“How did the location scout go?” Lili asked.
He could hear her TV playing in the background and wondered if she was alone. “Fine,” he said. “Uh, listen…I’ve had a change of plans, I can’t take Tin Lee to the Stollis’.”
“Did you call her?”
“I tried, she’s not home. What can I do?”
Lili turned her TV down. “You’ll have to meet her at your apartment and tell her the bad news.”
“I was planning on staying at the beach.”
“Shall I call the Stollis to cancel?”
“No, don’t do that,” he said quickly. “I’m still going.”
“You’re still going,” Lili repeated patiently, “only you’re not taking Tin Lee.”
“You got it.”
“Do you have another date?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
“Then I suggest you reach Tin Lee as fast as possible.”
“That’s smart of you, Lili, but I thought I just told you, I can’t fucking reach her.”
“I’m sorry, Alex,” she said, unfazed by his growing anger. “There’s nothing I can do.”
He had a sneaking suspicion Lili quite enjoyed his romantic screwups. “Okay, okay,” he said, pissed off that she wouldn’t help. “Don’t come up with a solution.”
He called the hall porter at his apartment building on Wilshire. “I’m expecting a guest at seven. When she arrives, tell her I’ve been held up on business and can’t make dinner tonight. She’s to go home and wait for me to call her. Have you got that?”
“Yes, Mr. Woods,” said the desk porter.
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely, Mr. Woods.”
Alex didn’t know what else he could do. If he drove back into town to take care of it himself, he’d be late picking Lucky up. The smart thing was to stay at the beach.
He went into his bathroom and tried to decide what to wear. Black, of course, because he never wore anything else. A black silk shirt, black Armani jacket, black pants. It was a look.
Christ! He was as nervous as a teenager going on a first date. This was a joke.
After dressing, he went to his bar, stared at a bottle of vodka, and decided against it. Half a joint would take the edge off. Had to be alert.
He consulted his watch, nearly seven.
One joint and he’d be ready for anything.
Mickey got in his car and left the studio. He hadn’t heard from Venus since her surprise visit. He didn’t know if this was good or bad. What the hell? She’d come around. Now he was head of Panther again, anything could happen. And he wanted it to happen desperately, because Venus was one hot babe, and it was time for him to get a piece of that juicy action.
Being back at Panther was a relief. Running Orpheus Studios had never been his kind of deal—answering to the Japanese, keeping everything aboveboard and respectable. Mickey was used to doing things his way, he did not enjoy kowtowing to anyone.
He called Abigaile from the car to check on their party. She immediately started bitching because she didn’t know the names of Cooper Turner’s or Johnny Romano’s dates.
“Who gives a shit?” Mickey said, eyeing a blond in a black Mercedes who’d pulled up alongside.
“What am I to write on their place cards?” Abigaile wailed.
“Write it when they arrive,” he said impatiently. The blond zoomed past. He didn’t give chase.
“Calligraphy is not one of my talents,” Abigaile snapped. “I have a person who writes my cards.”
His wife could be a real pain in the ass, although he had to admit that since they’d reconciled, things were better than they’d been before the split. Two years ago she’d thrown him out after she’d caught him with Warner. Being out on his own was no fun. Hotel life was a drag, he’d yearned for the comforts of home. In fact, to his amazement, he’d even missed Abigaile.
Yes, Abigaile, who gave great party and organized his social life, was a definite asset.
But that didn’t mean he couldn’t screw around when the feeling hit him.
Abigaile hung up on Mickey, annoyed because he didn’t understand. “Consuela,” she called, summoning her housekeeper. “We do not have the names for these two place cards.”
Consuela shook her head—like it mattered. These American women worried about the craziest things.
Abigaile held up the card with Mickey’s name on. “Can you copy this calligraphy?”
Consuela stared at her blankly.
“The writing,” Abigaile said, raising her voice. “Can you copy it?”
“Sure, Mrs.,” Consuela said with a What do you think I am, an idiot? shrug.
