Thrill

  Lara smiled. For as long as she’d known Roxy there had always been tales of dastardly men who’d done her wrong. Yoko, her regular makeup person, also had man problems, as did Angie, her stand-in. It was nice that on this movie she’d be surrounded by familiar faces—women she’d worked with before and enjoyed having around.

  “Did you run into Mr. Carson yet?” Roxy asked, standing back to admire her work.

  “Not yet.”

  “Major babe,” Roxy said, sucking in her cheeks.

  “What’s his reputation?” Lara asked, knowing that Roxy always had the inside story.

  Roxy spoke and worked at the same time. “His wife threw him out on account of the fact she found him playin’ you show me yours, I’ll show you mine with some bimbo TV anchor. I should be so lucky. A week later she ran off with her trainer. Word is, Kyle wants wifey pie back, ’cause she’s goin’ for half his fortune. An’ since he’s made like, a jillion movies in the last ten years, she could score big.”

  “Very big.”

  “You know what surprises me about guys?” Roxy said, raising her thinly penciled eyebrows.

  “What?” Lara asked, amused.

  “They’re always ready to give up their pissy little dicks, but when it comes to money, they hang on like we’re nailin’ their precious balls to the hood of a 1965 Cadillac!”

  “You’re so eloquent,” Lara said, still smiling.

  “Yeah, that’s what my date said the other night—right after I told him to screw off on account of the fact he came all over my new Anne Klein skirt.”

  “Roxy!”

  “Well, he did,” she said indignantly. “What was I supposed to do? Kiss him? I don’t think so.”

  As Roxy finished twisting the last strip of tinfoil, there was a knock on the trailer door.

  “Who is it?” Roxy yelled out.

  The door opened a few inches and Kyle Carson stuck his head in. He was good-looking in a laid-back way—kind of a latter-day Gary Cooper. He had an easygoing smile and fine brown hair that seemed to be thinning in the front, although a cunning hairpiece hid this fact from his adoring fans.

  “Hello,” he said. “Is Lara Ivory around?”

  Lara twisted in her chair. “You’ve caught me in my tinfoil,” she said, pulling a rueful face.

  “Will it embarrass you if I come in?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Hi,” he said, ambling inside. “I’ve heard nothing but good things about working with you. I’m delighted we’re finally doing it.”

  “So am I,” she said, as he moved over to shake her hand. “And meet Roxy, she’s the hair genius who always makes me look good.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Roxy muttered. “It takes a lot of geniuses to make you look good.”

  “Thought I should come find you,” Kyle said. “Since we’re starting work tomorrow.” He was staring. Her beauty was very evident in spite of her tinfoiled hair. “Uh . . . if there’s anything I can do for you—if you’d like to run lines before we get together in front of the camera, that’s fine with me. Maybe dinner at the hotel tonight?”

  “I’m not staying at the hotel,” Lara replied. “The studio’s rented me a house.”

  “That’s what they were going to do for me,” he said. “Only I figured since I recently separated from my wife, I wouldn’t enjoy being stuck alone in a house. Thought a hotel might make things easier.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” she agreed.

  “You do know I’m separated?” he asked, making sure she was aware he was semiavailable.

  “I heard.”

  “About tonight—I could drop by your house if that makes it easier for you.”

  “You know, Kyle, I just got back from Europe, and I’m still jet-lagged. Would you mind if we rehearsed on the set tomorrow?”

  “Hey,” he shrugged. “Simply trying to accommodate you.”

  “That’s very sweet, I appreciate it.”

  He gave her another easygoing smile before exiting the trailer.

  “Oh boy,” Roxy said.

  “Has he got a hot nut for you!” “He’s being polite,” Lara said.

  “Polite my ass—he was drooling all over you.” Roxy sighed wistfully. “But then, they all do, don’t they? You ever get sick of it?”

  “It’s the image they drool over,” Lara replied thoughtfully. “As an actress I create characters on the screen people fall in love with.”

