Married Lovers (19 page)

C
herry and Reno–the two new trainers–were major assets. Not only did each of them come with their own client lists, they were gung-ho to help out before the big opening, and there was plenty to do. Cole had fired their contractor and hired Carlos’s contact, Freddy Cruise, a fast-talking tough guy originally from the Bronx. Freddy–who was quite a character with his shock of dyed black hair and a cheap cigar stuck permanently in his mouth–employed a team of workers who never quit. They were there to get the work done and there was no slacking off. It was cash all round, heavy metal blasting from a CD player all day, but things were suddenly moving at a rapid pace.

Cameron was delighted. Everyone was working toward the big opening night and excitement was building. They’d hired a P.R. woman to handle the opening, Dee Dee Goldenberg–another transported New Yorker. Dee Dee was almost like a female version of Freddy–fast-talking, acerbic, and hot to get things done as soon as possible.

Dee Dee was into lists and pinning celebrities down–which as anyone who worked in P.R. in Hollywood knew–was virtually impossible. Celebrities did not care to commit. Sometimes they’d accept an invitation and not show; sometimes they wouldn’t accept and just turn up; mostly they expected to get paid.
Celebrities were mercurial creatures who danced to their own tune, which, Dee Dee informed anyone who’d listen, was a big fat pain in the butt. “It’s the freakin’ chicken without an egg deal,” she complained. “To get the TV shows to turn out you gotta have firm acceptances.”

“Don Verona is definitely coming,” Cameron informed her.

“Is he bringin’ Mary Ellen Evans?” Dee Dee wanted to know. “’Cause they’re all over the tabloids, which means that’ll get us major coverage.”

“I’ll make certain he does,” Cameron promised, although she wasn’t too sure how she was going to do that since Don was constantly telling her that he and Mary Ellen were not an item.

Busy as she was, she couldn’t help wondering why Ryan hadn’t called. It was disappointing, especially as she’d canceled a regular client to make room for him, and then he’d failed to follow up.

That’ll teach you to get the hots for a married man
.

Shut up! I don’t care!

Oh yes you do.

Oh no I don’t.

Trying to put Ryan out of her mind was not as simple as she’d hoped. Their time together–brief as it was–lingered in her head. Truth was, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. And she wanted to stop, she was desperate to stop. Nothing was going to happen between them, so therefore she
had
to stop.

Obsessing over a man–especially a married man–was distracting and foolish and led nowhere.

Obsessing over
Paradise
was what she should be doing.

Cole sensed that something was up. “You met someone, didn’t you?” he probed. “Dorian’s got it right, you’re finally doin’ the bump an’ grind with some lucky dude.”

“If I was–which I’m not–you and Dorian would be the last to know.”

“How come that when it’s about sex, you get all uptight an’
paranoid?” Cole said, throwing her a penetrating look. “You
sure
you’re playin’ on the right team? ’Cause no problem if you’re not…”

“Thanks, Cole. I’m sure. And since you’re so interested in my sex life, I think I should put you out of your misery and tell you that for the last year I’ve been seeing a twenty-year-old guy who makes Justin Timberlake look like a girl!”

There. It was out. And so what? Now the speculation about which team she was playing on could finally stop.

“Shit!” Cole exclaimed. “A secret lover. That’s hot.”

“Thank you, Paris,” Cameron said, tongue-in-cheek.

“When do we get to meet this hunk?”

“You don’t. But trust me–he exists. Are you satisfied?”

“I am. How about you?”

“Extremely, thank you very much.”

After a week or so had passed, she’d casually brought Ryan’s name up to Don. “What’s going on with your friend?” she’d asked.

“I thought I told you,” he’d said impatiently. “Mary Ellen was a one-nighter. She’s not my type.”

“You have a type?”

“Yes,” he said, giving her a very direct look. “You.”

Ignoring his come-on she’d tried again. “I meant your friend, Ryan. The one with the shaky marriage.”

“Did I say his marriage was shaky?”

“You intimated as much.”

“Yeah, Ryan,” Don had said, all casual. “He needs a new set of balls if he’s ever gonna leave Mandy.”

