Nick Angelo.
Her past swept over her, rendering her speechless.
Their eyes met and locked together. For a moment she couldn't catch
her breath. She felt her heart pounding in her chest and she didn-'t
know what to do. There was no escape.
"Hello, Nick," she said weakly. "This is a surprise."
"I guess we're destined to meet at Jessie's parties, huh?" he said.
"It seems that way," she replied, trying to sound as casual as he.
Oh, God! His eyes were the same piercing green. His hair still jet
black and curly. He still had the indentation in the middle of his
chin which drove her totally crazy.
"It's good to see you," he said, thinking that she looked more
beautiful than ever.
"You too," she murmured.
They talked all the way through dinner. She never turned to her other
side and Lorenzo was not pleased.
They started off with superficial talk, gradually getting more
personal, until eventually he mentioned his trip back to Bosewell and
that he'd heard about her parents and how sorry he was.
She nodded. "It was a frightening time."
"You do know I wrote you," he said, staring at her intently.
"No, I didn't know that."
"Yeah, many times. I guess there was nowhere for the letters to go.
I also wrote you a long letter when I left town explaining why I had to
leave."
"Where did you send it?"
"I left it with Louise at the drugstore. She said she never had a
chance to give it to you, but I didn't know that until I went back."
He continued staring into her eyes. "How're you doing?"
"Fine," she said, not knowing how she was managing to talk at all.
"So you got married," he said.
"Yes. That's my husband at the other table," she said, pointing Oliver
out.
He took a good look. "I don't wanna be rude or anything, but isn't he
too old for you?"
"You are being rude," she said, trying to breathe evenly.
He grinned. "Yeah, well, remember me? I was never Mr. Polite."
She couldn't help smiling back. Yes, she remembered him, she
remembered him only too well. For a moment she got lost in his green
eyes and it was all over. "I thought you didn't care," she murmured.
"I thought the same about you.
She broke the stare and grabbed her glass of wine. Her hand was
shaking and she wished it wasn't, but there was nothing she could do
about it. "It was a long time ago-we were both very young.
"Yeah," he agreed. "Little kids."
"Not that little."
He leaned closer. "You're so goddamn beautiful."
"Nick . . . I . .
She gulped more wine.
"Yes?"
"Oh . . . nothing." Desperately she tried to change the subject.
"Who else did you see in Bosewell?" She held her breath, waiting for
him to tell her his father was dead.
How did he die, Lauren?
You killed him.
"Saw your old friend Meg. Guess what?"
"What?" she asked breathlessly.
"She married that asshole Stock Browning."
"No! Really?"
"Are you surprised."
"Well . . . I guess they do make a perfect couple."
"Jeer! What a pompous prick he was. And you were engaged to him."
"Only by default," she said quickly.
"Don't use big words on me."
She picked up her wine glass again. "Remember the night he broke your
nose?"
"Oh, yeah," he said ruefully. "Like I'm gonna forget that. You took
me home with you and your parents were really thrilled."
"And in the morning we drove to Ripley."
He fixed her with another long stare. "Now that was memorable."
"Very," she said, returning his look.
He shook his head. "Jesus, Lauren-it seems like such a long time
ago.
She turned the stem of the wine glass in her hands. "I thought about
you a lot, Nick. Where did you go?"
"Chicago. Got a job in a club, ended up doing everything. Bartender,
disc jockey-you name it, I did it. Then I moved to L.A."
"It must have been exciting."
"Hey, anything was exciting after Bosewell." He hesitated for a
moment, then added, "Missing you wasn't."
"Did you think about me?" she asked softly.
"Every single day."
"Me too."
"There's something I need to say-" "Lauren." Lorenzo had had enough.
He jabbed her sharply in the ribs. "Introduce me to your friend."
She was shaken back to reality. "Oh, uh, this is Nick. . . Nick
Angelo."
He cleared his throat. "It's Angel now."
"Of course. How could I forget." She began to giggle hysterically.
"Angel. What kind of name is that?"
He grinned. "Hey-it's my professional name, don't make fun of it."
"Oh, well," she said, still giggling, "in that case-Lorenzo, meet Nick
Angel. We used to go to high school together."
