Hollywood Divorces Page 3

  Carlos played and she swayed, moving her body in an undulating, provocative way. The sounds were primo, everything from N.W.A. to Santana to Mötley Crüe, with plenty of Marvin Gaye and Smokey Robinson thrown in for the nostalgia junkies.

  Yes, Freddy Krane was definitely taking notice, even though he was surrounded by a bevy of blond beauties. Earlier in the evening one of the waiters (a would-be actor) had given her a list of the host’s credits. According to the waiter, Freddy Krane specialized in high-budget action movies and had worked with all the macho stars from Eastwood to Schwarzenegger. “He’s the real deal,” the waiter confided. “Word one from him, an’ you’re in his movie. You should go for it.”

  “No thanks,” Lucia retorted. She craved stardom, but not at any price.

  Just before midnight she spotted Linc Blackwood walking in. Linc Blackwood! Her favorite movie star! She’d seen all his movies at least three times. She could hardly believe it!

  She nudged Carlos, who could have cared less. Carlos wasn’t into movie stars, he was into his record collection, his precious Mustang, smoking a little weed, and getting a lot of head.

  “Look who it is,” she said in a low, excited voice.

  “Stay cool,” Carlos responded, throwing her an irritable look.

  “I can’t stay cool!” she wanted to scream. “It’s Linc Blackwood—recently voted the Sexiest Man Alive by People magazine. How can I possibly stay cool?”

  She was breathless, in awe, her stomach churning. There were other famous faces at the party, but as far as she was concerned they meant nothing. Linc Blackwood was it.

  She kept her eyes on him, checking out his every move. Women began swarming all over him, silicone-breasted blondes with overteased hair and all-American smiles. He didn’t seem to take much notice. He sat at a poolside table drinking and holding court. After a while he was joined by Freddy Krane and several more gorgeous girls. Freddy kept patting him on the back and howling with laughter.

  Lucia moved her body to the sounds, giving a raw and sexy performance, the music sweeping away her inhibitions. She saw Freddy nudge Linc and gesture in her direction. Then, to her delight, the two men began watching her. She glanced at Carlos, who didn’t appear to have noticed. Her heart started beating fast—she was about to be discovered! After a few minutes Linc Blackwood was on his feet, holding a drink, pointing her out to one of the many girls who surrounded him.

  The chosen girl nodded, then circumvented the pool and hurried over. “Hi,” the girl said.

  “Hi,” Lucia replied. She wasn’t stupid; she knew the girl had been sent on a mission.

  “I’m Zara Light,” the girl said in a distinctly English accent. “And you are . . . ?”

  “Lucia.”

  “Okay, Lucia,” Zara said briskly. “It’s your lucky night. Linc and Freddy have requested that you join them for a drink.”

  “They did?” she responded breathlessly.

  “That’s why I’m here,” said Zara, a pretty girl with dark curly hair.

  “When?” Lucia asked blankly.

  “Now,” Zara said, rolling her eyes.

  Lucia glanced at Carlos. He was spinning away— caught up in an extended track of Ja Rule. Did she have to ask his permission?

  No. It wasn’t as if they were married or anything. She was free to do whatever she wanted. And she wanted to go meet Linc Blackwood—her living, breathing fantasy.

  She grabbed Carlos’s arm, causing a nasty glitch on the record.

  “Fuck!” he exclaimed.

  “I’ll be back,” she said quickly, and without any further explanation she was on her way to meet her favorite movie star.

  Twenty-five minutes later, Lucia Conchita Sanchez and Linc Blackwood were rolling around on top of the king-size water bed in Freddy Krane’s master bedroom, clothes half off.

  “I . . . I can hardly believe this is happening,” she murmured, completely starstruck.

  “Believe it, kiddo,” Linc responded, pulling off her tee shirt. “You got great tits,” he added, expertly unclipping her bra and flinging it across the room. “They’re real, aren’t they?” She nodded speechlessly. “You got any idea how hard it is to come across real tits in this town?” he complained, caressing her nipples with his fingertips.