And that was that. She couldn’t seem too interested or Don would catch on, he wasn’t exactly dumb.

Cole was busy calling in favors from his phone list of big-shot, powerful ex-lovers. The gay Mafia of Hollywood responded favorably. Cole was not an easy one to forget.

Dorian consulted his BlackBerry full of mid-level TV
actors, half of them in the closet. He invited every one of them.

Cherry, it turned out, was personal trainer to pop tart Birdy Marvel. If Birdy came to the opening it would be a huge coup, for everywhere Birdy went, cameras followed.

If both Birdy Marvel and Mary Ellen Evans showed, they were set for amazing coverage.

Reno had his own group of young Hollywood which included Max Santangelo–the very pretty, very wild daughter of Vegas titan Lucky Santangelo–and Max’s two best friends, Cookie–the teenage daughter of soul icon, Gerald M.–and Harry, the gay son of a TV network president.

Cameron was still nervous about the opening. She couldn’t make up her mind whether to wear work-out clothes, or get all dressed up. Not that she had anything to get dressed up in–but Cherry informed her she had a stylist friend who, in exchange for an invite to the party, would set her up.

It was tempting. Both Cole and Dorian encouraged her. “You’re better-looking than any of ’em,” Dorian said. “You gotta work it!”

“Yes,” Cole said, joining in. “Wear something that shows off that body, ’cause that’s what we’re sellin’.”

Cherry’s stylist friend picked out an amazing Dolce & Gabanna creation. A white column of a dress with a front slit from here to Cuba.

She tried it on and fell in love.

“You look fantastic!” Dorian exclaimed. “A pair of sky-high Manolos an’ you’re all set.”

“Won’t it seem as if I’m trying too hard?” she worried.

“Not at all,” Cole assured her. “You’re the face of
Paradise. And
the body. We want everyone to notice you.”

Hmm…she wasn’t sure that she was comfortable being the center of attention.

But she’d go for it. She had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

R
yan was waiting for the right opportunity before broaching the subject of divorce. Since Mandy was on her best behavior he found it difficult to start the conversation. It didn’t help that she was also upset about her father’s new bride–so was he for that matter, but for different reasons. Then another family drama erupted. His sister, Evie, called in the middle of the night sobbing and crying out for help.

“You’ve got to come get us,” Evie implored, sounding desperate. “Please hurry. Marty went crazy again. I know he’s going to hurt us.”

Us?
Were his nephews in danger? Christ! He read about it all the time. Some husband goes berserk and blows his entire family away.

After assuring Evie he’d get there as soon as possible, Ryan jumped out of bed and hurriedly dressed. Then, since this was an emergency and he might need help, he decided to wake Mandy, who had not stirred. He stared at his sleeping wife. Her eyes were hidden beneath a black velvet sleep mask, her ears were filled with foam noise blockers because she claimed he snored–which he could swear he didn’t–and she did not look as if she was going to wake up any time soon. He nudged her all the same, and she surfaced in a sleeping-pill stupor. “What?” she
mumbled bad-temperedly, throwing her arms in the air. “Is there an earthquake? Wass goin’ on?”

“Nothing,” he said shortly. “Go back to sleep.”

What was he thinking? She’d be a burden not an asset.

Cameron Paradise. Where are
you when I need you?

He made it to his car and took off like a rocket.

As soon as he hit Sunset his mind began racing. Should he have taken his gun out of the lock box in the safe? Maybe called the cops? He had plenty of friends who worked in law enforcement, perhaps they could help.

Jesus! What the
fuck
was he supposed to do?

Cutting through numerous red lights, he made it to Evie’s house as quickly as possible.

Evie met him at the front door, red-eyed and weepy.

“What happened?” he demanded. “Where the hell is the sonofabitch?”

“He got drunk again,” she said in a low whisper. “Then he started screaming about you and your rich friends, and why didn’t you give us money. Coming to your house the other night must have set him off.”

“Great!” Ryan said, walking into the house with Evie close behind him.

“I told him you’re always offering me money and that I won’t take it. That’s when he got out of control and started wrecking things.”

“Did he hit you or the kids?”

