Drop Dead Beautiful

If only she wasn’t thirteen years older than Billy. It was a major drag. This year she’d be forty-two, and while everyone knew that forty was the new twenty—what did that make Billy? Twelve?

  He’d assured her he didn’t mind, that age was just a number. Yeah, sure, but the tabloids never let either of them forget their age difference, and she knew that it bugged Billy when the late-night comedians made jokes about them. It was all so unfair. When she’d been married to Cooper Turner nobody had said a word about Cooper being twenty years older than her. Talk about a double standard. If she was European would anyone care? European actresses were revered for getting older. American actresses were not. America was a raging youth culture, but along with Madonna and Sharon Stone, she was hanging in there, she still looked great, and why not? She worked like a motherfucker to make sure everything stayed in place. Hence her ritual with Cole, whether she felt like it or not.

  “I’m right behind you, slave driver,” she announced, catching up with Cole as he walked briskly to his car—a new sports Jaguar. “Very fancy,” she remarked. “Business must be outta the park.”

  “It’s a present,” he said.

  “From a grateful client?”

  “Let’s just say he’s very grateful, but he’s not a client.”

  “Name please.”

  “You’ll get his name when we’re married with a weekend house in Aspen and two adopted kids.”

  “Revealing as usual,” Venus said dryly.

  “Some of us prefer to keep our private lives private,” Cole replied, not eager to discuss his personal life.

  “Some of us are able to do that,” Venus responded tartly, hiding her eyes behind blackout Dolce & Gabbana shades.

  “Yeah, an’ some of us are making millions a year, which is the price they pay for no privacy. Sorry, Miz Superstar.”

  “He always has to get the last word,” she sighed, jumping into the passenger seat.

  “That’s right!” Cole said, getting behind the wheel. “An’ now we’re off to Franklin Canyon, so get your energy goin’, girl, we’re takin’ an hour-long hike, no slackin’ off allowed.”

  Venus slumped back in her seat and groaned. Cole was a hard taskmaster, but that’s the way it had to be.

  “Orange juice, Meester Billy?” Ramona inquired, invading his bedroom, standing next to his bed and peering down at him, a glass of freshly squeezed juice in one hand.

  “Huh?” Billy mumbled, barely opening one eye. He’d staggered home at five A.M., telling Venus he had an early call—which was a lie—then collapsing into his own bed, totally spent. Now his housekeeper was standing over him, and how many times had he told her not to wake him? Didn’t she understand that he needed his sleep?

  “Jeez,” he muttered. “What’s the time?”

  “Time for you to haul your lazy ass outta the sack,” announced Kev—gofer, assistant, driver. Kev was short, with wiry brown hair and a permanently cocky expression. They’d been best friends since meeting in kindergarten at the tender age of five. They’d grown up together, closer than brothers. Kev had taken off for L.A. before Billy with a plan to somehow or other break into movies. It hadn’t happened for him, Billy was the one who’d gotten the golden ticket, and once Billy made it, he’d brought Kev along for the ride.

  “Get fucked,” Billy groaned, reaching under the sheet to scratch his balls.

  “It’s past twelve,” Kev said, opening the blackout blinds, flooding the room with bright sunlight. “You got an interview for that fancy mag Manhattan Style. The journo’s comin’ here at one, an’ Janey’s on her way over now. She told me to wake your ass, an’ remind you this is important shit. It’s the cover story, so she says there’s no way you can blow it off.”

  “Crap!” Billy muttered, kicking away the sheets, revealing his naked body and a very impressive piss hard-on.

  Ramona seemed oblivious to her employer’s lack of clothes and his erect penis. She handed him the glass of juice and left the room.

  “Why’s Janey coming?” Billy inquired.

  “’Cause she’s your publicist, an’ that’s what she does,” Kev replied.

  “No, what she does is charge me a shitload of money to do fuck all,” Billy grumbled.

  “You’re in a piss-poor mood.”

  “So would you be if Alex friggin’ Woods had spent the day watching you get the bejesus whacked outta you,” Billy complained. “An’ how come you didn’t make it to the location last night?”

  “You never told me you needed me there.”

  “I gotta tell you everything?” Billy said, finally getting out of bed and making his way into the bathroom.

  “You usually do,” Kev said, trailing behind him. “If you’d wanted me there you should’ve said so.”

  “What am I supposed t’wear?” Billy asked as he finished peeing and headed for the shower.

  “Janey said you’d better look hot.”

  “Janey wouldn’t know hot if it hit her in the ass.”

  Kev chuckled. Ramona reappeared with two plastic dry-cleaning bags. “Meesus Janey say you wear these,” she announced, handing the bags to Kev.

  “What’s a movie star supposed t’do t’get some kind of privacy?” Billy grumbled. “My johnson’s not a show ’n’ tell, so everyone get the fuck OUT!”

