Fame (46 page)

Reclining in one of the overstuffed Ralph Lauren armchairs she’d bought last week, wearing a full-length, fire-truck red evening gown from Carolina Herrera, Chrissie finally felt she’d made it. Already the struggle and conflict of her life with Dorian was starting to feel like the past, like part of another life. And it was all thanks to Harry.

Chrissie’s relationship with Harry Greene had taken off far more quickly than she’d ever expected or imagined. Of course, he’d been flirtatious with her for years. But once she started working for him on the house, things had moved from flirtatious to sexual to committed at an exhilarating, whirlwind pace. Even Chrissie had hesitated when Harry suggested she give up her Brentwood rental and move in with him after less than a month of dating.

‘If it were just me, it’d be one thing. But I have to think about Saskia,’ she told him, laying her head on his chest after another session of surprisingly erotic, athletic lovemaking. That was another plus about Harry. He had the sexual energy of a teenager, and was never so caught up with his work that he didn’t want to fuck. Unlike Dorian.

‘What about Saskia?’ he asked, stroking Chrissie’s hair. ‘She’ll love it here. What’s her favourite toy? What’s she into at the moment?’

‘Barbie,’ said Chrissie. ‘But that’s not the point, honey. She’s been through so much change this year already. What if—’

‘I’ll get her a Barbie room. It’ll be like FAO Schwarz in there! Her own pink, plastic palace.’

Chrissie smiled. ‘That’s so generous of you, sweetheart. But I mean, what if things don’t work out between us? You know, in the long term.’

Harry rolled on top of her, taking her face in his hands. Gazing deep into Chrissie’s eyes, he told her: ‘They will work out. You worry too much.’

They made love again, and Chrissie could feel her resolve start to weaken. But it wasn’t till the next day that it crumbled utterly.

‘Oh my God!’ she gasped, as Harry led her proudly into the His ’n’ Hers dressing rooms off the master suite. ‘What did you
do
?’

Along all four walls, newly built closets had been stuffed with the most beautiful preview pieces from the spring collections. Chrissie saw three Stella McCartney trouser suits, a beaded midnight-blue Bottega Veneta evening gown and a stack of exquisite taupe silk La Perla negligees before she’d so much as turned around. In the centre of the room, the
pièce de résistance
was a shoe ‘island’, stacked to shoulder height, and filled with every imaginable pair of shoes from all her favourite designers: Jimmy Choo, Jonathan Kelsey, Manolo, YSL, Zanotti, Louboutin, Chanel. There were pumps, boots, stilettos, wedges, in every conceivable colour and style. ‘It’s like Bergdorf’s in here!’ she exclaimed gleefully, picking up pair after pair with all the wonder of Dorothy touching her ruby slippers. ‘I feel like I walked into Carrie Bradshaw’s dream.’

‘It’s your dream now,’ said Harry. He seemed genuinely delighted to have pleased her. ‘Do you like it? Will you stay?’

It’s time I put myself first for a change
, thought Chrissie.
Just because Dorian let me down and took me for granted, it doesn’t mean every man will.
In Chrissie’s book, nothing said commitment quite like $50,000-worth of shoes.

‘OK,’ she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him. ‘I’ll give notice on my lease in Brentwood this afternoon.’

Tonight was the first night Harry had gone out without her since she moved in. Chrissie had pouted dutifully when he told her he had a business dinner, but secretly she was relieved. As much as she enjoyed his company and the constant spoiling it entailed, she felt as though she hadn’t had a moment to herself in weeks. Once Saskia was in bed, she’d spent the early part of the evening playing dressing-up, finally trying on all of the exquisite evening wear Harry had bought her, and mixing and matching accessories with all the unrestrained delight of a little girl in her mommy’s dressing room. The red Carolina Herrera was her absolute favourite, sultry and dramatic, but not an overtly young woman’s dress. Jumping down from the armchair to take another look at herself in the mirror, Chrissie suddenly let out a bloodcurdling scream. A male figure was standing in the hallway behind her, half hidden in the shadows.

‘Get out!’ she shouted, fear and shock making her aggressive.
How the hell had an intruder got in? Every inch of the grounds was tracked by security cameras. There must be some sort of fault with the system.
‘My boyfriend will be back any second. He won’t wait for the cops; he’ll set the dogs on you and let them rip you to shreds.’

‘Sounds painful.’ Dorian stepped forward into the light. ‘Your “boyfriend” doesn’t sound like such a nice guy.’

