“I got somethin’ to tell you that’ll shock the shit outta you,” Freddy Krane announced. He was back in town and visiting the set.
“What’s that?” Linc asked, high on coke and feeling no pain, even though he was in the middle of working.
“Lola Sanchez,” Freddy said, a triumphant gleam in his eyes, “A coupla nights ago I was havin’ phone sex with that model broad, Allegra. So I’m pullin’ the old pod, an’ all of a sudden, whammo! I realize I’m sittin’ in the same bed you fucked Lola in.”
“I didn’t fuck her.” Linc said, frowning.
“Sure you did. Only you’ve forgotten about it,”
“I have?”
“She’s changed, but Freddy never forgets a face, so I did some checking.”
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Keep listenin’, A few years ago at one of my parties I hired a Latino DJ who’d been recommended. He brought his girlfriend with him,”
“So?” Linc said, not even vaguely interested in Freddy’s ramblings.
“She was a hot-lookin’ piece, turnin’ on the sexy dancin’ for us. So I sent one of my girls to bring her over.”
“You did, huh?”
“Over she comes, this hot little Latina chick, an’ that’s the last I saw of her, ’cause you took her inside an’ spent the night with her in my bed. I couldn’t even sleep in my own freakin’ bed! So in the mornin’ when I come in—you’re gone and she’s still there, naked as a Playboy spread, an’ sexy as all get-out.”
“Who are you talking about?”
“Lola Sanchez, schmuck! Course, her name wasn’t Lola then, but it was her. I had one of my assistants track down the DJ from that night. The dude’s now producing records in L.A. I spoke to him personally— asked him if he played a gig at one of my parties, and was the girl with him Lola. He told me yes.”
“I’m still not getting you,” Linc said.
Freddy shook his head in disgust. “What are you, stoned?”
“Who understands what the fuck this story is about?”
“You were screwing Lola Sanchez, only that wasn’t her name then. She was just some sexy Chicana chick tryin’ to get herself noticed. You nailed her in my bed, spent the night with her, then passed her on to me. Unfortunately she didn’t want anythin’ to do with me. End of story. Now, six years later, here we are.”
“Holy shit!” Linc said, finally getting it. “You sure?”
“ ’Course I am,” Freddy agreed, chuckling. “I got a memory like a freakin’ elephant—’specially when it comes to women. If I’ve seen ’em naked, you can bet I’m gonna remember ’em.”
“But you didn’t see her naked. According to you it was me who spent the night with her.”
“Why d’you think she hasn’t mentioned it to you?”
“Maybe she’s embarrassed.”
“She’s pissed at you, man. You screwed her all night, then dumped her. Bet you never even called her—did you?”
Linc shrugged. “Who remembers?”
“You shoulda called, sent a flower or somethin’. I would’ve, only she didn’t want me, she wanted you, the big movie star. Marched outta my house all bent outta shape.”
“You think it was Lola?”
“I know it was.”
“What should I do?”
“Get her into bed again, then tell her you remember while you’re screwin’ her. That’ll give her the come of the century,”
“Anybody ever mentioned you’re a dirty old man?”
“No shit?” Freddy said, yawning. “Where’s Shelby?”
“In L.A.”
“Wasn’t she supposed to be here?”
“She flew in for a day, then she had to get back.”
“Something goin’ on with you two?”
“Nothing I want your big mouth to know about.”
“Okay, dinner tonight with Allegra. An’ this time— the three of us. Let’s get a party goin’. Why waste a sure thing?”
• • •
Lola was nervous about returning to the set. Her mind was elsewhere; it was certainly not on emoting in front of the camera in a sexy dress, flirting with Linc blackwood, and making it work for the romantic comedy they were shooting.
She was well aware that she had to get back to work, because if she didn’t, it would mean career suicide. Elliott Finerman had been helpful up until now, but he would not continue to be so understanding. They’d already shot half the movie, so she had no choice.
“You must check with the hospital every hour,” she instructed Jenny. “I have to know what’s going on.”
Tony kept on calling. She refused to accept his calls. In one of her prayer sessions she’d made a pact with God—if she was good, God would save Selma and bring her out of her coma.
Being good meant not seeing Tony. Tony unleashed her wild side, and it was because of her reconnection with him that a tragedy had taken place.
Matt phoned to offer his sympathies. She was touched to hear from him; the once-boring Matt now seemed like a nice, caring person—and even more important, Selma liked him.
“Lola, are you okay?” he kept on asking her.
“Yes,” she answered.
“Can I come to New York?”
“You know,” she said, thinking that she was still married to Matt, therefore he should be by her side, “that might be nice.”
‘I’ll hop a plane today.”
Now what was she to do about Linc Blackwood? She’d probably broken up his marriage with their photos all over the front pages, and maybe that was punishment enough. Revenge was not something that went hand in hand with religion and prayers.
She struck another bargain with God, If he made Selma better, she would forgive Linc Blackwood for the past, and not pursue revenge against him.
Matt must have jumped on the next plane, because before she knew it, he was there. Tall and white-bread and boring, he’d shaven his stupid goatee and was thrilled to be back by her side.
She clung to him because she had to cling to someone and in her mind Tony Alvarez was now the enemy.
Matt was one happy man. He had his wife back, and that’s all he cared about.
• • •
“Can we at least celebrate your success?” Pete asked.
Shelby’s cheeks were flushed. She felt that she’d conquered a fear, considering she’d always been slightly scared of driving. In fact, she’d only learned to drive when she’d first moved to L.A.
Now she was actually doing car stunts in a movie. It was quite an achievement.
