She sighed. Sheldon and his small dick were part of her past, she’d moved on long ago. So why did he still bug her?
There was a tap on her office door, and Aiden Sean wandered in, looking like he’d just staggered out of bed—which he probably had.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“You’ve got that tense face on,” he said, flexing a skinny arm.
“Me, tense?” she said lightly. “Why would you say that?”
“I gotta feelin’ for emotions.”
“Can I help you?” she asked, determined not to fall into his let’s-get-intimate trap, because she instinctively knew he wanted to get closer.
“Yeah. I need a coupla changes in the script. Wanna talk t’you about it before I go t’Mick. He can be an uptight bitch ’bout changin’ stuff.”
“In other words, you’d like me on your side?”
“Why not? You’re the boss.”
She grinned, forgetting about Sheldon and Richard and all her problems. “Flattery will garner you my full attention.”
He nodded, like he’d known that all along. “Let’s get a drink,” he said. “You look like you could use one.”
“I do?”
“Yes, boss lady.”
She looked at him skeptically. “How come you always treat me like I’m a hundred and two?”
He shrugged. “Maybe I like t’bug you.”
“Why?”
“ ’Cause you’re so easy.”
She shook her head ruefully. “Thanks.”
“Okay, Nikki. Are we goin’ for a drink or not?”
“You sure you’re supposed to drink?”
He laughed bitterly. “I was a druggie, not an alcoholic.”
“Well . . . I guess I could use a glass of wine.”
“Big boozer, huh?”
She ignored his remark and picked up her purse. It was past six; she should be heading home—but for what? To have another fight with Richard? She needed his support, not his constant criticism.
Besides, if Aiden wished to discuss the script, it was her duty as the producer to be there for him.
CHAPTER
40
JOEY WAS LYING ON THE couch in the den, watching sports-on TV when Lara arrived home. Laid out on the coffee table in front of him was a bowl of caramel popcorn and a plate of freshly baked cookies.
“I see Mrs. Crenshaw is looking after you,” she said, pleased that he seemed to be settling in so comfortably.
He barely looked up. “I got her under my voodoo spell,” he said, casually tossing a handful of popcorn into his mouth.
“They’re all under your spell,” she replied, lightly touching his cheek. “Women adore you, and you love it.”
“Whatever you say,” he said, eyes fixed firmly on the TV.
She wished he’d shut off the television and pay her some attention; she wasn’t used to being treated in such a cavalier fashion. “So,” she said, perching on the edge of the couch. “Tell me what happened with you and Quinn.”
“Nothin’ much,” he answered vaguely.
“Will he negotiate for you?”
“You told him to, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Well,” he said, a slight edge to his tone, “when Miz Ivory tells people to do things, they do ’em. Right?”
She paused for a moment before saying, “Aren’t you pleased?”
“I dunno,” he said moodily. “Sometimes I think I shouldn’t be askin’ you t’do stuff for me. You got me Revenge, then you got me your agent . . .”
“Joey,” she said softly. “I can only open the door. Once you’re in, you have to prove yourself.”
“Yeah,” he said, laughing sardonically. “Like they’re gonna fire me if I don’t deliver. There’s no way they’d risk pissin’ you off.”
“I didn’t get you The Dreamer,” she pointed out. “You did that by yourself.”
“Yeah, clever me,” he mumbled.
“Is something the matter?” she asked, treading carefully around his bad mood.
“I’m feelin’ kinda down tonight,” he admitted, finally giving her his full attention, even though he didn’t bother lowering the sound on the TV.
“Why?”
“ ’Cause you deserted me today.”
“Joey, I had to do publicity,” she explained, sure he must be joking. “I’ve got two movies coming out soon.”
“I know, I know . . .” A long beat. “Truth is I’m feelin’ kinda homesick.”
“Homesick?” she said, frowning.
“I miss the New York street action. I don’t know anybody in L.A.”
“I can introduce you to people.”
He gave an ironic laugh. “Oh, yeah—like the people you’d introduce me to are gonna be interested in meetin’ me.”
She decided this conversation was not taking a good turn. “What do you want to do tonight?” she asked, changing the subject. “We could go out, stay in—whatever you like.”
“What do you wanna do?” he said, turning the question around so that it was she who had to make the decision.
“I don’t mind,” she replied.
“Then maybe I’ll watch the end of the ball game,” he said, turning back to the television.
Was he dismissing her? She couldn’t believe that she’d been thinking about him all day, and now that she was home, he was behaving this way toward her. “Are you saying you want to be alone?” she said, trying not to sound upset.
“Is that okay with you?”
“Fine,” she said, “I’ll see you later.”
She hurried upstairs to her bedroom. They’d hardly been together ten minutes and all of a sudden he was pulling this moody stuff on her. Was it something she’d done? Had she offended him in some way?
How could she have offended him? As he’d pointed out, she’d gotten him an interview with her agent, a job in her movie. What else was she supposed to do?
Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea suggesting he stay at her house; a hotel might have been better.
For a moment her eyes filled with tears. She’d so wanted this to turn out to be something good; now she wasn’t so sure.
