Hollywood Divorces Read online

  The painting he did of her was an enormous success and ended up hanging in the National Gallery. It was called Girl on the Brink. Her father, the renowned sculptor Gable Harrison, was quite amused. Her mother, Bethany Harrison, the photographer critically acclaimed worldwide and legendary beauty, was not.

  “If you’re going to pose naked, at least get your pubic hair groomed,” was her mother’s only comment.

  Negative! Negative! Negative! When it came to her daughter from her first marriage, Bethany never had anything positive to say. Five times married, Bethany Harrison was jealous of her daughter’s burgeoning beauty. She loved Cat, but only on her own terms.

  Cat understood. She was an old soul, wise beyond her years. She’d had to grow up fast because both her parents were too busy with their extremely successful, all-consuming careers to pay her much notice.

  As an only child, Cat was left very much to her own devices. Discipline from either parent was nonexistent. They both spoiled her with money and material goods, when all she really craved was their love and attention.

  She attended school in London, where more often than not she played truant. She’d stuff her book bag with jeans and a tee shirt, make her way to the nearest underground station, change out of her uniform, and hit the movie theaters in the West End. Movies were her passion. She devoured everything, from out-of-control teen gross-out movies to films by Tarantino and Scorsese.

  Since she looked at least four or five years older than her actual age, she had no trouble attracting men, and picking them up was a habit she soon got used to. Getting them hot was an adventure. The game was to get them out of control, then reveal her true age. Ha! The horrified looks on their faces as they backed off were classic!

  She was not interested in boys her own age, finding them to be crass and inexperienced. Not that she went all the way with her conquests. Oh no. Men were not to be trusted. Her father was an example of that. Gable Harrison, an imposing-looking man with his long, snow white hair, frivolous beard, and flirtatious eyes. Cat resembled her mother; she had that tall, blond, perfect thing going. Sometimes she wished she was short and dark and Italian looking, but she had to go with what she had.

  By the age of thirteen she’d absolutely perfected the art of sexually doing everything but. She was totally adept at driving grown men crazy—a teenage nymphet with a hot body, a ton of curiosity, and no desire to get knocked up. She felt wise way beyond her years, and was much traveled—vacations in the south of France, Sardinia, and Capri with her father’s famous and exotic friends; safaris in Africa and trips through India with her much-married traveling mother and whatever husband Bethany was married to at the time.

  Ah . . . Bethany’s husbands. They were a trip indeed, each one younger than the last. At least three of them came on to her. Fortunately she knew how to handle horny men—especially horny men married to her mother.

  By the age of fourteen she was bored with almost everything. “Been there, done that” was her motto. Then one day, while staying with her father in New York, she met Brad Kravitz, a twenty-something Internet whiz kid who’d made millions of dollars in a very short period of time. She was about to celebrate her fifteenth birthday. Brad was twenty-two. With her father’s blessing and her mother’s encouragement she moved in with Brad, and it wasn’t long before he introduced her to the wonderful world of real sex and recreational drugs.

  Goodbye, boredom.

  Hello, ecstasy and speed.

  • • •

  Cat wished she had a bag of popcorn to munch on. Jonas would’ve probably thrown a fit if she’d asked him to find some.

  Too bad. The movie was riveting—and good movies and popcorn absolutely went together.

  • • •

  Shelby was nervous. Following her image on the screen was quite an ordeal; all she could see was her faults. Half the time she wanted to cover her eyes, because viewing herself larger than life was never something she enjoyed.

  Staring at the screen, she had to admit that Rapture was an extraordinarily powerful movie, and that the performance her director, Russell Savage, had gotten out of her was excellent—quite possibly her best work yet, and certainly her biggest opportunity.

  She shot a sideways glance at Linc. His eyes were closed.

  How insulting! Her own husband was napping his way through her movie. Sometimes he could be the most selfish man in the world.

  She nudged him. “What?” he muttered, startled.

  “You were sleeping,” she whispered accusingly.

