Married Lovers (5 page)

They sat around talking for a while before heading off to Katie’s boyfriend’s gig at a club down the street.

“Tonight is like kind of a showcase,” Katie confided excitedly as they settled into a booth. “There’s reps from two big record companies coming. Jinx is way out psyched, this could lead to something major big like a record deal.”

“Sweet,” Cole said, ordering a beer.

“I hope it works out,” Cameron said, opting for a Red Bull.

“So do I,” Katie sighed wistfully. “’Cause we got a really tight thing going, and if Jinx scores a deal, then who knows…” she trailed off.

“What?” Cameron asked curiously.

“We might even get married,” Katie giggled.

“Is that what you want?” Cameron asked, amazed that anyone would even think of committing to a lifetime relationship.

“We’ve been talking about it,” Katie said.

On stage Jinx came across like a young Mick Jagger, with all the hip-snaking moves and a skinny body in perpetual motion. His group–
Satisfy
–were loud and energetic.

Cameron was impressed, and even though it wasn’t her kind
of music–too rock ’n’ roll–the teenage girls in the audience freaked. She could tell that Jinx possessed a kind of quirky star quality.

Cole thought Jinx was hot. And corruptible.

“I’m telling you–he’s not,” Cameron whispered.

“There’s no way he’d turn down a blow-job on a cold night,” Cole responded with a knowing smirk.

“From a
girl
,” Cameron insisted.

“You’re such an innocent,” Cole teased.

“Isn’t he fantastic?” Katie enthused, leaning over.

“Right on,” Cameron agreed.

Later, after a backstage drink with Jinx and the band, Cole took off and Cameron and Katie got a chance to sit back and talk.

“You look amazing,” Katie said, peering at her. “How’s everything going?”

“I’m working toward what I want to do,” Cameron said. “It’s all good, I’m getting there.”

“And Hawaii is—”

“Nothing but a faded memory,” Cameron interjected. “I never even think about Gregg anymore. He’s past history.”

“No more bad memories?” Katie asked sympathetically.

“I’m telling you, it’s all forgotten.”

“Who’d have thought Gregg would turn out to be such a bastard,” Katie said. “I hate that—”

“Can we not go there?” Cameron interrupted, willing Katie to drop the subject. “I want to hear more about you and Jinx and those marriage plans of yours.”

Katie couldn’t wait to tell her everything.

Later, when Cameron left the club, she stood outside, called Marlon on her cell, and asked if he was up for a visit.

“All clear,” Marlon said, referring to the fact that his current girlfriend wasn’t around. “Come on over.”

So she did, and as usual he was delighted to see her. Marlon was always delighted to see her. A college student and aspiring
screenwriter, she knew nothing about him except that he was originally from Tennessee, tall and lanky with bleached-by-the-sun hair, deep hazel eyes, a smoking body, and always available.

The moment she walked into his shack at the beach, she began unbuttoning her Cargo pants. Neither of them talked much, they both knew the deal.

Marlon was in his Calvin jeans with nothing underneath. “Hey,” he said, hurriedly dropping his Calvins.

“Hey,” she said, peeling off her T-shirt.

He grabbed her in an embrace and they began kissing, long, hot kisses, his tongue darting in and out of her mouth. One thing about Marlon, he was a great kisser, full of enthusiasm. Unfortunately his foreplay skills needed honing, but she wasn’t there to teach him, she was there for the sex, the feel of him inside her, filling her up with his strong, overpowering manhood.

Sex was comforting. Sex was real. She didn’t need the hassle of a relationship, this thing she had with Marlon would do just fine.

They fucked for a long time, until they both came. Then within minutes of their grand climax, she was out of there, in her car and on the way home.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was a lot better than getting stuck with one of Carlos’s horny friends.

M
ost people would pass out mixing Vicodin and Xanax, but Lucy Standard–formerly Lucy Lyons–movie star–thrived on the combination, although sometimes she almost nodded off at the dinner table–prompting her husband, Phil, to joke about his wife the drug addict.

Their friends did not consider it too amusing, but Phil assured everyone that Lucy knew exactly what she was doing.

