Nick Logan was an outrageous flirt. Every woman on the set had fallen under his bad-boy spell— every woman except Cat and Shelby. So naturally they were the two he had to pursue and conquer. Nick had a thing about sleeping with every woman he could. His success rate was extremely high.
Jonas hated the sight of the randy actor, although he was forced to admit that Nick Logan was a dynamic presence on-screen, and the dailies were excellent. Merrill was delighted with the way everything was going. He sent Cat early morning memos with his comments after he’d viewed the dailies. She found herself looking forward to his notes; they were to the point and insightful. As crass and overbearing as Merrill was, he definitely had an eye for detail.
The movie was progressing well. Her personal life was not. Somehow Jump had gotten hold of her new cell phone number and was bombarding her with calls begging her forgiveness. She hung up on him every time, but he kept on trying.
Shelby, who’d started work on the movie, was sympathetic. “Keep on changing your number until he gives up,” she suggested, as they stood by the Kraft service setup, enjoying a mug of coffee and a short break.
“Why should I?” Cat said defiantly. “Why can’t he accept the fact that it’s over?”
“Perhaps he needs closure,” Shelby said gently.
“Screw closure!” Cat snapped. “He should’ve thought about that when he was banging his old girlfriend.”
“What’re you two gossiping about?” Nick inquired, sneaking up behind them.
“Women don’t gossip,” Shelby said crisply. “That’s a male thing.”
Nick furrowed his thick eyebrows. “What?”
“I agree,” Cat said, reaching for an apple. “Men are the biggest gossips of all.”
“Bull,” Nick said.
“True,” Cat said.
“You two live in a fuckin’ dream world,” Nick countered, perplexed because his particular brand of charm didn’t seem to be working on either of them.
“How many times a day do you use the F-word?” Shelby asked.
“Not as fuckin’ many as Colin fuckin’ Farrell,” he retorted.
“Goodbye,” Cat said. “I’ll see you on the set.”
Nick watched her walk away. “Hot stuff,” he remarked. “Perfect ass.”
Shelby shook her head disapprovingly.
“What? Nick said. “It’s fuckin’ true.”
Later that day Jump turned up on the set. Cat was shocked; she’d thought he was safely in Australia, still on tour. Now here he was with his long hair tied back in a ponytail, his many tattoos, and a determined expression.
She was in the middle of working on a scene between Nick and Shelby, and she was not about to stop. Jonas ran interference, persuading Jump to wait in a chair way back from the action.
“Tell her I’m stayin’ here until she’s ready to talk t’ me,” Jump insisted. “Okay, mate?”
“I’ll do that,” Jonas said, wondering what she’d ever seen in this tall, scruffy-looking, would-be rock star.
• • •
“Last chance,” Lola said.
“Last chance at what?” Linc responded.
“Well, since wifey is obviously out and about,” Lola said, waving a People magazine in front of his face, “I don’t see anything wrong with us having dinner and going over the script. I’ll bring my publicist, you bring yours. We’ll make it a cozy foursome.”
“What’s that crack about my wife?” Linc asked.
“You haven’t seen it?”
“Seen what?” he asked impatiently.
“Mrs. Linc Blackwood and mystery man lunching at Jerry’s Deli in the Valley. Seems to me they were caught off guard.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
Lola handed him the magazine, folded back to the Star Tracks page. There was a photograph of Shelby, hair tied back in a ponytail, big sunglasses, slacks, and a shirt. She was not looking at the camera; apparently she was not even aware there was a camera pointed in her direction. She was glancing up at the man with her, a man who had a protective hand on her arm as they exited the deli.
Linc stared at the photograph in disbelief. The man was Pete. “Fuck!” he snarled.
“Trouble in paradise?” Lola inquired.
“What?
“I was simply . . . commenting. Who is the mystery man?”
“Nobody,” he said, inwardly fuming.
“Well,” Lola drawled succinctly, “For nobody, he sure ain’t bad looking.”
Linc didn’t say a word. He turned his back and abruptly walked away.
Lola gave a small triumphant smile. Obviously the photograph had not pleased Mr. Blackwood. Obviously Mrs. Blackwood was playing her own little game. This was working out even better than she’d planned.
Jenny approached, cell phone in hand. “It’s your sister again.”
“Oh Lord,” Lola said, rolling her eyes, “What did you tell her this time?”
