Movie crews loved Lola. She’d learned early on that playing the diva did not go down well, so she always made sure to make herself known to all the key people on the set and act in an approachable fashion.
On the first day of location shooting in New York, she arrived in a car loaded down with boxes of chocolate cookies, New York State of Mind tee shirts, and baseball caps for the crew. Usually the producers gave out presents at the end of a shoot, but Lola had found it was to her advantage if she arrived with gifts on the first day.
Elliott Finerman was there to greet her. Since he’d given in and hired Linc Blackwood, she was overly nice to him, before moving on to the film’s cinematographer—Dudley Wayne, a seasoned veteran. Dudley was the most important man to her; he was the one who would make her look out of this world.
“Darling,” she said, enveloping him in a big hug. “All I ask is that you cover up my bags.”
“I don’t see any bags,” Dudley said, peering at her with a professional eye.
“You will after I’ve been in New York a few days.” She laughed, bringing him in on the joke.
“You have perfect skin, Lola,” he said, quite sincerely. “I’m sure the camera loves you.”
“And you’ll make sure it loves me even more, won’t you, Dudley?” she said in her sexiest voice.
“I’ll do my best,” Dudley replied, mesmerized.
Watching her, Elliott marveled at her seductive skills. This girl would fuck a snake if it could do something for her in return. Actresses! They were all the same. Phony as a game of three-card monte.
The director, Fitch Conn, was a big, gangly blond man in his thirties. He’d directed several successful movies and was all over Lola immediately. They’d had a couple of meetings in L.A. and he was already enamored. He was on her side, exactly the way she wanted it.
The first day’s shooting took place outside, on a street downtown in the Village. Linc was not around. Lola was pleased because it gave her time to bond with the crew. Trailed by Big Jay and her assistant, Jenny, she handed out the cookies, tee shirts, and baseball caps, talking and joking with whoever crossed her path. By the end of the day she’d won everyone over.
The following morning, when Linc turned up, she was ready. They were shooting more location street scenes, and the excited crowds had to be cordoned off by several burly New York cops, who kept on sidling over and asking for her autograph.
Lola greeted Linc with a friendly hug. “I’m thrilled you’re making this movie with me,” she purred, establishing that it was her project. “We’ll have so much fun.”
“Sounds good,” he said, thinking how sexy Lola Sanchez was in her formfitting red dress, emphasizing every delectable curve.
“Is your lovely wife with you?” Lola asked, glancing around as if she expected to see Shelby.
“She’s flying in next week,” Linc replied, accepting a mug of coffee from an assistant.
“Then we must all have dinner,” Lola insisted. “I’ll arrange everything.”
“Great,” Linc said. “With, uh . . . it’s Matt, right?”
“Matt isn’t here,” she said, managing to look a tad forlorn.
“When does he arrive?”
“Can I tell you a secret?” she said, lowering her voice and leaning close.
“Sure,” he replied, inhaling a strong whiff of her heady scent.
“This is not public knowledge yet. But unfortunately we’re getting a divorce.”
“You and Matt?” Linc said, surprised. “The guy I met in the south of France?”
She nodded.
“That was only a few weeks ago; the two of you seemed real tight.”
“As you well know, Linc,” she said in a sad voice, “illusion is everything.”
“Jeez! I’m sorry to hear that you’ve split.”
“Are you?” she said, giving him a long, meaningful look, which he chose to ignore.
At the lunch break Lola ate outside with her hairdresser, her makeup artist, Jenny, and Faye. They all sat at one of the long trestle tables set up in a parking lot, along with the rest of the crew. Lola knew it was important to show everyone she was a girl of the people, not a stuck-up princess like so many stars.
Her group surrounded her, making sure that no intruders got anywhere near her. They were a close-knit posse who’d all worked together on her last two films.
Linc chose to eat in his trailer, which pissed her off. Later that day she questioned him. “Are you a snob?” she asked in a teasing fashion. “I eat with the crew. Where were you?”
“Here’s the deal,” he answered with an easy grin. “I prefer staying in my trailer, where I can relax, study my lines, make phone calls. When you’ve been in the business as long as I have, you’ll do the same.”
Translation: Lunch break is getting-high time. In private. He’d already set up his supplier, a real estate guy who dealt on the side and was available to come by the set anytime he called. The coke was flowing freely and he felt no desire to drink. The perfect solution.
