Married Lovers (35 page)

M
arlon had fallen into an extremely pleasant stoned sleep. He was dreaming he was in a harem surrounded by curvy naked babes catering to his every need, while Amy Winehouse crooned ‘Rehab’ and Kate Moss–clad in a leopard print nun’s habit–massaged his feet.

It was a wild dream, until Kid Rock appeared and shot Kate Moss straight between the eyes.

Marlon sat bolt upright. Man, he might be stoned, but he could swear the gunshot was for real.

He took a peek at his Swatch watch. Jeez, it was almost eleven, and he was still stuck in the maid’s room like some kind of dumb prisoner. This was not the way he’d expected the evening to go.

Hauling himself up, he began pacing around the room. Enough of this bullshit, he’d been cooped up for three hours.

Had he heard a gunshot or not?

No way. It was in his dream.

Taking out his phone he checked his messages. Three from various girls and a text from his friend, Randy, informing him there was a happenin’ party going on at the House of Blues, and he should try to make it.

He inspected the pile of scripts, neatly stacked on a side table.
Six pristine copies of his work ready to be distributed. Tonight was supposed to be the beginning of the career he really wanted, not the lawyer route his dad expected him to follow.

Time to get this thing going
, he thought, refusing to skulk around any longer.

Gingerly he opened the door, making his way down the long corridor that led to the kitchen.

Yeah, food, and then he’d poke his head around the dining-room door and attract Lucy’s attention.

He sauntered into the kitchen–and what did he see? Holy shit! Two dudes on the ground trussed up like a couple of freakin’ chickens!

Either he’d smoked too much pot and was experiencing hallucinations, or this was the real deal.

Whatever.

Better investigate and figure out what was up.

N
ow that Gregg had a room full of people captive, he had no plan what to do with them. He’d come here for Cameron. He hadn’t intended to take out the gun, but he’d done so, and that meant he could be in big trouble when this was over.

Problem was, they all knew his name–because–like a fool, he’d told them. And he’d smashed Famous Prick in the face with a gun–which would probably be regarded as an assault.

Fuck! This was all Cameron’s fault. The bitch was responsible for everything. Best to tie everyone up and get the fuck out. Yeah, that was it. Grab her and go.

While Gregg was trying to decide on his next move, Cameron was attempting to staunch the flow of blood from Don’s cheekbone.

Don managed to give her a wan smile. “You couldn’t tell me you were married, huh?” he said, shaking his head. “Had to keep it to yourself.”

“Yes,” she answered ruefully. “Just like you told me, I’m a slippery one.”

“Who
is
this guy?”

“Someone from far away and long ago. And for your information, I never tried to kill him.”

“That was your first mistake.”

Meanwhile, Ryan was trying to reassure Mandy that everything was going to be all right.

“Don’t touch me!” she spat at him. “You make me sick! I hate you!”

“It’s all a big misunderstanding,” he said, determined to explain, although how was he supposed to do that without giving Anya away?

“Daddy was right about you all along,” Mandy said, filled with a mixture of fury at Ryan, and fear at the situation they were caught in. “I thank God we never had children together.”

“That’s not fair. We tried.”

“Did we?” she said spitefully. “My first miscarriage I was never even pregnant. The second one I aborted. And you know what, Ryan? I’m not even sorry.”

Her words cut him like a knife. She’d aborted their child. She’d lied to him all this time, and he’d believed her, felt sorry for her, stayed with her because of everything he imagined she’d gone through.

Waves of sadness and regret rushed over him. Suddenly it all became so easy. “When we get out of here we’re over,” he said.

“Yes, Ryan,” she hissed back at him. “We’re over, all right.”

Gregg was now balancing on the edge of the table rocking back and forth, still trying to decide on his next move.

Cameron knew him well enough to understand that for now it was best for everyone if she stayed silent. Gregg had put himself in a corner, and that wasn’t good for any of them.

She glanced over at Ryan. He and Mandy were involved in some heated whispered conversation.

