Jackie Collins, page 46
when a casting agent says jump it's all systems go.
Annie had stationed herself by the door. "I want to go home," she
said, daring him to say no. "I want to go home now."
"Okay, okay. But Cyndra stays here. And listen carefully. If Reece
shows up, you know nothin'. You never went to Vegas, you've been with
a girlfriend for the last twenty-four hours. Got it?"
She continued to glare at him. "Yes."
"And don't go making any phone calls you might regret. Whatever
happened in Vegas-it's history."
"If you say so," she said tightly.
"What's that mean?"
"I've never had to bury a body before."
"I said forget about it, Annie. It never happened."
"Maybe you can pretend it never happened. I can't."
"Okay. I'll take you home." He glanced over at his sister. She sat
by the window, staring out. "Cyndra, you stay here. Don't answer the
door or the phone. I'll get back soon as I can."
She nodded dully.
Annie gave him the silent treatment on the drive to her apartment. Her
attitude was shit, but there was nothing he could do about it. "Call
you later," he promised, dropping her off on the street.
She didn't say a word as she marched inside. He had a strong suspicion
she was going to cause trouble. Regrettably there was nothing he could
do about it.
The woman producer had eyes for him. No mistaking that hungry look.
The tall man hated him. Probably a closet queen with a yen he didn't
want to let loose.
The director was into pleasing everyone.
"I don't think we need to test him," the woman said. "Do you, Joel?"
The tall man shrugged. "Whatever."
"I'm happy," the director said.
Nick sat in the room listening to them talk about him as if he wasn't
there.
"Shall we have him read again?" asked one of the casting people.
"Not necessary," said the woman, tapping her foot impatiently.
"The camera'll love him," said the director, running a hand through his
greasy brown hair. "He's got the eyes."
"I'd like to see his body," the woman said, crossing her legs, silk
stockings crackling.
He wasn't sure but he thought he caught a glimpse of a sexy garter
belt.
"Would you mind removing your shirt?" said one of the casting
people.
Where was Frances when he needed her? Nobody had warned him he'd have
to strip off.
"There's a scene in the movie where you're in bed with the hero's
girlfriend," the director explained. "Can't have you looking better
than the star."
They all laughed.
He stood up and awkwardly removed his shirt.
"Fine," said the woman.
"No competition," said the director.
"We'll get back to you," said the tall man.
Getting out of there was a pleasure.
Outside, he sat in his car trying to relive the events of the last
twenty-four hours. He'd buried a body, for crissakes. He'd buried a
fucking body in the Nevada desert, and that made him an accessory to
murder. Jesus. Maybe Annie was right. Maybe they should have called
the police and let Cyndra explain.
No way. She wouldn't have stood a chance.
The woman producer strode out of the building and got into a
cream-colored sports Mercedes. She wore large mirrored sunglasses and
a knowing smile.
Nick wondered who she was fucking. The tall man for sure. The
director-maybe.
He hadn't liked removing his shirt in there, it was demeaning. He was
an actor, not a stripper.
The woman drove off and he followed her for a while. Her Mercedes sped
down Sunset. He drew alongside her at a stoplight and said, "Hi." She
looked at him as if she'd never seen him before in her life.
"Nick Angel," he said, dropping the "0," just as Joy had advised.
"Do I know you?" she said, adjusting her huge mirrored shades.
Bitch!
He gunned the light and drove straight home. Cyndra was gone.
This wasn't his day.
His landlady was sunning herself outside. "You're two days late on the
rent," she reminded as he rushed past.
"You'll get it."
"I'd better or you're out."
Money was a problem. He'd almost blown the Tijuana stash and there was
nothing coming in. If he paid his rent there'd be hardly anything
left.
"Did you see my sister leave?"
"Your sister," his landlady sneered. "No, I didn't see your sister."
He jumped back in his car and headed for Annie 5.
"We're going to the police," Annie said. She was dressed and ready for
action, a silent Cyndra by her side.
He'd arrived just in time, they were almost out the door.
"You can't do that," he said.