“Tell the butler to give you the names of the ladies with Mr. Turner and Mr. Romano, then write them on the blank cards.”
“Yes, Mrs.”
“Make sure you do it properly.”
That problem solved, she now had to decide what to wear. She had two outfits on standby—a Nolan Miller beaded two-piece evening suit, or a blue Valentino dress. They were both hanging in her vast closet, awaiting Mickey’s approval.
She went upstairs and peered in her makeup mirror. A professional makeup artist had come by earlier in the day to do her face. Abigaile was very fussy about her skin and insisted on certain products. For cleansing and skin care she used Peter Thomas Roth—his line was fragrance-free and helped reduce the appearance of fine lines and wrinkles. Hmm…anything to get rid of wrinkles. She’d discovered these products on a vacation in Aspen, and refused to use anything else. Over Peter Thomas Roth went Estée Lauder, with a touch of Borghese around the eyes.
Satisfied with her face, she began worrying about her daughter. What bizarre creation was Tabitha going to spring on them tonight? Last week they’d taken her to Trader Vic’s for a family dinner. She’d worn a torn satin slip, fake tattoos all over her arms, and clumpy Doc Marten boots. Not a pretty sight. Mickey had sworn he’d never be seen in public with her again.
Abigaile decided she’d better check, so she hurried up to her daughter’s room.
Tabitha was lying on her bed clad in a T-shirt and striped men’s underpants watching Axel Rose on MTV. Bon Jovi blasted from the CD player. The combination of noise was deafening.
“Aren’t you getting ready?” Abigaile screamed over the din.
“S’ okay,” Tabitha replied, waving vaguely in her mother’s direction.
“I hope you’re wearing that dress I bought you at Neiman’s,” Abigaile said, still shouting.
“Yeah, yeah,” Tabitha replied, casually twirling the gold ring she’d recently had stapled to her navel.
Abigaile shuddered and backed out of the indescribably messy room.
She wouldn’t admit it to anybody, but she couldn’t wait until Tabitha moved out.
Venus decided on red—a drop-dead Alaïa dress with practically no back and plenty of daring cleavage. She hoped it would drive Mickey insane with lust. Even Alex might be impressed, he had to have some feelings.
Anthony was working late. She had him come up to her bedroom and check her out.
“Divine!” he exclaimed with just the right amount of genuine adoration.
“Divine enough for them to cast me as Lola?”
Anthony nodded respectfully. “There is no other actress for the role.”
He certainly knew the correct things to say.
Johnny’s limo arrived shortly after. It was a double stretch—bigger than any she’d ever seen.
She wondered if his dick was as big as his limo. Ha, ha! She was not about to find out.
Johnny whistled at her dress. She complimented him on his gray sharkskin suit and black gangster-type shirt. He helped her into the car, copping a surreptitious feel. She pretended she didn’t notice.
Johnny’s limo driver was a beautiful black woman. Two female bodyguards sat ramrod straight up front.
“Do you really need all this?” Venus asked, settling in the backseat.
“Sure, babe, an’
you should have the same,” he said with a sly smile. “It’s tax deductible.”
My—what big teeth you have, she thought as he reached for a bottle of Cristal and poured her a glass. Rap music serenaded them on low volume.
She accepted the glass of champagne and thought about the letters she’d been receiving. “Who deals with your fan mail?” she asked.
“Never read it—don’t wanna see it,” he replied, gulping the champagne as if it were water. “I get a lotta crazy letters.”
“Me, too. Lately I’ve had obscene letters arriving at my house. The envelopes turn up on my doorstep.”
He refilled his glass. “How does your guard let this happen?”
She shrugged. “It’s a mystery.”
“You gotta deal with it. Beef up security, put a couple more guards on your property.”
“You’re right.”
“I’ll recommend some people to you,” Johnny said, his hand falling casually onto her thigh. “When we’re working together, we both gotta be surrounded at all times.”
