Jackie Collins, page 59
He was hurt. "Hey, Cyndra, we'll always be brother and sister. It
doesn't matter who your father is.
"I know, I know," she nodded, sorry for what she'd said.
They sat in the car for a long while, watching the parade of drag
queens.
"How will we recognize him?" she asked. "What if he's all dressed
up?
We left a little boy behind-now he's a man."
"I hate to point this out," Nick said. "But black faces aren't exactly
heavy on the street."
"You're right."
Around nine o'clock Cyndra thought she spotted him.
"Are you sure?" Nick said, peering into the darkness.
"I don't know, but like you said, black faces aren't exactly common.
"Okay, whyn't I go see." He got out of the car and approached what
appeared to be a black woman in a scarlet dress, feather boa and long
black wig. "Harlan?" he said, edging close so as to get a better
look.
"Don't you mean Harletta?" the creature shrieked.
"Harlan, it's me-it's Nick."
The creature put a finger to its chin. "Do I know you? Have I had
you?"
"Harlan, for Christ's sake, it's Nick. Cyndra's in the car. Come talk
to us.
The creature backed further into the shadows. "Harletta never goes
anywhere unless she's paid handsomely."
He fumbled in his pocket and produced several bills, which he shoved at
the creature. "Get in the goddamn car!"
"Oooh!" Harlan shrieked. "I love it when you talk rough."
And so that's how they found Harlan. A drugged-out street hustler.
An embittered young man who'd had no chance to be anything else.
They took him back to their hotel and talked to him for hours, but he
showed no desire to change his life. He laughed at them.
"Come back to L.A. with us," Cyndra pleaded, practically in tears.
"My friends are here," Harlan replied, roaming restlessly around the
hotel suite.
"Your friends are on the street," Nick pointed out. "Hookers and
hustlers. What kind of friends are those?"
"At least they're here when I need them," Harlan sniffed, suddenly
pulling off his wig and throwing it petulantly across the room. "You
two ran off an' left me. You don't know what it was like after you'd
gone. There was no money, no place to live. Aretha Mae had to take
charity from that Benjamin Browning pig."
"Did he touch you? Did he do anything to you?" Cyndra asked.
"What do you think?" Harlan replied, his grotesquely painted lips
twisting contemptuously.
"I'll kill that bastard one of these days," Cyndra said, staring
blankly ahead. "I'll blow his fucking head off."
"Calm down," Nick said.
"He deserves it."
"Oh, yes," Harlan agreed. "An' I'll watch. Front-row seats, please,"
he added archly.
They couldn't persuade Harlan to leave with them. But he did accept
some money and reluctantly promised to keep in touch. Not that either
of them believed him. "We'll be lucky if we ever see him again," Nick
said.
Finally they got in the red Cadillac and made the long drive home to
Los Angeles.
The moment he arrived back Nick sold the car.
"I don't understand you," Annie complained. "Why would you do that?
You've dreamed about owning a Cadillac all your life."
"There's a lotta things you don't understand about me, Annie," he
said.
"Maybe we should try spending more time together," she suggested.
Wasn't it enough they were living together? What did she want from
him?
He went out that night by himself and called Carlysle from a phone
booth. "Are you with your mother?" he asked.
"She's out of town," Carlysle replied. "Why? Want to party?"
"Yes."
"Come on over.
When he arrived at her house he found she was not alone. There was
another girl there, an exotic Indonesian model. The three of them
ended up in the Jacuzzi playing games he'd never played in school.
He lost himself in a round of hedonistic pleasures. He needed the
release. By the time he left Carlysle's house he felt better.
The next day Meena informed him they'd gotten him out of his contract
for the movie with the woman producer and arranged a deal for him to
star in Life-a big-budget movie about a young killer and his father.
"This is an excellent break, Nick," Meena said briskly. "Top director,
first-class production. And here's the best news-I've doubled your
money.
He wasn't as elated as he should have been. He had Lauren on his mind
and somehow or other he knew he had to see her.
He went home and told Annie that he had to go to New York for two or
three days.
"Can I come with you?" she asked hopefully.
