Jackie Collins, page 49
for the Bahamas. Pia was not much help-seven months pregnant, she
waddled around with a smile on her face, arriving late and leaving
early. Lauren didn't blame her, but still it left most of the
responsibilities of the business to her.
"I wish Howard and I were coming with you," Pia said with a wistful
sigh, obviously expecting Lauren to say "Why don't you?" But she'd
decided it was going to be her and Oliver-nobody else. She'd
experienced one wedding where everybody stood around waiting and the
bridegroom didn't show up, and she did not plan on doing it again.
"Who'll run the business while I'm away?" she worried.
"I will," said Pia.
"You're hardly here anymore.
"Don't obsess. I'll be around all the time while you're away.
Lauren knew that the business only survived because of her personal
touch. She'd gained such a good reputation, especially with her dinner
parties. Lately, all Pia took care of was the financial side.
She had one more dinner to organize before leaving for the Bahamas.
This was at the house of Quentin and Jessie George. Quentin was the
managing editor of Satisfaction, the avant-garde magazine of the
moment, and Jessie was a social whirlwind. She'd catered dinner
parties for them before and it was always an enjoyable experience.
The Georges put together an eclectic group of guests, mixing politics
and fashion, rock n roll and movies. Jessie was a delightful character
-a woman of indeterminate age, not conventionally pretty, but loaded
with style.
The night before the dinner Lauren visited their brownstone to go over
the final details. Jessie had heard about her upcoming marriage and
couldn't wait to complain. "I suppose we'll be losing you," she
lamented. "You won't want to do this anymore."
"I didn't say that," Lauren objected.
"Ah, but Oliver will never let you."
"Oliver's not going to control what I do or don't do."
Jessie nodded knowingly. "Darling, when you're married you'll see.
"Jessie, when I'm married I'll see nothing. I'll carry on exactly the
way I please."
"Hmm," Jessie said. "That's what I thought when I married Quentin, and
look at me now.
"It seems to me you have a fantastic life."
"Some would say so." Jessie waved her bracelet-adorned arms in the
air. "Now, let's get down to business. I have a brilliant idea for
hors d'oeuvres-imagine scooped-out melon balls filled with golden
caviar. Doesn't it sound divine?"
Oliver was very much involved with the Marcella girl campaign.
Marcella was a hugely successful cosmetics company in Italy that was
all set to take a large chunk out of the American market. They planned
to rival Revlon and Estee Lauder. Now that Oliver's firm had landed
the account, the search was on for the perfect girl. So far they'd
tested and photographed at least thirty candidates.
Lauren viewed the photos and videotapes with Oliver. He was extremely
critical-this one was too glamorous, this one too old, this one too
young and so on.
"Your expectations are too high," she said. "I can see at least seven
or eight of them who'd be great."
ù "No," he said, shaking his head. "None of them have it. The
Marcella girl has to have a special quality that appeals to the public,
something that makes women say, I want to look exactly like her and if
I wear Marcella makeup I can." She has to have a certain ordinariness,
combined with that magical something else."
"I've no idea what you're getting at."
"It's a quality. Grace Kelly had it. Marilyn didn't. Ingrid Bergman
had it."
"Who's Ingrid Bergman?"
"Never mind." He stared at her closely. "You have it."
"I have what?"
"The quality I'm talking about."
"Is that good or bad?"
"If you were in the running for the Marcella girl it would be good."
She walked over to his desk and helped herself to an apple from a bowl
of fruit. "Fortunately, Oliver, I'm not."
He frowned, looking at her intently. "But you could be."
"You are joking."
"No," he said, very seriously. "I'm not."
She laughed. "Oliver, I am not a model, I do not want to be a model, I
am perfectly happy doing what I'm doing, so kindly forget it."
"Will you do something for me before we leave?"
She sighed. "What?"
"Will you let my people organize a photo session with you?"
She crunched her apple. "Now why would I do a thing like that?"
"Because it would be very helpful if I could show them exactly who I'm
looking for."
She flopped into an armchair. "You're so funny."
"Then humor me.
"I don't have time."
"Do I ask for much, Lauren? Wouldn't you enjoy having your hair done
and your makeup and wearing beautiful clothes? It could be fun."
