Hollywood Divorces

  She sat on a chair in front of them, crossed her spectacular legs, and did not lose her composure. Most actresses with an opportunity to star in a Linc Blackwood movie would be selling themselves like crazy. Shelby didn’t do that. She was thoughtful, serious, and quite charming.

  Linc leaned back and let the others do the talking.

  “You’re English, is that right?” asked the casting woman.

  “Guilty,” Shelby replied with a soft smile. “However, if you’re at all worried about my accent, I can assure you that I do a perfect American.”

  “Lucky guy!” Linc joked.

  “Excuse me?” Shelby said, throwing him a cool look.

  “Just a dumb joke,” he said, wondering what she would look like naked in his bed.

  “Would you mind reading a scene?” asked the director, already smitten.

  “Not at all,” she answered politely in her melodious voice. “Although I think I should warn you that I’m not sure I’m right for this role.” She smiled another dazzling smile. “I’m not exactly the athletic type. And I find the topless scene somewhat gratuitous. I would not be prepared to shoot that scene as written.”

  The room was silent. An actress talking herself out of a leading role. Unheard of.

  “Uh . . . Millie will read with you,” said the director, indicating the casting woman’s assistant.

  “That’s not necessary,” Linc said, standing up. “If it’s okay with Ms. Cheney, I’ll read the scene with her.”

  He gave her the look. The irresistible, rugged, macho movie star look that worked with every woman he ever encountered. They all wanted a piece of Linc Blackwood. He had it going and then some.

  “Whatever you like,” Shelby said, as if it was no big deal.

  Hmm . . . she wasn’t falling all over him. Unusual but intriguing. Surely she couldn’t be in love with Pete? Pete was a major womanizer who’d get her into bed and then dump her.

  It did not occur to Linc that when it came to women he followed exactly the same pattern.

  Shelby scored the role in his movie. Three weeks later the cast and crew left for a two-month location shoot in New Zealand. Pete was furious that she was heading out on location with Linc, but there was nothing he could do about it since he was working on a movie in town and was unable to leave. He called Linc and threatened that if he so much as touched her, there would be some reckoning. “I love this girl,” Pete informed him. “So lay off.”

  Linc laughed and assured Pete that she wasn’t his type.

  But of course she was, and a month after their movie wrapped, Linc Blackwood and Shelby Cheney were married on a Hawaiian beach in a romantic ceremony attended by Shelby’s family, whom Linc flew over from London, and a few close friends. Pete was not among them.

  Linc was ecstatic. For the first time he finally understood what caring for a woman was all about. He loved Shelby, she was it. And as far as he was concerned, his drinking, drugging, and womanizing days were over.

  The honeymoon period lasted a year, and then it was back to his bad old ways. Linc simply couldn’t help himself; there were too many temptations out there, and he had no willpower.

  Playing around did not mean that he wasn’t still crazy about his wife. Shelby was the best. An angel. And one of these days he really would settle down. Maybe he’d even give her the baby she wanted so badly.

  Maybe.

  One of these days.

  • • •

  “Love you,” Linc said, pulling Shelby down on the bed beside him. “Love you so much, babe. You’re the best.”

  He was drunk, but at least he wasn’t in one of his mean and nasty moods, and she’d gotten him back to the hotel without any embarrassing incidents. Thank God for that.

  “C’mere, baby,” he mumbled, pawing at her gown. “Take it off an’ come t’ bed.”

  She could smell the booze coming off him in waves; it made her quite nauseous. She loved him deeply, yet there were times like this when she couldn’t stand to be near him.

  “Wanna make love t’ you,” he mumbled. “ ’Cause you’re my wife. My wunnerful, booful li’l wife . . . My . . .” His hands dropped off her and his eyes closed. He was out. Gone. And he wouldn’t surface again until noon the next day.

  Unfortunately, she knew the routine only too well; she’d experienced it many times.