She went into her bathroom, stopping in front of the mirror and staring at her reflection. Lara Ivory. Beautiful movie star. The woman who could have anyone. Yeah. Sure.
And the real truth is, Lara Ann Leonard—you know who she is, the kid who watched her father butcher her mother and brother—then sat back while her dad blew his brains out.
Some nice little girl.
Some ugly little slut.
Dammit! She wasn’t about to start feeling sorry for herself.
She went back into the bedroom, buzzed the kitchen and reached Mrs. Crenshaw. “Where are the dogs?” she asked.
“Mr. Joey said they’d be better off spending more time outside in the dog run,” Mrs. Crenshaw replied.
“Oh, he did, did he? Well, kindly let them back into the house right now.”
“Certainly, Miss Ivory.”
He’d told her he loved dogs and now he was banishing them from the house. What was going on?
She was tempted to go down and confront him. But what if he split? What if he said, “Okay, this isn’t working out, good-bye.” Was she ready for that?
No. She wasn’t prepared to give up on this relationship. Not yet, anyway. They were still getting to know each other—she had to give it time.
• •
Nikki and Aiden drove to the Château Marmont in her car. Aiden shut his eyes and slept all the way. Hmm, Nikki thought, he’s certainly not into being polite. “Wakey, wakey,” she said dryly when they arrived.
“I’m beat,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Takes a crapload of energy, doin’ nothing. Can’t wait to start work.”
They sat at a small table. Aiden ordered his usual Jack Daniel’s. She went for a glass of red wine. He lit up a cigarette, blowing a stream of smoke into her face. She coughed, clearing the air with her hands.
>
“Sorry,” he mumbled, not looking sorry at all.
“So,” she said, all business. “What’s your problem with the script?”
“It sucks.”
“Excuse me?”
“I wanna change my dialogue—do a rewrite, an’ get compensated.”
“I presume you’re joking.”
He dragged on his cigarette. “Deadly serious.”
“Not possible, Aiden. We start shooting in a few days; no time for rewrites. Plus everyone else is perfectly happy with the script.”
“It’s corny shit.”
Now he was starting to irritate her; Revenge was a great script. “Then why did you accept the part?” she asked coldly.
He gave a mirthless laugh. “Only game goin’ on. I’m trouble—didn’tcha know?”
Fortunately she was used to dealing with actors; they were all insecure, this one more than most. “Listen to me,” she said as calmly as she could manage. “Mick hired you. He promised me you were in good shape, now you’re coming to me with this.”
“I’m fuckin’ bored,” Aiden said, ice-gray eyes restlessly scanning the room. “I’m fuckin’ bored with everyone tellin’ me what I can do an’ what I can’t. Right now I wanna get laid. You into fast sex?”
Why had she agreed to have a drink with him? Rule one for producers: stay away from actors. “You’re nuts,” she said, shaking her head.
“Bin told that many times. Wanna fuck or not?”
“Not,” she said, briskly rising from the table. “I have to get home.”
“Hubby waitin’ patiently?”
“What’s it to you?”
“You’re too young to set up house with such an old cocker.”
“Why don’t you concentrate on getting your act together and leave me alone?”
“ ’Cause I like you.”
“Really,” she said, feigning disinterest, although if she were truthful, she’d have to admit he did intrigue her. “Somethin’ about you,” he added with a sly grin.
“It’s not reciprocal,” she said sternly.
“Big word.”
She sighed. “Go home, Aiden. That’s what I’m doing.”
“What’s it like living with someone over twenty years older than you?” he asked, not finished with her yet.
What made him think he had the right to get into her business? “No accounting for taste,” she said tartly. “Didn’t you tell me you had a fifteen-year-old giving you head the other day? Let me see—you’re thirty-four—that would make her nineteen years younger than you. She’s probably never heard of Bruce Springsteen. Doesn’t that make you feel ancient?”
He laughed bitterly. “You’ve got it wrong. Mick was the guy with the fifteen-year-old. Not me. I’m not into juveniles.”
“Of course not,” she said disbelievingly.
He took another gulp of Jack Daniel’s. “Then I guess you’re not gonna help me do somethin’ about the script?”
“Take it up with Mick. He’s the creative genius.”
“I’d still like to fuck you.”
“Wow—Aiden, you’re such a romantic! Your girlfriends must faint with pleasure.”
“What girlfriends?” he said sourly. “I don’t have any.”
“How about the fifteen-year-old?”
“Aren’t you listening to me?” he said, burned-out eyes watching her closely. “It was Mick. ’Sides, she’s major trouble.”
“Not to mention underage,” Nikki said crisply. “Aren’t you embarrassed?” -
“Aren’t you?” he snapped back.
“Excuse me?”
“She’s your daughter.” The words were out before he could stop himself.
There was a moment of deathly silence. The color drained from Nikki’s face, and she sat down abruptly. “What?” she said blankly, thinking that there was no way he could be telling the truth.
“Shit! I shouldn’t’ve told you,” he muttered, taking another swig of his drink. “Mick had no clue she was your kid. He told me she came on like a seasoned groupie—you know, the kind you trip over in this town. When he saw her at your house, he had a shit fit!”