"It might be your idea of fun, but believe me, I have better things to
do."
"Please, Lauren-for me? As a wedding present. Think of the money
you'll save."
"Oliver-" "Yes?"
She weakened. "Well, as long as you promise not to take it
seriously."
"You have my solemn promise."
Humoring Oliver turned out to be more enjoyable than she'd thought. To
go into a studio and be totally made over by professionals was an
interesting experience. Pia thought it was a hoot and insisted on
accompanying her. They giggled like a couple of schoolgirls as the
makeup artist and hairdresser went to work.
"At least you'll have some incredible photographs to show your
grandchildren," Pia said, perching behind her on a high stool.
"What grandchildren?" Lauren exclaimed. "I haven't even got any
children yet-let's not get carried away."
"You are going to have some, aren't you?" Pia asked anxiously. "I
need a playmate for mine," she added, patting her huge belly.
"I guess so," Lauren agreed. "But give me time to enjoy my marriage
first."
"You got fab air, darling'," said the English hairdresser, his cockney
accent reminding her of Emerson. "The color needs livening up a bit,
an' you're in desperate need of a cut. Apart from that you're
perfect!"
"I've always had long hair," she said, alarmed.
"Yeah, but it's just angin' there, ein't it? Let me work it overleave
it to me.
"Don't take off too much," she said, when he started wielding his
scissors.
"Trust me, darling', you'll be thankin' me."
She shut her eyes and hoped he knew what he was doing. The makeup
artist was next. He came at her with a pair of tweezers, plucking at
her eyebrows, squinting at the shape of her face.
"I don't like to wear much makeup," she said.
"Nor do I," he said tartly. "What we have to do here is the illusion
of no makeup at all while I create the most incredible face."
And so they transformed her. Lauren Roberts, small-town beauty, was
turned into Lauren, face of the moment. The hairdresser had added ever
so subtle light streaks in her chestnut hair, and the cut had given it
more body and shape, so that although it still fell below her
shoulders, it was fuller and more flattering.
The makeup artist had worked on her face with a palette of natural
colors-playing with browns and beiges, bringing out her eyes in a way
they had not been emphasized before.
"My God!" Pia said. "You look fantastic!"
"Oh, thanks a lot," Lauren said jokingly. "Was I such a dog before?"
"You know what I mean. You've always been pretty, but my God, now
you're absolutely stunning!"
Next it was the photographer's turn. Antonio worked fast, with a
minimum of fuss and the maximum of assistants. He knew exactly what he
wanted, and even though Lauren had never been in front of a camera
before, she fell into the poses easily, having watched Nature so many
times. It was a kick. There was great music playing, she was dressed
in beautiful designer clothes. When it was all over she confided to
Pia that she'd actually enjoyed it.
"Who wouldn't?" Pia said, shaking her head in amazement. "You really
do look incredible."
"I wish you'd stop saying that. God knows what I must have looked like
before."
"I can't wait to see the photos," Pia said.
"And I can't wait to wash this makeup off."
Later, Oliver asked her how she'd enjoyed the session. "It was okay,"
she said, laughing. "Never again, though. You can only talk me into
it once."
The next morning was a different kind of frantic. She left early for
the market accompanied by a couple of her college student assistants.
They picked out fresh fruit and vegetables, and then stopped to buy
flowers. Jessie and Quentin were very particular, and that's exactly
the way she liked it.
"Have Oliver come to the dinner," Jessie urged, when she arrived at
their house.
"No way," she objected. "I don't want him sitting there while I'm
working."
"But I adore Oliver-he's so droll," Jessie said. "At least have him
drop by to pick you up.
She called Oliver at his office. "Do you want to come by later and
pick me up from the Georges' dinner party?"
"I'd like that," he said.
"Jessie particularly requested you. How well do you know her?"
"We had a hot and steamy affair once."
She almost believed him. "Oliver-did you?"
He laughed. "No, my dear. I am not the hot and steamy affair type."
"You could have fooled me."
"Ah," he said. "Wait until our honeymoon."
From four o'clock on she commandeered the Georges' kitchen. It was the
kind of kitchen she liked, large and spacious, with all modern
conveniences. The menu she'd planned was one of Jessie's favorites.
