Lovers and Liars Page 25

  Why was this different?

  Why did his stomach turn over every time he thought of Leah?

  He knew why.

  It was like being confronted with Janet. It was like going back into the past. Even Leah looked at him with contempt as if she were superior, the way Janet had when he’d been a boy. Leah reminded him of his abandonment. Of the love his damn mother had never given.

  But there was more. If the press got hold of Leah, alive and breathing and in the flesh, it would be different from the phony bullshit the rags had glorified in the past. This was real, and he was vulnerable right now. Bad PR could kill him. If he wasn’t already dead.

  Maybe he should get her her own apartment.

  How long was she going to stay in L.A.?

  He reached for his phone. Majoriis was not going to call him back—he knew it as sure as he knew he would take another breath after this one. It was very hard to believe he was being treated like this, when it hadn’t been so long ago that he had been fawned over, his every wish—no, his every whim—granted by the studio. Pricks.

  “Mr. Majoriis is in a meeting, Mr. Ford,” the secretary told him coolly.

  “Listen, sweetheart,” he purred. “This is crucial, a matter of life and death. I have to speak to Ted.”

  “I’m sorry, he absolutely cannot—oh, hello, Mr. Glassman, yes, please go right in. Good-bye, Mr. Ford.” Click.

  Jack stared at the phone. Glassman. It was too ironic. Too goddamn ironic.

  Leah breezed in, still wearing her leather barely-there dress and spikes from the night before. “Hi, Bro.”

  She swept right past him into her bedroom, and Jack followed her. “Leah.”

  “Can’t it wait? I’m beat.”

  “No, it can’t.” He watched her as she stepped out of the heels and flung her purse on the bed. “What happened?”

  “My, we are lascivious!” She grinned. Unzipping the front of her dress.

  At the sight of her bare bosom, Jack averted his face. “For crissake, I’m trying to talk to you!”

  “And I need a bath,” she said, stepping out of the dress.

  Furious, Jack pulled a robe off a hook and shoved it at her, ignoring her bare body. “What is wrong with you?”

  “Too bad we’re related,” Leah said, slipping on the robe.

  “What happened?”

  “What do you think? The old goat can still get it up.”

  “What did you tell him?” He wanted to strangle her.

  “Oh, about my past? Don’t worry, dear. Our secret’s safe. He thinks I’ve been waiting tables since I was twelve—not giving blow jobs.” She walked into the bathroom and ran the tub.

  “You didn’t take money from him, did you?”

  “Of course not! What am I, an idiot?” Her eyes sparkled with good humor. “I actually like the old guy. I wouldn’t mind seeing him on a steady basis.” She tested the water. “Of course, if he wants to see me, he’s going to have to give me something for my time. Don’t rich stars clothe their mistresses in furs and diamonds and such, Jack?”

  She meant it. She really wanted to know the answer. “Hamilton is married, you know,” Jack said testily.

  “Yes, but he likes me.” She smiled. “I mean, after last night, he really likes me.”

  Jack was getting a headache. “So you’re intending to stay for a while?”

  “I can’t ever go back to New York,” she told him.

  He stared. “Why not?”

  “Jack,” she said, very serious now, “my pimp would find me and kill me.”

  Jack tried to absorb what she said.

  “And he’d take a long time to do it too,” she added casually, dipping her toe in the tub. “Umm, perfect. Here, be a dear.” And she handed him the robe, sliding into the steaming water.

  With immense relief he heard the phone ring. The timing couldn’t have been better. It was Melody. “Jack, I’ve found out something very interesting,” she said, a strange, almost gloating tone in her voice.

  “What’s that?”

  “North-Star has no intention of resuming production of Outrage. They’re dumping it.”

  He wasn’t aware of hanging up. He wasn’t aware of anything except the pounding of his heart and the sure knowledge that Glassman would not stop until he had completely destroyed him.

  Jack grabbed his phone book, flipped through, very intent. He dialed. Peter Lansing answered on the third ring. “Sorry to bother you,” Jack said abruptly. “I need information—immediately. Where does Abe Glassman stay when he’s in town?”