  Ramona and Kev hurriedly retreated, leaving Billy alone in the bathroom. He stepped into the shower, thinking that perhaps he should call Venus, tell her how great last night was.

  Problem was he wasn’t feeling it. Anyway, she was probably still asleep, or out with her trainer—the good-looking black guy she swore was gay, although sometimes Billy wasn’t so sure. The dude didn’t act gay. He didn’t even look gay.

  Shit! What if she was screwing her trainer and they were both laughing at him behind his back?

  This thought eased his guilt about the girl in the truck with the broken taillight. If Venus could do it, so could he.

  And yet … Once again waves of guilt swept over him. Venus wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Venus was a one-man woman. She’d often confided how much it had hurt her when she’d caught her husband screwing around on her. But hey, that’s what guys did—especially movie star guys. Surely every woman was aware of that?

  He got out of the shower, toweled himself dry, and ripped open the plastic cleaning bags. Black silk pants and a crisp white Armani shirt.

  Screw it, he was more comfortable in jeans and an old army shirt stolen from the wardrobe department on one of his movie shoots. Janey would simply have to accept his style or get herself fired.

  One of the most important lessons Billy had learned in Hollywood was that nobody was indispensable. They all thought they were, but the sad truth was that everyone was replaceable. Including himself.

  “Starbucks,” Venus gasped as she and Cole got back in the Jag after a long, grueling mountain hike.

  “Is that so you can undo all the good work we just put in?” Cole questioned, throwing her a disapproving look.

  “Please! I don’t usually beg. But I would kill for a caramel low-fat Frappuccino.”

  “You’ll get nailed by the paparazzi,” he warned.

  “I don’t care.”

  “Okay,” Cole said, starting his new Jaguar, a gift from an aging rock star who was trying to persuade Cole to work— and other things—exclusively for him. The Jag was a bribe Cole had accepted as long as there were no strings. He quite liked the guy in a casual way, but he had no intention of hooking up on a permanent basis. He’d done that once, and the memories were not good. Besides, his sister Natalie, the host of a TV entertainment show, would kill him. She considered all celebrity relationships poison, and she should know, having indulged in a few disastrous ones herself.

  There was a line at Starbucks, as usual.

  Venus peered out the car window. “You go in,” she suggested. “You know what I want.”

  “This goes against everything you should be doing,” Cole said sternly.

  “C’mon, indulge me, babe
,” Venus crooned.

  “Doesn’t everyone, babe?” he said sarcastically.

  Venus giggled. “Yeah, for an old broad I suppose I do get everything I want.”

  “Including Mr. Melina.”

  “Ah, Billy,” Venus said fondly. “He’s such a sweetheart.”

  “Sure,” Cole agreed.

  He didn’t want to ruin her day, but yesterday he’d spotted Billy leaving Tower Records with a young girl in tow. Hey— maybe she was his sister. Besides, Cole didn’t believe in causing trouble. As a trainer of the rich and infamous he knew where every body was buried. He also knew he was better off keeping his mouth tightly shut.

  “He is, you know,” Venus added, as if she was trying to convince herself. “And, in case you’re wondering about the age thing, Billy is an old soul, he’s not like a twenty-something guy. And we’ve been friends for eight years, so it’s not as if I don’t know him.”

  Cole shrugged. He didn’t want to get involved. No good ever came from interfering in other people’s love lives.

  “We have the same interests,” Venus continued. “Lucky thinks we’re great together, and he doesn’t put up with my b.s. So …”

  So what? Cole wanted to say. The dude’s a hot young movie star dealing with pussy overload. It’s a given he’ll cheat. Wise up, Venus, you’re too clever to put up with his shit.

  But Cole stayed silent. It simply wasn’t his business.

  Chapter 13

  “Did you see Max before she left?” Lucky asked, sweeping into Lennie’s poolside office early Friday morning.

  He was on the phone and waved her away with a dismissive gesture.

  “Are you kidding me!” she exclaimed. “Don’t dismiss me like I’m a fucking fruit fly!”

  “Hang on a minute,” Lennie said into the phone. Choking back laughter, he pressed down hold. “Fruit fly? A fucking fruit fly?”

  Grinning, Lucky said, “Sometimes I have to come up with something original to get your attention.”

  “I’m talking to the studio.”

  “Fuck ’em,” she said, perching on the edge of his desk. “Have you seen Max?”

  “Nope.”

  “Her car’s gone, and she didn’t leave a number.”

  “Call her cell,” Lennie said, returning to his phone call.

  Hmmm… Lucky thought, getting up and heading for the kitchen. As if I don’t have enough on my mind without Max sneaking off.

  Although what did it matter? Lennie was right: she could reach Max on her cell at any time.

  Yes, but Max should have come and said good-bye. She’d wanted to make absolutely sure her wild little daughter was back in time for Gino’s party. Right now unreliable was Max’s middle name.