“It’s her back,” he explained. “She suffers from excruciating pain from a stunt she insisted on doing herself when she starred in that action movie with our current Governor–the so-called actor. He shoulda stopped her, but he was too busy worrying about his close-ups.”

Lucy and Phil lived in a sprawling ranch house in Brentwood, with their two children and a menagerie of animals–including three dogs, a black pig and a parrot who screamed
Fuck you!
at anyone who came within two feet of his perch.

Phil–a big bear of a man with several Oscars on his mantel–was affable, slightly overweight and bearded, with reddish hair and an extremely hearty laugh. He was also a notorious philanderer. “Pussy is my hobby,” he was known to boast to his male cohorts. “Pussy and tits–that’s that’s what makes the world go round.”

Lucy chose to ignore the fact that her husband slept with anything that had a pulse, although she had to be aware of it. Everyone knew that Phil suffered from a major zipper problem.

Lucy was forty, a tough age to be for an actress in Hollywood. A once super-successful star, she hadn’t worked in several years, and since Phil was a much-in-demand screenwriter she pretended that it didn’t bother her, but of course it did. However, she had no desire to play anyone’s mother on screen, so she’d bided her time waiting for the right opportunity to make a startling comeback. Lucy was still extremely beautiful with a sweep of waist-length black hair and a ferocious body. She was also quite a competent actress.

Phil scored big bucks and was extremely generous, so shopping, expensive lunches and cutting-edge beauty regimes kept Lucy busy enough. Maintenance was a bitch, and even though she wasn’t currently a working actress, she was still chased by the paparazzi everywhere she went. They were all after that one shot of her looking like crap, and she refused to give them the pleasure.

Lucy had a plan. And that plan was to make a major comeback in a major movie and all the people who’d written her movie-star days off could go eat shit. Ryan Richards was part of her plan, although he didn’t know it yet. Ryan Richards was going to produce the movie that would make her a star again. And her husband, Phil, was going to write her the role of a lifetime–although he also didn’t know it yet.

Lucy, when she wasn’t zonked out of her mind–knew exactly how she would maneuver the two men into position. And Mandy would help her, because Mandy was her friend.

Of course Mandy didn’t know it yet, either, but Lucy was going to let her in on the plan very very soon.

“Who decided on
Geoffrey’s
for dinner?” Ryan asked as he and Mandy sat in his Lexus trapped in a major traffic jam on the Pacific Coast Highway.

“Lucy’s choice,” Mandy replied, pulling down the visor and peering at her reflection. “Our check.”

“If it’s our check, then why was it
her
choice?” Ryan persisted.

“You know Lucy,” Mandy answered vaguely.

“By the way,” Ryan said as casually as possible. “I invited Don and a date to join us.”

“What?” Mandy said, sitting up ramrod straight, a sure sign she was annoyed.

“Didn’t you say it’s our dinner, so no problem, right?” he said calmly.

“You should’ve told me,” Mandy snapped.

“I forgot. Big fucking deal.”

“You know I do not appreciate surprises.”

“I invited him ’cause he had nothing to do. I thought you’d be pleased. You like Don, don’t you?”

“Sometimes,” Mandy answered guardedly. Yes, she did like Don. And she’d like him even more if he paid attention to her. He was always so dismissive, and it pissed her off. She was Hamilton J. Heckerling’s daughter, for crissakes. Most people jumped. Don never had. “Who’s he bringing?” she asked.

“I’m sure he’ll bring someone nice.”

“Nice!” Mandy scoffed. “Don wouldn’t know nice if it slapped him in the face! He’s into hookers, everyone knows that.”

“Not true.”

“You were the one that told me,” she said accusingly.

Shit! He’d mentioned it once. He wished he hadn’t.

“Did you at least change our reservation?” she asked.

“All done.”

“I really wish you’d told me earlier.”

“I wasn’t aware I had to check in with you.”