“Shame,” Lola said, licking her glossy lips. “I always think it can be so helpful if co-stars get to know each other.”
“Right,” Linc replied, fully aware that she was coming on to him. Nothing new about that; most women did. But he wasn’t into responding. He recognized that Lola Sanchez was dangerous territory, and now that he’d given up drinking, and she was getting a divorce, he knew enough to stay away—although he had to admit that she was some hot number. Exactly what he didn’t need. He had Shelby, and he would do nothing to put their relationship in jeopardy.
• • •
“How would you feel about me accepting a movie in L.A.?” Shelby asked over the phone.
“Huh?” Linc said, safely back at the hotel.
“If you don’t want me to do it, I won’t. It all happened very suddenly.”
“It’s not the movie we talked about—the one where you take your clothes off again? ’Cause if it is—”
“No, Linc,” she interrupted. “I promised you I wouldn’t do that.”
“What is it?”
“The script Merrill Zandack gave me to read in the south of France. Ed recommends I do it. It’s a completely different role from the woman I played in Rapture.”
“Yeah?”
“I’d be playing an undercover cop.”
“You?”
“Yes, me. I’m an actress, remember?”
“Hey—sweetie, I’m not gonna stop you. There’s nothing for you to do here except hang around the set while I’m working, and we both know how boring that can be.”
“True. Although we’d be together at night.”
“Not really,” he said, stifling a yawn. “We have a shitload of night shoots coming up.”
“My movie would shoot six weeks in L.A. By the time I’m finished you’ll be home.”
“Go ahead and say yes. Sounds like you’re into it.”
“I’ll miss you, though.”
“I’ll miss you too, but I’ve got a nice hotel setup, my agent’s flying in this week, my publicist’s already here. So I’m surrounded by people.”
“Are you sure you’ll be okay?”
“Hey—if you’re worried about me drinking, I’m not.”
“Promise?” she said, anxious to believe him.
“Yeah, I promise. You don’t have to be here to protect me, Shelby.”
“Then you think I should say yes?”
“Who’s directing?”
“Cat Harrison.”
“You mean the kid?”
“She’s not such a kid, she’s almost twenty.”
“Sweetheart, that’s a kid.”
“Merrill told me if I have doubts I can choose any director I want. But you know what? I had Ed run Wild Child for me again, and I like her work. She’s got an offbeat, quirky style.”
“Who else is in it?”
“He’s not bad.”
“I wanted to make sure you were okay with me not coming there. Although I’ll fly in for the Rapture press junket. Merrill promised I can use his plane.”
“Listen to my little movie star wife,” Linc said, amused. “ ‘Merrill says I can use his plane.’ Jeez!”
“People do that for you all the time,” she chided. “Don’t make me feel spoiled.”
“I’m teasing you. Can’t you take a joke?”
Shelby hung up feeling pleased. She’d already said yes to the James Bond-type movie that did not start for six months, and Caught would be an interesting interim film.
Linc was right, there was nothing more depressing than hanging around a set, especially when he was into concentrating on his work and did not appreciate diversions. Basically she’d be sitting in New York doing nothing.
She called Ed and accepted the movie.
He was one happy agent.
• • •
Talk about an accelerated preproduction schedule. Things were totally crazy. So crazy that Cat did not have time to dwell on her personal problems. According to Leo Napoli, he’d arranged for divorce papers to be sent to Jump in Australia. She was relieved; the sooner her two-year marriage was over the better.
Merrill had gone ahead and signed Shelby Cheney and Nick Logan to star in Caught. Cat still felt Shelby Cheney was wrong for the role; however, Nick Logan was perfect for the smart-mouthed con man. In his early thirties, Nick had a bad-boy edginess about him, plus he was also a dynamic actor. Currently finishing off a modern-day cowboy movie in Arizona, he was flying in as soon as his film wrapped.
Cat wished she’d had more to say about the casting of her two stars, but she couldn’t complain; at least she was about to direct her own movie, since apparently neither Shelby nor Nick had voiced any objections.
Her excitement level was in overdrive. She was getting ready to direct her own movie with two star actors and an actual budget! How cool was that!
Merrill had surrounded her with a first-rate team of people—all of whom had worked for him before. She was well aware that he was making sure she wouldn’t screw up. It was aggravating and assuring all at the same time.
