"Thanks," he said.
"Joy would be proud of you. Aren't you glad I took you to her
class?"
Was this her subtle way of telling him that if she hadn't taken him to
Joy Byron's class none of this would have happened?
Filming finished shortly before seven, and they took a cab back to his
hotel.
"I booked you a room," he said. "It's one floor up from me. Oh, and
they need to know how long you're staying."
"That depends on you," she said in an edgy voice.
Shit! Why did it depend on him?
"What d'you mean?" he asked.
She stared straight at him. "How long do you want me to stay?"
Carlysle was right, Annie was waiting for him to make a move, and
unfortunately the only way he could stop her from opening up her mouth
to the cops was to make her his girlfriend.
They ate Chinese food in a nearby restaurant, talked about the movie
and L.A. and Cyndra's record deal. Then they got down to the real
reason she'd come to New York.
"I suppose Cyndra warned you," she said, sipping tea. "I'm sorry to do
this to you, Nick-but it's too big a burden for me to carry any
longer."
"Yeah," he said, thinking about how to handle her. "I understand."
She was surprised. "You do?"
"I know how difficult it must be for you, Annie. You're all alone,
you've got nobody to talk to . . . you're trying to get connected and
acting jobs aren't easy to come by. Yeah, I understand." He moved
right along, talking about Joy and the class and her job at the health
club.
She was confused. She'd expected him to try to talk her out of going
to the police and she'd had all her arguments ready. But no, he'd gone
completely in the opposite direction and she was at a loss.
On the walk back to the hotel he put his arm around her, held her hand
and told her how pretty she looked. By the time he got her to his room
on the pretext of rehearsing the next day's scene, she was all his.
But still he proceeded carefully, and when he started to undress her
she was more than ready.
He took it slowly-pacing himself, going at her speed, which was slow.
She did have a terrific body, compact and muscled, but not really his
type-he liked his women more on the voluptuous side.
When they finally made it he was shocked to discover she was a
virgin.
"You must be the only virgin left in Hollywood," he joked, trying not
to hurt her as he went for the final thrust.
"Don't joke about it, Nick," she gasped. "I believe in waiting."
He broke through and felt her gush. Then he proceeded to make her very
happy indeed.
By the time he was finished he knew the cops would be the last place
she'd go.
Annie stayed a week. The moment she left he resumed with Carlysle,
whose only comment was why hadn't the three of them got it on.
"You're something' else," he said, shaking his head.
With Annie safely back in L.A. they proceeded to have sex whenever and
wherever they could. It became a standing joke that if either of them
was needed on the set they had to be pried apart first. Their
on-screen love scenes were sizzling, especially when Carlysle did
things to him under the sheets that nobody knew about except the two of
them.
He got to see the dailies and knew it was working for him. He and
Carlysle had great chemistry.
Most nights they went out. Carlysle was invited everywhere, and there
was always a party or an opening. She really got off on public sex-the
more dangerous the better. They'd done some form of sexual activity
everywhere from the first night of a Broadway show to the toniest
restaurant. And he never made a limo trip without Carlysle giving him
one of her famous blow jobs.
"Don't you ever get tired?" he asked, only half jokingly.
"I've got the rest of my life to get tired. Live for the moment, Nick
-we won't be around forever."
If she carried on at this pace she'd wear out his dick! And then where
would he be?
The female producer started paying more attention to him. He figured
her to be in her early forties, but extremely well preserved.
One day she informed him she had a script she'd like him to read and
invited him up to her hotel suite.
"Can I come too?" Carlysle begged.
"No," he said firmly.
"She wants to fuck you," Carlysle said.
"According to you everyone wants to fuck me."
"When this movie comes out they will. You can take odds on it."
Carlysle, as usual, was right. The producer poured him a vodka on the
rocks and sat opposite him, crossing and uncrossing her long elegant
legs while he attempted to read the script. She'd already informed him
it was under wraps and could not leave her hands.
Twenty pages in and she dropped her skirt, revealing a black lace
garter belt, stockings and a black bush. She obviously did not believe
in panties.
