Jackie Collins, page 35
"I had a friend who sold a script to a producer while he was driving
him to Santa Barbara."
"Really?"
"It can happen. You have to find out exactly who you've got in the car
and go for the pitch. That's what my friend says. It certainly worked
for him. His point is if they can afford to hire a limousine they must
be someone.
He remembered Luigi and his ferocious scowl. "I got strict orders not
to talk to the paying customers."
"You don't look like a man who follows orders."
She was right, it was about time he found out who he was driving and
did something about it.
"I'll let you in on a little secret about this town," Annie confided,
her bright eyes meeting his. "I've been here three years, and if
there's any way you can Thake a connection, go for it. Don't let
anything stand in your way.
He leaned across the table and took her hand, which was surprisingly
small and soft. "Thanks, I like good advice."
They finished lunch, and as they were parting company she suggested he
might want to come to class with her on the following Saturday.
"Sounds good," he said. "I'll pick you up."
"You can have anything you like.
"Anything?" he teased.
"Within reason," she replied, beckoning the waitress. "Susie, bring us
a couple of glasses of the big A and a bottle of ketchup."
"You come here all the time, huh?"
"It's convenient." She paused for a moment. "Uh, Nick, I'm sorry if I
seemed a little tense with you when we first met, but I had no idea who
you were. And it seemed kind of strange-you know, Cyndra being, well
.
. ." She hesitated, then blurted it out. "Black."
"Yeah-I see your point."
The waitress brought the ketchup and two large glasses of deep brown
liquid.
He picked up his glass. "What's this?"
"Pure apple juice," she explained. "No preservatives. Drink upyou'll
enjoy it."
"Jeer! I've really gotta get used to you."
"Maybe you have a chance," she said casually.
Was he finally getting through? "Cyndra told me you go to acting
class," he said, smothering his burger in ketchup.
"That's right."
He took a bite-it wasn't half bad. "Howdja get into that?"
She sipped her apple juice. "If you're not working you have to study,
it's important to keep on learning."
"What kind of class is it?"
Her eyes shone with enthusiasm. "It's an actors workshop. We do all
kinds of interesting things. Scenes from plays and movies.
Improvisation. A lot of working actors go there."
"Yeah?" he said, taking a gulp of apple juice. "Sounds
interesting."
"It is."
He studied her pertly pretty face. "Have you ever had a professional
job? Like in a movie or on television?"
She looked pleased that he'd asked. "As a matter of fact I've been in
three commercials."
He was impressed. "I guess you've got an agent then?"
"How come all these questions, Nick?"
He decided to confide in her. "Why do you think? Listen, I had a
great job in Chicago running a banI was the king of my own little
kingdom. But ever since high school I've had a thing about acting."
"You can't just do it. You have to be good."
"Oh, I'm good," he boasted.
"Glad to hear it, because one thing you need is plenty of confi She
sighed. "It helps when you get rejected twenty times a "Okay. I'll
see you at four."
That night, when Luigi assigned him Mr. Evans again, he was not
exactly thrilled. This Evans guy was a deadbeat, no connections to be
had there.
It turned out to be the same routine as before. The same badtempered
face, the same briefcase clutched to his side, the same nontip. Nick
had a good mind to tell Luigi he didn't want to drive him again. He'd
talked to the other drivers and found out that most customers handed
out cash tips on top of the percentage added to the bill. No chance
with this tightwad.
"That Evans guy is a real cheapo," he complained to Luigi when he
dropped the limo back. "Do me a favor an' stop assigning me to him."
"Am I hearin' right?" Luigi demanded, eyes bulging. "Mr. Manfred
gives ya a job outta the kindness of his fuckin' heart-an' now you're
mouthin' off an' tellin' me who ya will an' who ya won't drive."
"I'm entitled to an opinion," he said stubbornly.
"You're entitled t'suck my nuts if I tell ya to."
"I guess I'll pass on that tempting offer."
Luigi made a rude gesture. "In your eyes, punk."
The next night when he reported for work Luigi greeted him with a
knowing sneer. "Mr. Manfred wants t'see ya."
"What about?"
"Do I strike ya as a fuckin' information center?"