  It was called the horse’s mouth.

  And he was going to go straight to it.

  81

  It was about ten minutes into the movie that Rick became intensely aware of Lydia.

  She’d picked him up at seven, arriving in jeans, sneakers, and a baggy T-shirt, not even tucked in. She was brown as a berry, which surprisingly made her big dark eyes seem bigger and darker. He thought she might have lip gloss on her mouth, but he wasn’t sure. Her hair was almost to her shoulders but cut like a boy’s.

  “Hi, Rick,” she said with a big smile.

  It was funny, but her smile and her good nature brought out an equivalent response in him, and he was smiling too. “Hey, kid.”

  She frowned. “I’m older than you, boy.”

  “Yeah, two months.”

  “Still, that makes me an older woman.”

  Rick laughed.

  “What’s going on in here?” Jack asked, stepping out of his bedroom.

  Rick immediately tensed. “This is Lydia,” he said, no longer smiling, waiting for her to drool all over his brother.

  Jack smiled. “Hi.”

  Lydia said hi politely, then grabbed Rick’s arm. “Want to go?”

  Rick was stunned. Did she know who Jack was? “Yeah, okay.”

  “You guys have a good time,” Jack said, smiling. “I intend to be home before you, Rick. Can you keep it down when you come in?” He was already at the door.

  “Sure,” Rick said, still amazed. Lydia had barely looked at Jack. When they were in the elevator, he said, “He’s probably going to bring home a girl.”

  Lydia shrugged. “You look better,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Than when you first came to school. Taller. Not so skinny.”

  “You look the same,” Rick said, then was sorry he’d said it. He hoped she wouldn’t be offended.

  “We can’t all look like Patty Epherton.” Lydia was not in the least perturbed.

  “You’re much nicer than she is,” Rick told her, meaning it.

  “Anyone’s nicer than she is.”

  Now, in the theater, he was intensely aware of Lydia, and his awareness was resulting in a throbbing hard-on.

  Sitting side by side, her shoulder touched his, and when he put his arm on the armrest, his bare skin touched the flesh of her forearm. She leaned closer to whisper something in his ear, and a breast pressed against his arm, becoming crushed. Her hair brushed his cheek. He had no idea what she was saying, but she smelled good, like soap, but lemony maybe, not all perfumed like a whore.

  He wanted to kiss her.

  It was all he could think about. He stared at the screen and had no idea what was going on, and he didn’t know why he couldn’t get up the courage to make a move. He had had lots of girls! Yeah, but not like her. They were all paid for, or easy at least. He wasn’t sure Lydia had ever been kissed.

  Everyone in the theater laughed at the show, except for Rick.

  Lydia leaned over and again her soft breast brushed against him, and whispered, “What’s wrong? Don’t you—”

  He kissed her, cutting her off.

  She stiffened while he put his left arm around her shoulders, holding her so she wouldn’t move away. Then her lips softened.

  He had never known kissing was so exciting.

  Her mouth opened; she kissed him back. Rick’s other arm went around her. Her hands went around his neck, and Ric
k deepened the pressure, darting his tongue into her mouth. She stiffened again. He withdrew it, kissing her less intimately for a long, long time.

  He realized as he was kissing her that he really liked her.

  Somehow, he knew she was a virgin.

  He knew no one had ever stuck his tongue into her mouth before.

  He wanted to touch one of her breasts but was sure she wouldn’t go for it.

  Instead his mouth played in hers until she pulled away. He was dismayed, until he realized people were getting up and the movie was over. Soon the lights would be going on. Time had flown.

  She stared at the credits on the screen, and he could hear her breathing, even though she was trying not to breathe so loudly. Rick felt flooded suddenly with a feeling that was unusual for him. It was warm and caring. She had a beautiful profile. Perfect, really. A sloping forehead, a straight, small nose, full lips … which tasted wonderful—he should know, he had just spent an hour kissing them! A pointy chin. He took her hand and held it.