  “I wasn’t,” he responded, covering a yawn with his hand.

  She shook her head in exasperation before refocusing her attention on the screen. Soon it would be over, and people would either love her performance or hate it.

  She shivered in anticipation.

  • • •

  Matt’s hand descended on his wife’s thigh. Lola promptly removed it. She was doing her best to concentrate, studying Shelby Cheney on the big screen, wondering what Linc had seen in her that had made him place a ring on her finger. Shelby wasn’t that hot, kind of ordinary looking. There were hundreds of girls who looked exactly like her in Hollywood. I’m sexier and younger, Lola thought. Why did he choose her and not me? She’s too white-bread. No spice. Not exciting like me.

  In spite of all her success, Lola could not get Linc Blackwood off her mind. And the surprising thing was that she had never run into him. Quite remarkable, considering the number of award ceremonies, parties, and premieres she’d attended. A few times she’d spotted him from a distance, and that was it. No face-to-face confrontation.

  One night, lying in bed, she’d come up with a plan. She’d recently read an interview in Premiere magazine about how Linc was looking to do something different. “I’m getting too old for action movies,” he’d said to the female interviewer, self-deprecating grin firmly in place. “So I was thinking of changing directions. Maybe try a romantic comedy.” Elliott Finerman’s new movie— New York State of Mind—was a big-budget romantic comedy with an excellent role for her male co-star, who had not yet been cast. It occurred to her that Linc might accept the role if it was offered to him. The only thing she didn’t know was how he’d react the fateful moment when they did come face-to-face. Surely he must know that she was now this famous creature, a fantasy goddess to millions of men? She was actually quite surprised that he’d never attempted to contact her; perhaps he was too embarrassed.

  Tonight should be interesting. Linc was at the screening, so no doubt he’d be at the party after, and they were bound to be introduced. She couldn’t wait to savor the look of surprise on his face, or perhaps the look of lust when he saw her.

  Ha! He could lust away, because he was never getting anywhere near her again. And when he accepted the role in her movie, she would torture him with her quite considerable charms.

  She would not be satisfied until she brought Linc Blackwood to his fucking knees.

  Matt’s hand was investigating her thigh again. This time she gave him a sharp slap on the wrist.

  “Wassamatter?” he mumbled.

  “Don’t,” she hissed.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t want you to.”

  Faye, sitting on the other side of her, leaned forward. “Something wrong?” Faye whispered.

  “No, everything’s fine,” Lola said, returning her gaze to the screen. “In fact, everything’s perfect.”

  • • •

  Cat had to admit that Rapture was good. Russell Savage was a stylish and talented director, and the writing was sharp, if slightly overwrought at times. She wasn’t sure that she would’ve cast someone as pretty as Shelby Cheney in the lead role, but the actress was doing an excellent job.

  Cat was psyched about making the leap into the big time. It was one thing shooting Wild Child on the streets of New York, but now Merrill Zandack had promised her a fat budget for her second film, Caught, which was exciting, because this time she’d be able to hire a proper cre
w, a decent cinematographer, and pick and choose who would star. She kind of entertained the idea of going with unknown actors again. Stars always came with all kinds of baggage. Although Angelina Jolie would be sensational as the undercover cop. And she wouldn’t say no to Colin Farrell as the womanizing con man. He was certainly sexy enough, with plenty of macho heat.

  “You’d better be nice to Merrill,” Jump had warned her before he’d left for Australia. “Zandack’s the money guy. Don’t piss him off.”

  “How nice do you want me to be?” she’d asked, teasing him.

  “Not that nice,” Jump had replied with a dirty laugh. “The geezer’s old enough to be your fuckin’ granddad.”

  So what? In Hollywood age didn’t seem to matter. Men of sixty often married girls of twenty. The age difference appeared to bother people only in reverse. Older women were reviled for being with younger men, although it was certainly getting easier. She’d read a long piece about it in the New York Times. Women like Demi Moore and Madonna were setting a new trend.

