Hollywood Wives - the New Generation (6 page)

'Ms Roman's husband wishes to update some of their equipment,' Danny
continued. 'He was thinking of a new photo scanner, and perhaps the
latest flat-screen computer. We'd like suggestions and price quotes.'

Eric nodded, checking out the equipment.

A week later he returned with several new items.

This time Danny greeted him like a long-lost friend. '
So
good to see you again,' Danny gushed. 'Has life been treating you well?'

Eric barely nodded, and immediately went to work installing the new
equipment, tuning out Danny's annoying chatter.

Why should some people have everything and he nothing? Oh yes, he
had a job, a van, and a small rented one-room apartment, but that was
about it. Why couldn't
he
enjoy the luxuries that all these
rich people seemed to possess? Why couldn't
he
be living in a
mansion with a swimming pool and several luxury cars in the driveway?

Exactly what had this Lissa Roman bitch done to deserve such
recognition anyway? Sung some slutty songs and exhibited her body in a
few commercial movies. Any little tramp could do that.

And then Lissa Roman herself put in an appearance. The woman had
porcelain skin, white blonde hair, ruby red lips and a welcoming smile
which revealed small sharp teeth. 'I'm so glad you're doing this,' she
said, in a low throaty voice. 'Would you like a copy of my latest CD -
maybe for your wife or someone?'

'What?' he said, frowning.

She looked a little taken aback that he hadn't jumped.

At that moment it occurred to him that Lissa Roman thought everyone
loved her. Well, she was wrong. She was standing in a room with someone
who couldn't give a rat's ass.

Danny obligingly handed her one of her CDs and a pen. She turned to
Eric with a bright smile. 'To whom shall I sign it?' she asked.

'Eric,' he muttered, watching her carefully.

She signed the CD with a flourish and handed it to him. She'd
written
To Eric - with love, Lissa Roman
.

'Want me to explain how this new scanner works?' he asked, shoving
the CD in his back pocket to be thrown away later.

'No,' she said, shaking her platinum head. 'Danny will fill me in.
Nice meeting you, Eric' And she left the room, leaving behind a trail
of exotic perfume.

'Isn't she a treat?' Danny enthused, when she'd gone.

Eric grunted. He didn't find her a treat at all.

'She's
so
nice to everyone,' Danny said reverently. 'Such
a
lady.'

Lady, my ass
, Eric thought, as he continued working. And
then he noticed the two trade papers casually laid out on Danny's desk.
Variety
and the
Hollywood Reporter
. They both
sported stories on the front page about Lissa Roman. Danny had outlined
the pieces in thick red pen, ready to put in her scrapbook.

As he worked, Eric managed to read the headlines.
Lissa Roman
Inks Three Million Dollar Deal For One Night's Work at Millennium
Desert Princess Hotel
.

Three million dollars. Eric was in shock. That amount of money could
buy him everything he'd always craved. And this blonde bitch was making
it in one night.

He managed to scan the other headline. She was opening a new hotel
in Vegas for which they were paying her three million big ones. Jesus!

Then it came to him in a flash. What if he
kidnapped
her
and held her for
ransom
? Would her record company pay? Would
her movie bosses cough up? Or would the cops come down so hard that
they'd find her before he could collect the ransom?

Back at the office he looked her up on the Internet. There were over
eight hundred sites devoted to her. He clicked onto several of the main
ones, and found out more than he ever wanted to know.

She was very, very famous. Too famous.

She'd made seven movies. Released ten best-selling CDs. Appeared on
over a thousand magazine covers. Been married four times.

How did he go about kidnapping someone with such a high profile?
This obviously needed meticulous planning.

Over the next few weeks he spent all his spare time following her,
soon discovering she was an extremely well-protected woman who never
went anywhere by herself. She was always accompanied by a publicist, a
driver, sometimes guards, and often her husband - a muscle-bound man
who never appeared to work.

Eric realized that kidnapping Lissa Roman was not going to be an
easy task.

He decided that befriending Danny - her loyal assistant - might be a
good plan. So he called him up, reminded Danny who he was, and
suggested they meet for a drink.

