Hollywood Divorces / Hollywood Wives: The New Generation (30 page)

W
atching Lissa rehearse was a revelation. Michael knew she was talented, but he’d had no idea of the kind of dynamic stage presence she possessed. Her show lasted an hour and fifteen minutes, and she sang and danced her way through everything, from wild dance numbers to torchy ballads, all with different changes of outfit and punishing routines.

She rehearsed in sweats in the morning, broke for lunch, then did a full sound check and dress rehearsal.

Sitting in the theatre watching her, Michael was more than impressed. She was an amazing woman who deserved everything she had, because she sure as hell worked hard for it.

The day was hectic. There were so many people running here and there, so many egos, and Lissa was at the centre of it all.

Chuck came over and sat beside him for a while. ‘She’s somethin’, huh?’

‘She sure is,’ Michael said. ‘You’ve been with her for how many years?’

‘Five,’ Chuck said.

‘What was the husband like?’ Michael asked, trying to keep it casual.

‘One look at the dude an’ I got a bead on his game,’ Chuck replied. ‘He treated her badly. Lotta screamin’ goin’
on most of the time. Dunno why she took it as long as she did.’

The words ‘comfort zone’ sprang to mind. Michael had seen a shrink for a short time after he’d been shot in New York. The woman had explained something to him that he’d found very interesting. ‘People always revert to their comfort zone,’ she’d told him. ‘If you were raised by a violent mother or father, then somehow it seems quite normal to you if your partner treats you badly, because that’s your comfort zone.’

It made a lot of sense. He started wondering about Lissa’s childhood and why she hadn’t said much. Not that she owed him any explanations.

A buffet lunch was set up on long trestle tables. Lissa sat amongst her dancers, back-up singers and various other people connected with her show.

Michael walked over to Chuck. ‘I’ve arranged a meeting with hotel security,’ he said. ‘I’d like you to be there.’

‘Sure,’ Chuck said. ‘Tomorrow’s gonna be a bitch. The press’ll be crawlin’ all over her, she’s got her friends comin’ in from L.A., the fans’ll go freakin’ crazy, an’ she’s gonna be strung-out about the show.’

Later in the afternoon, Lissa sat in her dressing room while Fabio experimented with various hairstyles.

‘I told you, when I do the third number I can’t have those extensions falling in my eyes,’ she said patiently. ‘It’s too much hair, Fabio.’

‘I’ll think of something,’ Fabio assured her, dancing around her chair. ‘My golden lady has to outdazzle Las Vegas!’

Her cellphone rang and she answered it. ‘Yes?’

‘Mom?’

It was Nicci. ‘What’s up, sweetie?’ she asked.

‘You won’t believe
this
one,’ Nicci said, sounding breathless.

‘Try me.’

‘I had dinner last night with Antonio and his new wife.’

‘You did?’

‘Antonio still looks
amazing
.’

‘What’s his wife like?’

‘Old-fashioned glam in a kind of European way.’

‘What does
that
mean?’

‘Well…’ Nicci said. ‘She’s much older than him and–oh, yeah, she was wearing a diamond the size of Cuba. I suppose she’s
sort
of beautiful.’

‘So far all I get is old and rich.’

‘No,’ Nicci said, giggling. ‘She seems nice, too.’

‘Uh-huh,’ Lissa said, remembering how completely infatuated she’d once been with Antonio. That was when they were both young and carefree. Running off to Vegas and getting married had seemed such a romantic thing to do at the time.

‘They’ve chartered a plane and they’re coming to see your show,’ Nicci announced.

‘There’s no more tickets,’ Lissa said. ‘It’s a sell-out.’

‘He has his own tickets,’ Nicci said. ‘His own car and driver,
and
a solid gold Rolex.’

‘Seems Antonio finally got everything he wanted.’

‘Anyway, he
is
my dad, so can he please get a backstage pass and have her meet you?’

‘Nicci…’

‘
Please
, Mom. For me.’

‘Okay, okay,’ Lissa said, relenting. ‘Where will they be staying?’

‘At your hotel.’

‘Tell you what,’ Lissa said, kind of intrigued at the thought of seeing Antonio again, ‘there’s a party after the show, I’ll make sure they get an invitation.’

‘You’re so cool.’

‘Thanks.’