"Oh, yes, we can."
He appealed to Cyndra. "I helped you out-you go to the cops now an'
it'll be me who gets it. Don't kid yourself-we'll all be in deep
shit.
Is that what you want?"
"I don't know . . ." she said unsurely. "Annie says it's the right
thing to do, otherwise this'll always be hanging over us.
"Fuck!" he muttered angrily, turning on Annie.
She backed away.
"Don't you understand?" he said angrily. "It's too goddamn late.
We're in this together an' we'd better learn to trust one another, so
stop this runnin' to the cops shit. I can't take it every time I leave
the house."
"But-" Annie began.
"But nothing-you do this again an' so help me I'll-" "You'll what?"
she asked defiantly.
He'd almost raised his arm to her. He'd wanted to strike out-just like
Primo, just like his father. Oh, God! There was no way he'd ever
allow himself to become like that fucking loser. He slumped into a
chair. "Don't do this to us, Annie. You gotta let it go."
Her eyes filled with tears. "I'm trying."
"Try harder."
She nodded, acquiescing.
They were safe-for now-but who knew how long it would be before she
spilled it all? Annie was dangerous. But he had a solution, and the
sooner he put it into action the better.
merson dropped out of sight and Oliver moved in. Lauren had never been
courted before, and it was strangely seductive. Oliver sent her
flowers every day, called at noon without fail, always checked out his
plans with her, and never so much as attempted a goodnight kiss.
After three weeks of this courtly treatment she was beginning to wonder
what was wrong with her.
"He adores you!" Pia confided, perching on the side of her desk.
"He told Howard."
"That's nice," Lauren replied, busily organizing a pile of papers.
"Stop being so cool and in control," Pia said, hardly able to hide her
exasperation. "What do you think of him?"
"He's a very charming man."
"You're so noncommittal."
"What do you want me to say?"
"Have you slept with him?"
"Pia-if I had, you'd be the last to know."
"Why?"
"Because since you've become a married woman you do nothing but
gossip."
Pia's eyes gleamed.
"Is he sensational in bed? Older men are suptechnique." She giggled
slyly. "I hear they posed to have fantastic give great head."
"I wouldn't know."
"What are you waiting for?"
Good question. What was she waiting for?
Actually she was waiting for Oliver to make a move. The fact that he
hadn't intrigued her. Was there something wrong with her? Did she
turn him off? It was about time she found out.
Later that week they went to the opening of a Broadway show and the
party afterward. Oliver seemed to know everyone-the musical comedy
actress who starred in the show, a slew of New York socialites whom he
jokingly called night runners, a famous senator and his equally famous
model girlfriend. Lauren guessed that he probably even knew Emerson
Burn-crazy Emerson who'd flashed into her life and vanished just as
quickly. A good thing-because he was definitely trouble. She'd read
that he'd left on a world tour.
On the ride home they discussed the evening. Oliver enjoyed filling
her in on everyone-he had interesting stories and was not shy about
telling them. According to him the musical comedy actress liked other
women, the senator wore red sequined stockings to bed, and the model
only slept with men worth over ten million dollars.
"How do you know all this?" she asked, studying his distinguished
profile.
"I'm in advertising. It's my business to know everything."
"Then who's going to be the new Marcella girl? I hear they want Nature
but she's holding out for too much money."
Oliver frowned, he hated it when somebody knew something before he was
prepared to tell them. "Who told you that?"
"Samm."
"If she was worth it, I'd recommend they pay her."
"You don't think she is?"
"Too many covers in too short a time," he said brusquely. "Her face is
overly familiar."
"Is it your account?"
"Between us?"
"No. I'm taking an announcement in Ad Weekly."
"Very amusing, Lauren."
"Well?" she pressed. "Is it your account?"
"It wasn't, but it will be."
"Really?"
"They're coming in tomorrow to see what we have to offer."
"And what do you have to offer?"
"A surprise."
She grinned. "I love surprises.
"Good."
The car drew up outside her building. She'd never asked him in before,
but the time seemed right. "Would you like to come up for a drink,
Oliver?"
