Hollywood Wives - the New Generation (8 page)

She felt a sudden surge of deep affection. 'Uh… Antonio?' she said
softly.

'Yes.'

'It'll mean a lot to me.'

'For me also,
carino
?

She put the phone down in a state of bemusement. Antonio was getting
married again, and to a woman fifteen years his senior. The only good
thing about it was that Adela must be throwing a blue fit!

And what would Lissa say?

She couldn't
wait
to find out.

'Shit!' Taylor exclaimed.

'Whassup?' Oliver muttered, rolling over on the mattress they'd been
sharing for the last few hours.

'I fell asleep,' Taylor said, panicking as she consulted her watch,
'and now it's almost five and I've blown out my appointment at the
beauty shop, not to mention my shrink, who's probably called the house
to find out where I am. Shit! Shit!
Shit!

'Chill,' Oliver said unconcernedly, stretching his sinewy body.

'You fucking
chill.'
Taylor snapped, groping for her bra
and panties, which were lurking somewhere under his decidedly suspect
sheets. 'Larry's being honoured tonight, and we have to leave the house
by six.'

'Didn't he get honoured two weeks ago?' Oliver asked, jumping off
the bed, naked.

Taylor couldn't help noticing that, in spite of their earlier
marathon sex session, he was hard again. Oh, the advantages of youth!

Finding her panties, she put them on. Then she continued the search
for her bra, which she couldn't locate in the tangled sheets.

'Damn!' she muttered, running into the living room to recover the
rest of her clothes.

Dressing quickly, she realized they hadn't even discussed her
script. On her last visit she'd handed Oliver fifteen hundred dollars
in cash, and for that he was supposed to read through the script and
come up with some brilliant suggestions. If his ideas were any good,
she was planning on hiring him at a proper fee to do a polish.

No time to get into it now. She had to get home as fast as possible
and come up with a good excuse on the way.

Oliver was standing by the bedroom door watching her. He was still
naked and still erect.

She had an urgent desire to stop and admire his young hard body,
maybe even make love again. But she didn't dare. Larry would be beside
himself wondering where she was, and there was no way he could reach
her because she'd switched off her cellphone.

'I'll call you tomorrow,' she said, rushing for the door. 'We'll
discuss my script then. Okay?'

'Whatever,' Oliver mumbled. And since she was already out the door,
she didn't hear him add under his breath, 'It won't do any good, your
script stinks.'

Quincy had asked Michael to call him as soon as Lissa Roman left the
office. Instead, Michael decided to drop by and see how old Quince was
doing. He felt unsettled after spending time with Lissa. She might be
extremely famous, but she was also a vulnerable woman going through a
tough time, and watching her face while she was listening to the tape
had been quite an experience. They'd dealt with celebrity clients
before and Michael had always been able to separate the job from the
person. This time something was different.

Do not get personally involved
. Rule one of being in the
private-investigation business.

Yeah, sure, but how many times did a woman like Lissa Roman walk
into the office?

He drove up to the Robbins house in the valley, Lissa still on his
mind.

Amber, Quincy's pretty wife, answered the door. A plump black woman,
with glowing skin and a warm smile, she gave him an all-enveloping hug,
her huge bosom pressing against his chest.

'
Always
a pleasure to see you, Michael,' she said. 'Q's in
front of the TV.'

'Big surprise,' he said, grinning.

'And
I
am fixing him a
snack. Can I get you something? You're looking
damn skinny.'

Not a visit went by unless Amber remarked that he was looking
skinny. At six feet two and a hundred and eighty pounds, he didn't
think so.

'No, thanks,' he said, shaking his head. Amber was a great cook, but
Michael tried to avoid her food because a person could gain ten pounds
just by glancing at her cakes and pies and freshly baked cornbread.
Every time he ate dinner at their house he had to put in an extra two
hours at the gym.

Once, long ago, when Amber was an exotic dancer, she'd weighed one
hundred and fifteen pounds. Now, after three children and nine years of
marriage to Quincy, she was hovering at two hundred. Standing beside
her husband she still looked petite.