“That you’re busy working. It’s her third call today. She insists on speaking to you.”
“Why can’t they leave me alone?” Lola grumbled, taking the phone. “What’s up, Sis?” she asked, not in the mood for a lecture, which she had no doubt was forthcoming.
“What’s up?” shouted a frustrated Selma. “Don’t you answer your messages? I’ve been trying to reach you for days. Mama’s about to have a cow.”
“Why’s she having a cow?”
“Why do you think? You and Tony Alvarez, of course.”
“Listen, Selma,” Lola said firmly, “it’s time everyone realized that I make my own choices.”
“Not if Mama has her way.”
“Tony’s a great guy,” Lola insisted. “And I wish you’d all stop criticizing him.”
“Tony’s a drug addict. He’s always in the newspapers getting arrested for possession and stuff like that.”
“Selma, please don’t speak about things you know nothing about. Tony’s on probation, he was arrested once. It wasn’t as if he was even using himself; he was holding a small amount of cocaine for a friend.”
“All drug addicts say that.”
“What’re you—an expert?”
“Mama says—”
“Shut up, Selma. I don’t have to explain anything to anyone.”
“What about poor Matt?”
“What about him?”
“Mama had him over for dinner the other night.”
“Why?”
“I do not want Mama entertaining my soon-to-be-ex-husband,” Lola said furiously.
“She likes Matt.”
“She might like him, but she’d better understand that he’s not part of our family anymore.”
“The way you’re speaking, it seems you’re not either.”
“Oh God, now you’re beginning to sound like the rest of them.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Please call Mama.”
“I guess none of you realize that I’m on the set working, and that making phone calls is most inconvenient.”
“Lucia—”
“Okay, okay, I’ll do it now.”
“It’s your mother,” Selma chided.
“I’m doing it,” she said, clicking off the phone and handing it to Jenny. “Get me my mom.”
Claudine sounded cold, “What you doing with your life, girl?” she demanded, “Didn’t I teach you anything? You go back with this man who’s bad news. Your father knows it, I know it, we all know it. Everyone except you.”
“Mama, chill. I know what I’m doing.”
“No, daughter, you chill,” Claudine responded. “You have no idea what you’re doing.”
“I knew what I was doing when I bought you the house, didn’t I?” Lola snapped.
“Lucia,” Claudine said sternly, “if you throw this house in my face one more time, we’ll move out and you can come live in it. Do you understand?”
She sighed. Movie star or not, there was no arguing with Claudine. “Yes, Mama.”
• • •
Linc took the People magazine and studied it. It really was Shelby with Pete. Yes, Pete, his old enemy. Well, not exactly enemy, but rival for her affections. Not even rival, because when he’d come into her life and stolen her away from Pete, it was not a problem. Now here she was, cool as can be, walking out of a deli with the prick. Jesus Christ! Women were not to be trusted.
He marched to his trailer. Norm, his publicist, materialized, falling into step beside him.
“Get lost, Norm,” he grunted.
“I need to talk to you about the Newsweek story,” Norm ventured.
“Not now,” he said, slamming his way into the trailer, locking the door, and opening the closet.
Stashed in the inside pocket of his jacket were a couple of glassine packets of cocaine. He opened one, tipping the seductive white powder onto the countertop. Then he arranged it into several neat lines, and snorted them one by one.
His anger level was so elevated that the drug did not have the desired effect.
What he needed was a drink.
Shelby was due to arrive in New York the following afternoon. Should he call her now and have it out with her on the phone? Or should he wait until he could do it face-to-face?
Yes, he’d wait. Women lied over the phone. Women could be such devious bitches.
His throat was parched. The coke was definitely not giving him his usual high.
Fuck! How could Shelby do this to him?
He left his trailer and searched out Norm. “Why is there no booze in my trailer?” he demanded.
“Mrs. Blackwood said that—”
“I don’t give a flying fuck what Mrs. Blackwood said. Go buy a couple of bottles of scotch and vodka.”
“If that’s what you want.”
“Yeah, that’s what I want,” he said belligerently. “And in future listen to me, not my wife.”
“I’ll do that,” Norm said, gritting his teeth.
“By the way, how come Lola Sanchez gets to show me fucking People magazine?” Linc griped. “What were you doing—sleeping, on the job?”