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” she said, casually removing his hand. “Alex has decided to go with Leslie Kane. I’m out of the movie.”
“No way!” Johnny exclaimed, frowning.
“’Fraid so.”
“Impossible. Who told you this?”
“Freddie Leon.”
“You want I should do something about it?”
“If you like,” Venus said. “Only don’t expect any favors in return.”
“Don’t worry, babe,” Johnny said, swigging more champagne. “When Johnny says he’ll do somethin’—consider it done.”
“Thank you,” Venus answered demurely.
“It’s late,” Leslie said as Jeff ran into the house. “Where were you?”
“Jeez! I got held up at the gym, didn’t realize the time,” he said, totally out of breath.
“I’m dressed and ready to go,” Leslie pointed out. “We have to leave at seven-fifteen.”
“Sorry,” he said. “I’ll throw myself in the shower and be out in a minute.” He raced into the bathroom.
What did he think she was? A moron? He’d been with another woman, she could smell it all over him. And even if she couldn’t, his wife had phoned to gloat. Yes, Jeff was married. Somehow he seemed to have developed a mild case of amnesia when it came to telling her. “I’m Amber,” the woman had said on the phone. “Jeff’s wife. If you don’t believe me, look in the back of his photo book—our marriage license is concealed behind the last photo.”
“Why are you calling?” Leslie had asked blankly.
“Thought you should know.”
“Thanks. Now I know.”
That had been several days ago. She had no idea why the wife had called and, quite frankly, she didn’t care, because Jeff wasn’t around to stay. Jeff was merely a convenience until she got Cooper back.
She’d checked out his photo book. He was a married man. A lying married man.
How foolish of him to pick tonight to liaise with his wife. How foolish of him to pick any night when he was with her.
She followed him into the bathroom. He was already in the shower, scrubbing his body with a soapy washcloth.
“Who was at the gym?” she asked. “Anybody I know?”
“No, it was kinda quiet,” he shouted over the noise of the running water.
God, he was a bad actor, no wonder he hadn’t gotten a break.
She picked up a bottle of scent from the countertop, spraying a generous amount behind her ears and between her cleavage. Cooper loved scent, smells turned him on.
She wondered who Cooper was bringing tonight. She’d read in the gossip columns he’d been seen out with several women. One, the divorced wife of a sports star; another, a TV talk-show hostess; and the third, a German supermodel.
She hoped it was the first one—less competition.
Jeff emerged from the shower and began vigorously toweling his balls.
“Your hair’s wet,” she said.
“It’ll take me two minutes if I borrow your hair dryer.”
“You know where it is.”
She walked out of the bathroom. He was dumb. Plain dumb.
What was it with men?
Obviously, brains and a hard-on did not mix.
Cooper’s date, Veronica, was a famous runway and catalogue model specializing in sexy but respectable lingerie. He’d met her on a plane, taken her out a few times, and found her to be attractive and quite intelligent for a model. She didn’t cling. He liked that in a woman. The one thing he didn’t like was her deep, guttural voice—she sounded like a man.
“Hi, Cooper,” she said when he buzzed her apartment. “I’ll be right down.”
Veronica traveled a lot, from New York to Paris to London, she was always on the move. She had apartments in L.A. and New York.
“Sure you don’t want me to come up?” he asked through the speaker, automatically thinking that maybe a blow job wouldn’t be a bad idea. Up until now, he’d been behaving like a gentleman. Tonight he planned on closing the deal.
“Okay,” she said, not exactly enthusiastic.
He took the elevator to the fourteenth floor.
“Come in,” she said, greeting him at the door, chicly clad in a cream-colored sleeveless dress, her long arms faintly tanned and muscled. She was almost six feet tall, with shoulder-length streaked hair, cat eyes, an intriguing overbite, and a slightly too long nose. It all worked.
Cooper walked into her apartment, hard-on firmly in place.
“Cooper,” she said, noticing immediately. “You’re incorrigible! I’ve never met anyone like you.”