The line producer, Gary, seemed like a great guy. He was energetic, smart, and noncritical. He steered her through production meetings, casting sessions, and location scouts, making her feel secure, even though she knew he probably regarded her as a total amateur.
Jonas was also there for her, arriving at her apartment every night after work, breaking down the script with her as she bounced ideas off him and discussed the shooting schedule, laying each scene out on index cards.
In her mind she had a master plan for Caught. She wanted to capture a degree of realism. She wanted her movie to have a gritty edge, with a documentary feel to it.
“Everyone loves the script,” Jonas assured her. “Usually Merrill brings in one or two other writers. This time he hasn’t mentioned doing that, so it’s quite a compliment.”
After one particularly creative session with Jonas, Cat requested a private meeting with Merrill, and informed the big man that she would like him to appoint Jonas as an associate producer on Caught.
At first Merrill laughed at her, then after a lot of persuasion he realized it wasn’t such a bad idea. After all, he’d taught Jonas everything he knew, so why not put him out there? Merrill was also canny enough to realize that it could be useful having Jonas permanently on set to report back.
“Please don’t mention I asked you to do this,” Cat insisted.
Merrill agreed, although it didn’t stop him grumbling about losing the best assistant he’d ever had.
When Jonas got the news he was delighted. He immediately asked Cat if she’d had anything to do with it. “Who me?” she said innocently, not fooling him one bit.
“I know it’s you,” he said. “Do I thank you now, or later?”
She was sitting on the floor of her apartment, surrounded by storyboards, notes, and her laptop.
“Just be there for me,” she said. “That’s thank-you enough.”
“All the way,” Jonas replied.
“I’m worried about Shelby Cheney,” Cat said, swigging from a can of 7 UP.
“Why?”
“ ’Cause she’s English and too beautiful to play my cop.”
“She’s also an excellent actress,” Jonas pointed out.
“I know, but—”
“Maybe you should take another look at Rapture he suggested. “Her American accent is right on. I’ll arrange a screening.”
“I’m glad you’re so confident. She’ll probably hate me anyway.”
“What makes you think that?”
“I dunno,” she said miserably.
“Come on,” Jonas said, cheering her up. “Where’s the cocky, I-can-do-anything Cat we all know?”
“She’s on hiatus.”
“Bring her back.”
“Maybe she’s not available. Maybe she’s scared.”
“Not Cat.”
He didn’t tell her about Merrill’s backup plans; it would only make her more nervous.
A few nights later, when they were once again sitting around in her apartment working on the story-boards while eating pizza and drinking wine, Cat started talking about her drug-addicted past. She had no idea why she suddenly decided to confide in him. She simply felt like unburdening herself, and Jonas was an excellent listener. “I don’t ever want to go back to doing that,” she said with an exaggerated shudder. “But I have this recurring dream that being a druggie is like being an alcoholic, and since an alcoholic is always an alcoholic, I guess I’ll always be a druggie.”
“Not the same thing,” Jonas said, watching her carefully. “They call people alcoholics because the temptation is always there. If they have one drink they know it’s over.”
“You think drugs are different?” she said, thinking that he was obviously naive. “I bet you’ve never even smoked a joint.”
“We’re talking about you, Cat, not me.”
“Oh yeah, me,” she said ruefully. “The girl who was dabbling in heroin, doing crack.” She sighed. “What a moron!”
“Do you miss it?”
“Come on! I look back in horror.”
“Then there’s no way you’ll do it again. You’re too smart.”
“Jump saved me, y’know,” she mused. “Without his help . . .”
“You’ve got to stop thinking that way,” Jonas said, irritated that she still considered her cheating husband some kind of savior. “You were an easily influenced kid. Now you’re a big-time writer and director, which gives you every reason to stay straight.”
“Thanks,” she said softly. “I must say, Jonas, that you’ve got this knack of calming me down. You’re like the big brother I never had.”
“Glad to oblige,” he said, realizing that he was becoming far too attached to this crazy, talented girl, and since she regarded him as nothing more than big-brother fodder, it was time to distance himself. Although distancing himself was almost impossible now that he was officially working on the movie. He was grateful for the opportunity to show what he could do—it was something he’d been working toward—and if everything worked out it could only lead to bigger and better.
A celebration was in order, so shortly before principal photography was due to begin, he informed Cat he was taking her out for dinner.
