Chapter I


Megan Silver woke up with an idea worth a million
dollars.

Not that she realized it, of course. The excitement
sweeping through her, that sweet adrenalin ruh, was just a
sudden panic to jot something down on paper quickly, to
grab what she remembered of the dream before it faded.
Groaning, Megan reached blindly for the scruffy notebook
affd ballpoint pen she kept by her bed, hopefully, in
case something like this should ever happen. It never
had before.

The pen had rolled onto the floor. Megan patted the
dusty wasteland under her bed with one hand, feebly, not
wanting to get up to look for it. The pain of her hangover
throbbed under her temples, but she didn't care, couldn't care, it was such an incredible story, she had to get it down
right now.

Thank God, she thought, her fingers dosing round
the biro.

She grabbed the notebook and began to scribble, long,
flowing sentences, her spidery handwriting streaking
across the page. Outside her tiny bedroom window the
first red streaks of dawn had appeared over the San
Francisco skyline.


'He left me,' Declan announced an hour later, marching
into her bedroom without knocking. 'Do you hear me?


I

He I me.' He struck a pose of exaggerated grief, looking

across at his flatmate to check she was suitably shocked.

'Who left you?' Megan murmured, barely looking up

from her story. Ripped-up sheets ofpaperlittered the bed,
covering the old copies of@in magazine and British music
papers she'd been reading last night. She'd been jotting
down ideas since she woke up, not stopping to use the
bathroom or make a coffee. Like she had time for Dec's
crash-and-burn dramatics right now! This story was
different to all the others. She was sure about that. She
didn't know why, but she was sure.

'Jason,' Declan said, in tones of utter despair. 'We were

at The Box last night and he left with somebody else. Some asshole,' he added viciously. 'The guy had a crew-cut and a
signet ring. A real yuppie.'

Megan smiled despite herself. 'Dec, you've been on

exactly three dates with the guy.'

'But I thought he was '

'The One? You think every guy's The One,' Megan

said, putting the notebook down. She'd just about got it
now, and anyway, when Declan wanted to talk, he wanted
to talk. 'Come on, you don't even care. You just want me
to tell you how attractive you are and how you can have
anyone you want.'

'That's not true,' Declan said, giving himselfa smouldering
glance in the mirror. 'Although I have put on weight

lately. Does it show?'
Megan sighed, turning her full attention to the sculpture

of masculine beauty that was Declan Heath. Wiry,
muscular torso, thin and fit from dancing all night on
Ecstasy. Eyes the colour of Irish mist with silver-grey lashes
to match. Black hair curling loose round the nape of the
neck in accepted Generation X style. Totally gorgeous,
totally unavailable. Like just about everything she wanted
in life.

'No,' she said. 'But you look great anyway.'

'Why don't you get dressed?' Dec suggested. 'We could
go down to Ground Zero and get coffee.., don't look at
me like that, I got paid yesterday. I'll buy. OK?'

He sauntered out of her bedroom, and seconds later she
heard 'Mountain Song' by Jane's Addiction flood the tiny
flat.

Megan got dressed, not wanting to face the day. She felt
like shit after last night and she dreaded whatever the post
was about to bring- another bill, another sheaf of rejection
letters from New York agents, or worse, the printed
rejection slips from publishers attached to the top of her
thick manuscripts by a single paperclip, the only acknowledgment
of eight solid months of work. Sometimes it was
so tough to be hopeful. She'd worked so hard on that novel
- nights, weekends, whatever time she could sneak out of
her dismal $IO an hour job at the library - and it seemed
like it was being turned down by more people than she'd
even sent it to.

In a way, it was uncool to care. The slacker generation
wasn't supposed to give a damn about material success.
You needed some kind of job to get by, just enough
money to pay for the essentials, like coffee and music and
clubs and speed, but that was about it. Megan and Declan
could cover a tiny rent between them, afford minim.l
amounts of food, and dressed at the hippest thrift stores

San Francisco - Wasteland and AAadvark's on Haight,
Hunter's Moon on Valencia in the Mission district. They
got into most clubs for flee and went to every chic gig in
the city. Declan was a failed artist andpart-time comic store
sales assistant, and Megan was a failed writer and part-time
filing clerk at the public library. They defined style.