‘Dorian.’ Chrissie exhaled, adrenaline still coursing through her veins. ‘You scared the life out of me. What the hell are you doing here? If you’re looking for your daughter, she went to bed hours ago. Oh, sorry, silly me,’ she added spitefully, ‘of course you’re not looking for your daughter. Why would you be?’

Dorian walked past her into the drawing room. It was a beautiful space, grand without being cold, luxurious yet simple. He recognized Chrissie’s style instantly.

‘You did the room?’

She nodded. ‘I did the whole house.’

‘It looks great.’

‘Thank you.’

Dorian turned to look at her. How weird it was to be making small talk with the mother of his child, the woman he’d loved and lived with his entire adult life. But the weirdest part of all was, Chrissie didn’t feel like that woman. She felt like a total stranger. A beautiful stranger, he had to admit. In the clinging red taffeta, with her blond hair freshly coloured and cut in a gamine bob, with diamonds glinting in each newly exposed ear, she looked radiant. As happy and rested as Dorian was exhausted and defeated.

‘You look good, Chrissie.’

Chrissie’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘What do you want, Dorian? I’m serious about Harry coming back. I’m expecting him home any minute.’

‘Home?’ Dorian shook his head. ‘You think this is home?’

‘It is home,’ said Chrissie defiantly. ‘Saskia and I are very settled here.’

‘Settled?’ Dorian laughed mirthlessly. ‘My God. You really think Harry Greene’s gonna marry you, don’t you? That the two of you will live happily ever after?’

‘The
three
of us,’ Chrissie corrected him. ‘And, yes, I do think that. For your information, Harry happens to be crazy about me.’

‘How stupid are you?’ Dorian paced the walnut floorboards in frustration. ‘Can’t you see he’s using you, to get at me?’

‘Right,’ sneered Chrissie, ‘because everything’s about you, isn’t it, darling?’

Against his better judgement, Dorian walked over and grabbed her by the wrists. As if by physically restraining her, he could force her to listen to reason. ‘Greene’s been out to ruin me for years. He knew how much I had riding on this movie. He wanted to kill it out of spite, and you,
you
, my own wife, told him how he could do it.’

‘Don’t be so melodramatic,’ said Chrissie. ‘I did nothing of the kind.’

‘You told him about my Sony deal!’ Dorian exploded. ‘You may as well have handed him my head on a plate!’ He let go of her wrists. ‘But you know what the bad news for you is?’

‘Enlighten me.’ Chrissie yawned.

‘Harry’s already got what he wanted. He doesn’t need you any more.’

‘Oh really?’ said Chrissie. ‘Then why do you suppose I’m still here?’

It was a good point. For a moment, Dorian couldn’t think of a rejoinder.

‘You’re right,’ Chrissie went on. ‘Harry doesn’t need me. He
wants
me. I’m having the best sex of my life, and I’m having
fun
, and so is Harry. And
you
can’t stand it.’

Bitch
, thought Dorian. Despite everything, the sex gibe still hurt.

‘He played you, honey,’ he shot back. ‘He could see how needy you were and he exploited that weakness.’

This was too much for Chrissie. How dare Dorian show up here and patronize her?

‘Did it ever occur to you that maybe it was
me
who wanted to bury your goddamn movie, not Harry?’ she seethed. ‘The movie that you chose over our marriage, our family? What if it was Harry who helped
me
to keep
Wuthering Heights
on the cutting-room floor, and not the other way around? Because he cares about me. Because he loves me. D’you ever think of that?’

Dorian paused. Something in Chrissie’s face, the flash of fury in her eyes, made him think. Was she telling the truth? Was this whole thing
her
idea? Seducing Harry Greene deliberately so he could use his influence to nuke the
Wuthering Heights
distribution deal? All through today’s nightmarish round of meetings, Dorian had pictured Chrissie as Harry Greene’s gullible dupe: guilty, certainly, but only by association and only out of weakness. Greene had played on her insecurity. He had used her, groomed her, like a paedophile cynically befriending a wayward, needy child.
But what if it was the other way around? What if Chrissie was the mastermind, and Greene the accomplice, albeit a more than willing one? Did she really hate him that much?

‘You’re very quiet all of a sudden.’ Chrissie walked over to the window. ‘Don’t you want to tell me some more about how Harry doesn’t love me?’

‘Would you listen?’ asked Dorian.