Danny agreed, and they met at a gay bar on Santa Monica Boulevard.

'My boyfriend would be livid if he suspected I was stepping out on
him,' Danny said archly. 'However, he's away in Seattle for the
weekend, so no harm.'

Eric knew exactly how to deal with fags - after all, he'd been
incarcerated with a whole bunch of them for six long, miserable years.
He proceeded to get Danny good and drunk, then questioned him, finding
out everything he wanted to know.

By the end of the evening he had his answer.

Lissa Roman had a daughter, Nicci, who did not live with her.
Nicci
was the one he should be targeting. Nicci was the perfect victim.

And from that moment on, Nicci had become his obsession.

'Can you meet me for lunch?' Nicci said on her cellphone, still
driving.

'I'm not eating,' Saffron replied.

'Why?'

'Cause I'm fat.'

'You're a size four,' Nicci pointed out.

'I'm zeroing in on a size two.'

'Get a life, girl.'

'Have you
seen
Calista Flockhart and Lara Flynn Boyle?
That's my goal.'

'Oh, to be white and skinny,' Nicci said scathingly, glancing at a
passing stud on a Harley, while almost back-ending an uptight face-lift
in a cream Bentley. 'Anyway, you
have
to meet me for lunch,
it's urgent.'

'Does it concern a pre-nup?'

'What pre-nup?'

'The one he's gonna make you sign.'

'Evan will
not
make me sign anything,' Nicci said
haughtily. 'I think you're forgetting we're in love.'

'Ha!' Saffron exclaimed rudely. 'So were Sly Stallone and Michael
Douglas at one time, an' look what happened to
them
. Man, did
they
get a blast of the first-wife blues!' A beat. 'Evan's
lawyer will
never
let him marry you without a pre-nup. So get
ready.'

Nicci realized there was no use arguing with Saffron when she was on
a roll. 'Meet me at Fred Segal's in half an hour,' she said. 'And try
not to be late.'

'Only if you
promise
you'll let no food pass my lips.'

'Deal.'

'See ya.'

Nicci had decided to hand over responsibility for the bridesmaids'
dresses to Saffron. She could handle it, she had nothing else to do.

It did not occur to Nicci that she had nothing else to do either.
That wasn't the point.

Reaching for a cigarette she zoomed off down Melrose.

Taylor Singer parked on the street in Venice, reluctantly, because
she was a valet-parker addict and hated having to walk anywhere.
Locking her Jaguar, she headed down a narrow side-street that led
directly to the beach.

Christ
! she thought.
If my car is stolen, how do I
explain what I'm doing in this seedy neighbourhood
?

No explanations necessary. Larry trusted her. He loved her. He would
never
believe she would betray him.

Yet that's exactly what she was doing. Betraying him big time. She
simply couldn't help herself.

Her high heels clicked along the street until she reached the
entrance to a run-down apartment complex painted a particularly
sickening shade of orange. Producing a key from her Hermes Kelly bag,
she let herself in the side door, which led to an open overgrown
courtyard. There were four apartments in the complex, and she headed to
the furthest one. The door was open. Oliver was expecting her. Her skin
began tingling in anticipation.

Oliver Rock. Twenty-two years old. A long-haired, skinny
screenwriter who'd yet to sell a script.

Oliver Rock. Her first cheat.

He'd been recommended to her by an agent who'd suggested her script
needed to appeal to a younger audience. 'Go see Oliver,' the agent had
said. 'He's gonna be big. Get in at the beginning.'

She'd got in all right. She'd been getting in for three weeks and
she couldn't get enough of him.

She entered the small, messy apartment. The living room smelled of
cat piss and pot, even though the windows, which overlooked the ocean,
were wide open. A word-processor stood on a rickety wooden table. Loud
rap played on the compact sound system.

Taylor took a deep breath, shut the door behind her and locked it.
'Oliver?' she called.

No answer.

Shrugging off her jacket, she put down her bag and stepped out of
her shoes. Then she unzipped her skirt, unbuttoned her blouse, and
walked into the bedroom.

