Jackie Collins, page 32
L.A. the buses ran infrequently and did not cover the city. There was
no subway, so a car was a necessity. He looked up rentals in the
yellow - - 1 A1 A ;ir Behind the wheel of the car he felt a lot more
secure. At least he had a place he belonged-somewhere to call home.
"Ya ain't plannin' on wearin' what ya got on?" Luigi demanded,
squinting at Nick with a disgusted expression.
"What's wrong with what I got on?"
"Ya gotta be fuckin' kiddin'." Luigi ran his hand over his
bullethead.
"Ya look like a bum."
They glared at each other. This was not an auspicious start.
"I don't have anything else," Nick said. "I lost my bag."
"There's a closet in there." Luigi indicated the back room. "Find
something' that fits you. And for crissakes, move it-you're on the
airport run.
"Who am I meeting?"
"Mr. Evans. He's a businessman. Ya hold up the card with his name on
it, ya escort him out to the limo, ya shut the privacy glass, an' you
drive him anywhere he wants to go. Oh, an' remember t'drive nice an'
smooth. Mr. Evans don't like no sudden stops."
"Sure."
"An' another thing-no talkin' unless he speaks first. Them's the rules
of the game. These people pay good money for a limo, they don't want
no conversation."
Ha! Like he was looking for meaningful communication with a total
stranger. What kind of schmuck did Luigi take him for?
He searched through the closet in the back room and found a pair of
black pants, a dark jacket and a none-too-clean white shirt. The
clothes didn't fit properly but what the hell-he'd be sitting behind
the wheel of a car anyway.
There were a couple of other drivers back there, smoking and playing
cards. Neither of them took any notice of him.
Luigi thrust a form at him. "Fill it out," he ordered.
He put down Cyndra's address and lied about his driving experience,
writing that he'd driven for a limo company in Chicago. That
information took the edge off Luigi's scowl.
Idly, he wondered what favor Manny owed Q.J. One of these days he
intended to find out.
Luii ave him a silver limousine to drive. It was shined and polished
pretty good, but once he got in he realized the limo had seen better
days. The back, where the passengers sat, was all spruced up with a
single rose in a glass vase, a bowl of fresh fruit and side
compartments stocked with booze. But in front the leather covering the
seat was cracked, and there were plastic strips peeling off the
windows. So much for Glamour Limousines. The car reminded him of a
gorgeous girl with the clap.
"Ya know the way to the airport?" Luigi asked.
He had no idea how to get there but he nodded anyway. As soon as he
left the garage he parked the limo on a side street and studied a map
he'd found in the glove compartment. No big deal. L.A. was all
straight roads going in different directions like one big board game.
He clicked the radio on and zoomed out to the airport listening to Jimi
Hendrix at full volume.
He reached LAX twenty minutes early and had no idea where to park.
Traffic cops were everywhere-yelling and shouting, making sure all the
vehicles kept moving.
Rolling down his window, he waved ten bucks at a porter and asked where
he could put the car.
The porter grabbed the money and obligingly told him where to leave it
so he wouldn't get a ticket.
His passenger arrived on a flight from Switzerland. Mr. Evans was a
swarthy man with patent-leather hair and wrap-around black shades.
Kind of strange at ten o'clock at night, but Nick was getting used to
the foibles of people who lived in Los Angeles.
Mr. Evans had no luggage except a snakeskin briefcase that he clutched
firmly to his side, snarling ungratefully when Nick attempted to take
it.
"Only trying to help," Nick said with a shrug, leading the man to the
limo.
Mr. Evans lived in a high rise on Wilshire. Nick dropped him off and
waited for a tip, a word of thanks, anything.
Mr. Evans was not into pleasantries. He walked into his building
without a backward glance.
"Screw you too, buddy," Nick muttered, deciding that maybe the life of
a limo driver was not for him.
Back at Glamour Limousines, Luigi sat in his office picking his nose
while speaking on the phone. "I'm gonna hump your juicy ass off,
sweetie. I'm gonna-" He stopped abruptly when Nick entered.
"What the fuck you want?" he asked, covering the mouthpiece.
"I brought the car back. Thought you'd like to know I delivered your
passenger safely."
"Whaddaya want, a medal?" Luigi was like a lesser version of
Manny-they'd obviously both graduated from the same charm school.