Hamilton was sitting ramrod straight, an expression of cold fury on his distinguished face.

His young wife stared off into space, her pale blue eyes blank. Cameron saw that the girl was not afraid, and that was strange. A man had a gun pointed at them, their lives were in danger, the girl should be petrified. But she wasn’t.

Phil had his arm around Lucy, protecting her.

Damn Gregg. How could he do this? How could he march back into her life and ruin everything?

And then the phone rang and everyone jumped.

“Ignore it,” Gregg instructed.

But it kept ringing.

He waved the gun at Lucy. “Shit! Answer it, get rid of them fast.”

Lucy stood up and walked over to the phone, her heart pounding. Thank God the children weren’t home, that’s all she could think of. “Hello,” she said, picking up the phone.

“Mrs Standard?” a male voice said.

“Yes.”

“This is Detective Saunders. Are you all right?”

“No.”

“Is there a gunman in your house?”

“Yes.”

“Hang up,” Gregg commanded.

“Put him on the line,” the detective said.

She stretched out her arm and handed Gregg the phone. “It’s for you,” she said, and then everything turned to black as she fainted.

M
arlon untied the chef and the barman, and the three of them made it outside the house where Marlon immediately got on his cell phone and called the police.

Man
, he thought to himself, when two minutes later a couple of squad cars arrived at the end of the long driveway,
these motherfuckers are swift
.

It turned out that they’d received some kind of silent alarm signal from the house, which is why they’d arrived so quickly.

Both the chef and the barman needed medical attention for cuts and bruises. While they were getting attended to, a detective took down their statements. Marlon also gave a statement, only he didn’t have much to say.

“I never saw the dude,” he informed the detective, “but I sure as shit heard the gunshot. Woke me up outta a deep sleep. Scared the crap outta me.”

“What were you doing at the house?” the detective wanted to know, as if he, Marlon, might be involved.

Marlon explained about Lucy and their script, but the detective still instructed him to stay put. Like he was about to leave–
not
. He had a front-row seat to a real-life drama, there was no way he was going anywhere.

Within the hour TV camera crews turned up, which pissed the
detectives off. But hell, there was a siege situation going on, so there was nothing they could do about it.

Marlon latched onto a young blonde reporter in a short skirt and knee-high leather boots. “I was in there,” he told her. “You know whose house it is, don’t you?”

“Actually no,” she responded, all soft crimpy curls and gleaming lip-gloss. “Why don’t you tell me.”

“Lucy Lyons.”

“The old movie star?”

“She’s not so old.”

“Wow! My dad took me to see that movie–
Blue
something or other, when I was twelve years old. He thought it was about dolphins. We got quite a surprise!”

“I bet,” Marlon responded, figuring Miss Glossy Lips was around twenty-three. Exactly the right age for his next older-woman fling.

“So,” she said, interest perking, “tell me everything you know.”

“Oh, I will,” Marlon said, giving her a lopsided grin.

S
weating and filled with rage, Gregg was confused and angry.

This whole fucking thing had turned into a siege, and that’s not what he’d wanted at all. Without a doubt it was all Cameron’s fault, she was the one responsible for everything that was happening to him. He’d come to Los Angeles to find her and punish the bitch for trying to kill him, and now he was caught up in this no-win situation.

Some shit-ass detective had spoken to him on the phone like he was a fucking moron. “Put the gun down, come outside with your hands up and everything will be all right,” the detective had said.

Oh, thank you, Detective, you’ll just give me a smack on the wrist and send me back to Hawaii, is that it?

Yeah. Right.

Who’d called the cops, that’s what he’d like to know. Had one of the assholes in the kitchen gotten loose and summoned them?

“You!” he said, jerking his gun at the girl in the scarlet dress sitting against the wall by herself. She hadn’t said one word all night.

“Yes?” she answered, staring at him with lifeless pale blue eyes, exhibiting no fear.