  She glanced at him shyly.

  “Let’s go have something to eat,” he said. His voice cracked.

  The lights came on. She was looking at him with a shy smile, but her face was flushed—how had he ever not thought she was pretty!—and her eyes were shining. “Sure,” she said, her voice a nervous squeak.

  They both laughed.

  82

  The Ferrari took a comer ruthlessly.

  Wheels screeching.

  Now was not the time to be thinking of Belinda. Jack wanted to shove her not just out of his mind but out of his life. Impossible. The obsession wouldn’t quit. Yet she was the enemy—wasn’t she?

  He should not have to remind himself of how and what she was. The spoiled daughter of his arch enemy—the man he was sure was trying to destroy him—the man he was on his way to see.

  He put his arms around her and kissed her.

  She felt absolutely nothing.

  Belinda let him kiss her for one more beat, out of charity and guilt, then pushed him away. They were standing on her doorstep, outside. She tried a smile and made it. “Thank you, Adam, for a very nice evening.”

  “Only very nice?” he teased.

  “Very, very nice.”

  “You want me to leave?”

  Belinda looked at him. He had shown up on her doorstep with flowers and all kinds of sympathy, which in her state of mind had been impossible to resist. Adam was kind. And they were friends. He had been entertaining and thoughtful and the past few hours had flown.

  “Adam—my arm,” she said. There was no way she could have hidden everything from him. But she had fibbed and told him Mary was a burglar. She wasn’t up to revealing the truth.

  “We could just sleep together, hold each other.”

  “Please, I’m not feeling very well.”

  “I’m sorry. Think about next weekend,” he urged. He had invited her to Santa Barbara.

  “I promise,” she said, and watched him leave. The instant his Mercedes was gone, someone stepped out of the shadows. A man.

  Belinda jumped, frightened.

  “Who the hell was that?” Vince demanded.

  She stared, unable to believe that Vince had been lurking about, waiting for her. “What were you doing?”

  “I came by to see how you’re doing,” he said bitterly. “Expecting you to be in bed—like the doctor ordered. But oh, no! You were screwing around. Were you screwing around? How many are there, Belinda? How many guys do you give it to?”

  “I don’t have to answer that,” she said furiously. “I don’t owe you anything.”

  “I love you,” Vince raged. “Are you sleeping with him?” He grabbed her.

  “Ow! Dammit! That’s my sore arm.” He released her, and she stepped away from him.

  “I’m sorry,” Vince said quickly. “Belinda—I’m divorcing Mary.”

  Belinda took a breath. “That’s entirely your decision, Vince.”

  “Any other woman would be thrilled.”

  “Vince … there’s no easy way to say this. It’s over between you and me.”

  “What? Didn’t you hear me? I want to marry you!”

  She felt terribly sorry for him and equally annoyed that she had to go through this. Not to mention guilty—because this was her fault. “I don’t love you,” she said softly.

  In the dim light she could see his eyes—hurt and anguished, like a betrayed puppy’s. “We don’t have to get married,” he said urgently. “We could keep things the way—”

  “No,” she said firmly. “I’m sorry, Vince. It’s over.”

  Fuck Jack.

  Melody knew she was becoming a different person, but she was too angry to care. A part of her was appalled at what she was doing; the other part was applauding.

  She thought about Peter. Peter had now become important to her. What right did he have to get angry with her? What did he know about pain, heartache, betrayal? She had given the past four years of her life to Jack Ford—a selfish, egotistical, insensitive bastard. What did Peter know—how dare he judge?

  He couldn’t be angry with her.

  Not now, not when she needed him.

  She reached for the phone.

  “This is Lansing,” came the smooth, cocky voice. “I am unavailable now. Please leave all information, and I’ll get back to you. Beeep.”

  Melody exhaled. “Peter, this is Melody. I—I’m sorry. For whatever I did. If you still want, I’m available tomorrow night.” Her voice broke and she hung up. Then she smiled broadly. Perfect. God, she should be an actress! He would come around.