“No, no, no,” she said, panicking. “I have to work all night. I’m kind of freaked. I won’t be talkable to for the next six weeks, then after that I’ll be locked in the editing room.”
“That’s why you’re coming out,” Jonas said firmly. “I’m getting you while I can.”
“Aren’t you listening?” she wailed. “It’s impossible for me to go anywhere.”
“Too bad.”
She shot him a look. “Since when did you get so forceful?”
“Since you became a prima donna,” he responded.
He took her to L’Orangerie, a fashionable French restaurant on La Cienega, and although the restaurant was very elegant, they both felt out of place amongst all the well-dressed, affluent people and the fancy French food.
“Man!” Cat groaned, as the maître d’ seated them. “The waiters are staring at me as if I’m from Mars.”
“You could’ve worn a dress,” Jonas suggested, although he was getting quite used to her uniform of low-rider jeans, combat boots, and skimpy tanks. It didn’t matter what she wore; she was so striking looking that she could’ve gotten away with an old sack and bare feet, and still be the most beautiful woman in the room.
“Ugh! Dresses are not for me, thank you,” she said with a mock shudder.
“Why? I’d go shopping with you.”
“No way,” she said, frowning. “I hate shopping. It’s a total waste of time. Besides, you do enough for me.”
Before he could reply, a waiter appeared at their table and offered them menus.
“Can we split?” Cat asked after the first course, eggs mixed with caviar. “I’d sooner grab a Fatburger, wouldn’t you?”
“Only if you’re buying,” he said, signaling for the check.
“Hmm . . . ,” she said. “Think I can manage that. I’ll add it to the budget. Merrill will never notice.”
“You know, Cat,” he said, smiling, “when I start producing my own films, I’m hiring you to write and direct every one.”
“You’d better hurry,” she said with a big, wide grin. “ ’Cause soon you won’t be able to afford me.”
• • •
“I got your Bentley back,” Otto informed Lola, speaking from his car phone in L.A.
“You did?” Lola said, pleased. “How about my luggage?”
“Do not expect miracles,” Otto said, turning onto the Pacific Coast Highway. “It wasn’t easy. I gave him your SUV in exchange. I imagine that’s all right with you.”
“I suppose so,” she grumbled.
“We’ve been on location, shooting street scenes. It’s freezing.”
“The weather is beautiful here. I’m on my way to Malibu to meet with a client.”
“Stop it, Otto,” she groaned. “You know I miss L.A.”
“Well, you’ll have a nice new Bentley to drive when you get back. I had it detailed for you.”
“Thanks,” she said, certain that he’d add another grand to her exorbitant monthly bill. It wasn’t easy being a single woman and watching over her money. What she needed was a man to check up on him.
She’d been shooting in New York for almost a week, and she’d hardly seen Linc at all. The majority of their scenes together were interiors, although very soon they’d start shooting on a soundstage in Tribeca, and then she could start working on him.
The New York papers were busy stalking her. Everywhere she went there were paparazzi lurking, waiting to see who she was with and what she was up to. The gossip columns carried daily items about the absence of Matt. Faye answered all their questions with a terse statement announcing that all was well with Lola Sanchez’s marriage; her husband, Matt, had business in California and would be joining her soon.
Then Tony called. “I’m flying in,” he announced. “Gotta check out the club scene for my next movie.”
“But Tony—” she began, not quite sure that she was ready to go public with their relationship.
“You with me or not?” he said tersely. “Remember—no more hiding, babe. We’re out in the open, or nothin’. Right?”
“Right, Tony.”
“You gotta forget about playin’ games, Lola. This time I want it real.”
Tony was an I-want kind of guy. It was one of the things she found so sexy about him.
“When will you be here?” she asked breathlessly.
“Friday night. We’ll turn that town out.”
“Wouldn’t miss it!” she said, already planning her outfit. It had to be something sensational; Tony was into high style and flash. A lethal combination.
“I’ll call you.”
“Yes, Tony.”
Ah . . . the two of them together again; she could only imagine the furor it would cause. Paparazzi heaven!
She decided against telling Faye. Why look for trouble? Faye could read it on the front pages along with everyone else.
Lola Sanchez and Tony Alvarez. The hottest couple in America.
Mama Sanchez would throw a fit.
Too bad. Like the TV show said—one life to live. And Lola was about to live it all the way.