"We used to do a lot of things together," Nick said, catching her with
his eyes.
They exchanged intimate smiles.
I love you, Nick. Nothing's changed.
Get real, Roberts. You're a married woman carrying another man's
baby.
You do not need any more complications.
Lorenzo did not appreciate this situation one little bit. He sensed
competition and reacted fiercely. The husband was one thing-easy to
deal with. But this man was a threat, and Lorenzo did not like
threats.
"Recently Lauren and I were in Rome together," he said, snaking a
possessive arm across her shoulders. "Ah, such a romantic city! Have
you been there . . . Rick?"
"It's Nick," Lauren said quickly, moving so that she dislodged his
arm.
"Whatever," Lorenzo said disdainfully.
"No," Nick said. "But I may make a movie there next year." He was
lying-but screw this Italian prick who quite obviously had big eyes for
Lauren.
"Gina Lollobrigida is a very good friend of mine," Lorenzo said,
adjusting a perfect silk cuff.
Nick looked at him blankly. "Gina who?"
"Gina is one of the biggest movie stars in Italy. And a great
beauty."
"This'll be a contemporary film," Nick said, winking at Lauren.
She pushed her chair away from the table and stood up. She was feeling
queasy again.
"You look pale, bellissima," Lorenzo said, leaping to his feet.
"No . . . no, I'm fine. I'll be right back," she said, glancing over
at the other table. Oliver was making conversation with Emerson
Burn.
Good. She had enough to handle with Nick and Lorenzo surrounding
her.
The guest bathroom was occupied, so she made her way down the corridor
to Jessie's bedroom, where she sat on the edge of the bed and attempted
to think straight. It was all too much. Oliver, Emerson, Lorenzo.
.
. and Nick.
The only person she really cared about was Nick. In fact, she loved
him just as much as she always had. He was in her heart and in her
soul, but she was trapped in an impossible situation, and there was
nothing she could do about it.
Nick walked in, startling her. "What's
going on, Lauren?"
"Uh. . . nothing."
"Can I see you?" he asked urgently.
"You are seeing me.
His green eyes captured hers. "You know what I mean."
She knew exactly what he meant.
He walked over and stood very close, pulling her to her feet.
She was melting inside. Falling. . . falling. . . And when he began
to kiss her it was like time stood perfectly still and nothing else
mattered. They kissed feverishly.
His hands touched her face. "Oh God, Lauren, I missed you so much."
She managed to push him away, fighting for her life, desperately trying
to gain control of the situation. "Nick, you're forgetting
something.
I'm married. Very married."
"Get a divorce."
"It's not that easy.
"We'll make it easy.
"No . . . I . . . I can't."
He kissed her again, forcing her to be silent.
She closed her eyes and she was sixteen again, and there was no pain.
She was safe with Nick, she'd always been safe with more him.
He held her tightly and she felt his urgent desire pressing against
her. She knew she should break their embrace, but she didn't have the
strength.
"I love you, Lauren." He whispered the words she was waiting to
hear.
"I've always loved you."
She wasn't sixteen anymore. She was a grown woman and she could do
what she liked.
How do you know he's not lying to you? It's easy for him to say he
wrote you. But remember-he left you pregnant, and now you're pregnant
again.
"Nick . . . I . .
It was too late to protest. She was just as caught up in the passion
of the moment as he was.
They fell back on the bed locked in a dangerous embrace.
His hands began exploring her body beneath her clothes and she lost all
sense of time and place.
"I love you, Lauren," he kept repeating like a mantra. "I love you
love you .
A woman's voice interrupted them. "Excuse me.
Guiltily they broke apart.
Jessie hurried over to her dressing table, pretending she hadn't
noticed what they were up to. "Lauren, Oliver is looking for you," she
said casually, picking up a silver hairbrush. "Oh, and Nick, why don't
you stay here for a few moments."
Lauren felt her cheeks burning. She adjusted her dress and fluffed her
hair. Real life was back with a vengeance.
"Call me, I'm at the Plaza," Nick said in a low voice. "I'll wait for
your call."
She nodded, knowing she wouldn't call.
It was too late to go back.
Nick Angelo was her past. It had to stay that way.