"Same time tomorrow?" Nick asked, wondering what kind of woman Luigi
had panting on the other end of the phone.
"Yeah," Luigi snapped, anxious to get back to his sweetie.
"I'll be here."
Maybe.
If nothing better comes along.
He got in his rented Buick and cruised down Hollywood Boulevard,
finally stopping at a motel and booking a room for the night.
"Wanna hooker?" the desk clerk asked, reluctantly shifting his
attention from a well-thumbed porno magazine.
"Not tonight."
The clerk regarded him suspiciously. "Why don'tcha?"
He didn't bother replying.
Lying on a lumpy bed watching Johnny Carson do his monologue he
wondered if he'd made the right move leaving Chicago. He'd left a good
job at Q.J."s, a great-looking woman-and for what? A fleabag motel and
a shit job servicing other people.
He'd give it a couple of weeks and if things didn't improve he was on a
plane out of there.
merson Burn had a mane of hair better than any girl's. Lauren couldn't
help staring. She'd been a fan for so many years, loved his music, and
now she was in his presence. It didn't seem possible. His thick,
shaggy, honey-colored hair fell way below his shoulders. His eyes were
a dreamy gray shadowed by long curling lashes. His nose was aquiline
and his lips surprisingly full for a man.
You're staring, Roberts.
I can't help it!
Lauren wasn't alone with him. Also present were his manager, his
publicist, his personal assistant and Selina, who-clad in a leopardskin
cat suit-prowled his apartment as if she owned it. Selina was
incredibly thin and almost as tall as Nature. She had straight
whiteblond hair that hung to her waist and incredible cat eyes set in a
classically beautiful face. She kept fixing her eyes on Emerson as if
to say This is mine and I don't want anybody touching it.
"So," said Emerson, standing up and stretching, "I guess that's it."
Even though he was in his late thirties he was still in great shape.
He wore skintight black leather pants on his long skinny legs, scuffed
boots and a white shirt with some kind of ridiculous frill down the
front. Ridiculous or not, on him it worked.
Lauren, busy making notes, realized he hadn't looked at her once.
And why should he? She was only the hired help.
Selina floated over to Emerson and kissed him full on the mouth, making
sure everyone noticed the little bit of tongue play she indulged in.
"You're such a sport, letting us use your apartment," she sighed.
"Samm's going to be absolutely amazed."
"S'long as we ave fun, darling'," he replied, putting his arm around
her, pressing her in the small of her back and guiding her in for
another kiss.
They kissed as if nobody else was in the room-in fact their smooching
session went on for so long that Lauren thought they were going to
leave the meeting and rush off into the bedroom. Nobody else seemed to
take any notice. She imagined they'd seen it all before.
When the kiss was finished so was Emerson. "Bye, everyone," he called,
striding to the door.
His entourage leaped to their feet and followed him.
"Later, strong man," Selina whispered, blowing him more kisses.
As soon as he was gone Selina stopped being the ethereal little flower
and turned into the tough ball-breaker she really was. "Are we all
organized, Laura? I don't expect any fuck-ups."
"Yes, Senna," Lauren replied sarcastically. "Everything's under
control."
"It better be," Selina said threateningly, as if Lauren was her
personal slave. "And"-she spun around-"if Samm finds out about the
party before it happens I'm holding you personally responsible."
Lauren decided that of all the girls Selina was the worst bitch.
Back at the office Samm gave her a blast. "And exactly where have you
been all morning?"
"I had to go to the dentist," she lied.
"Not good enough," Samm said curtly. "Make dental appointments on your
own time, not when you're supposed to be working."
"I don't have any personal time," Lauren explained. "You've got me
working weekends and I'm here late every night. I had a toothache
-what was I supposed to do?"
"Hmm . . . I suppose you had no choice," Samm said, giving in. She
frowned. "I hate to say it, but this place is chaos without you.
"You managed very well before I came along," Lauren pointed out.
"Yes, well, that was then and this is now. Let's get back to work."
Samm tapped her painted nails on her desktop. The polish looked like
the high-gloss finish on a new car.
Lauren sat down and prepared to take notes.
"First I want you to send a bottle of champagne to Antonio," Samm
said.
"He had a vile time on the Selina shoot. I'm really going to have to
talk to that girl before she trips over her own ego. Oh, and then call
Flash Cosmetics, they need Nature in the studio on the same day she has
that big Vogue shoot. Tell Nature she'll have to start earlier.