  Feeling let down and abandoned on a night when she should’ve been feeling nothing but triumphant, she wearily pulled off his shoes and loosened his belt. She had neither the inclination nor the energy to undress him further. Let him sleep in his clothes. She didn’t care how uncomfortable he was when he awoke, because by that time she’d be long gone. She had a morning of interviews and photographs, lunch with a journalist from USA Today, and another mass press conference in the afternoon with her co-star and the director of Rapture. Sleep was imperative, otherwise she would look a wreck.

  Damn Linc! He was impossible. Why couldn’t he think of her for once? After all, she thought of him all the time.

  CHAPTER

  * * *

  6

  Cat had never, been a patient girl, and waiting around for Merrill Zandack to decide when he was ready to return to the yacht was pissing her off.

  Finally, after Lola Sanchez and her husband left, she jumped to her feet, exclaiming, “Man, I’m exhausted!”

  “The night is only just beginning, kitten,” Merrill said, puffing on his cigar. “Next we go to Regine’s.” “Not me,” Cat said firmly. “I’m heading back to the boat. So if you’re not coming, please tell Jonas to arrange for me to get there.”

  “Headstrong,” Merrill muttered.

  “What?” she said sharply. He wasn’t her fucking father, for crissakes, and he was speaking to her as if he was. Not that her father was any kind of disciplinarian; quite the contrary, in fact.

  “Okay, okay,” Merrill said, snapping his fingers at Jonas, who jumped to attention. “Call for the tender. Now!”

  Cat shot Jonas a triumphant look.

  He went out of his way to pretend not to notice.

  • • •

  “Did you sleep with Merrill Zandack?” Matt demanded the moment he and Lola reached their luxurious suite.

  “You’re not serious?” she replied, removing her borrowed diamond Chopard earrings, which she was hoping they’d allow her to keep as a gift. “Me and that fat old man. Is that what you think of me?”

  “I heard Merrill Zandack has a reputation around the actresses he works with,” Matt said, pressing on. “There’s a rumor that he makes them give him head.”

  “Like I would do something like that with him,” she said in disgust.

  “The two of you seemed pretty cozy tonight,” Matt said accusingly, not realizing that if he was smart he would drop the subject.

  “Cozy, huh?” Lola said, her expressive brown eyes flashing major danger signals.

  “Doing tequila shots. Sucking limes,” Matt continued sulkily. “While I sat there like an idiot.”

  “You said it.”

  “Huh?”

  “That you’re an idiot.”

  Matt’s face flushed a dull red. They’d been married only five months, so why was she treating him like he was nothing more than an accessory to have on her arm? “I wish you wouldn’t talk to me like that,” he responded.

  “You said it,” she repeated, stepping out of her dress, standing before him in all her glory—naked except for a thin diamond chain around her waist, a rhinestone encrusted thong, and Jimmy Choo stilettos.

  He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Lola Sanchez was magnificent, and he was her husband.

  His eyes lingered on her nipples, so big and-brown and tempting.

  He started getting hard.

  His nagging went out the window as he reached for her.

  She backed off. “I have to make a call,” she said evasively, and walked into the bathroom.

  Matt attempted to follow her. Anticipating his move, she slammed the door in his face wit
h a succinct, “I don’t appreciate being accused of things.”

  Safely locked in the bathroom, she stared at her reflection in the mirror above the marble sink. She knew she looked good; no false modesty there. And so she should; she broke her back to look her best. Not to mention spending a fortune on her own personal trainer, with whom she spent two hours a day six days a week whether she was working or not. Plus she had a waxer who came to her house every two weeks; a manicurist every five days; a hairdresser, stylist, and makeup artist on permanent call.

  Even though she was only twenty-four it took hard work, time, and money to look as good as she did. It wasn’t easy maintaining the image. However, she wasn’t complaining. Oh no, not after all the things she’d gone through to get where she was today.

  Matt might be dense, but he’d certainly called the shot when it came to Merrill. She had given the powerful mogul a blow job. It had happened early on in her career when she was desperate to score the lead in one of his movies, and the only thing standing in her way was Mr. Zandack’s sexual pleasure. So she’d done it. Once.