What was up with her? The rest of the group were shit-scared
he might suddenly go berserk and shoot them, but not this one–nothing.

“What’s your name?” he said, swiping a hand across his sweaty brow.

“Anya,” she said flatly.

Ryan shot an alarmed look in her direction. Why was she reverting to Anya when everyone knew her as Pola?

Cameron leaned close to Don. She’d managed to staunch the blood from his cut cheek, and now he held a table napkin against it.

“Are you okay?” she whispered.

“Nothing a plastic surgeon can’t fix,” he answered with a wry shrug.

“Go check out the kitchen, Anya,” Gregg commanded. “See if there’s anyone in there, then get your ass back here or I’ll pop a bullet in your daddy’s face.”

Hamilton bristled. He’d personally see that this criminal received the maximum sentence when he was caught.

Slowly Anya stood up, taking her time, sensuously smoothing down the skirt of her clinging scarlet satin dress. She knew why Hamilton had bought it for her, it was the kind of dress a prostitute would wear. That’s how Hamilton saw her–as a prostitute. He was right, that’s exactly what she was. A prostitute, a whore, a hooker, a tart. As long as they paid, men could use her whenever they liked. They could spit on her, degrade her, beat her, fuck her. She was a piece of flesh for sale. Sex mattered. In the world Anya lived in–it was all that mattered.

“Move it,” Gregg muttered, sweating profusely. “And while you’re up, see if you can score me a bottle of Scotch. This wine shit ain’t doin’ the job.”

Anya stared directly at him, licking her lips in a suggestive fashion. “Do you want to fuck me?” she said in a low husky voice. “You will not be disappointed. I am very accomplished in bed. I can do anything you want me to. Anything at all.”

“Jesus Christ!” Hamilton exclaimed.

“Oh my God!” Mandy gasped.

Gregg was speechless. This girl coming onto him was the last thing he’d expected. Had Cameron put her up to it? Was his bitch wife playing games?

Ryan jumped to his feet. He got it. Anya was in shock. She didn’t know what she was saying–or doing–because now she was starting to peel her dress off.

Gregg suddenly realized this
was
a trick–some kind of scheme to catch him off-guard. But he wasn’t falling for it, oh no–he wasn’t
that
dumb.

Did these people honestly think they could trick him? He was Gregg fucking Kingston! Nobody could trick him. He was invincible.

“Sit down!” he roared at Ryan, his hands starting to shake. “An’ you,” he yelled at Anya. “Sit the fuck down too.”

But Anya wasn’t stopping, she was allowing her dress to drop to the floor and then, quite naked, she was walking straight toward him.

Cameron had a horrible feeling that something bad was about to happen. Gregg was panicked, she could see it in his face. She attempted to rise, but Don prevented her from doing so. “Stay still,” he muttered, gripping her arm.

“Sit back down or I’ll shoot,” Gregg yelled at Anya as she continued on her path. “I’M NOT FUCKING WITH YOU, BITCH!”

Ryan couldn’t take it anymore–he leaped forward, making a last vain attempt to stop Anya. But he was too late.

Once more the gun went off, and this time there was a river of blood and a deathly silence.

Eighteen months later

T
he première of
Blue Sapphire 2
was an all-out Hollywood affair. Klieg lights, the red carpet, a live Internet feed, TV crews from around the world, old-fashioned bleachers to accommodate the legions of fans, and a lavish party due to take place when the movie finished.

Natalie de Barge manned her post, interviewing a stream of celebrities, asking the usual inane questions about designers and hairstyles–but managing to throw in a zinger or two–because Natalie had no intention of remaining an entertainment reporter forever. Her ambition was to host her own TV show with three other smart women–kind of an L.A. version of
The View
.

Don Verona had promised that his production company would help her set it up, and why not–they were partners with Cole and Cameron in
Paradise
–the most successful sports club in L.A. Everyone was making money.

