Hollywood Wives - the New Generation (3 page)

Nicci loved his brother too.

And sometimes she wasn't sure which one of the Richter brothers she
loved the most.

Chapter Two

 

Lissa Roman had three best female friends, plus one token male. They
called themselves the New Hollywood Wives, and tried to get together at
least once a month, which wasn't easy, because they were all
exceptionally busy -except James, who played house-husband to his black
male lover, Hollywood music mogul, Claude St Lucia.

'Look at you ladies go,' James was inclined to say, raising his
well-groomed eyebrows. 'Why not play it like me and do absolutely
nothing? It's so much
easier.'

James was tall and English, with dark blond hair worn a tad too
long, and fine aristocratic features. He was extremely lazy, and a
loyal friend who could be relied upon to listen to all their problems,
and between the four women that meant a lot of problems.

Lissa never felt the need to visit a shrink, she had James to depend
on, although she didn't tell him
everything
, and she
certainly wasn't about to reveal her suspicions about Gregg.

Today they were meeting at Mister Chow's - a long time popular
hang-out on Camden Drive.

Lissa got there first, safely delivered by her permanent driver,
Chuck, a large, bald black man, who doubled as her bodyguard. She'd
learned the hard way that she couldn't be too careful. She'd had her
share of stalkers, freaks and over-zealous fans. Caution was second
nature to her now.

Then James walked in, debonair as usual in a casual Armani sports
jacket and perfectly pressed jeans. James loved clothes, Claude loved
buying them for him.

Taylor Singer arrived next. Taylor was a tall, striking woman in her
mid-thirties, with cat-like green eyes, long wavy hair, and
well-defined features. She was married to Lawrence Singer, mega
Oscar-winning writer-director-producer. Taylor was an actress who had
plans to direct and star in her own project, a movie she'd been
developing and talking about for two years. So far it hadn't happened,
but with steely determination, and a great deal of help from her
powerful husband, she was sure it was about to.

She was followed by Stella Rossiter, a short, dynamic blonde, who
produced movies with her husband, Seth, a man thirty years older than
his pretty, smart-mouthed third wife. Together they were a
well-respected, powerhouse couple who consistently made hit films.

Stella was pregnant. Well, actually
she
wasn't - she was
far too busy to put up with the inconvenience of pregnancy so a mix of
her
eggs and Seth's sperm had been fertilized and implanted in a surrogate
mother. Stella was delighted to inform anyone who would listen that
they were about to give birth to twins. Seth's three adult children
from his two former marriages were not thrilled. Nor were his ex-wives.

And finally, in strolled Kyndra, sultry queen of the divas, making
her usual late entrance.

Lissa glanced pointedly at her watch. 'What is
this
?
Black time?' she demanded good-naturedly.

'Oh, honey,' Kyndra answered in her low-down smoky voice. 'You all
would
still
be sittin' here come midnight if this was black
time!'

Everyone laughed, while Kyndra settled into her seat. She was a
voluptuous woman, with a huge bosom, long Tina Turner legs, and clouds
of thick, dark curls surrounding a strong sexual face. She'd been
married for twenty-four years to Norio Domingo, one of the most
successful record producers in the music business. 'Come tomorrow,
Norio and I are in the recording studio,' Kyndra drawled, 'an' that's
the last you'll see of us until our party. So get this mama a lychee
martini an' let's
dish!
'

It was Lissa's lunch, so she signalled to the waiter, ordered drinks
and all kinds of tempting starters from chopped seaweed to honey
spare-ribs. The food would probably sit there, as everyone - including
James - seemed to be on a permanent diet. But it was a good idea to
have it on the table just in case anyone was in an eating mood.

'You're on, James,' Lissa said, turning to her best male friend.
'You
always
know everything first, so let's hear the latest.'
Not that she was interested, gossip wasn't her thing, but she needed
something
to take her mind off what she was doing later.

'Well…' James said, a knowledgeable glint in his slate grey eyes.
'Did anyone
hear
about Ricky M and the two French models?'

'Even better,' Stella interrupted. 'I went to one of those "how to
give the perfect blow job" parties. Talk about bizarre.'