  She didn’t know and she didn’t care. She only knew that from the moment she’d met him, her destiny was about to be fulfilled, and nothing else mattered.

  When Linc wanted to, he could handle a woman in bed exactly the way he knew they all craved. He gave Lucia his full attention, enjoying her full, ripe breasts, the silky mound of black pubic hair between her long legs, the smooth curve of her generous ass.

  He didn’t go for the gold immediately; many women along the way had taught him that plenty of foreplay led to real pleasure. So he got her hot first, spending time on her breasts, sucking on her large, erect nipples until she began moaning aloud.

  Then he spread her legs, going down on her as if he really enjoyed it—which he didn’t. But what the hell, this one tasted sweeter than most.

  Lucia was dazed and confused. How had this happened? She was not the kind of girl to jump into bed with someone on a first date. And this was not even a date. And she had a boyfriend, so obviously this was total insanity.

  Or was it? Linc Blackwood was her hero, and how many times would she get an opportunity to be with the man of her dreams? An opportunity to be with a man who had the tongue of an angel or a devil . . . or . . . She gasped, struggling for breath, grabbing a pillow to cover her face as he went down on her. She was half embarrassed, half thrilled, half ashamed, half ecstatic.

  What was she doing?

  What was he doing?

  Whatever it was, she was not stopping him.

  They stayed in Freddy Krane’s bed all night, indulging in everything Lucia had ever dreamed of doing with Linc Blackwood. He made love to her every way imaginable, and he did not use a condom.

  “You’re clean, aren’t you?” he asked at one point. “A virgin, right?”

  If that’s what he wanted to think, it was okay with her. And she didn’t even care if he made her pregnant, because this time things were different, this time he would marry her and they’d live happily ever after in a big Hollywood mansion—the one she’d seen photographs of in People. And she’d become a movie star too. All her dreams would be realized.

  Eventually she fell asleep in his arms, sticky and naked and satisfied.

  The next morning she was awakened by someone shaking her shoulder. She opened her eyes. The events of the night before came flooding back. “Linc,” she murmured, rolling over to greet him.

  Only it wasn’t Linc, it was Freddy Krane, standing beside the bed, bleary-eyed in a striped toweling bathrobe that flapped open, revealing that he had nothing on underneath.

  “Ohmigod!” she muttered, grabbing a sheet to cover herself. “Why are you here?”

  “Hate ta tell y a, doll,” Freddy said, pulling his robe closed. “Ya happen t’ be sleepin’ in my bed.”

  “Where’s Linc?” she asked, alarmed.

  “He hadda go, some kinda early meeting. Asked me t’ tell ya he had fun last night.”

  She sat up abruptly, her mind racing in a hundred different directions. “Is that all he said?”

  “Ya gotta realize Linc’s a busy man,” Freddy said, eyeing her as if she were prey and he were a hungry tiger.

  “So . . . so you mean he’s gone?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  Suddenly realization dawned, the ramifications of what she’d done becoming horribly clear. She’d made love to a man she hardly knew. She’d spent the night with him. She’d done everything with him, opening up sexually in a way she never had before. And now he was gone. God! He might be a movie star, but what kind of man left her in a strange bed without a word?

  “Hate ta rush you, only ya gotta move it,” Freddy said. “You can use the shower in the guest room, then hustle your cute ass outta here.”

&nb
sp; “Where’s my . . . boyfriend?” she asked hesitantly.

  “You got a boyfriend?” he said disbelievingly.

  “The disc jockey, Carlos. Where is he?”

  “Oh yeah, that’s the dude who was askin’ ’bout you,” Freddy said, yawning. “Told him you were with Linc.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Guess he was pissed.”

  “Oh God!” she moaned, shaking her head.

  “Don’t sweat it, he got paid cash for last night’s gig,” Freddy said, clearing his throat. “Ya gotta get goin’, puss. I’m a busy man.”

  She was too embarrassed to look at him. “Can you turn your back?” she muttered.

  “Sure, doll, only you don’t got nothin’ I ain’t seen before.” He turned around, whistling tunelessly.