“Can I help it if I’m pleased to see you?” he said, taking her hand and placing it on his erection.
“Save it,” she said, chuckling hoarsely. “For later.”
If he’d done that with Venus Maria, she would have whipped it out and given him what he wanted. Veronica was a little too cool for his liking. She was a star in her own field, maybe too much of a star. Although like every other successful model, she harbored the dream of becoming a famous actress. That was her weakness.
He changed tactics, snaking his hand down her neckline, taking her by surprise. She was not wearing a bra. “Beautiful tits,” he said.
“I know,” she said, smiling confidently. “Shall we go?”
Tea with Dominique was an enlightening experience. Tin Lee sat stiffly on the heavy damask-covered couch perusing Dominique’s photograph albums—observing Alex as a child. In the beginning of the book there were pictures of him with his dad, playing on the beach, riding horses, swimming. Then came the birthday photos in which Alex was surrounded by both parents—all three of them carefree and laughing. Morbidly, Dominique had devoted three pages to Alex’s father’s funeral. The photographs of Alex were heartbreaking—his little face a solemn mask of grief as he stood next to the casket. After that, the smiling stopped, and Alex was serious in all the photos. There he was sitting with his grandparents, staring out a window, standing awkwardly in the yard. At the back of the album there were several pictures of Alex in his military academy uniform. A forlorn figure in the austere gray uniform, his face sad and lonely.
“Alex needed the discipline,” Dominique said, a touch defensively. “I couldn’t look after him, I had my own life to lead. I was a young woman when my husband died. I had certain…needs. I’m sure nobody expected me to give up everything.”
“I understand,” Tin Lee said quietly, not understanding at all.
“Alex doesn’t,” Dominique said bitterly. “He blames me for everything.”
“What does he blame you for?” Tin Lee asked curiously.
“The death of his father,” Dominique said, her scarlet mouth turning down. “Alex thinks I nagged Gordon to death. He doesn’t know the real story. Gordon was a hopeless drunk and a worthless womanizer. I had every reason to nag.”
“Have the two of you ever discussed it?” Tin Lee asked, si
pping tea from a fragile china cup.
Dominique shook her head. “No, Alex refuses to talk about anything personal. He only sees me because his guilt tells him it’s his duty to do so.”
“If I may say something,” Tin Lee interjected. “Perhaps the two of you fail to get along as well as you should because you’re always criticizing him.”
“I criticize him to get his attention,” Dominique said sharply. “If I didn’t criticize him, who would?”
“I think it makes Alex unhappy,” Tin Lee ventured tentatively, hoping she wasn’t going too far.
“Don’t become an expert on him, dear,” Dominique said caustically. “What takes place between me and my son is no business of yours.”
Duly chastised, Tin Lee stood up. “I have to go,” she said. “Alex hates being kept waiting.”
“Come with me before you leave,” Dominique commanded, leading her into her bedroom.
Tin Lee followed obediently. Dominique went over to her bureau and opened an old velvet jewel box standing on top. She picked out an exquisite diamond cross hanging from a thin platinum chain. “You see this?” she said. “It belonged to Alex’s grandmother. I want you to have it. Wear it tonight.”
“Oh, I can’t accept it,” Tin Lee said, startled. “It’s too expensive.”
“No, dear, go ahead,” Dominique said, handing it to her. “It’s comforting to know Alex has someone who cares for him, a girl who’s not after his money.”
Tin Lee stood in front of the mirror, placing the diamond cross around her delicate neck. “Beautiful!” she gasped.
“Enjoy it,” Dominique said. “And enjoy tonight. Alex taking you to an industry party is a good sign.”
“I hope we can all have dinner later this week,” Tin Lee said.
“Yes,” Dominique said. “I’d like that. I don’t have many friends. I get lonely by myself.”
“I’ll make sure Alex arranges it.”
Tin Lee hurried downstairs and waited for the valet to bring her car.
Anxiously she glanced at her watch. She was running late. She hoped Alex wouldn’t be too annoyed.