'
I
went to one of those,' Taylor said enthusiastically.
'Rubber cocks straight out of the dishwasher! And some funny little
ex-nurse who tried to instruct everyone how to do it. Can you imagine!'

'Pu-lease,' James said. 'It's far too early for this kind of crude
nonsense.'

'Ladies,' Kyndra intoned, 'if you don't know how to give the perfect
BJ by this time, then I suggest you pack on up and get your skinny
white asses back to where you came from!'

And after that it was all systems go.

* * *

Driving fast, with one hand on the steering wheel, the other
clutching her cellphone, Nicci reached Evan on location in Arizona,
where he was shooting his latest movie. 'Busy?' she asked briskly.

'Busy missing you,' he replied.

'How come you always know the right thing to say?' she said, pleased
to hear he was missing her.

'Practice.'

'I hate the thought of practice,' she said, screeching to a halt at
a red light.

'Huh?'

'Practice means there's been other women. I
hate
the
thought of other women.'

'No other women,' Evan said solemnly. 'I was a virgin before you.
All I did was jack off.'

'Ugh! I'd sooner there were other women!' She laughed, ignoring the
man in the Toyota behind her who was busy giving her the finger on
account of her abrupt stop.

'No pleasing you today,' Evan said lightly.

'I'm planning on phoning my dad,' she announced, groping for a
cigarette in her purse.

'What? To tell him I jack off?'

'You're weird,' she said, laughing.

'I am,' he agreed. 'But you knew that.'

'Uh… how's Brian?' she asked casually, lighting up.

'An asshole as usual.'

'So things are normal.'

'You could say that.'

The light changed to green and she shot away, driving too fast as
usual. 'E-mail me your undying devotion.'

'I already have.'

'Miss you,' she said. 'Call me later.'

'Of course.'

She clicked off, a smile on her face. Evan always made her smile,
which is more than she could say for most of the men she'd been
involved with. Carlos had possessed no sense of humour at all. Looking
back, she had no clue what she'd seen in him - apart from his smooth
looks and incredible prowess in bed. Hmm… two qualities that shouldn't
count, but definitely did. Sensational sex was hard to come by.

Evan was good in bed. Obliging and considerate. But no way was he
wild.

Nicci had a strong suspicion that Brian was the wild one in the
family. She also had a nagging itch to find out.

No
! she told herself sternly.
Stop thinking that way.
It's Evan you're marrying. Not Brian, who comes on to every woman who
breathes, and is certainly not faithful and trustworthy like his brother
.

Cutting off a white Mercedes driven by a grey-haired lech, she
pulled up in front of Starbucks and hurried inside.

Skipping to the front of the line, she winked at the lanky guy
behind the counter - a wannabe actor with bright red hair and crooked
teeth. Since he knew her, she didn't have to tell him her order.
'What's happenin', Freddy?' she asked, reaching for a cookie on the
glass-topped counter.

'Courteney Cox was in,' he confided.

'Cool.'

'She's a babe.'

'
'And
taken.'

'I can look, can't I?' Freddy said hopefully.

'When you make it big, you can do more than look.'

'Encouragement,' Freddy said, grinning. 'You spur me on.'

Freddy had no idea who she was, which was good, because Nicci had
never traded on being Lissa Roman's daughter. The less people knew, the
better. After all, it wasn't as if she had any desire to be an actress
or a singer. Truth was, she hadn't decided
what
she wanted to
do. She'd dabbled in a few jobs, just like she'd dabbled in a few
drugs. Nicci
was an adventurer, anxious to cover every experience.

Recently Evan had suggested that since she obviously had no
intention of going to college, and was currently without a job, she
might be interested in working with him.

'What as? A gofer?' she'd asked suspiciously.

'Oh, yeah,' he'd answered sarcastically. 'I can see
you
running errands for people.'

'Then
what
?'

'Hang out on the set - see what gets your adrenaline going.'

'You
get my adrenaline going,' she'd said warmly.

'That's why I love you.'

'You love me 'cause we have great sex,' she'd joked.

'I love you 'cause you're the only woman I can ever imagine spending
more than five minutes with.'