  She quickly grabbed the sheet, twisting it around her body. Then she gathered her clothes, which were scattered across the floor.

  “What’s Linc’s phone number?” she asked, pausing at the door, convinced there must be some mistake.

  “Ya ain’t gonna get through, honey,” Freddy said sympathetically. “Linc’s got assistants an’ minders up the kazoo.”

  “Then I’ll give you my number, and you can ask him to call me,” she said, knowing she probably sounded like some desperate fan, only she couldn’t help herself, she’d honestly thought Linc cared.

  “Look, sweetie,” Freddy said in a kindly tone. “Ya had a great time. Why doncha leave it at that?”

  “Excuse me?” she said, her cheeks blazing with embarrassment. “I’m sure Linc wants to see me again.” “Yeah, yeah, doll, I’m sure too,” Freddy said quickly. “But in the meantime, why don’t I take ya ta dinner tonight? Who knows—you an’ I might hit it off.”

  “Linc wouldn’t like that,” she said, fighting back tears, still living with the hope that this was all some big misunderstanding and that Linc would come walking into the room.

  “S’matter of fact, he suggested it,” Freddy said casually. “Y’know, seein’ as he’s so busy an’ all.”

  “I can’t believe he’d do that,” she said miserably.

  “Hey—what’s wrong with me?” Freddy said indignantly.

  “Nothing,” she muttered.

  “Then let’s get together for dinner. You an’ I can have our own party.” He winked knowingly. “If y a know what I mean.”

  She knew what he meant only too well. “No thank you,” she said stiffly.

  “Suit yourself,” he said, shrugging. “Guest room’s first on the left. Give me a holler when you’re finished an’ I’ll get the maid t’ call you a cab.”

  She marched from the room with as much dignity as she could muster.

  So this was Linc’s deal—he’d used and discarded her like a disposable doll, then passed her on to his friend as if she was nothing. What a bastard! How could he treat her in such a way?

  Her parents were furious that she’d stayed out all night. She’d had to make up some lame excuse about getting sick and sleeping over at a friend’s house. As for Carlos, he wanted nothing more to do with her, and quite frankly she couldn’t blame him.

  A few weeks later, to her horror, she discovered she was pregnant. How could this happen to her again? Well, she knew how, only it simply wasn’t fair.

  For several days she contemplated trying to reach Linc Blackwood to tell him. Finally she decided she had too much pride to do that. Her once-favorite movie star had treated her like a one-night whore, and she was not about to beg for his assistance.

  Petrified that her parents would find out, she managed to pull a double shift at her waitress job. The extra money allowed her to move from her family’s home into a small apartment with her best girlfriend, Cindi Hernandez, who was also trying to break into show business.

  Her parents were not pleased. They didn’t like Cindi; they considered her a bad influence. Lucia pointed out to them that she was eighteen and they couldn’t stop her.

  As soon as she could, she scraped together enough money for a cheap abortion. It turned out to be a horrifying experience. No clean clinic. No one to help her. Just some old gnarly Mexican man in a back room who forced her to lie on a table, spread her legs, and treated her as if he was doing her a big favor.

  She’d bled for days afterward, until Cindi forced her to go see a legitimate doctor. The doctor cleaned up the botched job, and before she left his office, the doctor callously informed her that she could never get pregnant again.

  His words still haunted her.

  • • •

  In her heart, Lola had always known that one day she would get her revenge on Linc Blackwood.

  Now, as she watched him enter the theater, she realized that day was enticingly near.

  CHAPTER

  * * *

  3

  “We’re late,” Jonas said, hurrying Cat up the red carpet, steering her by the elbow.

  “Not my fault,” she responded.

  “I wasn’t blaming you,” he said, still fuming because they’d had to wait for the tender to bring them to shore, even though he’d informed the purser exactly what time they needed it. Once Mr. Zandack left the yacht, the crew seemed to have no regard for anyone else.

  “Perhaps you should’ve picked me up earlier,” Cat suggested, trying to shake free from Jonas’s firm grip.

  “Mr. Zandack will not be pleased,” Jonas said, almost talking to himself.