Natalie flattered the women, flirted with the men, smiled broadly and asked all the right questions. Like her brother, Natalie possessed the likeability factor, making the stars feel completely at ease in her presence.

She greeted Birdy Marvel with kisses all round. The sweet-faced baby diva–who suffered from a wicked sex addiction–
babbled on about how tough her last stint in Rehab was, but now she’d found God, and was helping to feed starving children across the world, while working on her new CD, preparing a cross-country tour, and launching her own fragrance and clothing line.

“That’s so great,” Natalie said, moving Birdy on because she spied Lucy Lyons being shepherded toward her.

Lucy was the big star of the evening, for not only did she star in
Blue Sapphire
2–her comeback movie–but she’d also been credited as an executive producer.

The movie, produced and written by Lucy’s husband, Oscar winner Phil Standard, was supposed to be hot, hot, hot. Co-produced by Hamilton J. Heckerling and co-written by a talented young newcomer–Marlon Robert–the word on the street was that
Blue Sapphire 2
went places that even
Basic Instinct
hadn’t dared to go.

The two women greeted each other with the Hollywood kiss, a ritual involving lips never actually touching flesh.

“You look beautiful,” Natalie gushed. It was her job to go over the top, although she had to admit that at forty-two, with a couple of kids and a famously eccentric and randy husband, Lucy Lyons did indeed look great. Glowing, in fact, with her sweep of long black hair, generous lips and well-toned body.

“Tell me all about the movie,” Natalie urged. “I hear it’s quite something.”

“That it is,” Lucy said, with a big ‘I’m a movie star again’ smile. “
Sooo
sexy, and I only take my clothes off once. The real star of the movie,” she added generously, “is Mary Ellen Evans who plays my niece. Just wait until America gets a look at Mary Ellen taking it all off! She’s no longer the girl next door, she’s the girl that every man would like to–oops!” She stopped, placing a coy finger to her lips. “I almost said the F word on live TV!”

“Not to worry, we’ve heard worse,” Natalie said with an all-encompassing smile. “But back to the movie, Lucy. I hear that the
two of you are wonderful. According to
Variety
you both give stellar performances.”

“Thanks, Natalie,” Lucy said modestly. “We tried our best.”

“I’m sure you did. Now–let’s talk about the important stuff–who are you wearing?”

Sitting in a rented limo on their way to the première was Lynda–eight and a half months’ pregnant–Carlos–the proud papa-to-be–although they still hadn’t gotten married–Dorian with a twenty-year-old male model, and Cole–alone and loving it. They were discussing the new premises
Paradise
had just acquired. Only Cole and Cameron had seen the space, and according to Cole it was spectacular, featuring lavish outdoor gardens, a full spa, and a lap pool.

“Pool aerobics,
very
now,” Dorian said, pursing his lips. “Can’t wait!”

“And I can’t wait to see this movie tonight,” Lynda sighed. “I’m
so
in the mood to watch me some steamy sex.”

“That’s about all you can do,” Carlos grumbled. “Watch.”

“Are you complaining?” Lynda said, brown eyes flashing as she patted her enormous stomach. “Cause this big bundle I’m carryin’ is
your son
, so snap it shut.”

“Okay, chicken,” Carlos said with a cocky smirk. “But the second you’ve laid this egg, this stud is expecting
mucho
action.”

“Oh
God
!” Dorian groaned. “Do we have to listen to baby talk all night? Where’s Cameron when I need her?”

“She had somethin’ more important to do,” Cole said.

“More important than a night out with us?” Dorian sniffed. “I don’t
think
so.”

Cole grinned. Sometimes he was the only one privy to Cameron’s secrets. And this could turn out to be a good one.

“Doesn’t she look gorgeous!” Natalie exclaimed, helping Mary Ellen Evans onto her platform in front of the TV camera. “I can’t believe that you had a baby seven months ago, then went on to star in this movie, and look at you now. You’re stunning!”

“Thank you, Natalie,” Mary Ellen said, basking in the spotlight.

