Hollywood Husbands (8 page)

‘Y’could change your name,’ Eddie mumbled, retrieving the joint from her multi-coloured fingernails.

Heaven widened startlingly amber eyes. ‘Why should I?’ she demanded. ‘It’s
my
name. My identity. It’s like the only
positive
thing in my life.’

‘Y’got me,’ Eddie said.

‘
And
my music,’ she added.

‘Our music,’ he corrected.

‘I write the songs,’ she pointed out. ‘And I sing ’em.’

‘Yeah, an’ who would you be singin’ ’em
with
if me an’ the guys didn’t back you?’

She wasn’t going to hurt his feelings, only she knew that the group meant nothing.
She
was the star when they appeared at local events, not Eddie and his group.

She yawned loudly and executed a little dance in the front yard of Eddie’s house.

He watched her through slitted eyes. She was a difficult girl to figure, most of the time she kept him confused. He liked her a lot, even if she
was
totally screwed up because of all her famous relatives. ‘Wanna go for a drive?’ he asked. ‘Get a hamburger?’

‘No, thank you,’ she replied, picking at the material of her jagged denim micro skirt.

‘What
do
you wanna do, then?’

‘I thought you said your parents were away this weekend.’

‘They are.’

‘So why can’t we go in your house an’ fix something? I won’t eat you.’

‘I wish you would,’ he leered, shifting his weight from the side of the car.

‘Eddie,’ she sighed, tipping her head to one side. ‘I thought you’d
never
ask.’

He wondered if she was teasing him as he felt the start of something big build up in his pants. Heaven had been flirting with him from the day they met three months ago, only every time he made a move she shoved him off. ‘C’mon,’ he said quickly. ‘In the house. I’ll show you who’s asking.’

She followed him inside. His sisters were out and the small neat house was very cool and quiet.

‘I wanna see your room,’ she said.

Hastily he thought about whether there was anything around to embarrass him. He decided it was all clear. She would just have to understand about the life-size poster of Daryl Hannah on his wall.

His room was overloaded with stuff and very untidy.

‘Slob!’ she exclaimed. ‘Like I mean you totally get off on disgusting mess.’

Grabbing her from behind he rubbed his hands across her small breasts – bra-less beneath a baggy tee-shirt.

She didn’t push him away as usual; instead she stood very still allowing him the feel he had been waiting months for.

His hard-on chafed for escape as he slid his hands underneath the flimsy tee-shirt and reached bare tit.

Still she didn’t object.

He fingered the tips of her nipples and groaned, waiting for her to stop him.

She turned around and faced him. ‘Do you wanna do it?’ she asked, her eyes unusually bright.

Did he
want
to? There was
smoke
coming out of his ears as he tried to appear casual. On the surface he was Mister Cool, but in reality he was nervous as hell.

‘Do you?’ she persisted, amber eyes staring into his.

‘Yeah,’ he managed.

‘So do I,’ she said, slowly pulling her tee-shirt over her head.

* * *

‘You invited Heaven tonight, didn’t you?’ Nora asked in the limo on the way back to the house.

Silver gazed out of the tinted side window. ‘As a matter of fact, no,’ she replied coolly.

Nora grunted her disapproval, which caused Silver to come up with a list of reasons why she had not invited her only child to her birthday party. They ranged from ‘There’ll be nobody else her age there’ – which was a lie, because two of the actors from
Palm Springs
were under twenty, and they would certainly be there – to ‘She hates parties.’ Which was something Silver could not possibly guess, as she knew nothing of her daughter’s likes and dislikes. In fact, since being back in America, she had managed to see Heaven as little as possible. ‘It wouldn’t be wise for me to disrupt her life,’ she told anyone who asked. And then she would add with a conspiratorial laugh and a knowing wink, ‘Besides, I’m hardly a mother figure, am I?’

The truth was that having a teenage daughter did not suit Silver one bit. It made her feel her age, and anything that made her feel that was banished from her life.

Nora projected silent disapproval.

‘Why?’ Silver asked at last. ‘Do you think I
should
have?’

