Double Lucky (9 page)

Anthony had never really cared.

Irma sat up in bed, her cheeks glowing.

Luis wasn't the answer, but she knew one thing for sure: she had to divorce Anthony.

The time had come to get away from her coldhearted husband, reclaim her children, and finally take responsibility for her own happiness.

 

CHAPTER TWELVE

Every morning Venus worked out, varying her activities, but making damn sure she did either jogging, weight training, Pilates, or yoga. Lucky and she used the same trainer, Cole de Barge, a great-looking black guy with abs of steel, fine muscle definition, and the one special thing a girl needs from a trainer—a take-charge attitude. There was no slacking off around Cole.

Venus enjoyed teasing him. “If you weren't gay, I'd sweep you off to some exotic island and marry you.”

Cole simply smiled. He had perfect teeth. In fact he had perfect everything.

“Do
not
try to get around me,” he said, turning stern. “Today we're takin' a hike in the Canyon, so you'd better bring your favorite bottled water, an' no complaining.”

“But Cole,” she protested, feigning a delicate yawn. “Last night I—”

“Hey, Miss Superstar,” he interrupted, “it ain't my business what you did last night. Your
body
is my business, so move your fine ass an' let's get it on.”

That's
what she liked about Cole—he took no prisoners. She might be dizzily famous, but if Cole wanted her up and out, she was there. No arguing with Cole, and the results were worth it. Besides, Billy had left at some ungodly hour, and since Chyna, her daughter with Cooper, was away at summer camp, she had nothing else to do. She was between movies, between recordings, and between concert tours. It was her time to relax.

“Very well,” she said grumpily. “Don't worry that I had no sleep—”

“I'm not worrying.”

“Billy spent the night,” she explained. “He was coming off a tough day with Alex Woods. It was up to me to console him.”

“So that's what they're callin' it now—consoling.”

“Oh, get a life!”

“I
got
a life, superstar, an' today it involves pushing you out there. So let's hit it. Now!”

Reluctantly she followed Cole out the front door. Today she really didn't feel like indulging in any physical activity. She was genuinely tired, so why couldn't she have stayed in bed and watched mindless morning TV? Although there was nothing mindless about Matt Lauer on the
Today
show—he was still the hottest talking head on TV.

And thinking of hot … last night Billy had excelled himself. She'd always thought her ex-husband—legendary movie star/cocksman Cooper Turner—was the best she'd ever had in bed, but Billy surpassed him. Such enthusiasm, such energy, such a tongue!

If only she wasn't thirteen years older than Billy. It was a major drag. This year she'd be forty-two, and while everyone knew that forty was the new twenty—what did that make Billy?
Twelve?

He'd assured her he didn't mind, that age was just a number. Yeah, sure, but the tabloids never let either of them forget their age difference, and she knew that it bugged Billy when the late-night comedians made jokes about them. It was all so unfair. When she'd been married to Cooper Turner nobody had said a word about Cooper being twenty years older than her. Talk about a double standard. If she was European would anyone care? European actresses were revered for getting older. American actresses were not. America was a raging youth culture, but along with Madonna and Sharon Stone, she was hanging in there, she
still
looked great, and why not? She worked like a motherfucker to make sure everything stayed in place. Hence her ritual with Cole, whether she felt like it or not.

“I'm right behind you, slave driver,” she announced, catching up with Cole as he walked briskly to his car—a new sports Jaguar. “
Very
fancy,” she remarked. “Business must be outta the park.”

“It's a present,” he said.

“From a grateful client?”

“Let's just say he's
very
grateful, but he's not a client.”

“Name please.”

“You'll get his name when we're married with a weekend house in Aspen and two adopted kids.”

“Revealing as usual,” Venus said dryly.

“Some of us prefer to keep our private lives private,” Cole replied, not eager to discuss his personal life.

“Some of us are
able
to do that,” Venus responded tartly, hiding her eyes behind blackout Dolce & Gabbana shades.