The crowds went crazy. Totally berserk. Nick could hear them before
he left the safety of his limo, screaming his name, yelling
hysterically. Annie sat beside him, impassive as usual. He took
another swig of Scotch from the leaded glass in his hands, put it on
the carpet of the limo and said to his bodyguard, "Okay, let's go."
Igor, an enormous bald black man, said, "Yes, boss," in a feathery
little voice that was at odds with his looks.
They had a routine. Igor left the limousine first and met up with his
other two bodyguards who followed in a backup car. Then the three of
them formed a shield around Nick, and Annie trailed behind as they made
a rush for the entrance of the theater.
It was the premiere of Nick's new movie, Hoodlum. Press and paparazzi
were lined up on either side of the red carpet, thrusting cameras at
him, screaming his name. They were almost as bad as the fans.
He'd learned how to handle it. Stare straight ahead, don't look to the
Stardom.
It was a pisser.
The crowds tonight were unruly. They began trying to break through the
barriers, struggling with the police holding them back.
He quickened his step, holding on to Annie's hand, dragging her along
behind him. After all, she was his wife, it wouldn't do to lose her.
The crowd began to chant, "NICK! NICK! WE LOVE YOU! WE LOVE YOU!"
Yeah, it was all very nice, but sometimes he felt like such a phony.
Who was this person they'd created? This icon? Was it really him?
Was it really Nick Angelo?
They made the lobby of the theater, where he was greeted by his agent,
Freddie Leon. Meena Caron no longer handled his career, he was now
looked after by Freddie, the head of a rival company to
Meena's-I.A.A.
-International Artists Agents.
Freddie was a poker-faced man in his early forties, with cordial
features and a quick bland smile. His nickname was "the Snake,"
because he could slither in and out of any deal. Nobody ever called
him the Snake to his face.
Since Nick had been with him-which was over four years nowFreddie had
guided his career to superstardom status.
Freddie gave Annie a quick peck on the cheek and then ignored her. She
was Mrs. Angel. She deserved an acknowledgment, but that was about
it. Stars' wives had to know how to stay in the background, look
attractive and keep quiet.
Annie was not good at it. Her anger bubbled beneath the surface like a
volcano about to erupt.
Freddie put his arm around Nick's shoulders and they walked into the
theater together-the superagent and the superstar. The
celebrity-filled audience turned to look. These two men were Hollywood
royalty.
Mrs. Freddie Leon waved to Annie and they exchanged empty kisses on
the cheek.
Everybody was smiling except Nick. Bridget, his original publicist,
had taught him well. Moody was best. Moody worked every time.
Bridget was no longer his publicist. He was now represented by Ian
Gem, a wiry P.R. dynamo with flat red hair that looked like a wig,
although it was all his own.
Nick sat down in his reserved seat with Freddie on one side and Annie
on the other. He wished he'd brought his drink in with him, but that
would have caused Ian to throw a fit. It wouldn't do to be seen
drinking in public.
Why the hell not? He could do whatever the fuck he liked.
Carlysle Mann walked down the aisle and waved at him. She was with her
new husband-a studio head with a tired expression and crinkle-cut
hair.
Christ! Living with Carlysle was enough to make anybody exhausted.
He and Annie rarely exchanged words anymore. Nearly seven years of a
loveless marriage and they were growing more apart every day.
The more famous he became, the more hostile Annie was. She would never
forgive him for the career she'd never had.
He'd married Annie for two reasons: one-the anonymous body buried
somewhere in the Nevada desert; two-the fact that she was pregnant. He
had a daughter now-the one light of his life. She was named Lissa.
The audience settled into their seats, twisting and turning, greeting
him, waving, blowing air kisses, generally brown-nosing. These were
the same people who'd once ignored him. Fuck em. He could play the
Hollywood game as well as anyone.
He'd seen the movie at
least fifty times. One of the enjoyable things
about making movies was the editing process. He'd gotten into that on
his third movie, and now with every film he made, he liked to sit in
with the editors-viewing the film frame by frame, shaping it to make it
exactly what he wanted.
He knew he was only allowed to do this because he had the power.
Last week he'd told Freddie that he wanted to direct.