  “What’s he gonna do—eat you?” Cat said mockingly, thinking that Jonas was obviously some sort of drama queen who threw a shit fit if everything didn’t go his way.

  Jonas gave her a blank stare. This girl had a mouth on her and he wasn’t sure he liked it. He had long ago decided she was annoying. She had an I-don’t-give-a-shit attitude and a definite lack of respect toward Merrill Zandack. Mr. Zandack was a powerful force in the film industry, and Jonas felt lucky to be working for him. He was getting an education that would help him tremendously when he struck out on his own, which he planned on doing as soon as he felt he’d learned enough.

  A couple of lingering photographers recognized Cat and began calling her name. She didn’t know how to react; the whole posing thing was such a downer, she found it plain embarrassing.

  “Stop and smile,” Jonas commanded, letting go of her elbow and taking a couple of steps back so he was not included in the picture.

  Cat offered the photographers a fake smile and an awkward wave before hurrying up the steps of the Palais des Festivals. Jonas had to sprint to keep up with her.

  “I hope the movie hasn’t started,” he said, worrying.

  “Bet it has,” Cat said, irritating him even further.

  “Maybe not.”

  “Shit!” she exclaimed, stopping short.

  “What now?”

  “My diamond stud popped out of my navel.”

  “Jesus!”

  “We have to go back and look.”

  “Look where?” he asked, exasperated.

  “On that dumb red carpet. I must’ve lost it there.”

  “No,” he said firmly, attempting to move her forward.

  “It’s my first diamond,” she complained.

  “You’re late,” he said abruptly. “I’ll show you to your seat, then I’ll go back and look.”

  “And what if you don’t find it?” she demanded, challenging him with her green eyes.

  “Mr. Zandack will buy you another one,” he said, hurrying her along.

  “He will?”

  “I’ll make sure.”

  “Didn’t know you had that much influence.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  Hmm, she thought, Jonas isn’t as bland as I imagined.

  She wondered if he was gay. Could be. It was difficult to tell—although he was rather well groomed for a straight man, with his perfect haircut, Prada outfit, and well-manicured nails.

  Gay?

  Definitely.

  The movie had started, which put Jonas in a foul mood. He indulged in a quick
verbal argument with an uptight French usher who tried to prevent Cat from entering the theater. Jonas spoke excellent French and won the battle.

  “This man will show you to your seat,” he said to her, giving her a quick shove toward the usher. “I’ll see you after the movie. Oh yes, and try not to speak while the film is running. Mr. Zandack doesn’t appreciate noise.”

  “Fine,” she said irritably. “And don’t come back without my diamond.”

  “I’ll find it,” he said, adding a snarly “That’s if you had one in the first place.”

  “Well,” she answered slowly, “I guess you weren’t staring at my belly button like every other guy in the place. But don’t you worry—I totally understand why.”

  “Oh please,” Jonas retorted, getting her drift and not liking it one bit.

  The uptight usher led her to her seat with the help of a flashlight.

  “Where were you?” Merrill growled.

  “Shhh,” said a large woman sitting in the row of seats behind him.

  Cat settled back to watch the movie. She didn’t have to explain anything to anyone; that was Jonas’s job.

  Flash Back Six Years

  When Cat Harrison was thirteen, she found herself alone in a villa in the south of France with one of her father’s acquaintances, a seventy-three-year-old, extremely famous artist. Her father had left her there while he went to Paris for a few days. They were supposed to be on vacation together—only it never happened.

  “What age are you?” the old man asked, peering at her with rheumy eyes.

  “What age do you want me to be?” she replied challengingly, tall and tanned and blond and lovely.

  “The younger the better,” the old man said, leering lasciviously.

  She knew what was coming next. Men had been on her case since she was a lot younger than thirteen.

  The old man reached for her. She backed away. Even though she was young, she knew how to handle horny old leches—kick him in the balls and run. Only this one was no threat, so she didn’t bother. Instead she agreed to his request to pose nude for him, but only if he paid her an exorbitant fee for the privilege of doing so.