  The good news was that it had gotten her the part, and that role had signaled the start of her ascent. She’d played a sexy young dancer who protects a small child and an adorable puppy from the wrath of an abusive husband. Excellent strong-heroine stuff. The public ate it up, and suddenly she was a name, and scripts started coming her way, and the two years of struggling in a series of humiliating bit parts playing maids and hookers was over.

  One blow job for her shot at stardom. Not such a big deal.

  Later she’d found out that Merrill Zandack expected the same from all the actresses he worked with. She’d felt a lot better when she’d heard that it was a rite of passage. A simple blow job to establish his power, and then they could be friends. He treated her with nothing but respect now.

  She wondered if the skinny young blonde in the weird outfit with the odd name had done it yet. His protégée. Cat.

  Probably. They all had to. It was part of the deal.

  • • •

  The phone rang in Tony Alvarez’s Hollywood Hills home. He almost fell off the bed reaching for it.

  “Tony, baby,” Lola purred into his ear. “I miss you.”

  “Who the fuck’s this?” he mumbled.

  “You know who it is,” she replied in a husky voice.

  “Lola?”

  “Who else?” she said, as if he didn’t know.

  “Jesus holy Christ!” A beat. “What’s the freakin’ time?”

  “Let me see,” she said coolly. “It’s midnight here.”

  “An’ where the fuck is here?”

  “I’m at the Cannes Film Festival.”

  “Jeez, Lola,” he groaned. “Y’know I’m not into early mornin’s.”

  “Tony,” she said patiently. “It’s nine hours ahead in France, so therefore it’s three o’clock in the afternoon in L.A. I’d hardly call that early morning, would you?”

  “Shee . . . it.”

  “Aren’t you happy to hear from me?”

  “Oh sure,” he said, groping for a half-finished joint on the bedside table. “I’m real psyched gettin’ an early-mornin’ wake-up from my married ex-fiancée.”

  “That’s what I called to tell you.”

  “So tell me.”

  “Things aren’t working out between me and Matt.”

  “No shit?”

  “In fact,” she said, pausing dramatically, “I’m divorcing him.”

  “You mentioned this to him yet?” Tony said, lighting up.

  “I will.”

  “Why you callin’ me?” he said, taking a drag off the half-smoked joint.

  “I told you,” she murmured softly. “I miss your hot body.”

  “You do, huh?”

  “Yes, Tony, I do.”

  “You ran, baby,” he said, his voice hardening. “You ran like a fuckin’ thief in the night. Couldn’t get away from me fast enough.”

  “I had to. It was all getting too much.”

  “You had to?” he said disbelievingly.

  “That doesn’t mean we’re over,” she said quickly. “I mean, you and I—we could never be over.”

  “Lola, Lola,” he said, scratching his head. “You are somethin’ else.”

  “I miss us being together.” A long beat. “In bed. All warm and wet and hard and—”

  “Too bad,” he interrupted.

  “Look, I understand you’re mad at me, and that’s why I want to make everything right.”

  “An’ how d’you plan on doin’ that?”

  “First I have to ask you a very important question.”

  “Keep talkin’.”

  She hesitated for a moment, unwilling to set him off. Tony had a dramatic temper, for that matter so did she. “It’s not easy,” she began.

  “Spill, Lola.”

  “Are you still . . . using?”

  “What’re you—a fuckin’ narcotics cop?” he exploded, furious she would ask such a question.

  “Here’s the thing,” she said, speaking fast. “I want us to get back together, but I can’t do it if your habit is likely to drag us both down.”

  “Who the fuck needs this shit?” he said, abruptly cutting her off.

  Unfazed, she immediately redialed. She knew Tony was not an easy get. She also knew that she’d hurt him badly by dumping him and marrying Matt, so now she had to make amends.

  “Whaddya want from me, Lola?” he sighed, answering on the first ring.

  “I told you.”

  “One thing about you, babe—you got yourself a set of big brass balls, that’s for sure.”

  “Thought you liked that in a woman,” she teased.