Oliver was sprawled on a mattress on the floor, asleep. He didn't
believe in traditional sleeping arrangements, or maybe he couldn't
afford a proper bed. She didn't know and she didn't care. Conversation
was not their strong suit.

For six years she'd been faithful to a man who was not a sexual
being. Larry tried, but in the sex stakes he was a loser. Now, with
Oliver, she'd finally found her sexual soulmate.

And even though it was dangerous beyond her control, she was totally
helpless, and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.

Nicci was already settled at an outdoor table when Saffron turned up
half an hour late. Saffron was an exotic treat with her finely
chiselled features, milk-chocolate skin, gold nosering, long black
dreadlocks and sinuous body. Heads swivelled to watch her as she wafted
to the table.

'Greetings, O Pale One,' Saffron said, oblivious to the stares. 'You
been considering what I said?'

'No,' Nicci retorted. 'And I am like
so
not pale. I've got
the best tan I've ever had.'

'Bad for the skin, all that lying out burning your body,' Saffron
remarked, sitting down.

'Fine for you to say with your natural year-round sun-tan thing
going.'

'Wanna swap?' Saffron said, amused.

'Wanna get serious?' Nicci retorted.

Saffron stretched sensuously, almost causing a businessman at the
next table to choke on his steak. 'Tell me what's on your mind,' she
said.

'I need you to take care of the bridesmaids' dresses,' Nicci said
crisply. 'Y'know, order them, like get them made in time, see that they
fit. All that kind of stuff.'

'Me?'

'No,' Nicci said, rolling her eyes in exasperation. 'That guy
sitting over there.'

'Isn't your
mom
supposed to be taking care of all the
details?' Saffron said, reaching for a bread roll.

'My
mom
is taking care of the bills,' Nicci said, slapping
her friend's hand away from the bread. 'And I have like a thousand
other things to organize. So
please
, Saffy, do me this one
minor favour.'

'Hmm… I suppose if you like
insist.'
Saffron said. 'But
only if you call the waiter over right
now
before I
starve
to death.'

'I thought you weren't eating.'

'If I'm working then I'm eating,' Saffron said, picking up the menu.
'Spaghetti and meatballs. Yum. And carrot cake for dessert. Girl, I
need all the energy I can get.'

'You're amazing.'

'I know,' Saffron agreed, with a Cheshire-cat grin.

They'd been friends since childhood, sharing the common bond of very
famous mothers. And since their mothers were also good friends, they'd
got to spend plenty of time together. Saffron had even visited Nicci
when she'd lived in
Spain. They'd had a fine time running riot with no adults to tell them
what not to do.

'Whassup?' Saffron asked. 'Anything I should know about?'

Nicci shrugged. 'I'm getting married. Isn't that enough?'

Lissa found herself sitting up straighter. 'So, I finally get to
meet you,' she said. 'Quincy's talked about you a lot.'

'Quincy loves telling stories from the old days,' Michael said, with
a wry grin. 'Like how I got shot, huh?'

'I think he told me about that,' she murmured, continuing to check
him out. Damn! He was good-looking. She'd worked with plenty of
handsome actors, but this guy was exceptional.

'Let's go in my office,' he suggested, rubbing his faintly stubbled
chin.

She got up and followed him into a big, comfortable room next to
Quincy's. There was a worn leather desk, two chairs, a TV and stereo
equipment. A framed print of a classic Ferrari hung on the wall next to
a black-and-white picture of him and Quincy taken outside their
precinct in New York.

'Take a seat,' he said, trying not to stare. Her movies and videos
did not do her justice - this was one breathtaking woman. 'An' I hate
to do this,' he added, 'only I gotta run to the John.'

'Go ahead,' she said, slightly amused.

He left her sitting there. Noticing a framed photograph on his desk,
she leaned forward and took a surreptitious peek. The frame contained a
photo of a pretty young girl.

She glanced around to see if she could spot a picture of his wife.
This
is a twist
, she thought.
Here I am visiting an investigator
about my cheating husband, and I'm checking to see if he has a picture
of his wife on the desk
.

Removing her baseball cap she shook out her platinum hair and took a
long deep breath.
Let's get this over with
, she thought.
I
have to know
.