“Your jewelry is sensational, and your gown. Who are you wearing?”

“Armani, of course.”

“Of course.” A beat, and then–“How’s the baby’s daddy? Is he still in the picture?”

Mary Ellen didn’t hesitate, she had her answer down pat. “Don Verona is a caring and hands-on father, but we’re not together anymore, although I have the utmost respect and love for him.”

“So tell me about your role in this movie,” Natalie said, moving on. “Lots of nudity, I hear. How did you
really
feel about taking it all off?”

“Don’t fidget,” Mandy scolded.

“I’m not fidgeting,” Marlon retorted.

“He’s not fidgeting,” Hamilton said.

The three of them sat in the back of Hamilton’s Bentley, while a chauffeur took care of the driving.

Mandy was excited. She knew
Blue Sapphire 2
was going to be huge, and she stood to gain on two counts. Hamilton had promised her a piece of his profits as a reward for finally coming to her senses and divorcing Ryan.

And Marlon…well, Marlon was her prodigy–she’d discovered him.

Hmm…
almost
discovered him, for Lucy had gotten to him first–fortunately not in a sexual way. Mandy would never have accepted sloppy seconds.

Blue Sapphire 2
was all her idea. After their nightmare
experience at the Standards’, Lucy had been on a downward spiral, and who could blame her? A girl getting shot and killed in their dining room was enough to put anyone in a slump.

Since it was Hamilton’s fifth wife who took a bullet from the deranged husband of Don’s girlfriend, Mandy had not been filled with total grief. Although it sure was one hell of a traumatic evening–what with finding out about Ryan’s affair and all.

Anyway, when Lucy told her about Marlon, the script, and the lost opportunity, Mandy had offered to show the script to her father as a gesture of friendship toward Lucy.

Reading Lucy’s script first, Mandy found it to be unoriginal, but the dialogue was brilliant, and that’s when she’d come up with the idea for
Blue Sapphire 2
–because
Blue Sapphire
had been one of Hamilton’s biggest movies.

Once Mandy suggested the project to her father, everything had fallen into place. Hamilton was not in mourning for his deceased wife. He had found out more than he ever wanted to know, and that was enough to make him erase Anya from his memory forever. He was determined to make
Blue Sapphire 2
a mega-success. Lucy was thrilled, and since Phil was desperate to please his wife, he agreed to have Marlon write the script and he would do a polish. It was all systems go, and Mandy had suggested Mary Ellen for the role of the young nympho. Inspired casting.

The result was a movie that was destined to be another huge box-office hit, perhaps even bigger than the original.

It didn’t take long before Mandy embarked on a steamy affair with Marlon–even though he was almost thirteen years her junior.

Their age discrepancy didn’t bother her. In fact, it made her feel very fashionable and of the moment. After all, it seemed to work for Demi Moore and Ashton; Madonna and Guy; Susan Sarandon and Tim; and now Mandy Heckerling and Marlon.

As Marlon would say–
sweet!

Don and Phil sneaked away from the red carpet and grabbed a drink in the manager’s office.

“I have to admit,” Phil said, exhibiting all the signs of an extremely proud husband, “Lucy is a marvelous talent. Wait until you see her in this. Y’know, Don, she was absolutely right about making a comeback.”

“And Mary Ellen?” Don asked. “How’s she in the movie?”

“Surprisingly good.” Phil took a long beat. “I presume you two are over?”

“We were never really on,” Don said, quite casual. “She’s nice enough, but she’s not for me.”

“You see the baby though?”

“All the time. She’s the most adorable little girl in the world. I’m in love!”

“Finally!”

“Hey–” Don said with a wry grin. “I’ve been in love before, but it never seems to work out. You and Lucy–what can I say? You’re one lucky sonofabitch.”

“And don’t I know it!”

