Impossibly Tongue-Tied (13 page)

“You tell Nina that all the bullshit she's been hearing is nothing more than that, a load of crap.” Now sure that he had Nathan's full and complete attention, he took a deep breath and added: “And you break it off with Kat.
Cold turkey.
Put it behind you, once and for all. Just focus on your role, your career, and your family…and savor the memory.”

Hell, who wouldn't?
At least Kat was sure to have made it memorable.

“I'll—I'll do my best.”

“Fuck that! You'll do it,
period
—”

Just then, they heard Hugo's booming laugh. “Yeah, well, thanks for the compliment! It was nominated for a Palm d'Or, did you know that? Oh, you
did
. What a labor of love. Literally. Heck, it didn't make a dime, but at least I got to enjoy the French Riviera for a couple of weeks—”

The door to the trailer opened and Nina stepped inside. Hugo, on the other hand, hung back. Within seconds, he was hightailing it back to the postproduction trailer.

Sam wished he could go with him. He was sure Nathan felt the same way.

Well, too bad. It was time to face the music.

Nina looked from Nathan to Sam, then back again.

“I—I hope I'm not interrupting anything,” she murmured softly.

Nathan jumped up and gave her a kiss. “No…no, hon. Not at all…Just discussing—a little business, that's all.”

Sam nodded in agreement. “I was leaving anyway.”

As he said that, both Nathan and Nina shot him looks of desperation, and said in unison, “No!” Because both were surprised at the other's outburst, they stared back at each other.

Great
, thought Sam.
Now I've got to play Dr. Phil for these two?

Nina's look said it all:
Please. Help us.

Sam put his happy face back on, the one embellished with his patented “We're all winners here” smile.

“Well, Nina, all I can say is that it's—about time you showed up. Nathan was getting worried that you'd never—well, that you'd never have a moment to…to stop in and see what he's been up to these past few weeks and all…”

They both stared at him as if he'd lost his mind.

Help me out, folks, I'm dying here.

After what seemed like a decade of silence, Nina said softly, “Well, Sam, I'm glad I came here, too. And I'm glad I had a chance to—to meet Katerina.”

Prepared for the worst, Nathan sucked in his breath while Sam closed his eyes. Train wrecks weren't his thing.

“She's such a sweetheart. Yeah,
really
. I—I'd heard some—some rumors…about her…and I have to admit it, Nathan, some of them involved
you
.”

She turned to face him. Taking in the shocked look on his face, she added, “Oh, please sweetie, don't be mad at me! I—I know it must seem as if I'm some kind of jealous fool, coming here like this, without calling first”—she put her arms around his waist—“but in a way, I'm glad I did.” A tiny frown creased her forehead for just a moment. “It put to rest my worst fears. So please don't be angry for me, for even thinking—”

Relief drained into Nathan's face. “Angry? Me? At—at
you?
Why—why
no
, doll! I—”

Instinctively he drew her close into a hug, then gently tilted her face up to his own for her lips to meet his.

It was a long and satisfying kiss…for everyone…except Sam.

When they finally parted, they were both smiling jubilantly.

Her smile said,
How could I have ever doubted this wonderful guy?

His said,
Jeez, did I ever dodge a fucking bullet, or what! That was
way
too close!

Sam smiled, too. His said,
You lucky son-of-a-bitch.

He turned to leave. But before he could make it out the door, he heard Nina say, “Honey, I know just how to make it up to you: How would you like to go to the Oscars—with Kat? She's got an extra ticket, and she told me she'd be happy to have you escort her. Think what a break
that
will be for your career…and Hugo's movie!”

Sam closed his eyes in disgust.

It was too early to cry on O's shoulder.

But it wasn't too early to go out and get shit-faced.

 

Because he got to the Standard Downtown's rooftop bar early enough, Sam was able to take possession of one of the poolside candy apple red space pod–like cabanas all by himself, where he gave the waitress a fifty-dollar bill and told her to keep the Dewar's coming.