‘Of course not, and why should I? After what you put me through, belittling my career, flirting with your actresses, leaving me alone for months on end in that dump of a country you come from. If you’re here to tell me you want me back, then I’m sorry. You’re too late.’

‘Actually, that’s not why I came,’ said Dorian quietly. He’d come here to make Chrissie see the light, to try to get her to undo the damage she’d caused, if that were possible, or at least to see her new lover for the conniving snake that he was. But he realized now it was he who’d been labouring under a misconception. And not just about the collapse of his deal for
Wuthering Heights.
About his entire, twenty-year marriage.

‘I don’t love you, Christina. Not any more.’

‘Right.’ Chrissie rolled her eyes sarcastically, flopping back down into the armchair and making a big show of admiring the eight-carat diamond ring on her finger. ‘Of course you love me. You’re just bitter because you lost me to a better man.’

‘You’re wrong. I don’t love you,’ said Dorian. Looking her in the eye, without anger or fear, he realized fully that it was true. It was so liberating, he almost felt like laughing. ‘As for Harry Greene, the man isn’t capable of love. But I guess that’s something you’re gonna have to figure out for yourself.’

He turned and walked out of the room. Furious, and determined not to let him have the last word, Chrissie followed.

‘It won’t work, you know,’ she screeched after him. ‘You aren’t going to poison things between me and Harry.’

Dorian kept walking.

‘You’re finished in the movie business, you do realize that?’

He was almost at the front door now. With every step he took, Chrissie became more and more enraged.

‘Your precious fucking “masterpiece” will be lucky to make it to DVD. Are you listening to me? That whore Sabrina Leon can forget about her so-called “comeback”. She’ll be crawling back to the scrapheap where she belongs!’

Dorian was outside now, walking towards his car. At the top of the hill, he saw the flash and sweep of Ferrari headlights. Harry Greene, no doubt, heading home.

‘And you can forget about seeing Saskia,’ Chrissie shouted, in a last-ditch effort to get Dorian’s attention. ‘Harry’s already twice the father that you’ve ever been.’

It worked. Dorian spun around on his heel. He stepped towards her, so close that Chrissie panicked for a moment that he might be about to hit her. Instinctively, she shrank back, like a disturbed rattlesnake.

‘Nobody’s going to keep my daughter from me,’ muttered Dorian darkly. ‘Do you understand? Nobody. I’ll fight you for that child with my dying breath.’

‘What’s going on here?’ Harry Greene’s whiny, nasal voice cut through the night air like razor wire. Slamming his car door, he marched up behind Dorian. ‘Rasmirez. What the hell are you doing on my property?’ He put an arm around Chrissie, the picture of conjugal concern. ‘Are you OK, sweetie? Did he hurt you?’

‘Of course I didn’t
hurt
her,’ said Dorian indignantly.

‘Not yet,’ said Chrissie, returning Harry’s embrace. ‘I’m so happy you’re home, darling. Dorian was just leaving. Weren’t you?’

‘Sure,’ muttered Dorian. He wanted out of there as badly as anyone. Ignoring Harry, he walked back to his car without a word and started the engine. ‘I mean it about Saskia,’ he shouted out of the window at Chrissie as he pulled away. ‘You try anything and I will fight like you’ve never seen.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ she called back, emboldened again now that Harry was here to protect her. ‘I guess I’ll see you in court then. If you can afford it.’

But her words were drowned out by the angry roar of Dorian’s engine.

He was gone.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Three weeks later

‘Give me twenty more bicycle crunches. Go!’

‘
Twenty?
’ Sabrina rolled her eyes. Was he kidding? She’d hired Diego Vera because he was renowned as one of the toughest, most effective personal trainers in the business. And when it came to looking hot for Viorel, nothing less than perfection was gonna cut it. But after a solid hour of physical torture on the roof terrace of Vio’s Venice apartment, Sabrina’s stomach muscles were already spasming as if someone had injected her with arsenic. Her face was flushed an unattractive tomato red and and her sexy new Stella McCartney workout shorts and vest were as sweat drenched as an old dishrag. Diego seemed to have confused her with the Terminator, or Lara Croft, or some other superhuman, immune-to-pain cyborg.

‘I can’t, Diego. I’m serious.’

‘So am I,’ the stocky little Mexican grinned down at her, arms folded. ‘No such word as “can’t”. Now move before I change my mind and make it fifty.’