‘Given that you’ve invited a hundred and fifty of your closest friends, and more than a smattering of the press, I don’t think it’s such a terrible idea. After all, she’ll be reading about it in every gossip column in town, so maybe you should give
her
the choice of attending or not. There’s still time to ask her.’

‘God!’ Silver sighed dramatically. ‘As if I don’t have enough problems!’

Chapter Nine

Unpacking boxes had lost its thrill. Corey’s visit had upset Jade and she found that she could no longer concentrate. In frustration she sat down and consulted the LA. pages of her phone book. Several of the friends listed belonged to Mark, so she left them alone, and tried a fellow model and ex-roommate, black and exotic Beverly D’Amo. Beverly had moved to Los Angeles two years ago to pursue an acting career, and was now, according to her answering service, in Peru, and not expected back for a while. Disappointed, Jade called another model friend from New York. The girl kept her on the phone for thirty-five minutes complaining about an errant husband. Next, she spoke to a married girlfriend; this one was in the throes of a messy divorce. Man trouble was obviously catching.

A more fun group seemed to be the way to go, so she telephoned Antonio – the photographer, an amusing friend once you got over his
I am a star photographer
trip. They had worked together often and enjoyed many a great night out in New York when he visited.

‘I’m here,’ she announced. ‘And the good news is that I’m a free agent, so let’s get together. Preferably tonight.’

‘
Bellissima!
’ he crooned. ‘My
bella
Jade. What
dee
-lightful pleasure to hear your voice.’

‘You too, baby. How’s Dix?’

‘Dead!’ was the dramatic retort.

‘Another one hits the dust, huh?’ She was not surprised. Antonio had a new boyfriend every month, and according to him they all let him down.

‘He was
Eeenglish
,’ Antonio snorted, as if that explained everything.

‘Well…’ she said. ‘That makes two of us with dead boyfriends. I gave Mark back to his wife.’

‘
Bene
. He was
Eeenglish.
Tonight I take you to the birthday part of the true beetch.’

‘Anyone I know?’

‘Seelver Anderson. The woman
kill
when she see you. Dress up,
bella.
’

Hanging up the phone she decided a big Hollywood party in the company of the waspish Antonio was just what she needed. Usually the word
party
produced an instant excuse. Mark shied away from them – probably because he did not wish to risk being photographed with her.

What
had
he told his wife? They had often been caught by stray paparazzi leaving Elaine’s restaurant in New York, or attending the opening of a new art gallery. Knowing Mark, he no doubt passed her off as a casual acquaintance, and aristocratic Lady Fiona must have believed every lying word. Mark and his clever lies. God!

Pouring a glass of wine, she allowed herself the pleasure of reliving the denouement.

* * *

Lord Mark Rand returned from a photographic trip, his thin features flushed with enjoyment, his brown wavy hair untidy – like a little boy’s. He was almost fifty, but looked no more than thirty-five. The plan was that he spend six days in New York with her, and then return to London. Usually he divided his time between England and America, with numerous foreign assignments in between.

Dropping various camera cases, he put both arms around her. ‘Hello, lovely lady. Are you ready to give home and comfort to an extremely tired Englishman?’

Six years was just about to be part of her past. She didn’t want to rush it. ‘You smell like a camel,’ she remarked, wrinkling her nose.

Laughing, he said, ‘Bathe me. Cover me with sweet oils. Massage my tired body and I shall be yours forever.’

What a corny English asshole. Why had it never bothered her before?

He walked into the crowded living room of her Village apartment. Quite a few times he had suggested she move uptown to a more expensive place. ‘You can afford it,’ he would complain. ‘Why stay here?’ Never once had he offered to share the rent. Not that she needed his money, she did very nicely on her own. Still… the offer would have shown commitment.

It never bothered her until they split.

‘How was the trip?’ she asked.

‘God, it was unbelievable!’ he said enthusiastically. ‘Sunsets the like of which even I have never seen before.’

‘And the girls?’ She referred to the three models he had been photographing for an upmarket nude calendar layout.

‘Young. Boring. And stupid.’

‘Did you sleep with them?’