“Yeah, an'
some
of us are making millions a year, which is the price they pay for
no
privacy. Sorry,
Miz
Superstar.”

“He
always
has to get the last word,” she sighed, jumping into the passenger seat.

“That's
right!
” Cole said, getting behind the wheel. “An' now we're off to Franklin Canyon, so get your energy goin', girl, we're takin' an hour-long hike,
no
slackin' off allowed.”

Venus slumped back in her seat and groaned. Cole was a hard taskmaster, but that's the way it had to be.

*   *   *

“Orange juice, Meester Billy?” Ramona inquired, invading his bedroom, standing next to his bed and peering down at him, a glass of freshly squeezed juice in one hand.

“Huh?” Billy mumbled, barely opening one eye. He'd staggered home at five
A.M
., telling Venus he had an early call—which was a lie—then collapsing into his own bed, totally spent. Now his housekeeper was standing over him, and how many times had he told her not to wake him? Didn't she understand that he needed his sleep?

“Jeez,” he muttered. “What's the time?”

“Time for you to haul your lazy ass outta the sack,” announced Kev—gofer, assistant, driver. Kev was short, with wiry brown hair and a permanently cocky expression. They'd been best friends since meeting in kindergarten at the tender age of five. They'd grown up together, closer than brothers. Kev had taken off for L.A. before Billy with a plan to somehow or other break into movies. It hadn't happened for him, Billy was the one who'd gotten the golden ticket, and once Billy made it, he'd brought Kev along for the ride.

“Get fucked,” Billy groaned, reaching under the sheet to scratch his balls.

“It's past twelve,” Kev said, opening the blackout blinds, flooding the room with bright sunlight. “You got an interview for that fancy mag
Manhattan Style
. The journo's comin' here at one, an' Janey's on her way over now. She told me to wake your ass, an' remind you this is important shit. It's the cover story, so she says there's no way you can blow it off.”

“Crap!” Billy muttered, kicking away the sheets, revealing his naked body and a very impressive piss hard-on.

Ramona seemed oblivious to her employer's lack of clothes and his erect penis. She handed him the glass of juice and left the room.

“Why's Janey coming?” Billy inquired.

“'Cause she's your publicist, an' that's what she does,” Kev replied.

“No, what she
does
is charge me a shitload of money to do fuck all,” Billy grumbled.

“
You're
in a piss-poor mood.”

“So would you be if Alex friggin' Woods had spent the day watching you get the bejesus whacked outta you,” Billy complained. “An' how come you didn't make it to the location last night?”

“You never told me you needed me there.”

“I gotta tell you everything?” Billy said, finally getting out of bed and making his way into the bathroom.

“You usually do,” Kev said, trailing behind him. “If you'd wanted me there you should've said so.”

“What am I supposed t'wear?” Billy asked as he finished peeing and headed for the shower.

“Janey said you'd better look hot.”

“Janey wouldn't know hot if it hit her in the ass.”

Kev chuckled. Ramona reappeared with two plastic dry-cleaning bags. “Meesus Janey say you wear these,” she announced, handing the bags to Kev.

“What's a movie star supposed t'do t'get some kind of
privacy
?” Billy grumbled. “My johnson's not a show 'n' tell, so everyone get the fuck OUT!”

Ramona and Kev hurriedly retreated, leaving Billy alone in the bathroom. He stepped into the shower, thinking that perhaps he should call Venus, tell her how great last night was.

Problem was he wasn't feeling it. Anyway, she was probably still asleep, or out with her trainer—the good-looking black guy she swore was gay, although sometimes Billy wasn't so sure. The dude didn't
act
gay. He didn't even
look
gay.

Shit! What if she was screwing her trainer and they were both laughing at him behind his back?

This thought eased his guilt about the girl in the truck with the broken taillight. If Venus could do it, so could he.

