Hollywood Wives - the New Generation (15 page)

The chef Nicci had hired - sight unseen - arrived late. He was a
gaunt, scruffy-looking man, with dyed black hair greased into
submission, an off-white chef's jacket worn with stained white
bell-bottoms, and orange hiking boots.

At least he's here
, Nicci thought,
although he's not
exactly what I had in mind
.

She was upset, because the flowers she'd ordered had not arrived,
and, according to Evan, the wine she'd purchased at the market was
cheap crap. If this is what entertaining was all about, she would not
be doing it again any time soon.

'
You
should've picked up the wine,' she informed Evan, who
for the first time in their short relationship was starting to bug her.
'Men are supposed to take care of things like that.'

'Dinner parties are
your
job,' he answered, between phone
calls. 'Besides, you're the one who wanted to do this.'

Earlier he'd told her that their director was having a nervous
shit-fit, and he'd been on the phone most of the day trying to deal
with it.

'My
job,
' she retorted, outraged. 'My fucking
job!
I don't work for you, in case you haven't noticed.'

'Don't start, Nicci,' he said, shooting her a filthy look.

Christ! He sounded like her
mother
. Tight-lipped, she left
the room before she told him to shove it up his ass with bells on.

The chef was in the kitchen unpacking supermarket bags, a cigarette
dangling loosely from the corner of his slack lips.

'I thought we'd sit down to dinner around nine,' she said, trying to
sound as if she'd done this before.

'You got it, sweetbuns,' he answered, with a jaunty wink.

Sweetbuns
! What was
that
all about? 'You're
serving steak and salad, right?' she said, deciding it was best to
ignore his overly familiar attitude.

Another wink. 'You're gonna
love
my meat,
sweetbuns,'
he said, cigarette ash falling on the counter top.

She hurriedly left the kitchen and retired to the privacy of their
bedroom, where she lit up a joint, even though Evan - who didn't do
drugs of any kind - had asked her not to smoke in there.

Too bad. She was giving this lousy dinner party to make
him
happy, and he had the temerity to criticize her!

She stalked into her closet and picked out the one dress she owned.
A short, backless, red Azzedine Alaia. Very sexy. Especially when she
added Jimmy Choo heels, making her six feet tall. Evan would not
appreciate her towering over him - he claimed it made him feel
inadequate.

That was his problem. Tonight she was doing whatever she felt like.

Around six Michael phoned the hotel, using Lissa's alias to get
through to her. 'Everything's in place,' he said. 'His stuff's outside,
the locks are changed, I've sent your housekeeper to stay with
relatives for the weekend, and your security guard knows Mr Lynch no
longer has access to the premises.'

'Are you
sure
I can do this?' she asked nervously.

'You checked with your lawyer, didn't you?'

'Yes.'

'Then you know it's okay.'

'I suppose so,' she said listlessly.

'It's your house, Lissa, not his,' Michael said, his voice low and
reassuring.

'I realize that.'

'Then what's the problem?'

'No problem,' she answered quickly.

'So, what are you up to in your luxury suite?' he asked, attempting
to lighten the situation.

'Becoming a television junkie,' she said, switching channels as she
spoke, keeping the volume on mute.

'Sounds like fun.'

'If you like TV.'

'Do you?'

'No.'

'Hey, don't go getting depressed on me,' he said cheerfully.

'I'm not.'

'You're sure?'

'Positive.'

'And you're okay being in a hotel by yourself?'

'Of course I am,' she lied.

'Then there's nothing else I can do for you tonight?'

'Nothing.'

'I'll give you my cellphone number in case you need me.'

'I won't,' she sighed, 'but give it to me anyway.'

'You want me to drop by?' he asked, sensing she was depressed.

'Not necessary,' she said, although his company would've been most
welcome.

'Just remember,' he said sternly, 'do
not
go home.'

'I have no intention of doing so.'

She put down the phone, then picked it up again and ordered dinner
from room service, instructing the waiter to leave the trolley outside
the door. She didn't want anyone knowing she was there, let alone a
room-service waiter who probably had a hot line to the
Enquirer
.