Raising an eyebrow he looked at her quizzically. ‘What a strange question.’

‘Do you sleep with your wife?’

Frowning, he said, ‘What is the matter with you? You know I don’t. We’ve discussed it many times.’

She stared at him. ‘I want you to tell me again.’

Shaking his head he chanted, ‘I did not sleep with my three dopey little model girls. And I do not sleep with my wife.’ He paused. ‘Does that satisfy you?’

‘How long is it since you
have
slept with her?’

‘Jade—’ an edge crept into his voice – ‘I’m tired and I’m very hungry. It’s been an arduous journey and I would like to relax.’

‘How long, Mark?’

She was giving him one last chance to be truthful and tell her everything.

‘Fiona and I have not slept together since I met you,’ he snapped. ‘You know that perfectly well, and I resent being questioned in this way.’

Her eyes glittered dangerously. ‘Not even once?’

He returned her gaze unblinkingly. ‘Not even twice.’ Removing his jacket he added, ‘Now, please may I have a scotch and soda. A hot bath. And the unadulterated pleasure of your beautiful body. In that order.’

It was over, but why not prolong it? Make him suffer, as he had done to her.

‘Certainly, sir,’ she said lightly. ‘One large scotch with a dash of soda coming up. And I’ll get your bath ready.’

He relaxed. ‘What a girl!’

What an English asshole!

In the bathroom she turned on the water to fill the tub –
only
the hot. Then she went into the kitchen and poured Kentucky bourbon into a plastic glass – Mark hated plastic glasses almost as much as he hated bourbon – and added two cubes of ice – which he couldn’t stand.

Whistling, and looking ridiculous in baggy boxer shorts, Mark strolled into the bathroom. She followed him with his drink.

Stripping off his shorts he stepped into the steaming tub. ‘Jesus Christ!’ he screamed, hopping out immediately. ‘It’s scalding hot!’

‘Sorry,’ she murmured, handing him his drink.

‘He took a healthy sip and almost gagged. ‘This is bourbon,’ he said accusingly. ‘You
know
I hate bourbon.’

‘Oh, dear.’ She stared at him without feeling. He was not the most attractive sight in the world standing in her bathroom, naked. His legs were too skinny, and bright red feet and calves from the boiling hot bath water did not help matters. He had a limp penis, a slight paunch, and a chest matted with gingery hair flecked with grey.

This was exactly how she wanted to remember him.

‘There appears to be something on your mind,’ he said at last. Apparently he was not completely insensitive to her feelings.

Reaching into her pocket she pulled out the crumpled clipping of Lady Fiona cradling the latest little Lord or whatever it was.

Keeping his cool, he glanced at it. ‘Oh,’ he said calmly. ‘That’s a printing error. Damned silly mistake. This is a picture of Fiona with my
brother’s
child.’

He must think she was an idiot. And why not, indeed? She had behaved like one for six years.

‘I checked,’ she said coldly. This is
your
son.’

He stretched for a towel and tied it around his waist, his eyes refusing to meet hers. ‘How did you do that?’ he asked, a tad nervously.

‘It’s all right,’ she said flatly. ‘I didn’t call Fiona and ask her. You’re perfectly safe to go home.’

‘Now, listen,’ he said, pulling himself together. ‘This whole baby thing was an accident, pure and simple.’ Warming to his theme he added, ‘I didn’t tell you about it because I didn’t want to upset you.’

Staring at him scornfully she said, ‘An
accident
, Mark?’

‘Let us go and sit down and I’ll explain it to you over a drink.’

He attempted to pass her. She blocked the bathroom door.

‘Explain it to me now,’ she said icily. ‘I can’t wait to hear.’

He cleared his throat and gathered his thoughts. ‘It’s quite true that since being with you I have not slept with Fiona,’ he began.

‘What does that make the baby – an immaculate conception?’ she interrupted sarcastically.

He continued, seemingly unperturbed, not to be stopped from telling his story. ‘A while ago I returned from a trip. Fiona was depressed. Her favourite uncle had died, and she had been thrown from her horse on a hunting trip, which bruised her self-esteem more than anything else.’