Mandy pursed her lips and gazed out the window. He’d
known she wouldn’t take it well. Mandy was a control freak exactly like her father; she wanted
everything
run by her before it happened. The only time he got away from her controlling ways was when he was in production on a movie, although during the first few months of their marriage she’d attempted to interfere in that too. Not for long though, because he’d stopped her at the pass. Making movies was
his
thing, and she’d soon learned–albeit reluctantly–to stay out of his business.

Stuck in traffic, his mind started drifting back to the early days before they were married. The sex had been great,
really
great. One night they’d been driving home from dinner, and the moment they’d hit the flats of Beverly Hills she’d leaned across, unzipped his pants, and given him a fantastic blow-job while he was driving. It was one of his most memorable experiences.

They’d had some laughs then.

Now, seven years later there were no more laughs, and his life was moving forward at a frightening speed. Forty was looming and if he was truthful to himself, he’d admit that he was stuck in a marriage with a woman he didn’t like anymore. It was time to do something–anything.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as they continued to crawl along P.C.H.

“Good for you,” she responded, in full pissy mood.

“Seriously, Mandy,” he said, persevering, “I’ve been thinking that maybe it might help us out if we went to couples counseling.”

“What?” she exclaimed, quite horrified. “Couples counseling! I can’t be seen doing something like that. How would it look?”

“Couples counseling is about two people seeing a counselor privately,” Ryan explained. “And, I might add–paying big bucks to do so.”

“Why would you even
think
about us doing something like that?” Mandy demanded, staring at him accusingly.

“’Cause surely you must realize that we’re drifting more apart
every day.” There, he’d said it. He’d opened the gates and he was glad.

“No, we’re not,” she said stubbornly. “Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s true,” he said, wishing the traffic would move faster. He paused for a moment before plunging ahead. “When was the last time we had sex?” he asked, thinking that he may as well go for it, this was as good a time as any.

“Ha!” Mandy snorted. “So
that’s
what this is about. Sex. I should’ve guessed.”

“You can’t fight the truth, Mandy. We haven’t had sex in months.”

“Is that
all
you can think about?”

“Jesus Christ! Face it. When a married couple stops having sex—”

“Y’know,” Mandy said, interrupting him, because he was saying things she did not wish to hear, “I should listen to my father more often. He taught me that most men think of nothing else.”

“Your father taught you a lot of things,” Ryan muttered. “None of them good.”

“Are you criticizing Daddy?” she shrieked, outraged.

“Would I do that?” he replied.

“Yes, you would,” she answered feverishly. “You hate Daddy, you always have.”

“I do not hate him.”

“Then why won’t you work for him?” she demanded.

This conversation was a constant in their marriage; so much for talking about what was really on his mind.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” he said evenly, attempting to remain calm. “I make independent movies, not box-office pieces of money-grabbing crap!”

“I can’t believe you said that!” Mandy exclaimed, her face reddening. “How dare you!”

“For crissakes, cut it out, Mandy,” he said, finally losing patience.

“Don’t you tell
me
what to do.”

By the time they reached the restaurant they were not speaking.

“Why the fuck do we have to drive all the way out to
Geoffrey’s?
” Phil demanded as he and Lucy sat in his Range Rover stuck in the major traffic jam on P.C.H.

“It was Mandy’s suggestion,” Lucy said.

“Of course it was,” Phil grumbled. “Mandy suggests and we all go along like little sheep. That woman is something else.”

“It’s their dinner,” Lucy said. “So they get to choose.”

“Mandy’s problem is she thinks she’s her father,” Phil snorted. “Doesn’t she get it that
Hamilton
is the one with the balls and the power. Mandy better wake up and smell the fact that she’s simply the daughter of.”

“Oh, c’mon, Phil,” Lucy chided. “Just ’cause you never got to fuck her.”

“What
are
you talking about?” he said, outraged. “There’s no way I’d screw Mandy. For a start she’s too fuckin’ short. I like my women tall.”

“You like your women any height, shape
or
size,” Lucy said dryly. “They can be a midget for all you care.”

“Why do you come out with crap like that?” Phil said, refusing to acknowledge the truth.

“Like what, Phil? Surely you’re aware that your reputation stretches way before you.”