"No. It's business." He kissed her on the cheek. "See you in a
couple of days."
At the airport he wrote out a check for six thousand dollars and sent
it to Dave. It was all the money he had in his account. But he was
lucky, there was more coming in.
He made the evening flight. Soon he would get to see Lauren, one way
or another. He didn't know what he'd say to her. He only knew that he
had to resolve the situation. And the sooner the better.
auren was filled with guilt because she'd slept with Lorenzo. It had
only happened once-the last night she was in Rome-and she had no
excuse. The experience was memorable-which made her all the guiltier
because she would have preferred to forget it.
Maybe I take after my father, she thought miserably. Why should I feel
guilty-he obviously never did.
Upon their return to America, Lorenzo behaved like a perfect
gentleman.
She told him she regretted it had happened, it would never happen
again, and would he please never refer to it.
"I respect your wishes," he'd said. "But when you get rid of your
husband, I will be waiting."
Oliver suspected nothing. "How was your trip?" he asked.
"I wish you'd been with me," she said.
"Next time," he promised. "In fact, I was thinking that in the summer
we might cruise the Riviera on a yacht."
"That would be nice, Oliver. Can you get the time away?"
"I'll make time."
She'd already done the photographs for the Marcella girl campaign, and
now it was time to shoot the commercial. Digging down into her past
she drew on her acting experience, relaxed and had fun in front of the
camera. It was quite an elaborate commercial and took a week to
shoot.
Lorenzo visited the set every day, still behaving like a perfect
gentleman. He did nothing more than flirt with his eyes-but, oh, those
Italian eyes! She remembered their one night together in Rome and her
body screamed out for more. It was only her mind that kept her from
doing anything about it.
You're a married woman, Lauren.
You don't have to keep reminding me.
She enjoyed making the commercial, being the center of attention.
It made her feel special-like she really mattered in the scheme of
things.
Now that Oliver possessed her he paid less and less attention to her.
Work, as usual, came first.
She decided that if he could put work first, so could she. Over lunch
with Samm she told her that if any other good modeling jobs came along
she was prepared to do them.
"I thought you weren't interested in modeling," Samm remarked, sipping
a glass of white wine.
She picked at a salad. "I've changed my mind."
"You won't be able to represent other products, but you can certainly
do photographic work," Samm said thoughtfully. "I'll see what I can
get you.
"Get me the cover of Vogue," Lauren said with a persuasive smile.
"You know you can do anything."
Samm waved to a fashion editor, leaned back and also smiled. "My, my,
aren't we getting ambitious."
"Why not? It's about time."
"By the way," Samm said. "Did you hear about Jimmy Cassady?"
"What about him?" Lauren asked coolly. As far as she was concerned he
was ancient history-even hearing his name failed to bother her.
"He emerged from the closet."
"Huh?"
"Gay, my sweet. Positively festive in fact!"
So there was the answer to that little mystery.
Most weekends she spent with Pia, Howard and the baby. Sometimes they
stayed in town, other times they drove to Oliver's large estate in the
Hamptons, where he spent most of his time in his study on the
phone-relaxing was not for him.
Sunbathing on the beach one day Pia said, "Do you realize you have
three homes now? The apartment in New York, the house in the Bahamas
and this house."
"They're Oliver's homes," Lauren said, enjoying the hot sun. "I never
chose any of them."
"If you feel that way you should sell them and buy something else.
Be nice to start fresh, wouldn't it?"
Lauren reached for the suntan oil. "I'm sure Oliver would let me do
exactly what I like. He probably wouldn't even notice."
"Hmm," Pia said. "Do I detect a note of dissatisfaction?"
She rubbed the greasy oil over her legs. "You detect a note of I've
married a man who never stops working."
"Ah," Pia said wisely. "That's why you have three houses."
"Very quick."
Pia looked thoughtful. "I think Howard's following in Oliver's
footsteps," she said pensively. "He didn't come home last night until
nine o'clock. Maybe he's got a mistress."
"Howard?" Lauren started to laugh. "I can't imagine Howard with a
mistress."
"Why?" Pia said, quite affronted. "Don't you think he's sexy?"