  Women who don’t give a crap, Cat thought, smiling to herself. My favorite people.

  She returned her attention to the screen. The more she watched, the more she learned.

  • • •

  When Rapture reached its conclusion, the audience rose to its feet, indulging in a hearty round of applause.

  Shelby experienced a flurry of butterflies in her stomach. She had never been in such a quality film before; it was an exhilarating feeling.

  Linc put his arm around her, squeezing her waist. “Not bad, sweetie,” he whispered.

  Not bad, sweetie. Well, what did she expect from Linc?

  Merrill Zandack, sitting in the row behind, tapped her on the shoulder. “You an’ I gotta talk,” he wheezed, recognizing a great performance when he saw one. “You’ll meet my new discovery, Cat. I’ll have my people messenger her latest script to your people. It’s dynamite. Could be right for you.”

  Overhearing this conversation, Cat was shocked. She did not see Shelby Cheney in her movie at all. Especially as she’d been thinking along the lines of an Angelina Jolie. The role called for somebody younger and tougher than Shelby Cheney. Not that Shelby wasn’t a terrific actress; she’d just proven so in Rapture. However, no way did that make her the perfect choice for a sexy, savvy, American undercover cop.

  How dare Merrill Zandack start offering actresses a role in her movie?

  One thing Cat intended to keep, and that was control.

  CHAPTER

  * * *

  4

  At the after party, Shelby found herself swept up in a sea of congratulations. The French P.R. woman hovered by her side. Linc immediately drifted off on his own.

  For a moment Shelby felt lost, then she took a deep, life-affirming breath and decided she’d better start embracing the compliments that were coming her way. What actress wouldn’t appreciate hearing how great she was?

  Russell Savage hurried over to kiss and hug her. So did Beck Carson. The photographers jostled for position.

  For once Shelby relaxed, posing with her director and co-star, allowing herself the pleasure of basking in the adulation. She’d worked hard for a reception like this. It was every actress’s dream to appear in such a fine movie.

  She smiled her dazzling smile, while continuing to enjoy every satisfying minute.

  • • •

  Lola was creating her own circle of excitement. The French loved her. They loved her lips, they loved her legs, and they especially loved her fine ass. She was a huge star in France.

  “I wish I talked French,” she grumbled to Matt.

  “Bonjour, mademoiselle,” he said with a stupid smirk on his bland face.

  “Oh great,” she said disparagingly. “Is that all the French you know?”

  “Learned it at school,” he boasted, like it was some huge achievement.

  She had to do something about Matt. He wasn’t up to her standards. Divorce was definitely in their future. Thank God her lawyer had gotten him to sign that prenup, because as soon as they got back to America she planned on dumping him fast. The thrill was definitely gone.

  Elliott Finerman was standing nearby. “Elliott,” she said imperiously, beckoning him over. “Isn’t that Linc Blackwood? Don’t you think I should meet him?”

  “You’ve never met him?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Then how come you’re so hot to have him in our movie?”

  “I’m not hot to have him in my movie,” she said, tossing back her hair. “He’s a huge star who’s looking to do something different, and this might be the perfect opportunity. Besides, I think the two of us have chemistry.”

  “How would you know that?” Elliott asked.

  “So many actors today are just boys. Brad Pitt and Leonardo DiCaprio are sexy, but they’re not men. I like men. And that’s what I like about Linc Blackwood. Believe me, Elliott, we’ll have plenty of chemistry.”

  You’re not looking for a co-star, Elliott thought. You’re looking for a convenient fuck.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” he said.

  “He’s right there,” Lola said, pointing. “Bring him over.”

  What kind of balls did this broad have? Who did she think she was dealing with? A lackey? An errand boy? He was one of the biggest producers in Hollywood and this bitch was trying to tell him what to do.

  He attempted to remain calm because the smart move was to keep her happy. No happy star, no movie.

  He walked over to Linc, who was busy knocking back a hefty glass of scotch while flirting with an attractive Frenchwoman. Naturally.