  “Listen, I hate t’ break the news, but this is one dude who’s moved on.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Same old Lola,” he said with a dry laugh. “Think you’re the only woman in the world.”

  “The only one for you,” she countered.

  “Get it into your brain, baby,” he said harshly. “You made the goddamn break, now you gotta live with it.”

  “Wrong.”

  “Right. ’Cause there’s no way I’m gonna have any woman policin’ me.”

  “I’ll be back in L.A. in a few days,” she said, confident that he didn’t mean a word of it. “I’ll call you then.”

  “Don’t bother.”

  “Trust me, Tony—we’ll work things out.” He was silent. “You know you want to,” she added in her most seductive voice, clicking off her phone just as Matt began hammering on the bathroom door.

  “What’re you doing in there?” Matt yelled.

  “Can’t a girl have any privacy?” she yelled back.

  “You’ve been in there for half an hour.”

  “So what?”

  She stepped out of her high heels, removed her makeup, brushed her teeth, and sauntered back into the bedroom, where Matt waited impatiently.

  “What’s wrong with you?” he said in a whining voice. “You’ve turned really cold on me lately.”

  “I’m too tired to talk now,” she said, climbing into bed and pulling up the covers.

  “When can we talk?”

  “Soon,” she murmured, and ignoring her irate husband, she drifted off to sleep.

  • • •

  The Mediterranean was eerily dark and quite rough as the tender made its way back to the yacht, careening over the waves. Apparently Merrill Zandack did not like his yacht to come into dock; he preferred to distance himself from the action.

  Sometimes Cat had nightmares about the sea. Although she was an excellent swimmer, sitting in a crowded tender in the dead of night was hardly her favorite thing to do. She concentrated on thinking about Jump. Australia seemed so far away, and yet it would take her only a day to fly there. Maybe she’d hop a plane and surprise him, which wasn’t such a bad idea.

  The only problem was that she was supposed to stay in Cannes for several more days, trapped on Merr
ill Zandack’s yacht. “You gotta meet people, kitten,” Merrill had informed her. “Distributors, foreign sales, press. People who’ll help make your next movie bigger than your first.”

  When they reached the yacht it was a performance getting Merrill safely aboard. The tender was rocking and bumping against the side of the yacht, and the big man was slightly unsteady on his feet after God knew how many shots of tequila.

  How awful if he falls in the sea, Cat thought.

  How funny! As long as he doesn’t drown.

  Two of the crew gamely hoisted him up the unsteady rope ladder, one pulling him from the front, the other shoving him from behind. His Russian girlfriend didn’t say a word. Well, she couldn’t, could she, considering she didn’t speak any English.

  Once they got Merrill safely aboard, Cat was next. She climbed the ladder with Jonas right behind her. Hmm . . . he’s probably checking out my ass, she thought. I do have an ass like a boy—just his style.

  The captain was waiting to greet them, looking snappy in his pristine white uniform. “Do you wish to sit outside on the deck, Mr. Zandack, or in the living room?” the captain asked.

  Merrill chose to sit outside.

  The chief steward approached. “And what can I get everyone to drink?” he inquired, falsely jovial, because it was past midnight and he was ready to get some sleep.

  “Nothing for me,” Cat said, stretching and yawning. “I’m off to bed.”

  “No!” Merrill said forcefully. “Have a drink with me. I did what you wanted, now you do what I want.”

  Crap! How much rope did she have to skip to get her movie made?

  “Okay, I’ll have a glass of water,” she said, reluctantly sitting down.

  Ignoring her request for water, Merrill told the steward to bring a bottle of Cristal and a dish of caviar.

  “I don’t like champagne,” Cat remarked. “It gives me a hangover.”

  “You’ve been drinking the cheap stuff,” Merrill snapped. “No hangover with Cristal.”

  Since it was quite obvious his Russian girlfriend was being ignored, the woman got to her feet and marched inside. Merrill did not appear to notice.

  “Anything else I can do for you tonight, Mr. Zandack?” Jonas inquired, hovering by the table.