Michael entered the cosy family room, where his partner was happily
ensconced on the couch, his cast-covered leg propped in front of him on
a foot-stool.

Michael indicated the cast. 'How long?'

'How long what?' Quincy said. He was a large, overweight black man,
with surprisingly soft brown eyes, bushy hair, and extra-large hands
and feet.

'How long are you shirking work and leaving everything to me?'

'
You're
capable,' Quincy said, with a big smile, 'an' I
deserve a rest.'

'You do, huh?'

'C'mon, man,' Quincy said plaintively, 'I'm gettin' up there. If I
take a few weeks off, you can run things.'

'How many cases do you think I can cover by myself?'

'Shit!' Quincy complained. 'I'm an old man. At least lemme take a
few days.'

'You're fifty-three, Quince. That's forty if you go by today's
standards.'

'Yeah, an' you, my friend, are forty-four, so what does that make
you?'

'Overworked,' Michael said. 'I expect you back behind your desk in a
week.'

'Yes,
sir!'
Quincy joked. 'You got it, boss man!'

'Screw you,' Michael said good-naturedly.

They had too long a history to ever get mad at each other. They were
friends first, business partners second.

'So,' Quincy said, clicking off the TV with the remote that never
left his hands, 'what's goin' on that I should know about?'

'Everything seems to be under control,' Michael said. 'The personal
assistant case went down this morning, there'll be a new hearing in six
weeks. The gardener on the Merron estate was fired and they're not
pressing charges. And, uh… oh, yeah… Lissa Roman came in. I played her
one of the tapes. She wants us to take care of removing her husband
from the house.'

'Ah… Lissa Roman…' Quincy sighed, a gleam in his eye. 'Some looker,
huh?'

'Didn't really notice,' Michael said, keeping it casual.

'Bullshit you didn't notice!' Quincy roared. 'She's the foxiest
piece of—'

Before he could finish the sentence, Amber entered the room carrying
a tray loaded with goodies.

'Piece
of what
, honey?' she asked. 'Go ahead, spit it out.
Don't mind me, I'm only your
wife.'

'An' what is my lovely wife bringin' me?' Quincy said, quick to turn
on the charm.

'A punch on the jaw if you don't clean up your bad-boy talk.'

'Ouch!' Quincy said. 'I was merely testin' my man here't' see if he
got a hard-on in the presence of Miz Roman.'

'You're disgustin'!' Amber exclaimed affectionately. Then she turned
to Michael. 'Did you?'

'Jesus Christ!' Michael said. 'The two of you are as bad as each
other.'

'Did you?' they both chorused in unison.

Michael shook his head as if he couldn't believe they would ask such
a thing. 'She's a lovely woman who happens to be going through a
difficult time,' he said. 'The guy she's married to has to be the
world's biggest moron.'

'Oh dear.' Amber sighed. 'Our Michael is definitely smitten.'

'Fraid so,' Quincy agreed. 'Shame he can't do nothin' about it.'

'Will you two quit with this shit?' Michael said abruptly. 'In case
you've forgotten, I have a perfectly nice girlfriend.'

'Which one is it
this
week?' Amber asked innocently.
'Letetia? Carol?'

'Man, I can't keep up with this Casanova,' Quincy chortled. 'He's
got pussy fever!'

Michael shook his head again, he was in no mood for their antics.
Since breaking up with his steady girlfriend, Kennedy, three years ago,
they were always on his case. The truth was that he hardly dated at
all, because women somehow or other always managed to let him down. He
knew women considered him exceptionally handsome, and he accepted that
as a simple fact. But good looks were not what he was all about, and he
resented that most women never saw beyond them. Currently he was dating
Carol, a failed ex-actress, now a real estate broker. She was nice
enough, but it was painfully obvious that she needed more than he was
prepared to give.

He always warned them up front that there was no way he was
interested in a serious relationship. They always agreed that neither
were they. And then they fell in love and he was stuck. The survival
instinct had taught him to get out just in time.

'I'm heading back to work,' he said. 'Glad to see you're not lacking
in the smart mouth department.'

'Thanks, bro,' Quincy said, reaching for a chocolate cookie. 'I'll
be walkin' before you know it.'