  “Hello, Linc,” Elliott said, falsely jovial.

  Linc didn’t take a beat. “Had a hunch you and I weren’t talking,” he said offhandedly.

  “That was then, this is now,” Elliott said. “Time passes, so I . . . uh . . . figured it was time to forgive and forget.”

  “Can’t say I blame you,” Linc replied with an easy grin. “After all, you were married to her, so maybe there should be an apology.”

  “I agree,” Elliott said, relieved that Linc was ready to move on. “I think there should.”

  “Okay, Elliott,” Linc said magnanimously. “Then I accept your apology.”

  Elliott was outraged. Once a jerk, always a jerk. The asshole was supposed to be apologizing to him.

  He cleared his throat and glanced over at Lola, who was waiting impatiently for him to bring her the arrogant prick.

  “Uh, listen, Linc—there’s someone who wants to meet you,” he said in a strangled voice.

  “Yeah?” Linc said. He didn’t like Elliott Finerman, never had. “And who might that be?”

  “Lola Sanchez.”

  “Yeah?” Linc said, his interest perking. Everyone knew who Lola Sanchez was. The hot Latino actress with the body to die for.

  “She’s over by the bar.”

  Linc’s eyes swiveled, checking her out. “See you later, sweetheart,” he said to the woman he’d been talking to, and accompanied Elliott to the bar.

  “Lola, Linc Blackwood,” Elliott said, making the requested introduction.

  “This is a real pleasure,” Linc said, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips.

  “Uh . . . me too,” she murmured, waiting for him to recognize her.

  “I’m a big fan,” he continued, eyes roaming all over her spectacular body.

  “You are?”

  “Yup,” he said, his eyes coming to rest on her partially exposed breasts. “I’ve been following your career.”

  “You’ve been following my career?” she said, utterly dumbfounded. Was it possible that Linc didn’t remember her? That he was actually under the impression they were meeting for the first time? Unless, of course, he was playing it cool because her husband was standing right next to her.

  “Sure have,” Linc said, easy grin in place.

  No, she decided, he wasn’t being cool—the bastard simply did not remember her. Unbelievable
! Not to mention insulting. She was the same girl, wasn’t she? Certainly more polished, but the same girl. Her hair was shorter, her nose a touch thinner—thanks to an excellent plastic surgeon who’d also given her more pronounced cheekbones. Her figure was still luscious, although she was fifteen pounds lighter. How could he forget her? How could he not remember the girl he’d taken to bed, made love to all night long, then dumped in the morning?

  Matt decided it was time to jump in. “Hi,” he said, proffering his hand. “I’m Matt Seel, Lola’s husband.”

  “Lucky man,” Linc said, not taking his eyes off her.

  This was the final insult. The sonofabitch obviously had no memory of their one long, steamy night of passion.

  She decided to put him to the test. “I’ve a feeling we have met before,” she said, toying with the stem of her martini glass.

  “Do you honestly imagine I’d forget someone who looks like you?” Linc replied, turning up the charm. “You’re more beautiful in the flesh than on the screen.”

  She swallowed hard, licking her suddenly dry lips. This man was responsible for her being barren. And he did not remember her! How she hated him.

  Sensing that the famous movie star was coming on too strong, Matt once again joined in. “How long are you in Cannes for?” he asked, inserting himself between them.

  “Not long,” Linc replied, completely uninterested in anything Matt might have to say.

  “We’re leaving soon,” Matt announced, placing a possessory arm around Lola, who did not appreciate his show of affection. “We can’t wait to get back to our house in Bel Air.”

  “That makes us almost neighbors,” Linc remarked.

  “Where do you live?”

  “Beverly Hills.”

  “You should come over sometime with your wife,” Matt said. “Play some tennis. We’ll make up a foursome.”

  Linc continued staring straight at Lola. “Do you play?”

  She returned his gaze, edging away from Matt, who was continuing to irritate her. “I certainly do,” she purred. “And I’m very good.”

  Linc smiled. “I bet you are.”