And yet … Once again waves of guilt swept over him. Venus wouldn't. She couldn't. Venus was a one-man woman. She'd often confided how much it had hurt her when she'd caught her husband screwing around on her. But hey, that's what guys did—
especially
movie star guys. Surely every woman was aware of that?

He got out of the shower, toweled himself dry, and ripped open the plastic cleaning bags. Black silk pants and a crisp white Armani shirt.

Screw it, he was more comfortable in jeans and an old army shirt stolen from the wardrobe department on one of his movie shoots. Janey would simply have to accept his style or get herself fired.

One of the most important lessons Billy had learned in Hollywood was that nobody was indispensable. They all thought they were, but the sad truth was that everyone was replaceable. Including himself.

*   *   *

“Starbucks,” Venus gasped as she and Cole got back in the Jag after a long, grueling mountain hike.

“Is that so you can undo all the good work we just put in?” Cole questioned, throwing her a disapproving look.

“Please! I don't usually beg. But I would
kill
for a caramel low-fat Frappuccino.”

“You'll get nailed by the paparazzi,” he warned.

“I don't care.”

“Okay,” Cole said, starting his new Jaguar, a gift from an aging rock star who was trying to persuade Cole to work—and other things—exclusively for him. The Jag was a bribe Cole had accepted as long as there were no strings. He quite liked the guy in a casual way, but he had no intention of hooking up on a permanent basis. He'd done that once, and the memories were not good. Besides, his sister Natalie, the host of a TV entertainment show, would kill him. She considered all celebrity relationships poison, and she should know, having indulged in a few disastrous ones herself.

There was a line at Starbucks, as usual.

Venus peered out the car window. “
You
go in,” she suggested. “You know what I want.”

“This goes against everything you
should
be doing,” Cole said sternly.

“C'mon, indulge me, babe,” Venus crooned.

“Doesn't everyone,
babe
?” he said sarcastically.

Venus giggled. “Yeah, for an old broad I suppose I do get everything I want.”

“Including Mr. Melina.”

“Ah, Billy,” Venus said fondly. “He's such a sweetheart.”

“Sure,” Cole agreed.

He didn't want to ruin her day, but yesterday he'd spotted Billy leaving Tower Records with a young girl in tow. Hey—maybe she was his sister. Besides, Cole didn't believe in causing trouble. As a trainer of the rich and
infamous
he knew where every body was buried. He also knew he was better off keeping his mouth tightly shut.

“He is, you know,” Venus added, as if she was trying to convince herself. “
And
, in case you're wondering about the age thing, Billy is an old soul, he's not like a twenty-something guy.
And
we've been friends for eight years, so it's not as if I don't
know
him.”

Cole shrugged. He didn't want to get involved. No good ever came from interfering in other people's love lives.

“We have the same interests,” Venus continued. “Lucky thinks we're great together, and he doesn't put up with my b.s. So…”

So what?
Cole wanted to say.
The dude's a hot young movie star dealing with pussy overload. It's a given he'll cheat. Wise up, Venus, you're too clever to put up with his shit.

But Cole stayed silent. It simply wasn't his business.

 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“Did you see Max before she left?” Lucky asked, sweeping into Lennie's poolside office early Friday morning.

He was on the phone and waved her away with a dismissive gesture.

“Are you
kidding
me!” she exclaimed. “Don't dismiss me like I'm a fucking fruit fly!”

“Hang on a minute,” Lennie said into the phone. Choking back laughter, he pressed down hold. “Fruit fly? A fucking
fruit
fly?”

Grinning, Lucky said, “Sometimes I have to come up with something original to get your attention.”

“I'm talking to the studio.”

“Fuck 'em,” she said, perching on the edge of his desk. “Have you seen Max?”

“Nope.”

“Her car's gone, and she didn't leave a number.”

“Call her cell,” Lennie said, returning to his phone call.

Hmmm
 … Lucky thought, getting up and heading for the kitchen.
As if I don't have enough on my mind without Max sneaking off.