Except that Megan Silver was getting sick of style. She
wanted someone besides Dec to read her book.

She dressed in seconds, snatching her oversized Levi's
from the floor where she'd left them last night, belting
them over a Soundgarden shirt and pulling on large,


3

clumpy biker boots. No make-up, but she finished the
effect with two armfuls of jangling copper bracelets and a
heavy crystal ring. Megan didn't have that many clothes, so
choosing an outfit never took long. Whatever she had that
was clean lay strewn casually about the bombsite that was
her room, over the bed and'the ratty Indian rug, under her
beloved posters of Nirvana and Veruca Salt and Dark
Angel. Dark Angel was her favourite band; their huge,
bleak soundscapes had been the backdrop to her college
years, the hamrnerhead rhythms and black harmonies
firing her up when she worked, lamenting with her when
depression bit, slipping under her skin when she made
love. A superband for the late nineties, the soundtrack of
the generation.

' They'd split up last week, and Megan felt ridiculously
upset about it. Not that she'd been the only one - Sasha
Stone, a friend of Dedan's, had sat in front of them in the
Horseshoe Car6 and sobbed her heart out, mascara running
down her cheeks in grimy black rivulets.

'Come on, this is embarrassing,' Megan had said, trying

to Let Sasha to accept a tissue. 'They're just one band.'

'Don't be bourgeois,' Declan snapped, flinging a velvet
covered arm round her shaking shoulders. 'It's serious. All
art is serious.'

'Zach!' sobbed Sasha wildly. 'Zach Mason totally
betrayed everybody who believed in him!'

'He was a singer, not the Messiah,' Megan said, rather

coldly. 'And you wouldn't be so upset it'you didn't want to

screw him so badly. He'll make some solo records, I guess.'
'Do you think so?' Sasha gulped hopefully.
'Jesus Christ, how old are you?'

'Megan,' said Declan. 'Sasha is hurting here! Show a

little compassion.'

'Nobody died,' Megan muttered, rebelliously.

How old was Sasha? Wasn't the real question, how old

was she? Twenty-four and not a damn thing to show.for it,

except an English degree from Berkeley. And here she
was, sitting in a car6 with an adult woman who was
cracking up because a rock group had disbanded.

That was the day when the restlessness had started to
creep back in.

Megan twisted in front of the mirror, semi-satisfied. She
looked good. Nothing special, but pretty good. She had
soft chestnut hair curling gently down to the nape of the
neck, clever brown eyes, a clear skin rendered somewhat
pallid from too much partying all night and sleeping all day.
Underneath the funky, shapeless uniform she'd pulled
together her body was nicely curved in an unfashionable
way: swelling breasts, feminine calves, maybe h little
chunky round the thighs, weight she had never been able
to shake. Megan was glad of the hip-hop culture and its
outsize style. She hated her body. Most days she hated her
looks; OK, so she wasn't exactly ugly, but amongst all the
golden California butterflies she was a death's-head moth.
Invisible.

It had been like that since the day she was born,
youngest of six in a Catholic household in Sacramento,
one more mouth to feed for an overworked electrician and
a harassed mother who found it hard to cope. Not that
she'd been abused or neglected, but they just didn't have
much time or attention for her. Megan was no beauty, like
her twin sisters Jane and Lucy, slim and lithe as gazelles, nor
a strapping sporty guy like her three elder brothers, Martin,
Peter and Eli. Not ugly enough to inspire pity, not smart
enough to inspire concern, Mean grew up dating the OK
guys Jane and Lucy didn't want, and making average
grades, and resenting the hell out of everybody, all the
time. When she did scrape into Berkeley, Megan Silver
suspected that the congratulations of her family had been
mingled with relief that she was leaving Sacramento.

Well, that's mutual, Megan thought angrily, tugging the
Soundgarden shirt more loosely over her waist. If I never


5

see that dump again it'll be too soon. Why should I stay

there and rot in Sacramento?

When you could come here and rot in San Francisco? finished

the snide, carping little voice in her brain.

'Are you ready?' Declan yelled. 'We'll be late.'

She took one last look at herself, shrugged, and went to

join him.

'We already are,' she murmured.