‘And another thing—’

‘What now?’

‘Evan’s mom is driving me completely nutto. The woman’s obsessed.’

‘With what?’

‘Her son, of course.’

‘Oh dear.’

‘I know, it’s such a bummer. So I was like thinking–
she
wants to see your show, and if I put her on a plane, could
she
get a ticket and an invitation to the party too?’

‘Charming,’ Lissa said, ‘sticking her on me.’

‘Well, you
are
gonna be kind of related.’

‘But there are no tickets left, and I’ll be too busy to entertain her.’

‘This is a dire
emergency!
’

‘Okay, I’ll try.’

‘It’ll save me from like
totally freaking,
’ Nicci said gratefully.

‘As long as I can do that,’ Lissa said drily, thinking that Nicci was definitely inclined to over-exaggerate.

‘How’s rehearsal?’

‘Easy. You know I love performing live.’

‘Okay, Mom. Thanks. I’ll speak to you later.’

Lissa put down the phone pleased. It seemed that since Gregg’s departure, she and Nicci were definitely growing closer.

Belinda liked morning sex. Gregg didn’t.

Belinda liked sex in the shower. Gregg didn’t.

Friday morning Gregg serviced her in the shower and waited for her to leave for work.

Once she’d gone, he jumped back into bed, clicked on the TV and watched a western movie. It wasn’t until Patrick phoned to find out if he’d collected the boxes that he remembered.

‘Yeah, yeah, I was just going through them,’ he said. ‘Haven’t come across anything juicy yet, but you’ll be the first to know.’

He hung up on Patrick and reluctantly made his way into the master bathroom. There they were, piled high–Lissa’s private boxes.

He opened the first one, marked 1975. She would’ve been fifteen, a year before she left home.

The box was filled with mementoes–cards, old pens, a coin or two, and photos. He picked up a photograph of Lissa standing with a skinny boy outside a small house. She was a beauty even at fifteen.

Then he noticed the diary. It was one of those pink diaries, with a tiny lock and a miniature key hanging off the side. He picked it up, opened it and started to read. She had girlish scrawly handwriting that was difficult to decipher.

And so on and so forth.

Half way through he got bored and put the diary down. Then he began picking out specific dates. Her birthday. Christmas. Easter. Valentine’s Day. Every entry was all about what she ate and what movies she’d seen.

He shoved the diary back into the box along with her other mementoes, and went to the 1974 box. The usual stuff, plus another diary, this time a yellow one. He unlocked it and read the same kind of thing.

There was nothing here. Why had he thought there might be? She’d been this little high-school girl living in a small town like thousands of other girls across America. Only Lissa was different: she’d run away from home and became a star.

Just as he was about to put the yellow diary down, he noticed that every so often there was a page entry with nothing but a red exclamation point. Obviously it was some sort of code.

He checked through the diary to see if there was any way of deciphering what it meant. On the back page, written out quite a few times was, ‘I hate her! I hate her! I hate her!’–and next to each ‘I hate her!’ was a red exclamation point.

Gregg couldn’t figure it out.

He reached for another box and took out her diary for that year. The same thing. The entries were all about food, movies and school, and every so often another red exclamation point. In the back of the diary, once again, there was a list of ‘I hate her!’ with red exclamation points next to the words.

He counted the number of days where the red exclamation points appeared. Over the year there were thirty. And the ‘I hate hers’ were written out exactly thirty times.

Who was
her?
And what did it mean?

He decided he’d better run it by Belinda. Right now she was the brains in the family. He was merely the talent, in every way.

‘I can get you a ticket if you’re sure you want to go,’ Nicci said, finding Lynda in the laundry room.

‘I certainly do,’ Lynda replied, folding sheets, ‘and
you
should come with me.’

‘I can’t,’ Nicci said, wondering how the maid would react to Lynda redoing the laundry. ‘It’s my bachelorette party, and my friend’s having a celebration for me.’

‘Celebration of
what
?’ Lynda snapped.

‘My marrying your son.’

‘Bachelorette party.’ Lynda snorted. ‘I would think
you’d have better ways to spend your time. Brian wanted to throw a bachelor night for Evan, and he refused. I told him it was archaic. You should be thanking me, dear. Nasty strippers thrusting their goods in your intended’s face–disgusting!’