Norm visibly blanched. He hated it when Mr. Macho Movie Star was in one of his foul moods. “Have they written something you don’t like about yourself in People?” he asked nervously.
“It isn’t about me, it’s about Shelby.”
“I’m not her P.R.”
“Isn’t it your job to stop shit from appearing?”
“How can I stop something I don’t know about?”
“Buy the fucking magazine, then come see me,” Linc said, heading back to the set.
Lola was waiting to shoot the next scene. She was clad in a peach-colored peignoir with dramatic cleavage. “I’m so sorry,” she said, placing a sympathetic hand on his arm. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“What makes you think I’m upset?” he answered evenly. After all, he was an actor—he could play the game when he had to. “Hey,” he added. “How about us going over the script this evening?”
“Fine with me,” she purred. “Tony doesn’t get back until tomorrow.”
“Then tonight’s the night, huh?” he said, giving her the full-on macho sexy look.
Lola met his gaze. “Yes, Linc,” she murmured, noticing a slight residue of white powder under his nose. “Tonight is the night.” She reached up and gently brushed the powder away.
“What’re you doing?” he said, taking a step back.
“You had a little . . . makeup there.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
“By the way, forget about the publicists, it’ll be you and me. Nobody else.”
“What about the paparazzi?”
“Fuck ’em.”
• • •
Shelby was busy. Not only was she working on Caught, she was also continuing to do press for Rapture and dealing with the accelerated interest in her career. Her agent was on the phone constantly.
“It’s all happening, Shelby,” Ed said. “When you get back from New York I’ll come to the set; we’ll have lunch and discuss everything.”
“I’m back Monday,” she said, “in time for work on Tuesday.”
“Your schedule’s about to get even busier.”
“That’s impossible!” she joked.
“Are the press reps at the studio sending you all the reviews?”
“I’m scared to read them.”
“Don’t be,” Ed assured her. “They’re sensational. When’s the premiere again?”
“Wednesday.”
“Do you need an escort, or is Linc flying in?”
“He can’t, he’s on call every day.”
“Can I take you?”
“That would be perfect, Ed.”
She’d worked all day and now she was packing, ready for an early morning flight on Merrill’s plane. She was longing to see Linc; separations were not good for any marriage, especially now, when Linc had given up drinking and probably needed her support, although he did still seem to be enjoying making his movie, which was a relief.
Shelby knew that all the attention she was getting could be hard for him to take. It was only to be expected, especially since Linc might view her enormous success as a threat to his masculinity. Brenda had warned her to tread cautiously around him. “As you know, Linc suffers from low self-esteem,” Brenda had said. “Your job is to build him up, make sure he knows how much you love and admire him. Always keep in mind that he’s a man first, a movie star second.”
“I always put Linc first,” she’d replied.
Shelby had a strong hunch that ever since Brenda had counseled Linc a couple of times, the therapist had developed a secret crush on him.
“Then double your efforts,” Brenda had said. “You have to remember that he’s in an extremely fragile state at the moment. He’s stopped drinking, he’s making a new career move. He needs you to be supportive and there for him.”
Shelby understood what Brenda was saying, but she also thought, What about me? When am I the one who gets support and love? Linc never gave much thought to her needs.
That was the difference between Linc and Pete, Pete always seemed to put her first.
She’d still not mentioned to Linc that she’d seen her old boyfriend. She’d decided that the best way to handle it was to tell him in a casual way. “Guess who’s working on my movie?” she’d say. And perhaps she wouldn’t add that they’d gone out to lunch or shared a late night hamburger. After all, what could she possibly gain by doing so? Only Linc’s jealous wrath—and when he was angry, watch out. He could be incredibly vitriolic and possessive. She dreaded his outbursts.
Later that evening her private line rang. She did not pick up, deciding she would do so only if it was Linc. It wasn’t. It was Pete again.
“I’m calling to wish you a safe trip to New York,” he said, as she listened in on her answering machine. “While you’re gone, I’ll be working out your car stunt. You’ll be great, no need to be anxious.” A beat, then: “I’ll miss you, Shelby. So . . . If you feel like calling, you’ve got my cell number. I’ll see you next week.”
She sighed, realizing that much as she liked being with Pete, it would be like waving a red flag in Linc’s face if she continued hanging out with him.
No more Pete. She was starting to enjoy his company far too much.