And while the extravagant
Blue Sapphire 2
première was taking place on Hollywood Boulevard, Ryan was having a screening of his latest film, the heart-wrenching story of a young Russian prostitute. Shot documentary-style, he considered it the best movie he’d ever made. Over the last eighteen months he’d immersed himself in the film, put his heart and soul into it–traveling across Europe and filming in many different locations.

His film was called
Anya
–in memory of a girl he’d never known very well. A girl who’d been hurt in more ways than anyone could imagine. A girl who’d finally met her fate in the dining room of a Hollywood mansion.

While filming, he’d forgotten about everything else. He’d
instructed his lawyers to take care of his divorce and to give Mandy anything she wanted. He didn’t care about material possessions, he only cared about his work.

The actress he cast in his movie, Tamara Yakovlev, was a luminous brunette with unfathomable eyes and a lithe body. Born in St Petersburg, she’d come to America when she was ten with her affluent parents. Her story was the complete opposite of Anya’s, but somehow Tamara inhabited her spirit, and her acting was flawless. She became Anya.

They had a brief affair while filming in Poland. It didn’t last, she wasn’t the woman for him.

He often thought about Cameron. After that tragic evening at the Standards’, they had not been in touch. He’d cut himself off from everyone to concentrate on his movie. Along the way he’d heard that she was no longer with Don.

Now that he was back in L.A. he’d thought about calling her, but he hadn’t done so.

Perhaps he was romanticizing something that wasn’t real. Best to leave it alone.

Dropping Yoko and Lennon off at Mr Wasabi’s was kind of a ritual for Cameron. They liked him. He liked them. So even though she could afford a dogsitter, she preferred the familiar routine.

“Is it okay if they stay the night?” she asked Mr Wasabi.

The old man winked knowingly. He might be too old to indulge in adventures himself, but he certainly envied the man his incredibly beautiful and charming neighbor was spending the night with.

After depositing the dogs, she stopped back at her house, took a shower, applied a small amount of makeup, changed clothes about six times–eventually settling on jeans, combat
boots, a simple tank–and her most expensive piece of clothing–a Dolce & Gabanna butter soft beige leather jacket. Finally satisfied, she left the house, got in her Mustang, and headed for the screening room in Santa Monica where she’d found out–purely by chance–that Ryan Richards was showing his movie.

Ryan Richards. A name from a while ago.

Ryan Richards. A man who to this day she had not stopped thinking about.

They had not been in contact since the fateful night Gregg had shot and killed Hamilton’s young wife. It was such a tragedy and sometimes Cameron was overcome with guilt about what had taken place, for basically she blamed herself.

If Gregg hadn’t come looking for her…

If she’d had the guts to fly to Hawaii and divorce him…If, if, if. Everyone told her it was inevitable, that Gregg was a psycho, but she knew she could have prevented it.

After the shooting the cops had stormed the house, and then it had all turned into pure chaos.

Don had wanted her to come home with him. She’d refused. She’d told him she needed space. Then several nights later she’d sat down with him and been as honest as she could. It was the break-up talk and he wasn’t happy.

“
You
lie to
me
, and
I’m
the one getting the shaft,” he’d steamed. “I don’t fucking believe this.”

“I’m sorry,” she’d said, genuinely regretful, because she did have feelings for him, but it wasn’t enough. “I don’t fit into your lifestyle, Don. It’s simply not for me.”

He was so angry that he’d blurted out that
he
was the silent investor in
Paradise. He
was the one who’d put up all the extra money to get it off the ground.

So be it. She wasn’t even mad, Gregg had left her shell-shocked.

“That’s okay,” she’d said. “I want us both to benefit from your investment.”

It had taken him a while, but eventually he’d accepted the fact that all she wanted from him was his friendship. His ego was bruised, but the great thing about Don was his self-deprecating sense of humor. They still saw each other occasionally, and he still kept on telling her she was making a mistake, but to Cameron’s delight, they were able to remain friends.

Gregg’s trial came months later. After two days of deliberation, the jury’s verdict was manslaughter. He received an eight-year jail sentence.