He remembered the stoplight where she'd ignored him, and he fucked her
good.
Afterward she asked him what he thought of the script.
"Not bad," he said confidently. "But the fuck was great."
Carlysle wanted details. She savored every juicy one, and it turned
her on so much that they made out in an alley behind the latest hot
disco where they were attending a party.
Meanwhile he called Annie every other day. She sounded fine. He was
relieved, at least he had her under control.
One day he received a distraught call from Joey's hooker girlfriend.
"Those bastards beat Joey up good," she said. "He's in the
hospital."
As soon as he finished work he rushed over to visit. Joey lay in a
public ward with bandaged limbs and a pulped face. His eyes were mere
slits and his lips swollen to twice their size.
"This is really nice," Nick said cheerfully. "Can't leave you alone
for a minute. How'd it happen?"
"Got in a fight," Joey mumbled.
"What with-a meat truck?"
Joey tried to raise his arm. "Don' make me laugh."
Later he talked to Joey's girlfriend again and found out the true
story. Joey owed big money on account of a heroin habit he wasn't
about to quit.
"I'll take care of it," Nick promised, and he went to Carlysle and
asked to borrow money so he could help Joey out. "I wanna put him into
some kind of clinic-get him straight," he explained. "It costs, an' I
don't have that kind of bucks. This'll be a loan-I'll even pay
interest."
Carlysle was unconcerned. "My mother handles all my money, she said,
blithely dismissing his problem. "I can't touch it."
You could if you wanted to, bitch.
He went to his producer. She asked questions. Satisfied with his
answers, she agreed to the loan in exchange for an option agreement
making him available for her next film.
In Los Angeles Meena Caron objected bitterly. "I'm hearing excellent
reports, Nick. It would be suicide to tie you up now.
"Gotta help a friend," he explained, and signed the agreement.
Before the mdvie w
as over the word was out. There was a new hot
property on the horizon. And his name was Nick Angel.
0 you, Lauren Roberts, take this man, Oliver Liberty, to be your
lawfully wedded husband?"
She hesitated for only a second. "I do," she said breathlessly.
"Do you, Oliver Liberty, take this woman, Lauren Roberts, to be your
lawfully wedded wife?"
He turned to look at her, his eyes full of pride. "I do."
They stood on the terrace of his house in the Bahamas overlooking a
glorious never-ending white beach and a bluer-than-blue ocean.
The setting was idyllic. Lauren wore a simple white dress and flowers
in her hair. Their witnesses were Oliver's housekeeper and her
husband-a friendly black couple who did nothing but beam happily.
When she said "I do" Lauren felt a shudder of apprehension. She was
giving her life to another human being. She was joining with Oliver
and things would never be quite the same.
It's what you want, isn't it, Roberts?
No.
Don't think that way.
What I want is Nick Angelo.
Oh, for God's sake.
Oliver bent to kiss her and she quickly shut out the images of her
past.
Later that night they dined quietly, just the two of them on the
terrace overlooking the sea.
"So, my darling," he said, clasping her hand. "How do you feel?"
She wasn't sure how she felt. "Lightheaded, I guess."
"That's good, because I feel I'm the luckiest man in the world," he
said, clinking his champagne glass with hers.
She sipped her champagne and listened to the soothing sound of the surœ
I'm Mrs. Oliver Liberty.
He's forty years older than me.
I don't care.
You've married a father figure.
That's not true.
After dinner Oliver retired to his study to make a few phone calls.
"It'll give you time to relax," he said.
Why would she require time to relax on her wedding night?
She wandered around the house, finally settling in the master
bedroom.
It was a light and airy room, decorated in earth tones, with another
picturesque view. There was an intricate white lace cover on the bed
and piles of luxurious cushions. She wondered who'd decorated it, wife
number one or wife number two? She decided it was wife number one-far
too tasteful for wife number two.
In the pale beige limestone bathroom she took a shower and slipped into
the sheer white nightgown she'd purchased specially for her wedding
night. By the time she returned to the bedroom Oliver was lying on the
bed in silk pajamas perusing a stack of mail.