  “You call it love—I call it lust!” Roxy said with a dirty laugh. “I gotta tell you, there’s not a guy I know that doesn’t wanna screw you.”

  “Thanks, Roxy,” Lara said dryly. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

  “Honey, the truth is the truth. Wake up and smell the hard-on.”

  A few minutes later, Miles, the director, appeared. He was a tall man in his early fifties with a mane of longish silver hair, steel-rimmed glasses and an animated expression.

  “I guess this is my day for getting caught with my hair in a mess,” Lara said as he bent down, kissing her on the cheek.

  “You’re always exquisite, my dear. I’ll never forget the first time you walked into my office.”

  “I’ll never forget it either, Miles. You started me on this road.”

  “And you’ve traveled it well, my sweet.”

  “Thanks,” she said, indicating her hair. “I thought the lighter blond streaks would work for the character.”

  He squinted at her hair. “You were right.”

  “It’s Roxy’s idea—she’s doing a great job.”

  “I can see.” He perched on the edge of the counter, facing her. “So, how was it, working with Richard now that you’re divorced?”

  “Absolutely a great experience. I love him and Nikki.”

  “That’s a healthy attitude.”

  “Being married to him was a nightmare. Having him as a friend is a whole other deal.”

  Miles nodded as if he totally understood. “I hear good things about the movie.”

  “Yes?”

  “The word is excellent.”

  “Richard’s a marvelous director. He knows exactly what he’s doing.”

  “So do you.”

  “I’m looking forward to working with you again, Miles.”

  “We’ll have a splendid time.”

  “How’s Ginny?”

  “Still into her charity thing in L.A. I’m sure she’ll try and visit. Oh, and she sends you her love.”

  “Send mine back.”

  “How about dinner tonight?”

  “Do you mind if I pass? I’m planning on getting a good night’s sleep so I’ll be bright and camera ready in the morning.”

  “Then I’ll see you tomorrow.” He blew her a kiss and left the trailer.

  “Another one with a crush on you,” Roxy remarked.

  “You think everybody has a crush on me,” Lara said, exasperated. “Miles is a married man.”

  “The worst kind,” Roxy said with a knowing wink. “Show me a married man and I’ll show you a hard-on in full bloom, only it ain’t pointed in the wife’s direction.”

  “You’re such a cynic.”

  Roxy laughed, “You got that right.”

  Later, back at Lara’s rented house, Cassie had arranged for the Filipino cook to fix them a light salad. They sat out on the back deck, overlooking a stretch of white sand and the sea. There were wooden steps leading down to the beach, edged with a profusion of evergreens and colorful wildflowers.

  Lara took a deep breath. “I know I’m going to love it here,” she said, gazing out at the ocean. “You picked a winner, Cass.”

  “I’ll do my best to keep out of your way,” Cassie said. “All you have to do is yell when you want me around.”

  “Hey—I asked you to stay here with me. I’d be nervous on my own.”

  “Not much crime here,” Cassie remarked.

  “It’s not crime I’m worried about,” Lara retorted. “Ever since I was stalked by that crazy woman last year, I feel m
ore comfortable not being by myself.”

  “At least your stalker’s in jail.”

  “She’ll be out,” Lara said, her beautiful face grim for once.

  “That’s stardom,” Cassie said with a flippant laugh. “Your own personal stalker!”

  “Something I can definitely do without,” Lara said, thinking briefly of the obnoxious and frightening woman who’d followed her everywhere for several scary months, taking photographs, sending numerous letters and gifts and—worst of all—turning up at her front door on countless occasions.

  “The good news is,” Cassie said, “that we’ve got a guard every night. He’ll be sitting in his car at the front of the house—probably asleep on the job, but we can buzz him any time we want.”

  “I hate having to live like this,” Lara fretted.

  “The studio’s paying,” Cassie said, practical as ever. “What does it matter?”

  Cassie didn’t get it, but that was okay. For Lara, being stalked was a living nightmare. “I think I’ll take a walk along the beach,” she said. “Care to join me?”