  Sixteen. Some age! She remembered it well. At sixteen you thought you were invincible, you thought you owned the world, you thought you could do anything and get away with it, you thought your parents were moronic idiots.

  Yeah. Sixteen. Fun memories. Until Gino had married her off to Craven “the lox” Richmond, and she’d been too young and too foolish to realize she could’ve said no.

  Ah well… She had no intention of marrying Max off, but she did plan on keeping a closer eye on her. After Gino’s party, after the launch of the Keys, she would spend some quality time with her daughter. She had to convince Max that not cutting school was important for getting into the right college. And even though she’d made it without a formal education, she wanted Max to experience all the advantages.

  Philippe approached. The very precise Philippe had come with the house, and although Lucky often found his manner to be too formal, she put up with him because he was a stickler for making sure the house ran smoothly. Now, with houseguests arriving, Gino’s upcoming party, and the opening of her hotel in Vegas, she was grateful to have Philippe and his organizational skills. At least she knew he was there ready and willing to take care of everything.

  “Mrs. Golden,” he said stiffly.

  “Yes, Philippe?” she answered briskly.

  “There is another hand delivery for you,” he said, passing her an ecru envelope.

  She ripped open the envelope and inside was a Cartier card with the same scrawled message—Drop Dead Beautiful.

  What kind of an invite is this? she thought. Quite stupid if it doesn’t include a save-the-date.

  “Did you see who left it?” she asked, opening the fridge and reaching for a can of 7Up.

  “No, Mrs. Golden. It was in the mailbox with the rest of the mail. But I can assure you it was hand-delivered.”

  Drop Dead Beautiful. Sounded like a movie or maybe the opening of a happening new club. Hollywood publicists were getting much too inventive.

  The phone rang, taking her mind off the latest note. Sticking it under a pile of cookbooks, she took the call. It was Alex Woods.

  “Lucky,” he said. “We haven’t spoken in a while. Thought I’d check in.”

  “Alex, what’s going on?” she said, always pleased to hear from him even though she knew he still harbored a mild crush.

  “I’m shooting my movie.”

  “I know that,” she said, taking a swig of 7Up from the can. “How’s it going?”

  “Great. How’s our hotel progressing?”

  “We’re on schedule. I have a fantastic team in place, and we’ll be opening on time. You’ll be there of course.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it. When I invest money I want to see the results.”

  “Oh, you will. The Keys is going to rule Vegas, I can promise you that.”

  “Everything you do always works out, so I’m confident this’ll be another moneymaking triumph.”

  “Enough with the compliments—Lennie tells me the two of you have been trading missed calls.”

  “You know what it’s like when you’re at the end of a shoot, no time for anything.”

  “Ah yes, I remember it well,” she said, momentarily nostalgic for her producing days.

  “We should develop another movie together.”

  “Oh sure,” she said sarcastically. “I can do that—in my spare time.”

  “We’d have a blast, just like before.”

  “How’s Billy working out?” she asked, quickly changing the subject.

  “I hate goddamn actors,” Alex said vehemently. “Once they make it, they’re out of control.”

  “I know you do, but you wouldn’t be able to do your job without ’em,” Lucky said, wondering what Billy was up to now.

  “Ever heard of animated flicks?” Alex said.

  “Yeah,” she said, laughing. “I can just imagine an animated Alex Woods movie. Cute little rabbits and adorable farm creatures beating the crap outta each other with machetes! Blood and severed limbs everywhere!”

  “Ah … she knows me so well,” he said dryly.

  “Oh yes, Alex, I do.”

  “Any chance of lunch anytime soon?”

  “Thought you were busy shooting.”

  “I am. But maybe you’ll visit the set one day. I’ll have them set up lunch in my trailer.”

  “You, me, and Lennie?”

  “Just you and me was what I had in mind.”

  “It’s good I don’t take you seriously.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “ ’Cause then I’d have to tell Lennie you were hitting on me, forcing him to kick your ass.”

  “Sounds dramatic. But I was always under the impression that you had the balls in the family.”

  “Low blow, Alex.”

  “Just telling it the way I see it.”

  “Lennie has plenty of balls, believe me.”

  There was a short silence while she tried to figure out what was on his mind. Every so often he made an attempt to get together without Lennie. She always laughed him out of it. She was very fond of Alex as a friend, and that’s the way she wanted to keep it. Yes, she’d slept with him once and once only, but it was long ago and it didn’t really count, because at the time she’d thought Lennie was gone forever. It was ob
viously a night Alex had never forgotten.

  “You’re coming to Gino’s party on Sunday?” she asked, breaking the silence.

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” Alex replied.

  “Bringing Ling I hope.”

  “Should I?”

  “Why are you asking me? She’s your girlfriend. Isn’t it about time you made it legal?”