And this was true, because Evan did not have a long, complicated
romantic history like Brian. According to Evan, he'd had no serious
attachments before her. And that made her feel very special.

I'm getting married
, she thought, as she left Starbucks,
clutching her coffee.
Guess that means no more adventures
.

Evan had requested a traditional wedding. She'd sort of entertained
the idea of running off to Vegas and getting hitched by some kind of
Elvis impersonator, but Evan was having none of it. 'A runaway wedding
would break my mom's heart,' he'd said.

He had a mom! How normal. A widowed mom who lived in New York.
They'd flown to New York so that she could meet Nicci. Somehow Nicci
had imagined a little old lady in Easy Spirit shoes who wore fluffy
angora sweaters and kept cats. No such luck, Lynda Richter had turned
out to be a tall, big-boned woman clad in Escada and diamonds -
purchased for her by her sons - with teeth the size of baby tombstones
and plenty of overbearing attitude.

Nicci felt quite intimidated by her - especially after she got back
to L.A. and had to endure a daily phone call checking up on wedding
preparations. 'Have you ordered the cake? The band? Double-checked the
place settings? Decided on the flowers? Hired the preacher? Booked a
photographer? Chosen your dress? Chosen your
bridesmaids'
dresses? What are you waiting for, dear? YOUR WEDDING IS IN SIX WEEKS.'

Nicci dreaded Lynda's daily phone call. Usually she let her
voice-mail pick up, but she soon grew annoyed that she was prevented
from answering her own phone.

She'd tried to talk to Evan about it, but, typical male, Evan
thought his darling mommy could do no wrong and refused to listen to
any form of criticism concerning her.

The saviour was that Lynda Richter resided in New York. Nicci didn't
think she could have handled it if Lynda had lived around the corner.
What a nightmare
that
would've been. Besides, she resented
Lynda butting in as if she was a ditzy airhead. She was perfectly
capable of planning her own wedding, and had everything under control.

Well… almost.

She'd booked the venue - a gorgeous bluff situated in Palos Verdes
overlooking the Pacific Ocean. The ceremony and reception would take
place outside at sunset. Not exactly as traditional as Evan expected,
but it would be so romantic. And the woman who ran the place had
assured her she could organize whatever Nicci required.

So… all she had to do was figure out what she required.

Lynda's list ran through her head like an unrelenting mantra -
dress, cake, band, bridesmaids… Bridesmaids! God! How traditional was
that
?

Evan was having a best man and six groomsmen, so he'd insisted she
have bridesmaids.
Probably so the groomsmen can get laid
, she
thought dourly.

The truth was that she was not a girly girl - most of her friends
were male. After much thought she'd managed to come up with six
suitable candidates. Now all she had to do was get them fitted for
dresses. She was well aware that she'd left it horribly late, although
her maid-of-honour, who was also her best friend, Saffron Domingo, had
offered to help.

Hmm… Saffron was hardly the most reliable person in the world. Like
Nicci, Saffron was a free spirit with not much idea about tradition.
The daughter of Kyndra, a diva-style black singer, and Norio Domingo,
an eccentric white record producer from Colombia, Saffron was a girl
who lived by her own rules. Although she was only nineteen, she had a
three-year-old daughter, Lulu, to whom Nicci was godmother. Lulu's time
was divided between living with Saffron in her modest Westwood house,
and visiting her daddy, famous NBA player, Bronson Livingston, who
resided in a huge mansion in a gated community with his second wife and
three children - all from different women.

Nicci hated Bronson: in her eyes he was a big, stupid sports star
with a giant ego who'd taken advantage of her best friend. And the
kicker was he paid minimal child support, and Saffron refused to take
him to court to get more.

Nicci hated him because he'd stolen Saffron's youth, and the sad
thing was that she'd never get it back.

'I have to go,' Lissa said, clicking her fingers for the check.
'It's been memorable, as usual.'

'Honey, when I'm around it's always memorable,' drawled Kyndra,
producing a solid gold compact and applying an over-abundance of purple
lip gloss. 'Now don't forget, my anniversary party is coming up soon,
and I expect to see you all there.'

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