  “Much as I fancy the idea,” Cassie said, shifting her comfortable bulk. “I’d sooner have a piece of chocolate cake and a carton of ice cream.”

  Lara raised a disapproving eyebrow. “What happened to your diet?”

  “I left it in L.A. along with all those hard bodies.”

  “Hmm . . .” Lara said. “When we get back I’m buying you a year’s membership at a health club.”

  “I’d sooner have a Porsche!”

  “Very funny,” Lara said, laughing. “I’m going to walk before it’s dark. Be sure I get a wake-up call at five-thirty.”

  “It’s done,” Cassie said—her favorite expression.

  The beach was windswept and deserted. Lara strolled by the seashore, kicking off her sandals and walking barefoot, loving the feel of the damp sand on her feet.

  She thought about Nikki’s book, and the role of Rebecca—the rape victim who takes her own revenge. She wanted to play the part; it was a challenge, and life should be a challenge sometimes.

  Of course, it wasn’t a star vehicle, but if the script was good, she was definitely interested. She had all the success she could ever possibly want—why not take on something risky? Something that would stretch her as an actress? Something that could maybe help her avenge her past?

  Lara Ivory—beautiful movie star. If people knew the real truth . . .

  If they only knew . . .

  CHAPTER

  8

  AFTER BEING AWAY FROM L.A. for almost three months, Nikki had a thousand things to do. Her fifteen-year-old daughter, Summer, was arriving any moment, so her main concern was opening up the Malibu house and getting everything organized. Summer sometimes spent vacation time with Nikki, but mostly she stayed with her father in Chicago.

  Nikki often reflected on her former life and wondered how she’d ever been that person. Mrs. Sheldon Weston—respectable wife and mother—locked into a loveless marriage simply because she’d gotten herself pregnant at the age of sixteen during an adventurous six week fling with an older man. Sheldon had done the right thing and married her. Well, he’d had to; he was twenty-two years older than her and a respected psychiatrist—he couldn’t risk tarnishing his spotless reputation. Plus her uptight parents had insisted he marry her. If it hadn’t been for them she might not have been such a wild child, but since sex was never allowed so much as a mention in their house, she’d had to go and find out for herself what it was all about. So, even though she’d balked at going through with it, neither Sheldon nor her parents had given her a choice. She’d been sixteen—what did she know?

  Apart from being an extremely successful psychiatrist, Sheldon was a very controlling man—similar to her father in a way. Once they were married, Nikki found he expected her to obey his every whim, and while at first she enjoyed playing the obedient little wife, it soon grew to be a burden, especially after Summer was born.

  By that time Nikki was seventeen and craved fun.

  Sheldon was thirty-nine and expected her to always be at home waiting for him.

  After a couple of years she had a hunch he played around. She knew that many a society woman flopped down on his couch and told him everything, and while they were there, she suspected he did a lot more than listen. It took her years to catch him, and when she did, she had no firm evidence to take to court.

  Divorcing Sheldon had not been easy. He hadn’t relished letting her go, in fact, he’d threatened that if she left him, she’d never see Summer again.

  His threats had not worked. She’d hired a canny female lawyer and fought back, ending up with shared custody.

  Summer was eight when they split, and extremely verbal about spending the majority of her time with her father at his rambling house in the suburbs of Chicago, where she could ride horses and keep her pet rabbits. She hated her mother’s small apartment, so Nikki gave up, allowing her to stay with Sheldon.

  It was a mistake. Summer bonded with her father and began treating Nikki like a slightly crazy older sister.

  Nikki was hurt, but over the years she’d grown to accept it. Instead of parenting, she’d concentrated on getting together a career, starting as an assistant and eventually becoming a much-in-demand costume designer on movies—much to Sheldon’s chagrin.

  When Richard Barry had arrived in town to shoot a film, he’d requested Nikki as clothes designer. She’d been flattered and intrigued.