“No. He stormed out, but he’ll be back.”

“I’m sure he will,” Ryan said grimly.

“I don’t feel safe here anymore,” Evie said, still tearful. “We can’t be here when he gets back.”

“Right,” Ryan said, thinking fast. “Where are the boys?”

“In their room. They’re frightened, they don’t know what’s going on.”

“Okay, okay,” he said. “I want you to run upstairs and pack
an overnight bag for all of you–you’re coming with me. We’ll sort out what to do in the morning.”

“Thank you, Ryan,” Evie said softly. “I knew I could depend on you.”

“Go get packed,” he said gruffly.

He walked into the living room, observing that once more Marty had done an excellent job of destroying whatever he could. The couch was overturned, the TV smashed, photos strewn across the floor, broken glass from the frames they were in scattered everywhere.

Ryan made a decision and he was sticking with it. He was bringing them home with him. Mandy would throw one of her childish fits, but it was his house too, and if he wanted to have members of his family stay there for a few days until he got everything sorted–then so be it.

The one big drawback was that he’d have to put the divorce conversation on hold yet again. But he’d been married to Mandy for seven years, another few weeks wouldn’t make that much difference. The important thing was to have Evie and the kids settled somewhere safe.

The three boys came downstairs rubbing their eyes and looking confused. Benji, the youngest, was crying.

Ryan gave them each a big hug and told them everything was going to be okay. He loved his nephews, and if Marty so much as touched them…

“Let’s go, boys,” he said, leading them outside and bundling them into the back seat of his car. “We’re taking off on an adventure.”

Lucy Lyons Standard was sitting on a bean bag in Marlon’s room at the beach, feeling like she was back in college. She was reading the latest pages of Marlon’s screenplay based on her brilliant idea,
and she had to admit that to her delight they were pretty good. Just as she was about to tell Marlon this, he hovered in front of her, shot her a sly look, and said, “I rented one of your movies.”

“You did?” she said, glancing up.

“
Blue Sapphire
,” he said, a satisfied smirk crossing his boyish face. “Some trip!”

Lucy frowned. Why were men so obsessed with
Blue Sapphire
? Yes, she’d stripped off in the film and twirled around a slippery pole a few times, but why this fascination? She’d made a dozen other movies where she’d shown what an accomplished actress she was, yet all men ever wanted to talk about was
Blue Sapphire
. Personally she would prefer to forget the entire experience, especially when she recalled the producer of the movie, Hamilton J. Heckerling, leching after her as if she were a bitch in heat.
That
was a story she’d never shared with Mandy. Hamilton had appeared on the set every single day, his beady eyes taking in every inch of her exposed body. “We gotta make a sequel,” he’d said to her one memorable afternoon. “You’ll do a Sharon–flash your snatch.”

“I’ll do no such thing,” she’d replied, quite insulted.

“Jesus Christ!” he’d responded, used to everyone agreeing with him. “What’s wrong with you girls today? Don’t you wanna see your career sky-rocket?”

Fortunately it was around that time that she’d started getting together with Phil, so Hamilton–who had Phil working on two other projects–backed off, wise enough not to upset his Oscar-winning screenwriter. They had history and a future.

“
Blue Sapphire
is not my best work,” she said, slightly irritated that Marlon would even bring it up.

“It’s like–wow!” Marlon said enthusiastically. “Hadda keep on pausing the DVD t’ make sure I didn’t miss anything!”

“Spoken like a true teenager,” she murmured, hardly impressed.

“I’m not a teenager,” he said, scowling like a little kid. “I’m gonna be twenty any moment.”

Then act like it
, she wanted to say. But she didn’t. Since he was doing such an excellent job on the script it wouldn’t be smart to put him down.

Placing the script on the floor, she stood up and stretched. Sitting on a bean bag was killing her back, it wasn’t as if she was sixteen. Why couldn’t he get a couch like normal people?

Without warning Marlon came at her like a raging bull, slamming his lips down on hers while going for a quick feel of her breasts.

“Hey!” she objected, pushing him away. “What
do
you think you’re doing?”

He stood there, nonplussed in his tight jeans with a visible hard-on.