When the food arrived it did not tempt her. She hated being in this
situation, and the prospect of sitting alone in a hotel room all night
was a grim one, especially as she felt so vulnerable. She called James.
His service informed her he was in New York for the weekend.

Next she tried Kyndra, whose assistant told her that her boss was
shut up in the recording studio, and had left instructions not be
disturbed unless there was a major earthquake.

Nice. Just when she needed them, her two best friends were
unavailable.

She considered phoning Stella or Taylor, then decided against it.
Stella was too abrasive, and would lecture her on her bad choice of
men, and Taylor was so completely caught up in her movie project that
lately she seemed to care about nothing else.

By eight Lissa was completely on edge. She'd watched TV, attempted
to read, found she couldn't concentrate on either, and didn't know what
to do next.

I can't just sit here
, she thought.
It's driving me
crazy
.

Then she remembered that Nicci was having a dinner party.

Maybe I'll go
, she thought.

Maybe I won't.

And once more she tried to settle down and watch TV.

The drive to Calabasas was long and boring. Especially as Larry
insisted on driving them himself in his new SUV.

'Can't we take the Mercedes or my Jaguar?' Taylor had asked.

'I think this vehicle suits the occasion better,' Larry had said.

He was
always
concerned about other people's feelings, and
since his friend, Isaac, was not exactly in the big leagues, it was
obvious he didn't want to arrive in an expensive car, even though it
was no secret that he was one of the most successful men in Hollywood.

As she sat in the passenger seat, Taylor steeled herself for the
evening ahead. She wasn't exactly a snob, but on the other hand, she'd
worked hard to gain her position among the Hollywood elite, and
mingling with Larry's not quite so successful friends did not interest
her.

'No valet parking?' she remarked, as they finally drove up to the
modest home.

'Come on, Taylor,' Larry chided, 'you're not in Beverly Hills now.'

'I was merely thinking that if they're expecting a lot of people…'
She trailed off, Larry wasn't buying it.

'This is a quiet street in a family neighbourhood,' he pointed out.
'I'm sure we can find a parking spot.'

'Maybe we'll get mugged walking from our car.'

'No, honey,' he admonished. 'That's what happens in town, not here -
remember?'

Isaac Griffith was a tall, good-looking black actor, who had
appeared in quite a few movies, only never in the leading role. Larry
made sure there was always something for him in every one of his films,
another thing that pissed Taylor off. If he could find roles for his
friends, why couldn't he find one for her? She was, after all, an
established actress with a long list of credits. They might not be the
best credits in the world, but that was only because
of circumstances.

Isaac and Larry hugged each other like long-lost friends, which of
course they were.

'This means so much to me, you two coming out here,' Isaac said,
including Taylor in his greeting.

'You think I'd miss
your
fiftieth birthday?' Larry said
happily. 'You are now an official member of the old farts club!'

'Thanks,' Isaac responded, laughing. 'I'll tell Jenny, it's her turn
next year.'

Both men laughed.

Jenny, Isaac's wife, was small, thin and white. She resembled an
anorexic ghost with her long, blonde hair and exceptionally pale
complexion. She and Isaac had met when they'd both done a stint in an
off-Broadway production. They'd fallen in love and she'd moved back to
California with him. That had been twenty years previously, and they'd
been happily married ever since. They had two children and three dogs.

Taylor was aware that Jenny had been a good friend of Larry's first
wife, which did not exactly thrill her. They exchanged cordial
greetings, although neither of them was particularly fond of the other.

Once they entered the house, Larry was swamped by a sea of old
friends and acquaintances.

Alone, Taylor walked around the large comfortable house, wondering
how long Larry would want to stay. Kids and animals seemed to be
everywhere. This was not the sort of party she was used to. This was
her past, and that's where she wanted it to remain.

She glanced over at Larry. He seemed quite at ease, talking to
people as if they were his equals. He simply didn't realize how
important and famous he was.