“Shit!” he roared, honking his horn at the car in front. “What the fuck are these morons waiting for?”

“For the traffic to move,” Lucy said patiently. Pulling down the visor, she peered in the lighted mirror inspecting her flawless
complexion. Botox was the greatest invention ever, not a line on her porcelain skin. And she was younger than most of the comeback kids out there. Demi Moore was over forty when she played her return role in
Charlie’s Angels
. Michelle Pfeiffer was fifty-something and she’d starred in several major movies recently. And Sharon Stone was almost fifty when she made
Basic Instinct
2. Not to mention Madonna and a host of other older actresses still going strong.

Lucy decided she was a mere youngster compared to all those other women.

Yes
, she thought to herself,
tonight I’m going to start things in motion. Tonight I’m resurrecting my career
.

Dinner with Ryan and Mandy was the perfect opportunity.

Don drove like a maniac, one hand on the steering wheel of his black Ferrari–chosen for the night from his six cars–the other groping for a cigarette or a mint or his iPhone. Don was always in motion.

His date, a famous “girl next door” TV star, gripped the side of her seat in a panic. This was their first date and she didn’t want to spoil it by asking him to slow down.

Ignoring the backed-up traffic on P.C.H., he zipped down the middle lane–totally illegal.

“Who are we having dinner with?” Famous “girl next door” TV star asked, desperate to take her mind off his insane driving. Her name was Mary Ellen Evans, and she’d recently suffered through a very public and humiliating divorce when her movie-star husband had taken off with his gorgeous co-star. The public were firmly on Mary Ellen’s side; they would be very happy to see her out on a date with Don Verona–who, since his last divorce, was considered as eligible as George Clooney, and equally as attractive.

“Friends of mine,” Don said casually. “You’ll like ’em.”

He’d met Mary Ellen when she’d appeared on his show the previous week. Having a late-night talk show was a fertile ground for meeting women; many beautiful actresses passed through his studio enabling him to pick and choose. Although some of them were unavailable, most of them were only too delighted when he asked them out.

“Will I know your friends?” Mary Ellen inquired, asserting herself. She was so sick of the tabloid headlines about how lost and lonely she was. It was about time she got out and about.

“Maybe,” Don said. “But I thought I’d surprise you.”

“Okay,” Mary Ellen said, wondering if perhaps they were meeting up with Tom and Katie, or could it be the famous Beckhams? Don Verona knew everyone.

Don threw her a quizzical look, taking his eyes off the road for a moment which terrified her even more. “You’re into surprises, aren’t you?” he inquired.

“Absolutely,” she said, tossing back her sleek bobbed golden hair, and contemplating whether they would sleep together later. She was ready. A revenge fuck was exactly what she needed after the way her husband had publicly humiliated her. Don Verona was the perfect choice.

“Actually,” Don said, “it’s Phil and Lucy Standard, and Mandy and Ryan Richards.”

“Oh,” Mary Ellen said. “I was in one of Ryan’s movies.”

“Yeah? Was it a good experience?”

“I think he’s great,” Mary Ellen gushed, remembering the major crush she’d harbored. “It was my very first job, a tiny role, and Ryan was so caring and helpful. Everyone on the set adored him. I haven’t seen him since–this is exciting.”

“Hey–should be a fun evening.”

“I’m also a big fan of Phil Standard’s work,” she added, quite pleased with the way things were turning out. “He’s surely one of the most talented screenwriters around.”

“Phil’s a character,” Don said. “He’ll probably try to feel you up under the table, so you’d better be prepared.”

“Really?” Mary Ellen said, eyes widening.

“Just keep your knees firmly together and you’ll be okay.”

Mary Ellen threw him a look. “Thanks for the advice.”

“Any time,” he said, reaching for a cigarette.

Oh damn, he smokes
, Mary Ellen thought.
Who smokes in L.A.? It’s so unhealthy, and if I sleep with him my hair will smell and so will my clothes. Damn! Damn! Damn!

“The smoke doesn’t bother you, does it?” Don asked.

“Not at all,” Mary Ellen replied.