“I . . . I don’t know.” she said, not sure she should encourage him.
“Look,” Pete said. “I know things aren’t going well with Linc,”
“How do you know that?” she asked quickly.
“It’s all over the tabloids, Shelby.”
“That’s why I can’t be seen with you,” she said. “If we were photographed together it would only make things worse.”
“You could come to my house,” he suggested. “There’s no photographers hanging out there.”
“And what if they caught me coming out of your house? That would look terrible.”
“It’s not as if we’re doing anything, Shelby,” he said patiently.
“I know that.”
“Look,” he said. “We should celebrate. However, if you feel it’s inappropriate, tell me, and I’ll stop bugging you.”
Linc hadn’t phoned, and she did not relish the thought of sitting in her big mansion by herself for one more night. She was lonely by herself in America, with no family and hardly any friends.
Oh yes, plenty of people were calling to congratulate her on the enormous success of her performance in Rapture, but there wasn’t anyone she was close to. Cat was the only person she’d developed any kind of relationship with.
And here was Pete. Good solid Pete, And he wanted her to come to his house, and she wanted to go.
“Okay,” she finally said. “Your house it is.”
“There’ll be nobody around,” he promised. “And PH barbecue for you—how’s that? Remember how you always loved my burgers?”
“Do I! They were delicious.”
“You used to wolf down two if I remember rightly.”
She smiled at the memories. They’d spent one glorious summer together and had a very good time, although they’d never consummated their relationship.
“We can go right from the set,” he said.
“It’s not a good idea for people to see us leaving together.”
“You know where my house is—drive yourself over. I’ll be waiting.”
“I think that’s best.”
“Whatever you want, Shelby.”
“Pete,” she asked curiously, “do you have a girlfriend?”
“Why?”
“I, uh . . . thought if you did, she might like to join us.”
“Am I making you nervous, Shelby?” he said, giving her a penetrating look. “ ’Cause that’s not my intention.” “No,” she said quickly. “Pm simply a little confused right now.”
“The truth is I have several girlfriends, but I’m not asking any of them to join us. It’s dinner alone together, for old times’ sake. How’s that?”
“Sounds nice.”
“Do you need to go home, first? Or will you come straight from the studio?”
“I don’t have to change clothes or anything; after all, it’s not as if this is a date.”
“Right,” he said. “I’m leaving in ten minutes, so I’ll see you when you get there. Drive carefully, Shelby. Me and the dogs’ll be waiting.”
• • •
“Wear something sexy,” Nick had said.
Oh yeah, sure, like she was about to dress up for him. Ha! Was he going to wear something sexy for her?
What did he consider sexy, anyway? She had on the tightest jeans known to man and a cut-off Abercrombie & Fitch island tee shirt that exposed her midriff and pierced navel. Wasn’t that sexy?
Her stuff had recently arrived from New York, and there were boxes piled all over her apartment. She riffled through some of her clothes, searching for a suitable outfit for the premiere.
Look at you, she thought. Getting all excited about a date with a womanizing little prick. Or big prick.
Yeah, she giggled. He has the big-prick cocky attitude.
What was it about men? Why did they always have to tie you up in knots? It wasn’t as if she even liked him.
Well . . . maybe a tad.
She finally settled on an off-the-shoulder white ruffled blouse and skintight black leather pants. Then she added lots of silver Gypsy jewelry she’d inherited from her grandmother.
She ran her hands through her short blond hair, spiking it up even more, and added plenty of kohl around her eyes, giving her the fashionable heroin-chic look. A touch of lip gloss and she was ready.
Why am I doing this? she thought.
Because I want to, that’s why.
The downstairs buzzer started ringing, making it too late to back out now. Two minutes later Nick slouched his way into her apartment.
“I thought we had to leave.” she said.
“Tidy, aren’t you?” he said, regarding the stack of half-unpacked boxes littered all over the floor.
“I’m trying to find the time to unpack properly,” she answered, “Why? Are you doing a photo shoot for Architectural Digest?”
“S’matter of fact—”
“Shut up.”
“Cool apartment,” he said, checking out her CD collection, “I’m stuck in a friggin’ hotel. I gotta get myself a place out here.”
“Do you have a home anywhere?”
“I kinda live like a Gypsy. Friends’ floors, that kinda deal.”
“You’re a movie star,” she pointed out. “A house is a good investment.”
“Does that mean you’ll help me look?”
“No,” she said firmly. “Wives and fiancées are the people who help guys look for houses. Not the director of your movie, who happens to be doing you a huge favor by accompanying you to your premiere.”
“God, you’re a hard nut,” he complained. “Your husband must’ve treated you real bad.”
“It’s not important,” she said.
“Anyway,” he said, checking her out with an appraising eye, “you look pretty hot.”
“Oh,” she said, slightly flustered. “Thanks,”
“How about me?”
She gave him an exaggerated once-over, “Hmm . . . let me see, A comb wouldn’t be a bad idea,”
“Can’t let the fans down,” he said, mocking himself. “This is how they like me.”
“They do?”
“You should see some of the letters 1 get—naked pictures, offers of anything I want, It’s a wild trip. Come to my trailer one day and read my fan mail.”
“What a great idea,” she said sarcastically, “I’ve got nothing else to do with my time,”
“Got any joints lying around?”
“No, I gave up recreational drugs.”
“Gave ’em up?” he said, shocked. “Why would you give up weed?”
“I told you,” she said patiently. “I used to be a druggie. Now I don’t do anything. It’s better for me not to be tempted,”
“Fuckin’ boring. C’mon, blondie, let’s hit the road,”