Round tables were set out in the garden, and there was a long buffet
trestle, stacks of plastic plates, knives and forks, and a pile of
paper napkins. Isaac and some of his friends had begun working the
barbecue.

'Why don't you sit down?' Taylor said, finding Larry. 'And I'll
fetch you a plate.'

'Don't be silly,' he replied. 'We'll all pitch in.'

He stood in line beside his wife, grinning broadly, waiting for his
hamburger and hot dog like everyone else.

'We
should entertain like this,' he said. 'Our
dinners are getting too fancy.'

'You think so?' she said, recalling their last dinner, which had
been impeccably catered by Spago. Nothing wrong with
that
.

Larry nodded. 'This is more down-home and friendly,' he said. 'I'm
talking to a lot of people I haven't seen in years, and I like it.'

'Whatever you want, darling,' Taylor murmured. She wasn't about to
argue with him here.

Isaac came over, dragging another couple. The man was in his
fifties, nice-looking with a vaguely familiar air about him. His wife
was a short, plump woman with a big gummy smile.

'Say hello to my friends, the Rocks,' Isaac said, flashing his 'I
could've been a big star' smile. 'Their son, Oliver, recently sold a
spec script for a million bucks. How do you like
that
?

Taylor was quite speechless. She didn't like it at all.

By the time their first guests arrived, Nicci was happily stoned,
the
chef was busy doing his thing in the kitchen, the flowers had arrived
and were safely on the table, and Evan was still on the phone.

'Honey,' she called sweetly, buzzing him in his office at the back
of the house, 'people are arriving. Can you get off the phone, please?'

'Not now,' he snapped. 'How many times do I have to tell you I'm in
the middle of an emergency?'

If it's such a freaking emergency
, she thought,
how
come Brian isn't by your side helping
?

Actually, she was well aware that Evan was the one who took care of
all the business details, while Brian handled the artistic side.
Although surely an insane director fell more into the category of
artists than business?

She took a quick peek in the kitchen. The annoying chef was balanced
on a stool reading her latest copy of
Talk
magazine; an empty
bottle of beer stood on the counter in front of him. No food in sight.

'Everything under control?' she asked, trying to sound like an
experienced hostess used to dealing with staff.

'Nine o'clock,' he said, winking.

'Shouldn't you be… doing something?'

'Nine o'clock, sweetbuns,' he repeated, barely glancing at her.

She backed out of the kitchen with a horrible gut feeling that he
was a total fuck-up.

Saffron was the first to arrive, dragging her date behind her. He
was not exactly what Nicci had expected. Rather than a studly young
actor, he was a forty-something, surly, long-haired Latino, in a
scuffed brown leather jacket, red Tee, and tight jeans that showed off
all his best assets.

Hmm
… Nicci thought.
Maybe that's the attraction. There
has to be
some
reason why Saffron's always attracted to older
guys.

'Meet Ramone,' Saffron said, exotic in a flowing antique coat over
cobalt blue satin pants and a sequined tube top, her dark skin
gleaming. 'My new best friend.'

'Hi, new best friend,' Nicci said, trying not to stare at his crotch.

His answer was a nod. A man of few words.

'The bar's over there, go fix yourself a drink,' Nicci said,
pointing him in the right direction. She turned to Saffron. 'Evan'll be
out in a minute - he's on the phone.'

'Place is lookin' good, girl,' Saffron proclaimed, checking
everything out. 'How many people you got coming?'

'Brian and whatever date he drags with him. A couple of friends of
Evan's, and uh… I guess that's it.'

'Quite a stud, huh?' Saffron said, indicating Ramone at the bar.

'If you say so,' Nicci answered evenly. There was no arguing with
Saffron when she thought a guy was hot. 'Trust me, he's a stud,'
Saffron said, all pleased with herself. 'I'm sure you eyeballed the
package?'

'Couldn't miss it.'

Saffron chuckled and hitched up her top. 'I may be getting veree,
veree
lucky later.'

'Oh, and I forgot - my mom might drop by,' Nicci said. 'But that's
highly unlikely.'