Ignore her screaming. After that talk to Swimwear magazine, they need
all the girls on the tenth. I've told them it's impossible to get
anybody out to the Virgin Islands before the twelfth-but they're
insisting. You deal with it, Lauren, you're so good with people."
"Consider it all taken care of," she said, getting up.
As soon as she reached her desk Pia was beside her whispering,
"Everything okay?"
"All systems go.
Pia looked relieved. "You're so good at this!"
Yes, Pia. I should be doing your job and making your salary.
At lunchtime several of the girls stopped by the office with a cake.
"God, I hate birthdays," Samm said, reluctantly blowing out the
candles. "Who told you all?"
Nobody owned up.
"At least she thinks it's over and done with now," Pia murmured.
"Boy, will she be surprised!"
"How are you getting her up to Emerson's apartment?" Lauren asked. It
was the one detail she hadn't been in charge 0œ "Selina's taking her.
She's told Samm that she and Emerson have a surprise, and they want to
tell her personally."
"Did Samm fall for it?"
"Absolutely. She thinks they're planning marriage, and she's all set
to talk them out of it."
Later, Nature managed to corner her at her desk. She was all blond
hair, blue eyes and glowing Acapulco tan. "I can't believe Selina as
bagged Emerson Burn," she complained. "She's not is type, too 7 bloody
skinny. He likes a bird with a bit of meat on er bones-me, fer
instance!"
"Do you know him?"
Nature licked her lips. "No, but I intend to."
Lauren sensed trouble ahead.
As soon as she could she left the office and raced over to Emerson
Burn's apartment to check on all the arrangements. She was wearing a
pleated skirt and a plain blue sweater, her hair pulled back in a thick
braid. There was obviously not going to be time for her to get back to
her apartment and change into something more festive. So what?
Nobody cared how she looked, as long as she stayed in the background
and did her job.
Selina was already there, floating around the apartment issuing
orders.
Emerson's four servants hovered with surly expressions. They did not
appreciate every single one of his girlfriends coming in and trying to
take over.
"Thank God you're here," exclaimed Selina. "Go and talk to the
caterers. Check that they know what they're doing. Oh, and Laura, you
did make sure everyone was told to be here promptly at eight
o'clock?"
"All taken care of. And by the way, my name is Lauren, not Laura."
"Whatever." Selina waved a beautifully manicured hand in the air.
Bitch! Lauren thought as she hurried into the kitchen to confer with
the caterers.
Various members of Emerson's entourage skulked around unhappy because
he'd thrown open his apartment for Samm's surprise party.
After she was done with the caterers she viewed the flower
arrangements, checked out the guest list with a burly guard at the door
and finally found a moment to spend alone.
Locking herself in the guest bathroom she gazed at her reflection in
the mirror. Was this how she planned to spend her life? Arranging
parties for other people to have a good time? She'd wanted to become a
famous New York stage actress. Now she was this unimportant little
gofer doing things for other people. Lauren Roberts-invisible.
Somebody tried the door of the bathroom. She ignored them, they could
wait.
Now there was hammering on the door.
Angrily she flung it open and came face to face with Emerson Burn.
"Who're you?" he demanded.
"Lauren," she replied, curbing a strong desire to reach out and touch
his shaggy mane of honey-colored curls. "From Samm's Agency. I'm
organizing the party-remember? We did meet."
He shook his golden hair and took her arm. "Follow me, I want you to
ear something."
"Pardon?"
"Don't argue," he said, grabbing her arm and leading her down a plushly
carpeted corridor into the back of the apartment where he'd built a
state-of-the-art recording studio. "Sit down and ave a listen to
this."
Exactly who did he think he was bossing around?
"Mr. Burn," she said, "I have no time to listen. I'm trying to
organize a party for you-I have to see that everything runs the way
it's supposed to."
"This is my bloody apartment. I'm paying for the bleedin' party, so
sit down and shut up.
He sounded like Nature. Maybe the two of them did belong
together-after all, they shared the same accent.
She sat stiffly on a chair while he marched over to a control panel and
pressed a couple of buttons. Suddenly the room was flooded with
sound.
She recognized his voice immediately-that sexy, cocksure rasp.