  He had to.

  Because he was part of The Plan.

  Lansing was deep inside the sex machine.

  Her name was actually Nora. She had already reached oblivion—twice, in fact; and now Lansing felt it was his turn. After all, he had no interest in making this an all-nighter. He was almost there when the phone rang.

  With a sixth sense he knew beyond a doubt who it was.

  He was thrusting as the message in his machine came on. “This is Lansing … unavailable … all information … get back to you. Beeep.”

  He was almost there.

  Nora was making appropriate noises and motions.

  “Peter, this is Melody,” Melody said, sounding fragile and vulnerable. He started to deflate. “I—” She choked, her voice breaking. “—I’m sorry. For whatever I did. If you still want, I’m available tomorrow night. Click.”

  He lost his erection.

  Lansing groaned, rolling off Nora.

  “Who is that?” Nora asked.

  “Fuck,” Lansing said.

  “I don’t think you can, honey,” Nora replied.

  Lansing stared at the ceiling. She had sounded so upset and fragile and vulnerable. Shit. He had been raised to be a gentleman. He had been pretty rude, even if it was because of jealousy.

  He really did owe her an apology.

  “Fuck,” he said again.

  “Well, I’m still game,” Nora said, placing her hand on his limp member.

  Abe opened the door, smiling. Yes, he had been surprised when the doorman had announced Jack. But he had recovered quickly; he was in control.

  And he loved it.

  Jack didn’t smile back. He stared, willing his face to show no expression but not succeeding in hiding anger—deep, gut-wrenching hatred. “Berenger was good,” Jack said vehemently.

  Abe grinned. “I think it was shit.”

  “And that means it is shit, correct?”

  “You’re bright—boy.”

  Jack tensed. He wanted to punch this arrogant, powerful lunatic, but he didn’t dare. “Level with me.”

  “Gladly.”

  “This is because of me. It has nothing to do with the product.”

  Abe laughed. “Very good. Top of the class.”

  “What do you want from me?” Jack said.

  “To see you in the gutter, where you belong.”

  Jack stared. Abe was no lon
ger smiling. His face was a mask of burning hatred, and it was frightening. He took a step back. One word loomed in his mind. Psychotic.

  “By the time I get through with you, boy, you’re gonna wish you’d never been born.”

  “And Outrage? It really is cancelled, isn’t it?”

  Abe smiled. “Just try and break your contract, boy. I’m waiting.”

  It was all out in the open now. Berenger would never be released. Outrage was finished. And he was still locked into an exclusive contract with North-Star, until he completed a third film for them. Jack didn’t have to ask to know that there wasn’t going to be another film. He was going to spend the rest of his life waiting for one that would never come through. This was it. He was out to pasture. He could not go up against Glassman. Not on his turf.

  Not legally.

  “Explain one thing,” Jack said tersely. “Why? Why, after all these years?”

  Abe bared his teeth in a mirthless smile. “You killed my son.”

  Jack blinked.

  “Nancy was almost four months pregnant. She was leaving me and running to you. She miscarried my son—my heir.”

  As he absorbed what had happened, Jack opened his mouth to protest. In the same instant he realized that nothing he would say could change what Abe believed—what he had believed for seventeen long years. His jaw worked and he turned and walked away, his heart pumping furiously. Behind him, he heard Abe’s laughter—loud, heartfelt, raucous. He rang for the elevator.

  Glassman was not just vindictive.

  He was obsessed.

  Jack was down low and about to be ruined. Abe held all the cards—no one’s career could survive Glassman’s vengeance. He knew it without a doubt.

  It was over.

  His career was over.

  But his life wasn’t. He was a fighter. And this was war. And it had just begun—because now he had nothing to lose.

  So he could fight dirty.

  The idea formed out of nowhere.

  Revenge.

  Belinda Glassman.

  PART FOUR

  LOVERS

  January—

  February

  1988

  83

  The phone rang insistently.