‘We don’t do anything like that,’ Nicci said innocently. ‘We go out to dinner, all us girls, and, y’know, quietly exchange thoughts.’

‘That sounds more like it,’ Lynda said, holding up a pillowcase to make sure it was clean enough.

‘Anyway,’ Nicci said, ‘I talked to my mom, and she’ll arrange a ticket for you. So, if you
want
to go, I’ll call the travel agent and—’

‘No need,’ Lynda interrupted. ‘I have my own travel person who deals with my mileage. Just tell me how I collect my ticket when I get there. After all,’ she said pointedly, ‘it’s lonely for me sitting here in an empty house. And I’ll be back in time to greet Evan when he arrives home on Sunday.’

Nicci gave a sigh of relief.
Thank God
, she thought.
Alone at last, and not a moment too soon
.

‘When will you go?’ she ventured.

‘In the morning, I suppose,’ Lynda said.

‘Or how about tonight?’ Nicci suggested. ‘Then you could get a cab to take you on a tour of Vegas. Have you been there before?’

‘Evan and I were there together,’ Lynda said. ‘Some convention to do with theatre owners. Evan was treated wonderfully. It was when he was engaged to that awful girl.
She
came, too.’

‘What did you say her name was?’ Nicci asked casually.

‘Julia something or other,’ Lynda sneered. ‘Common as dirt, came from nowhere.’

Not only was Evan’s mother an unbearable, bossy, interfering woman, she was also a snob.

Fortunately she chose to take an afternoon flight. Nicci offered to drive her to the airport, but she preferred to go by cab.

As soon as she was gone, Nicci raced into the kitchen, and promptly rearranged all the pots and pans that Lynda had carefully reorganized, then she put Shaggy on the stereo as loud as possible, jumped into the swimming pool naked, and swam twenty lengths. After that she felt a lot better.

Next she started trying to figure out what to wear for her party. Something wild, because it was bound to be that kind of night.

She tried to reach Evan. His phone was off.

She thought about calling Brian. Did she really have any reason to?

Yes. He was the only one who understood about Lynda, and what the woman was putting her through.

He answered on the second ring.

‘What’re you doing?’ she asked.

‘In bed with a gorgeous redhead,’ he said.

‘No, you’re not.’

‘Why d’you doubt me?’

‘Got a feeling.’

‘How are you, kiddo?’

‘She’s gone.’

‘Gimme the scam. Didja kill her?’

‘I’ve sent her to Vegas to see my mom’s show,’ Nicci said, giggling.

‘How’d you manage that? Didja put a magic rocket up her ass?’

‘I wish!’ They both laughed. ‘I can’t reach Evan,’ Nicci said. ‘Where is he?’ There was a silence. ‘Oh,
what?’
she said. ‘He’s screwing the script girl again–Julia? Is that it?’

‘What’re you talking about?’ Brian said, obviously not getting the joke.

‘What’re
you
so uptight about?’

‘I’m not.’

‘Are you flying back with Evan on Sunday?’

‘I was thinking of hopping a plane tonight.’ A beat. ‘You doin’ anything later?’

‘I’m planning on an early night.’

‘Can I stop by?’

‘No.’

‘Why?’

‘Cause.’

‘Cause what?’

‘Cause…I dunno.’ A double beat, then she relented and said, ‘I suppose…if you want to.’

‘It’ll probably be late.’

‘Like how late?’ she said, her heart starting to pound at the thought of seeing Brian again.

‘Eight or nine. Is that too late?’

‘No more raves?’ she said warningly.

‘Don’t do that any more. You were my last fling.’

‘I was?’

‘We could go to dinner, though. I know a cosy little lobster place at the beach.’

‘One of your make-out spots?’

‘Could be. Wanna try it?’

‘Only if we take
your
car.’

‘Did you get yours fixed yet?’

‘No.’

‘I’ll pay if the insurance doesn’t.’

‘What a sport!’

‘See you later, babe.’

What are you doing?
she thought, the moment she hung up.
What the hell are you doing? You’re getting married–to his brother, and now you’re going to dinner with him?

This was insane.

And yet, for some crazy reason, she couldn’t wipe the smile off her face.

‘I wish you’d think about coming with us,’ Taylor urged. ‘There’s room on the plane. I’ve already asked James.’