  Their first meeting was classic Richard. He’d shot orders at her as if she were still an assistant, which infuriated her. After a while she’d taken him to one side and set him straight. “I know you’re this big Hollywood director,” she’d told him. “But I have a reputation of my own, so please don’t tell me how to do my job, and I won’t tell you how to direct your movie.”

  Two nights later they were in bed together, and to her surprise and delight it was pretty sensational sex.

  By the time the movie was finished, Richard had asked her to marry him and she’d accepted—even though he was another older man.

  Now they had been married two years, and although Richard didn’t approve, she’d decided she wanted to become a producer and was trying to get Revenge together.

  Since Nikki had married a famous film director and moved to Los Angeles, Summer was a lot warmer toward her. She actually seemed to look forward to spending vacation time with them. Of course, the fact that they had a beach house in Malibu helped.

  Summer was extremely pretty, tall and coltish, with long, white-blond hair—natural of course—and a Lolita-type demeanor. Richard had nicknamed her Jailbait, and they giggled together a lot. It occurred to Nikki that Summer got along much better with men than women.

  Recently, Sheldon had married again. Nikki had thought that Summer would hate Rachel, Sheldon’s new bride, considering she was only three years older than Summer. But quite the contrary, apparently the two girls had become quite close; in fact, Summer had even asked if she could bring Rachel with her for a few days.

  “Absolutely not,” Nikki had said, horrified at the thought.

  Nikki ran around the house making sure everything was right. She was thrilled Lara had asked to see the script. What a coup if she agreed to make the movie!

  Today the writer was delivering his final draft. She hoped it arrived before Summer, because all she really wanted to do was sit quietly in a corner and read.

  • •

  Summer Weston checked out the young limo driver holding up a white card with her name printed on it in big bold letters. He was cute in a goofy way, with sticking-up carrot-colored hair and a cheeky expression. He stared at her, bug eyed, and couldn’t believe his luck when she headed straight for him.

  “Hi,” she said, casually. “You’re meeting me.”

  “I am?”

  “Yup,” she said, thrusting her carry-on bag at him.

  He took the bag and said, “Uh . . . shall I bring the car around, or d’you want to c
ome with me to the lot?”

  “I’ve got like, luggage.”

  “A lot?”

  “Six bags.”

  “You’re here to stay, then?”

  “Maybe,” she said, flirting.

  “Whyn’t I take you to the luggage carousel. Then I’ll go get the limo.”

  “Cool,” she said, excited that Nikki had sent a limo to meet her.

  They began the long walk. “You an actress?” he asked, throwing her a sideways glance.

  She giggled, flinging back her long, blond hair. “What do you think?” she responded, pleased that he thought she was.

  He squinted at her. “You look like that girl in Clueless—y’know, Alicia something.”

  “Well, I’m not.”

  “S’okay,” he said casually. “You’re prettier.”

  “Honestly?”

  A laconic “Yeah.”

  This was an excellent start to her trip. A sure sign L.A. was the place for her to be. Her father had wanted her to go to the Bahamas with him and his teenage wife, but much to his annoyance, she had refused. The less time she had to spend with him, the better.

  They arrived at the luggage carousel and waited for her bags to appear. “I’m Jed,” her driver said, edging close to her. “Doing this job to make the rent—in real life I’m an actor.”

  “You must meet a lot of cool people.”

  “Yeah,” he laughed. “Like you. Only you can’t score me a job.”

  “My stepfather’s a famous director,” she boasted.

  “No shit? What’s his name?”

  “Richard Barry.”

  His eyes bugged. “I’m impressed.”

  Later, sitting in the back of a long, silver limo heading for Malibu, she took a joint from her purse and lit up. She’d been smoking grass for two years, it helped her get through all the things she had to put up with. In fact, she didn’t know what she would’ve done without it.

  Jed caught on immediately—sniffing the air, eyeing her in his rearview mirror. “You’re gonna stink up the car,” he remarked.

  “So,” she said haughtily. “I’m paying.”

  “Right,” he said, snickering. “You an’ your rich step-daddy.”