Vichyssoise followed by rib-sticking chicken casserole with creamy
mashed potatoes, lightly sauteed carrots and creamed spinach, all
accompanied by a healthful chopped salad.
"I love it when you serve those kinds of meals," Jessie told her. "It
makes people feel comfortable and relaxed, and when they're in that
sort of mood the conversation really sparkles. Oh, dear. Lauren, what
am I going to do when Oliver takes you away from all this?"
"I'll still keep the business," she said. "I'll cook occasionally."
"Shall we bet on this?" Jessie suggested.
Lauren grinned. "Only if it's cash."
Later Oliver called her at the Georges'. "Remember how you said the
other day you loved surprises?"
"Did I say that?"
"Yes. Well, I have a surprise for you."
"What is it?"
"If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise. When I come by later I'll
bring it."
"Does it have four legs?" she asked, remembering her recent request
for a puppy.
"Be patient, my dear. I'll show you later." arlysle Mann was pretty
beyond belief. She had one of those etched faces with alabaster skin,
huge blue eyes, a snub nose and a beguiling overbite. She was petite,
with baby-fine blond hair curling around her face, and a perfect
figure.
For the first time in his life Nick felt intimidated meeting
somebody.
He'd seen her in a couple of movies, but actually meeting her was
something else.
"Hi," he said, almost shyly.
"Congrats," she replied, pretty blue eyes gazing into his. "This is
some great break for you."
Yeah, congratulations were definitely in order. He had not been
canned. Instead he had gotten the chance of a lifetime. While Charlie
Geary was being rushed off to a drug rehab center, he, Nick Angelo
-excuse me, Nick Angel-had been presented with the big break.
He'd been given the lead in the movie, and it was a career-making
role-that of a young hood who reforms, finds true love and ends up as
the hero.
"You've got the look," the woman producer had said, crossing and
uncrossing her elegant legs.
Yeah, I've got the look, all right. A look you didn't even recognize
when I bulled alonside you in my car in L.A. "We're giving you this
chance," the director had said, "in the hope you'll deliver."
"We've spoken to your agent," the male producer had added.
"You'll probably want to give her a call."
Want to give her a call? Holy shit! He couldn't believe this was
happening. Charlie was dumped and he was in.
"I can do it," he'd blurted. "I've studied the script-I can do this
good."
"That's exactly why you're getting this opportunity," the woman had
said.
The truth was they didn't have much choice. Charlie Geary was out of
action and they couldn't afford to shut down production while they
waited to negotiate for another star. They were prepared to take a
chance on Nick.
The next few days were crazy time. His main worry was Cyndra and
Annie. Could he trust them alone in L.A.? Would they be all right
without him? Or would Annie go running to the cops, ruining
everything? It was a chance he had to take.
He called them both. Annie sounded sulky as usual. She didn't even
rustle up any enthusiasm when he told her about his lucky break.
"Tell you what," he suggested. "Give me a few days, then maybe you can
fly to New York for a weekend. I'll spring for your ticket and room.
I talked to my agent, I'm making okay money."
"I don't think so," she said coolly.
"C'mon," he persuaded. "You want to see New York, don't you?
You've never been here."
"I'll let you know."
Cyndra was genuinely thrilled. "You'll be sensational, Nick," she
assured him.
"I'll do my best. Can't do more than that."
His agent had been suitably businesslike. "It's an excellent
opportunity for you to show them how good you are. Of course, you're
still very inexperienced. It may not work out-don't get your hopes
up."
"How come they went with me?" he asked.
She told him the truth. "This is not a big-budget movie. If they wait
for a name replacement for Charlie it'll hold them up and cost them
money they can't afford. You're there, and as far as they're concerned
you seem capable of doing the job. Carlysle's name will carry the
film.
Oh, and Nick, remember what I told you. Don't screw her-it'll get in
the way of your performance."
"You told me not to screw her before because it would get in the way of
Charlie Geary. Now he ain't around."
"Nick, you're new to this business-don't screw her."
Frances expressed the same sentiments. "Save everything you've got.
Getting laid takes time and energy. Put all that sexual juice into
your performance."