'Can't wait.'

Michael left their house, stopping for a hamburger on his way to the
office. Lissa Roman was still on his mind. It worried him that she'd be
alone in her house with a man she
knew
was cheating on her.
Would she be safe? Could she handle it?

Yes. Of course she could. She was rich and famous, she could
probably handle anything.

After returning the rental car to the Saks parking lot, Lissa
hurried
back to Barneys, entering through the front entrance and exiting
through the back, where Chuck waited with her car.

As she walked through the makeup department, she couldn't help
wondering if one of the girls working behind the counters was Gregg's
lover. They were all attractive, young and stylish.

She glanced around, her eyes hidden beneath her dark glasses.

Which one was Gregg's choice? The Chinese girl with the glossy black
hair? The pretty blonde in the unsuitable-for-work skimpy top? The
languid redhead who seemed to throw her a malevolent glare?

Who knew? Who cared? Gregg Lynch was soon to be history.

Arriving home she found Gregg lying out by the pool putting in time
on his year-round tan.

Gregg Lynch. Thirty years old. Handsome in an all-American,
dirty-blond, football-hero way.

Songwriter - talentless, in spite of her valiant efforts to steer
him in the right direction.

Lazy - she supported both of them.

Charming - when he cared to turn it on.

Sexy - sometimes.

Was that why she'd married him? Because he was good in bed?

Oh, God, she hoped not. She'd married him because he'd seemed so
easy-going, was fun to be around, and quite frankly, in spite of all
the glamorous trappings she'd been lonely, and after husband number
three, a Washington businessman who'd refused to commute, she'd needed
a man to share her life with. A man who would be there for her all the
way, supporting her in everything she did. Wrong again, dammit.

'Hi, babe,' Gregg said, sitting up and flexing his considerable
muscles. 'How's my hard-working little movie star with the big tits?'
Lately he'd taken to talking to her as if she was a hooker.

'Fine,' she answered coldly, wishing she could smash his lying face
in. 'And how's my lazy-ass little hubby with the big cock?'

This surprised him, he was not used to Lissa tossing it back at him.
'Don't be vulgar, it doesn't suit you,' he said cuttingly.

'Oh,
sorry,'
she said, with a sarcastic edge.
'I thought cock and tits went nicely together.' And with that she
marched into the house before he could come up with an answer.

Better take it easy
, she warned herself.
It's not
clever to signal that you know
.

She hurried upstairs to her dressing room, where she stripped down
to her bra and panties. Her masseuse was due at the house soon, and she
wanted nothing more than to feel a strong pair of hands releasing the
built-up tension in her shoulders and neck. It was tough constantly
playing the wronged woman.

Just as she was reaching for her robe, Gregg sauntered in. 'You're
in a pissy mood today,' he remarked.

'I'm tired,' she said, turning away from him.

'Tired, huh?' he said, dodging in front of her, preventing her
picking up the robe.

'Move,' she said sharply.

'Why? Can't I get an eyeful of my wife in her sexy undies?' he said
nastily. 'Or is that sight reserved only for Madam's faithful fans?'
And before she could stop him, his hands went for her breasts, pulling
up her bra with one swift move so that they were bared yet trapped by
the bra above them.

'Great tits for an old broad,' he said. 'You
sure
you
never
had 'em done?'

She recognized his mood. It was his 'I'll bring this bitch down to
size' mood. The one where he tried to get even with her because she was
successful and he wasn't.

'Stop it, Gregg,' she said, trying to stay calm.

'Stop it, Gregg!' he mimicked. 'Miss Famous Tits an' Ass wants me to
stop it.' And he shoved his hand down her panties and began fingering
her.

'No!' she said sharply, attempting to fight him off.

'You've been holding out on me, babe,' he said, 'and now I'm taking
a piece of what belongs to me.'

She struggled, but to no avail. He was strong. Too strong. He bent
her back across a stool, ripped off her panties and began thrusting
himself inside her with a grunting intensity.

Lissa was so shocked that she didn't know what to do. How could she
scream in her own house and accuse her husband of raping her? Because
that's what the son-of-a-bitch was doing.