Everybody struggled out of bed at eleven, the days they
didn't have to work, and sometimes on the days they did;
Jesus, if you believed all the excuses and hacking coughs
that went singing down the phone wires to employers

,every morning, you'd think a serious epidemic had
afflicted San Francisco's twentysomething population.
Mostly, the bosses rarely complained. What they were
offering was dead-end jobs paying little more than minimum wage, hardly worth coming off welfare for;
what they were getting was sullen, unproductive employee
who knew their worth and thus sold themselves cheap.
Everybody's just marking time, Megan thought, as they
strolled up Haight towards Ground Zero. Like time will
last forever.

It was quarter of twelve, and the cold mist was just
beginning to clear, melting away in the thin autumn sun.
Declan strutted down the street, waving and smiling at all
their friends hanging out; Haight truly was the centre of his
universe, Megan thought, smiling affectionately at her
friend. He never feels hemmed in. Why should he? This is
more than enough for Dec... Why can't it be enough for
me?

'Hey, Megan! Hey, Dec! What's up?'

Trey, Declan's best friend and ex-lover, waved at them

from an inside table, and they threaded their way through
the usual crowd to join him: beat poets, bikers, art students,
potheads, and the occasional brave tourist from Europe.


6

Megan had once seen Ground Zero listed in a student
guidebook as 'the official caf of the Apocalypse', a
description that always made her laugh.

'Ola, what's up?' Trey said. 'Megan, Dec, this is
Francine, Rick and Consuela. Consuela's a model,' he
added, showing off. Trey collected cool people as if they
were stamps.

Megan glanced at her as she sat down; silken olive skin, a
little button nose, chic hair in a sleek bob, and no more
than Io5 pounds under that Nirvana jacket. Consuela
didn't have the exquisite bone structure you really needed
to make it in modelling- Megan could see that right off
but what did that matter? She was beautiful, confident,
everything Megan had never been. When Consuela
decided to get down to work, she'd have it easy. She
would not wind up working at the San Francisco Public

Library p,rt-time for ten bucks an hour.

'Hi,' Consuela said.

'Megan's a writer. A novelist,' Trey told the others,
exhibiting her for their approval.

'A novelist? Wow, that's so cool,' Francine sighed,
laconically, not meaning a word of it.

Tm not a novelist. I'm a filing clerk,' Megan said coldly,
ignoring the furious gestures being semaphored across the
table from Declan.

'Oh, she only says that because the big corporations
haven't sent her a fat cheque yet' he explained. 'You
should be pleased they haven't let you sign your soul
away.'

'Dedan's an artist,' said Trey.

Declan preened. 'Of course, lifeis art,' he acknowledged
modestly. 'I just express it as best I can.'

'Cool,' said Rick, not looking up from his coffee.

'I guess the only reason they haven't signed you is that
they don't understand artistic integrity,' Consuela said to
Megan, soothingly.

'How would you know?' asked Megan, pushing her

fringe out of her eyes. 'You've never even seen my book.'
'Megan!' Declan hissed.

'Actually, they haven't signed me because my book
sucks,' Megan went on relentlessly. In that moment, she
knew it was true. tkealization hit her like a flash of
lightning; her mannered, meandering study of teenage
ennui, which she had thought was poetic and evocative,
was in tact stunningly boring.

'Why did you write it then?' asked Francine, stung to
hostility.

Trey leaned forward, in hopeful anticipation of a scene.

'I have no idea,' Megan replied, shrugging. She felt
lighthearted and free, somehow. It felt good to admit that,

' something she'd maybe known all along; she'd written to a
blueprint her friends would approve of, eschewing such
outdated concepts as plot, and the result had been just
terrible.

'So what will you do now you aren't a writer?'
demanded Francine, bitchily.


	Megan looked at them all: so fly, so hip, so laid-back

they were practically horizontal. Going nowhere fast.

Then she thought of her dream, the new story, the
adventure, lying in her bedroom in twenty pages of
scrawled notes.

'I am a writer,' she said. Tmjust going to do it better.

I'm going to write a movie.'

Chapter 2


The excitement was so strong you could almost taste it.