“Oh, God!” Nikki said, suddenly feeling sick.
“Later she turns up at my apartment an’ starts tellin’ me that if I don’t screw her, she’ll go to her dad, and he’ll have me arrested ’cause of her being underage an’ all. This is bad for my karma, Nikki. I’m try in’ to keep it together, which ain’t easy. So do everyone a big favor an’ warn her off.”
“Did you . . . sleep with her?” Nikki asked, her mouth dry with the anticipation of his reply.
“Who, me?” he said indignantly. “No way. She’s a fucked-up kid who’s way out of her league. You’d better do something about her.”
For once Nikki wished that Sheldon was there to share this enormous problem.
“I don’t understand,” she said wearily. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Didn’t mean to. ’Sides, if I was gonna fuck anyone in your family, it’d be you.”
“You’re disgusting!” she said angrily.
“No—I’m honest,” he said, watching her closely. “How about you?”
Her heart was beating fast. Stress, stress, stress. She was too young to feel like this. What should she do?
She stood up, determined to gain control of the situation. “Consider it taken care of, Aiden,” she said, as coolly as she could manage. “And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention this to anyone. Including Mick. I’ll deal with it in my own way.”
“You got it,” he said, draining his glass.
She hurried from the hotel and waited impatiently for the valet to bring her car around.
Who could she turn to? Sheldon? Richard? Or maybe it was best to leave them both out of it and handle it herself.
Yes, she decided, that’s what she’d do, deal with it herself.
• •
Lara was asleep, tossing restlessly, dreaming of the sea enveloping her, flooding her house, taking away everything. She cried out in her sleep, waking abruptly. Her body was covered in a thin film of sweat.
She lay very still for a moment, the heavy darkness wrapped around her. Her breathing was heavy—too heavy. With a sudden start she realized she was not alone. Seated in a chair next to the bed was Joey. She sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest. “God!” she exclaimed. “You scared me.”
“Maybe you should lock your door,” he said.
“Maybe you shouldn’t sneak around,” she retorted, trying to take a peek at the clock on her bedside table.
“It’s 2:00 A.M.,” he said obligingly.
For a moment she was afraid, perhaps Richard and Nikki were right to be concerned about Joey. What did she know about him? Exactly nothing. They’d had great sex for a few weeks, but tonight she’d encountered a stranger sitting in front of her TV, casually ignoring her. And now that stranger was in her bedroom, and he was making her very nervous.
“What do you want, Joey?” she asked, keeping her tone even and noncommittal.
“We gotta talk.”
“Now?”
“I can’t do this, Lara,” he said, speaking fast and low. “Can’t go for any kind of commitment. You’re too nice for me . . . I wanna be here for you, but I’m not sure I can make you happy.”
“Joey, you are making me happy.”
“I could blow it at any time. That’s me. I’m selfish, want my own way. I’m not into this relationship thing, it’s too tough.”
“Are you saying you want to leave?”
“Dunno,” he muttered
“Joey,” she murmured softly, understanding that he was frightened of commitment and not afraid to voice his fears. After all, he was coming out of a broken relationship, and what had happened between them had taken place so fast—a lightning connection that was enough to frighten anyone. “I understand, I really do. We’re both confused by what’s happened between us.”
“It’s not like I don’t wanna be h
ere for you,” he said. “Trouble is, there’s nothin’ I can give you that you don’t already have.”
“Yes, there is,” she whispered.
“What?”
“You. I want you.”
“You got me. You got me all the way,” he said, burying his head on her shoulder, snuggling against her like a little kid seeking solace.
She stroked his thick, dark hair, holding him close, and it was at that moment she realized she loved him. Not a sexual moment. Not a having-fun moment. Just a pure connection that made her melt inside.
“Get into bed,” she said serenely, quite sure they belonged together.
“You sure you want me to stay?”
This was a different Joey, vulnerable and insecure. “Yes,” she said, loving him all the more.
And he got into bed, and they held each other, and after a while they fell asleep in each other’s arms, perfectly content.
Lara knew she’d finally found the happiness she’d been searching for all her life.
I call them the drug days. Although truth is I should call them the drug years, because time passed so quickly, and I had no idea what was going on.
Drugs took over my life. Drugs were the only reason to get up in the morning. Drugs ruled.
I bought myself a shack on Zuma with the money I’d made from the action movies, and moved to the beach. Since I’d stopped working, the money didn’t last long, so I hooked up with Christel, a beautiful swimsuit model who was also into the drug scene and was not averse to performing a little extra money action on the side.
My life had gone around in a circle. But I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything.
After a while the usual happened, Christel got fed up with supporting me and told me that I had to throw some money into the pot or she was gone. I was bloated and out of shape, couldn’t get a job acting. Didn’t want to anyway—who needed to work? Somehow I’d lost all ambition to be a movie star. The dream was gone.
One of my dealers sold me a gun. “You need protection, man,” he told me. “These are dangerous times.”
I liked the gun. It was my faithful companion when nobody else cared. It never answered back and was always there when I needed comfort. I slept with it under my pillow, fully loaded.