“Uh…sorry,” he mumbled, running a hand through his bleached-by-the-sun hair. “I thought—”

“Exactly
what
did you think?” she asked, putting on a cross face, but secretly quite flattered. After all, she was old enough to be his…hmm…older sister. “Surely you have a girlfriend?” she said, recovering her composure.

“I got a few,” he muttered. “Thing is–they’re not like you. You’re…”

“Yes?”

“You’re like the real deal.”

She liked that. The real deal. This boy obviously appreciated a mature woman, unlike Phil, who took her totally for granted.

But Phil was her husband, and didn’t all husbands take their wives for granted? Which was one of the reasons she was trying to resurrect her career. Perhaps if she reclaimed her movie-star status,
that
would get the great Phil Standard’s attention.

“Marlon,” she said, the smooth voice of adult reason, “I’m a married woman. I have kids who could be your…uh…siblings. And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m a tad older than you.”

“Yeah, but you’re way hot,” he said lustfully. “I don’t give a crap if you’re married and old.”

Old!! Had he actually called her old?

Briskly she strode toward the door. “I’m leaving,” she said coldly. “I’ll be back tomorrow at the same time. And perhaps you should think about being more professional.” A long beat. “Oh yes, and Marlon, the first twenty pages need a lot of work.”

And with those words she made a dignified exit.

Old indeed! She was a movie star. She’d always be a movie star. And no would-be screenwriter teenage boy was getting away with calling her old.

Sometimes Mandy slept late, other times her sleeping pills wore off too early and she was up with the dawn. The thing she hated more than anything was being physically jolted awake, and that’s exactly what Ryan did to her on Tuesday morning. She vaguely remembered that he’d made an attempt to wake her earlier, that hadn’t worked, now he was at it again, roughly shaking her shoulder until she pulled off her sleep mask and reluctantly opened her eyes. “What?” she mumbled, leaving behind a delightful dream where Patrick Dempsey–or was it Don Verona–had been pursuing her across the sandy beaches of Mystique.

“I need to tell you something,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Can’t it wait?” she said, sensing danger.

“No, it can’t.”

“Then what?” she said, struggling to sit up.

“Evie and the boys are here.”

“Where?”

“Here, Mandy, in our house.”

She tried to recall whether–in a moment of weakness, while trying to be especially nice to Ryan–she’d invited them over. But no such recollection came to mind.

“Why, Ryan?” she asked petulantly. “Why are they here?”

“Because they’re staying with us for a few days,” he said calmly.

This information made her sit up in a hurry. “Excuse me?” she said, not quite sure she’d heard correctly.

“It’s an emergency,” Ryan explained. “Marty’s finally lost it, so I had to go get Evie and the kids in the middle of the night.”

“And you brought them here?” she said incredulously. “Here, to my house.”

“
Our
house,” he corrected.

That’s what
he
thought. When Hamilton had supposedly wedding-gifted them the house, he’d left the title in the name of one of his companies–just in case.
It’s
my
house
, Mandy thought.
Hamilton is no fool
.

Her mind was running in different directions. Lately she’d been trying hard with Ryan, ever since she’d sensed him pulling away. She’d organized the dinner with his family; she hadn’t sulked when he’d gotten drunk and stayed out all night; she’d offered him sex; in fact, she’d been behaving like the perfect wife.

Was this how he repaid her? By dumping Evie and the kids on their doorstep? Damn! This was not acceptable.

“I’m a little confused,” she said, reaching for her robe.

“Don’t be,” he said sharply. “It’s a done deal, and I’d appreciate it if you’d try to be nice to them.”

She could tell that her husband was still edgy; better tread carefully and keep up the perfect wife act.

“I’m always nice,” she said, deciding to make the most of a sticky situation. “Where is everybody?”

This was not the reaction he’d expected. Who was this
amiable woman who’d taken over Mandy’s body? It certainly wasn’t the Mandy he knew and didn’t love.

“They’re downstairs,” he said slowly. “Consuela is making them breakfast.”

“Then let’s go join them,” Mandy said cheerfully, slipping her feet into cozy cashmere slippers. “I haven’t seen the boys in ages.”