He shook his head. "I didn't want to bother you with this before, but
my charming wife has detectives following me. Apparently she feels
she'll get even more of my money if she can prove I'm sleeping
around."
"I asked you up for a drink, nothing else."
"My dear, I know that. But I would never put you in a compromising
position."
Thoughtful as well. He was turning out to be the perfect man.
"Tomorrow night-I'll pick you up at eight," he said.
"Not possible, I'm catering a dinner."
"Have someone else do it."
"No.
"Why not?"
She hated it when he tried to tell her what to do. "Because I want to
do it myselœ" He started to say something, then changed his mind.
Lauren had that determined look, he knew better than to argue.
hings happened fast. "You've got the part," Frances told him over the
phone. "Shooting begins in two weeks. I've made an appointment for
you to see an agent friend-she'll handle the deal. And I've booked a
photo session with another friend of mine. The session's gratis-all
you have to pay for are the prints."
"Hey, Frances-this is great. I-" Frances was a fast talker. "Saturday
night. Escort duties. You're taking me to an industry party-wear a
suit."
He started to say something but she cut him off again.
"I'm putting you on to my assistant, she'll give you the details. Oh,
and Nick, don't forget who got you started."
"Frances, I-" But she was gone.
He had a role in a fucking movie. He was about to get an agent. He
was going to be a star! Things were definitely moving in the right
direction.
His new agent was a short middle-aged woman named Meena Caron. She had
dark cropped hair and thick no-nonsense glasses. She was with a large
important agency, which was reassuring.
"It's two days' work," she said, all business. "You'll be shooting in
New York. They'll fly you in the day before-tourist-only above the
title gets first."
A fl ù "What does that mean?"
"Above the title?"
"Yeah."
She looked at him quizzically.
"You are new to the business, aren't you.
"Gotta learn sometime," he said cheerfully.
Meena tapped a silver Cartier pen on her desktop. "Stars get their
name above the title. The star of your movie is Charlie Geary. He's
young, red-hot and a real-life pain. Stay away from him-he'll do his
best to get you fired. And don't try to screw the leading lady-that's
Charlie's privilege."
Oh, yeah?
"Who's the girl?"
"Carlysle Mann. Very pretty. Very crazy.
"I never went for crazy.
Meena didn't crack a smile. "As soon as you get your photos bring them
in. There's a pilot at NBC you could be right for. You can act, can't
you?"
"Frances wouldn't've sent me to you if I couldn't."
Meena stood up-she was finished with him. "Frances has her own reasons
for doing things. You look good. I'm sure she's taking you on the
party circuit."
He didn't answer. It was none of her goddamn business. Maybe he
should have opted to go with Ardmore Castle instead of this storm
trooper.
The photographer Frances set him up with was a tall gawky woman who
worked fast, shrieking directions at her harassed assistant. Didn't
Frances ever deal with men?
She circled him like a predatory animal. "Stop trying so hard," she
kept telling him. "For God's sake, attempt to look natural. Dump the
put-on scowl, it's so phony."
He hated her too. He was used to women falling all over him. The
agent and the photographer didn't appear to give a fast fuck.
After the session he figured he should go home-check up on Cyndra. But
then again, Joy was probably wondering where he'd vanished to, and he
didn't want her mad at him. Christ, this was like walking a tightrope
without a net. Surrounded by women and he wasn't even getting laid.
Joy greeted him frostily.
He told her about the movie.
"Bit part," she said, screwing up her nose in disgust. "You should
have held out for better."
"At least it's a job. My first professional one."
"Crap movie. Crap director."
Why couldn't she be pleased for him instead of criticizing
everything?
"Gotta start somewhere," he said easily, refusing to let her get to
him.
"Ha!" she sniffed.
He told her about Meena Caron.
"Second rate."
"She's with a big agency," he pointed out.
"You'll get lost. You should have signed with Ardmore."
"I don't like Ardmore."
She narrowed her eyes. "Who said you have to like people. It's what