Manny Manfred greeted him looking fatter than ever. It didn't seem
possible, but could he have gained another twenty pounds?
"How's it going', Nick?"
Surprise. The fat man remembered his name.
"Okay," he said carefully.
"An' the actin' thing? Any auditions yet?"
"I'm lookin' into it."
"That's the way t'do it," Manny said, reaching into a bowl of jelly
beans, grabbing a handful and stuffing them into his surprisingly small
pink mouth.
Nick noticed he was wearing a Rolex-the heavy gold watch gleamed as it
caught the light.
"I talked to Q.J" Manny said, munching away.
"You did?"
"He likes ya."
"I know."
"He trusts ya.
"I should hope so. I worked for him nearly four years."
Manny spat out a red jelly bean. It landed with a disgusting blob of
spit on his huge knee. He brushed it to the floor.
"Loyalty an' trust-them's the things ya can't buy."
"Right." Nick waited for the pitch he knew was on its way.
"So . . ." Manny said, not disappointing him. "I got a
proposition."
"Yeah?"
"Ya look like a smart kid."
Ieez! Compliments! From the fat man himself Big fucking deal.
"I can handle myself," he said carefully.
"That's what I like t'hear," Manny said, beaming. "Soon as Luigi told
me ya was complainin' I knew ya wasn't satisfied sittin' behind the
wheel of a car-drivin' some rich motherfucker ya knows you're better
than."
"It's a job."
"An' so's what I got in mind for ya."
"Is it legal?"
"Are you bothered?"
"Why don't you tell me about it?"
Lauren and Jimmy had been out on four dates exactly. the last two
ending with a chaste kiss on her front doorstep.
Now they were on their fifth date and she knew that tonight he expected
more. Not that he actually came out and said so-he wasn't that
obvious-but she'd picked up little signs here and there, and after a
quiet dinner in a romantic Italian restaurant he hailed a cab, and
instead of giving the driver her address he gave him his.
"I want you to hear the new Joni Mitchell album," he said, putting his
arm around her.
"I'd love to," she replied.
Well, Roberts, what are you going to do?
I don't know.
You'd better decide.
I can't.
Why?
Good question. Why couldn't she decide?
The answer came out of nowhere.
Because I still love Nick Angelo.
"You're quiet tonight," Jimmy said, taking her hand in his. "Something
I said?"
She shivered, trying to block the memory of Nick from her mind.
"No, I'm tired. I had a tough day."
"Too tired to listen to Joni Mitchell?"
He was asking one question with his mouth and another with his eyes.
"I can't think of anything I'd rather do," she replied, while voices
continued to scream inside her head.
All he wants is a quick lay-that's what they all want.
You sound like your mother.
I'll sound like her ill want!
"We're here," he said, paying the driver and helping her from the
cab.
She followed him into the elevator-filled with trepidation. Jimmy
Cassady seemed like a genuinely nice guy.
Sure, they all do until they get what they want, and then they dump
you, run out on you, leave you alone and pregnant. Leave you leave you
. leave you .
"What are you thinking?" he asked, squeezing her hand.
"Nothing," she said, banishing Nick from her thoughts and concentratihg
on Jimmy. What did she know about him? Not that much.
He'd told her he'd come to New York from Missouri seven years ago and
started out as a photographer's assistant-moving out on his own four
years later. For the past three years he'd been building his
reputation as one of the most innovative photographers around with his
stark black-and-white images.
In the course of talking to some of the girls she'd discovered nothing
about his personal life. Usually the models gave chapter and verse on
every photographer they'd worked with-including graphic details of
size, sexual preferences and how many times they liked to do it a
night. There were no reports on Jimmy-except from Nature, who'd worked
with him once and then announced, wide-eyed with surprise, "Well, e's
gotter be gay, ein'the? Cause e din't even hit on me once!"
After their fourth date, when he'd dropped her outside her apartment
with only a kiss, she'd thought that maybe Nature was right.
But tonight she knew it wasn't so, he had that look in his eyes and she
was well aware he was all set to make the big move.