Then he loosened his tie, lay down spread-eagled on the pod's vibrating waterbed, and stared up at the sky.

The appearance of each twinkling star overhead seemed to be accompanied by another noisy hipster making the scene there on the roof. In a half hour's time, the crowd was at overflow. Any sounds from the street below that were not drowned out by the DJ's expert hotmixing were finally obliterated by the drone of gossip and big talk emanating from those who considered themselves L.A.'s finest, this claim validated by their physical presence on the coveted side of the Standard's velvet rope, on a Friday night, no less.

None of this, however, made Sam invisible, which allowed Katerina McPherson—entourage in tow—to find him.

“Well, well, well. Look who we have here,” she snarled. Her minions, who included her gay hair stylist, her not-yet-out-of-the-closet trainer, her could-easily-be-a-tranny clothing stylist, her anorexic nutritionist, two of her BFs from her former “'hood” (as if lily white Newport Beach, California, could be described as such), and her worshipful albeit hetero personal assistant, Rain Jennings, giggled on cue.

Sam sighed but kept his eyes closed.

“TGIF to you, too, Kat. However, office hours are now closed.”

“That's no way to treat your number one client, now is it, Sam?”

He sighed again, silently counted to five, then opened his eyes to find her balloonlike breasts hovering over him, barely restrained by her flimsy spaghetti-strapped crop top. Because she was so close, he noticed for the first time that the planes of her face were buffed to a smooth porcelain finish. Although the frown lines had been plumped and lasered away, with her eyes narrowed into dark slits and her lips turned down cruelly that way, all her renowned beauty faded instantly.

No doubt about it: Kat was pissed at him.

She snapped her fingers, signaling her minions that she wanted a few minutes alone with the object of her disaffection. They dispersed like the chlorine in the bar's shimmering, lighted pool.

Sam sat up to make room for her on the water mattress. As she leaned back onto it, she set in motion a series of gentle waves that he found somewhat arousing. She smiled knowingly, and placed her hand over his.

That sent a cold shiver up his spine.
There went that lovin' feeling.

“You're a control freak, you know that, Sam?”

Her tone was light, but he knew better. “Whattaya mean?” He was trying hard not to slur his words, but already he was three Scotches to the wind.

“I think you know what I mean.” She flopped over on her toned abdomen and stared out at the pool. “I think you feel that you can control Nathan. And by doing that, you control me, too.”

“I'm not trying to control you, Kat.”

“That's smart of you, Sam. Because you never will.” She leaned back on one arm and looked him squarely in the eye. “Or Nathan, for that matter. So
leave us alone.
”

He yanked her foot by its Manolo-encased stiletto until she was at his side. The water mattress undulated wildly, practically tossing her into his lap. She tried to jerk her foot away, but he held tight to it.

“Is this your idea of foreplay?” she snapped at him. “Because if it is, I can see why you're such a lonely guy. Your technique stinks.”

“I'm not playing games, Kat. And you shouldn't be, either, with Nathan's life. He's just starting out, so why don't you give him a break?”

“Anyone who's seen with me
is
getting a break. You know that.” She smiled. “Under any other circumstance, you'd be sending me roses for taking him ‘under my wing.' What's it to you anyway, Sam?”

“He's got a wife.
And
a kid. You've got to have some kind of conscience about that, Kat.”

“If he doesn't, why should I?” She had a point there.

“Look, Kat, this isn't up for debate. Cool your jets, and everyone will be happy.”

“You mean
you'll
be happy.”

She stood up and stretched, an action that caused her crop top to rise high enough that the gawking crowd got what it was waiting for:
peek-a-boo
…“Although I can't figure out why…yet. Well, Sam, your butting out would make
me
happy. And if that's something you can't do—or
won't
—then I'll find another agent who will.”

She left him floating in his pod.

The version of their discussion that Riley heard from Rain the next morning, over macchiatos and biscottis at the Sunset Plaza Coffee Bean, included a few more profanities and the inference that Kat had also gotten in a well-targeted kick to Sam's groin. However, Rain was so smitten with him that she was bound to invent a few juicy details to make it worth his while to forgo their usual form of communication—text messaging—and actually meet her in person instead.

