamilton,” he said angrily. “You’re totally out of line bringing this up here tonight. It’s your business, not ours, and none of us appreciate being dragged into it. You should have more consideration for your daughter’s feelings. What kind of a father are you?”

  “A very generous father,” Hamilton said, his tone icy. “A father who cares about the scum his daughter associates with.”

  “Oh,” Don said scornfully. “And I suppose it’s not your wife in the photos bare-assed naked.”

  “Please, everybody,” Lucy said, desperate to get the evening back on track, although deep down she realized it was impossible. All her scheming, all her plans, and now this. Damn Hamilton, she’d never liked him. “Can we all calm down.”

  “I’m sorry, Lucy,” Don said. “Cameron and I are out of here. This isn’t our business, and we don’t care to be involved.” He put his hand on Cameron’s shoulder, and she started to push her chair back from the table. As she did so, a loud crash came from the direction of the kitchen.

  “Oh my God!” Lucy exclaimed, simmering with frustration. “What now?”

  Phil got up. “Please all stay put,” he said, taking charge. “I’ll be right back.”

  As he hurried toward the kitchen he thought about the girl in the photos. Hamilton’s wife. There was something about her without her clothes on that struck a chord. Phil never forgot a naked woman, and he’d seen this one before. But where? He couldn’t quite place her.

  Pushing open the swing doors to the kitchen he came face to face with a man holding a gun.

  Christ! If he’d written a script for this evening he could never have come up with this. He spotted the chef and the barman both tied up on the floor. This was a fucking home invasion on top of everything else.

  Shit! Where was the panic button? He couldn’t remember.

  “Evenin’, mate,” said the man with the gun, a big fellow, around thirty, with a weathered and deeply tanned complexion. “Nothin’ t’ get alarmed about, this is a social visit.”

  Double shit! An Australian burglar who thought he could be cute and get away with it.

  “Take it easy,” Phil said, speaking slower than usual. “I’ll lead you to the safe. You can take whatever you want and go. Nobody’s going to get in your way.”

  “It’s not money I’m after,” the burglar said, breathing heavy whisky fumes in Phil’s direction. “Although I can always use a few thou’ cash.”

  “What is it then? Jewelry? Computers?”

  “You’re damn generous, mate, but what I really came for is my wife.”

  “Your wife?” Phil said, his mind racing. Could this be one of Lucy’s deranged fans from the past? Yes, it was possible. She still received a stack of crazy fan mail and sometimes a few obscene scribbled notes.

  “That’s right,” the gunman said. “My fuckin’ evil wife.”

  Phil took a deep breath, this evening was getting weirder by the minute. Then it suddenly occurred to him that maybe this had something to do with Lucy’s script presentation. He wouldn’t put it past her to conjure up some insane goings-on, her way of making sure he was punished properly for his major indiscretion.

  The maybe or maybe not burglar jerked his gun at Phil. “Let’s take a trip back inside an’ join your friends,” he ordered.

  Phil blinked rapidly and tugged on his beard. “Certainly,” he said, playing along. “Phil Standard at your service.”

  “We’re going,” Don said to Cameron in a low voice. “I can’t take anymore of this. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Of course not,” she replied, watching as Mandy began berating Ryan, screaming in his face. “I feel so bad for Ryan.”

  “Yeah, so do I, but this isn’t the time or the place to handle anything. He’s a big boy, he’ll deal.”

  Cameron wondered what exactly was going on. Ryan was not the kind of man who would cheat with his father-in-law’s wife. Besides, he was fully dressed in the photos, so something wasn’t right.

  “Lucy,” Don said, turning to his distressed hostess, “we really gotta go. I know you understand.”

  Lucy couldn’t think of anything she could say to keep them there.

  As Cameron and Don walked toward the door of the dining room there was a sudden commotion. Phil was roughly shoved through the door, almost knocking Cameron down. Right behind him was a man with a gun.

  Cameron recovered her balance and then she froze.

  The man with the gun was Gregg. The husband she’d thought she’d escaped from years ago.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Marlon was getting more than antsy–he was also getting stoned. Lucy had smuggled him into her house like a criminal and stashed him in a windowless box of a maid’s room. Wasn’t there some kind of law about bedrooms without windows? Yeah, he was sure about it.

  His dealings with Lucy were not exactly the way he’d imagined writing a script would go. No proper script meetings, only an occasional visit from her with her comments scribbled on the back of the page. No fancy lunches out with an agent, he’d negotiated the deal himself. Ten grand cash and he’d write her a script. No contract. Nothing.

  His dad, the lawyer, would freak if he got wind of what he’d agreed to. But–shit–it was Lucy Lyons he was working with–she of the great tits. Man, he’d jacked off thinking about those tits many a long lonely night. And now he’d seen ’em–up close and personal–and that had to be better than some half-assed contract.

  She’d stopped by earlier with a plate of hors d’oeuvres–like that was going to solve his hunger problem. He’d scoffed the lot, but he was still starving.

  Lighting up a third joint, he tried to alleviate the boredom by thinking about his sex life. It wasn’t bad–he had three girlfriends on the go–three hot foxy girls all under nineteen. And there lay the problem. They were girls, not women, and it seemed he’d developed a taste for women. Ever since Cameron Paradise he’d had a yen to get together with another woman like her. It wasn’t as if they’d indulged in long philosophical conversations or anything like that–but the bed action–sweet. And then one day Cameron vanished, changed her cell number and never came back.

  If only Lucy hadn’t chickened out it could’ve been even sweeter. Yeah…much much sweeter.

  He checked the time, it was getting later by the minute.

  Hmm…later by the minute–did that even make sense?

  Hell, no.

  Jeez, how long did she expect him to sit here? He wasn’t doing it for much longer, that was for sure. If she didn’t come and get him soon–script presentation or not–he was out of there.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Gregg had them all lined
up in a row, sitting on the floor against the dining-room wall. The gun in his hands made him feel all-powerful–especially as none of them knew who he was yet, and Cameron hadn’t opened her mouth.

  His intention had not been to hold up a room full of people. His intention had been to crash the party, humiliate Cameron, and take her off with him back to where she belonged. But circumstances had a way of evolving, and when the bartender had come across him trying to prise open the kitchen door, they’d gotten into an altercation which had ended with Gregg beating the crap out of the man, then bursting into the kitchen, overcoming the chef and tying them both up.

  Gregg was strong. Muscles of steel. Back in Hawaii he’d worked out twice a day. Don’t even think about messing with Gregg Kingston.

  Then he’d remembered he had a gun with him–and why not use it? So he’d taken it from the waistband of his pants, and that sure made everyone jump to attention. Yeah, including Cameron. He was getting off watching the expressions on her face. At first she’d registered total shock, followed by bewilderment and finally resignation.

  The bitch knew exactly why he was here. But her boyfriend didn’t. Famous Prick was in for one helluva big surprise. Gregg couldn’t wait to see his face when the truth came out.

  Before he had a chance to say anything, Cameron spoke up, infuriating him. “I have to apologize to everyone,” she said in a strained voice. “This man is my…” she could barely get the words out–“husband.”

  Don gripped her arm tightly. “Tell me you didn’t just say that,” he muttered. “Tell me you’re lying.”

  “What?” yelled Mandy, outraged. “Your husband! Oh my God! Is this a robbery? Did you two set it up?”

  “Gregg,” Cameron said, keeping her voice low and even, “you don’t want to do this. Put the gun down, let everyone go, and you and I will talk.”