His apartment wasn't an apartment at all-it was loft space, divided
into compartments by six-foot stucco walls that stopped far short of
the soaring ceilings. His furniture was minimal modern-everything
either black, white or stainless steel. Stark, like his photographs.
"This place is amazing," she exclaimed, wandering around, taking in
every detail. "Did you design it yourself?"
He laughed. "No professional decorator could come up with this.
Besides, I happen to like it."
"So do I," she said, exploring further. "But you have to admit-it is
different."
"That's why I like it," he said, following her into the compact
stainless-steel kitchen. He moved closer. "That's why I like you," he
added, unexpectedly pinning her up against the cold steel of the
refrigerator door and kissing her on the mouth. No stalling. No
"Would you like a drink?" or "Can I give you a tour?" He didn't even
bother putting on the Joni Mitchell album he'd been talking about all
night.
Just the kiss.
Hard and sensual. Not like his usual goodnight peck. This was
definitely the real thing.
She gasped for breath, but he didn' t stop.
For a moment she resisted, her body rigid-not allowing him to get too
close.
He persevered, and slowly she felt herself begin to respond-a warmth
sweeping up her body, a tidal wave of desire so long repressed that it
took her by surprise-rendering her helpless to resist.
After a few minutes his hands moved down to her breasts, touching,
feeling, stroking.
She began a halffiearted objection. "Jimmy . . I don't know "I do,"
he said, hands creeping down the neckline of her dress, moving around
to the back and unhooking her bra.
And all the while his lips remained on hers, his insistent tongue
exploring her mouth, his warm breath all over her.
She threw her head back and surrendered as he exposed her breasts and
his lips traveled slowly down to the tips of her nipples.
Gently he pushed both her breasts together, tonguing her nipples
simultaneously. Then his hands moved slowly to her back, working the
zipper on her dress and it fell to the floor.
be nosed her eves ftvin not to think of Nick. fryin to foret him once
and for all. This was all happening so fast, and yet she felt
powerless to stop him.
"You smell so good," he whispered.
It didn't matter anymore, nothing mattered. She'd reached the point of
no return, he could do whatever he liked.
He picked her up and carried her to the bedroom, placing her gently in
the middle of his large waterbed.
She lay back and opened up her soul to him. There was no choice
anymore, she'd been lonely too long.
And Nick Angelo was never coming back.
"I'm getting married," Lauren said, nervously clenching her fists.
Samm glanced up from a contract she was studying and raised her
oversized horn-rimmed glasses. "What did you say?"
"Married," she replied, as if this wasn't a major announcement.
Now she had Samm's full attention. "I don't believe it!" the older
woman said, placing her glasses on the desk.
"It's true," she managed, sounding a lot calmer than she felt.
Samm reached for one of her long thin cigarillos, her blood-red nails
lethal weapons. "And may I ask to whom?"
"Jimmy Cassady."
"My Jimmy Cassady?" Samm was very possessive of all the photographers
who worked with her girls-she felt every one of them belonged to her.
Lauren nodded. "I guess so.
Samm was silent for a moment while she digested this unexpected
information. Then she said, "Isn't this rather sudden?"
Lauren felt like a schoolkid standing in front of the principal. Why
was she putting herself through this? She didn't owe Samm an
explanation. "We've been seeing each other for six weeks," she said.
And sleeping together for three, she wanted to add, but didn't. Her
sex life was her business.
Samm picked up a thin gold pen and tapped it on her lacquered
desktop.
"Six weeks is not a long time to get to know someone."
"Long enough for me," she replied, thinking that she certainly didn't
need a lecture from Samm.
"Don't you think-" Samm bean.
"Congratulations would be nice," Lauren snapped, shattering her "good
little Lauren" image once and for all. "Oh, and I'm giving you two
weeks' notice-Jimmy wants me to work with him."
Samm was too wise to say another word. Lauren was obviously under
Jimmy Cassady's influence and nothing she said would make any
difference. Men! They'd caused her more problems over the years than
she cared to think about. Usually it was the models who got hooked by
a glamorous playboy or some fast-talking would-be manager. She
certainly hadn't expected Lauren to get swept away.
Samm might be skeptical, but the girls in the office thought it was
sensational news. Pia seemed especially pleased for her. And when