Riley could forgive her for that. Rain had done good, and he rewarded her with what she lived for: a very public, very sloppy kiss, and a teasing squeeze on the thigh that promised more was yet to come—
if
she kept delivering the goods.

As he walked away, he wondered what her reaction would be when she finally found out that he played for the other team, as it were. His guess was that she'd probably be so mortified she'd move back home to Ketchum, Idaho.

Good riddance
.

 

When Nathan told Nina that Fiona had gotten them invited to the Playboy Mansion Valentine's Day's bash, she couldn't believe her ears. In fact, it wasn't until the limousine pulled up to their apartment building that it actually registered in her mind that, yessirree,
the Hartes would be hot tubbing with Hef in the infamous Grotto!

As well as several dozen naked nubile Playboy bunnies, each one equipped with her own built-in flotation device.

Nina's euphoria over partaking in the quintessential L.A. celebrity experience subsided somewhat at that realization, coupled with another: that for the first time in six years, she
and Nathan would not be sharing a romantic, intimate Valentine's Day, just the two of them.

Nina wondered if it bothered Nathan as much as it bothered her.

Obviously not. He'd already downed almost a full complimentary bottle of Taittinger on the ride over. The sloppy smile on his kisser and the way in which he was staring out the window—like a kid on the way to Disneyland—was proof positive that Nathan thought he was living the American Dream—

—Or at least, the
Entourage
version of it.

After having been given their security clearance by the infamous talking rock, their limo made its way through the massive wrought-iron gates and up the expansive driveway, passing an aviary, a redwood forest, monkey cages, a Japanese koi pond, roaming peacocks, flamingos—and of course rabbits—on their way toward the twenty-one-thousand-square-foot Gothic home of Hef and his human menagerie.

Nina, on the other hand, suddenly felt as if she had been dropped into her worst nightmare. As far as the eye could see was primo grade-A T-and-A clad in barely-there babydoll lingerie or too-tight cut-down-to-there tank tops paired with too-short miniskirts or belly-bared skin-tight jeans, or perhaps the ubiquitous Playboy bunny corset, tail, and semi-erect ears—possibly the only things at half-staff on the five and a half acres that made up the estate's grounds.

Sure, Nina was dressed up too, all cute and sexy: She'd paired a classic colorful Cavalli silk miniskirt she'd found at a secondhand shop on Melrose with a white chiffon halter top that Casey had lent her. Could such classic elegance compete with overt wall-to-wall come-and-get it voluptuousness?

Hardly. Which was why she, too, grabbed a bottle of Taittinger before exiting the limo and, in the course of a half hour, chased it down with a cosmopolitan proffered to her by one of the many human bunnies holding trays of sloshing martini glasses.

The drinks did little to help her keep up with Nathan, who in no time was surrounded by a bevy of long-legged, big-breasted Amazons, all of them salivating over the newest star on Hollywood's ever-changing horizon—according to
Us, People, In Touch,
and
Life & Style.

“Well, he certainly seems to be enjoying himself, doesn't he?”

At the sound of Sam's voice, Nina turned around. She smiled first, then blushed a bit as the memory of Hugo's very broad hint to O—that Sam had a crush on the PSO—came back to her.

Her sudden shyness did nothing at all to alleviate Sam's crush—with Nina. In fact, it only drove home to him the reason she was such a special commodity in their town: She was fresh, wholesome, and solely without an agenda.

So what was she doing here, in L.A.'s most celebrated lair of lasciviousness?

For that matter, what was she doing in L.A. to begin with?

“Yes, I can honestly say that Nathan seems to be taking to this like a fish to water.” She looked around at all the celebrities—both men and women—who obviously felt at home in the festivities. “I guess I should get used to it. Although, I've got to admit, it's not easy.” She found it hard to take her eyes off Paris and Lindsay as they strolled by, toned arm-in-arm, with their posses keeping a respectful distance from them, and from each other.