"To you he's sexy-to other women he's your husband."
"Sometimes I wish we'd kept the business," Pia said wistfully. "I love
Rosemarie and looking after her, but playing mommy is not my life."
"Get a job," Lauren suggested, lying back.
"I don't want to go that far. Being my own boss is one thing, but
working for somebody else-no, that's not for me. Unless you'd like me
-as your personal assistant-I'd be very efficient."
"I'm not busy enough for an assistant," Lauren murmured, closing her
eyes.
"You will be. Wait until the ads start appearing. And Samm tells me
you want to start doing other work."
"I wouldn't mind."
"Nature's turned to acting, you know."
ù "Really?"
"Yes, she's living with this producer guy and he's put her in his
movie. She's the new discovery on the block."
"That'll make her happy."
"And I read in one of the columns that Emerson Burn gets back from his
world tour this week."
"You're a regular little gossipmonger."
Pia sighed enviously. "You certainly have some interesting ex's.
And when you came to work at Samm's we all thought you were so
quiet."
"Emerson's not an ex.
"Is Nick Angel?" Pia asked curiously. "You never speak about him.
He sure was anxious to talk to you, though."
"I went out with Nick in high school," she said casually, like it meant
nothing.
"Wow! High school-was he gorgeous then?"
"Yes," she said very quietly. "He was."
As soon as Nick arrived in New York he called Help Unlimited. The
operator told him the number was no longer in service.
"Shit!" he said, slamming down the phone. He thought for a moment,
then called Carlysle in L.A. "Oh, boy!" she exclaimed. "That was some
good time! I didn't realize you were so adventurous."
"Yeah, well, that makes two of us."
"Can you come over now? My friend's still here."
"I'm in New York."
"Shame."
"I need a favor."
"What?"
"You remember that dinner party you took me to when we were shooting
Night City?"
"We went to so many places."
"The hostess had on all those crazy bracelets."
"You mean Jessie George."
"That's the one. What's her number?"
Carlysle giggled. "Oooh, Nick, isn't she a little old for you?" w "I
need to ask her something."
"Wait a sec, I'll get my book."
She gave him the number and he hung up and dialed.
All he had to say was "Nick Angel," and Jessie knew exactly who he
was.
"Nick, how nice to speak to you," she said. "I so enjoyed Night
City.
Memorable performance."
"Thanks."
"What can I do for you?"
"Do you have the number of Help Unlimited?"
"Unfortunately they're not in business anymore."
"They're not?"
"No. But I do have another caterer I can recommend."
"Remember that girl . . . the one who did all the cooking?"
"Do you mean Lauren?"
"Who was that guy she was about to marry?"
"Oliver Liberty. They got married in the Bahamas."
"What does he do?"
"Oliver owns the biggest ad agency in New York-Liberty and Charles."
"Can you give me his home number?"
"Certainly. By the way, I'm having a dinner party tomorrow night.
I'd love you to come.
"Well, uh, I don't know I'm only here for a few hours. Gotta get back
to L. A.
"What a shame-Oliver and Lauren will be here."
"Maybe I don't have to get back so fast," he said quickly.
"Eight o'clock. Casual. I'm putting you on my list."
So, Lauren had actually gone ahead and married the guy. This wasn't
good news. But then again, all he wanted to do was apologize, it
wasn't like they were going to fall into each other's arms. A long
time had passed. They were both different people now.
Yeah, sure. And what else was new?
Odile Hayworth was the most exquisite woman Cyndra had ever seen and
she hated her on sight. Gordon belonged to Odile. Odile belonged to
Gordon. It was patently obvious.
ù Marik had arranged a cozy dinner for four at a French restaurant and
Cyndra was loathing every minute of it. Odile was uncommonly pretty,
with amber eyes, fashionably short black hair and a wide smile.
She was also at least thirty-five.
Old, Cyndra thought. Surely he needs someone younger?
"Marik tells me you used to be a model," Cyndra said politely, not that
she cared.
"Yes, I was-until Gordon came along and rescued me," Odile replied,
squeezing her husband's hand. He squeezed hers back.
How sweet, Cyndra thought.