"Don't you ever stop?" she asked, standing silhouetted in the
doorway.
"I believe in taking advantage of every moment. This is correspondence
I didn't have time to deal with before I left."
She moved over to the bed. "Was it absolutely necessary to bring it on
our honeymoon?"
He must have noticed her tone of annoyance, because he pushed the mail
to one side. "I'm sorry," he said, reaching for her hand.
"You, my darling," he continued, looking at her for the first time,
"are absolutely ravishing.
Will you ravish me tonight, Oliver?
Will you ravish me until I can't breathe?
"Thank you," she murmured.
"Come over here," he said, pulling her down onto the bed.
This was the first night of their married life and she wanted it to be
memorable. So far their sex life had not progressed very far. Oliver
kept telling her that when they were married things would be different,
and she was ready for the change. She needed a man to take her on a
passionate trip. Only Nick had managed to satisfy her every need, and
she craved that same satisfaction.
Oliver began to kiss and caress her. She responded with a passion
she'd kept hidden from him before. "Oliver, tonight should be
memorable . . ." she murmured, voicing her thoughts.
"Isn't our lovemaking always memorable?" he asked smoothly.
No, it's not. We've never made love properly. All you've done is make
love to me with your tongue.
She demonstrated with actions what she wanted to do to him. As she
began to bend her head, he stopped her abruptly. "What are you
doing?"
"No, Lauren. I don't like you to do that."
"But you do it to me all the time. In fact, that's all you do."
"Because you deserve it."
Deserve it? What kind ofcomment is that?
"Oliver, let me do this to you. You know you'll love it."
"No, Lauren, I will not love it. I refuse to see you in that
position."
"I only want to please you," she said.
"I know, my darling, but that doesn't please me. It's an act I
associate with sex for sale. It's demeaning and I don't expect you to
do it."
She was shocked by his words. Surely, when two people were married
-nothing was demeaning if it was something they both desired?
But if that was the way he wanted it, so be it.
They kissed and caressed some more. His hands fondled her breasts,
stroking her gently. Then his head began traveling down her body,
heading for what he considered to be his proper destination.
Some women might be wild with joy at the thought of a man who gave them
nonstop oral sex, but she'd had enough. Especially as he wouldn't
allow her to do it to him.
"No, Oliver," she said, moving. "I want you to make love to me
properly."
"But, my darling, you enjoy every second of what I do to you.
"Tonight it should be different," she said, reaching to feel his
hardness, and disappointed to discover he was only semi-erect.
"Lauren, my darling," he said, drawing away.
"Yes?"
"I have no desire to disappoint you."
"Why would you disappoint me?"
"Because I'm not twenty-five."
She couldn't help being sarcastic. "Oh, really? And I thought you
were.
"Don't be flippant. When I was a young man I made love all night
long.
When I got to be older I realized there were other pleasures that could
give a woman more joy than anything else."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm not sure I can satisfy you in the way you expect."
"Why can't we try?"
"It's simply that "He hesitated. "Well since I had my pacemaker-"
"Pacemaker?" she said, alarmed.
"Surely I mentioned it? About two years ago I had a heart
irregularity, nothing serious. My doctors decided a pacemaker would
solve the problem."
"You never told me, Oliver."
"I probably didn't think it was that important."
"Of course it's important. We're married. I should know everything
about you.
"Why? Would it have made a difference?"
"No . . ." Her mind was racing. A pacemaker. Did that mean he was
sick? If they made love could he suddenly die? Oh, God, what had she
gotten herself into?
He got up and walked over to the window. "I'm sorry, my dear.
You're right, I should have told you."
She tried to make it easier for him. "Well, you didn't and now I
know.
But we can still make love, can't we?"
"Yes."
"Then come back to bed. I'm not demanding. All I want is to be close
to you.
They stayed in the Bahamas for ten days, during which time Lauren
realized she'd married a man who was not prepared to consummate their
marriage in the normal way. The truth was he wanted to make love to
her his way or not at all. And although his way was very pleasant, it
was hardly the same as being joined together with another person.