Ikight now, Alessandro Eco ruled fashion. Where. he led,
the press followed panting. He was this year's brilliant new
discovery, the darling of the demi-monde, the first real
superdesigner to shoot to fame since the meteoric rise of
Donna Karan. Vogue, Harper's, Elle, Style with Elsa Klensch- you name it, they all swooned over his tight bodices,
sculpturerl heels, clever little bias-cut skirts, the dramatic
choice of fabrics, the way he owned colour, darling, it was
simply too wonderful...

Real women loved Alessandro too. His clothes, and the
cheaper knockofl of them that reached the high street two
seasons late, flattered curves, rejoiced in breasts, and
forgave a multitude of sins around the thigh area. Last year
every working woman had saved for that one Alessandro
suit, every socialite had themed her wardrobe around him,
and every teenager had bought their copy of Vogue and
fantasized. It was fashion's version of the American Dream
- that one collection by an unl. own that takes the world
by storm.

That was the first reason everybody was here. In Chicago, for God's sake. Paris, New York, Milan, even
London at a pinch, but Chicago? Surely only Alessandro
would dare. It was a power trip, pure and simple, for
Alessandro Eco to show his summer collection -just one
designer, mark you - in Chicago and expect the entire


9

aristocracy of style to rearrange their travel itineraries
around him.

Which was where the second reason kicked in.
Fashion editors and photographers milled around,
mingling with famous Hollywood actors, minor European
royalty, rock stars escorting their model girlfriends. The
Leeward Hall was packed to the gills, bubbling with
excited talk and reeking of perfume, spotlights and money.
Behind the front row seats reserved for the serious players,
anorexic-looking wives of Wall Street tycoons fought
bitterly over the exact positions of their little gold-backed
chairs. I.t was important to be noticed, vital to be seen.
Because it wasn't merely Alessandro's new collection that
was on offer here. Millions of dollars had gone into
ensuring that this collection would have the eyes of the
entire world trained upon it. And in the I99OS, there was
only one way to do that.

Supermodels. All of them. It was a coup unparalleled in

the history of fashion, and Lord alone knew what it had
cost, but Eco's people had done the impossible, obtaining
every single one for the same show. Security was tight
enough for the President of the United States. If this hall
was bombed tonight, the most beautiful flowers that the
Western world had discovered would all be crushed
together.

Cindy. Linda. Naomi. Eva. Saffron. Nadja. Shalom. It

was a pantheon ofgodlesses, beauty in its most ideal form,
from all age groups, all body types. (Jerry was returning to
do this one show, that was the rumour, and there was Mick
in the centre front row, sitting fight next to Oprah, so it
must be true!) Helena, Christy, Claudia, Isabella, Yasmin!
The list went on forever! Paulina, Shiraz, Lauren, Tatijana,
Kate... if she had graced the cover of a major magazine,
she would be there, a blossoming supernova, when the
moment came, amongst the lesser stars that would glitter,


IO

only fractionally less beautiful, up and down the runway in
a constant, seamless slipstream of perfection.

It was even being hinted that she might appear.

A fresh wave of suspense swept the room. The big
chandelier lights faded to black, leaving the stage darkened
apart from a single beige spotlight, selected from the
hundreds rigged at the top of the ceiling, ftltered with all
the different colours of the rainbow. The only sound was
the heavy, excited breathing of the spectators and the
hushed whirr of TV cameras, positioned around the
runway and suspended from the walls. The vast screens

erected at either side of the catwalk were dull and dead.
They waited.

And then, with the perfect synchronicity of a ballet,
Aretha Franklin blasted from the Siemens speakers lining
every wall, the stage erupted in an explosion of coloured
lights, roe petals fluttered down from the ceiling, and the
first figure strutted, alone, onto the catwalk.

Naomi! It was Naomi! Opening the show in a long
white dress, a formal evening gown, the last thing anybody
had expected from Alessandro, but too perfect, backless
and gathered, an exquisite contrast against the rich
chocolate of her skin...

Pent-up anticipation was released in an orgasmic frenzy
of applause, popping flashbulbs, scribbling pens. They
were in seventh heaven! And now Tatijana, in a black
leather jacket and shining blue pants - what were they
made of? Vinyl? Spandex? The fashion editors gave a
common sigh of satisfaction. So it had been worth cutting
Paris short. This season, at least, the king would not be
dethroned.


'She won' do it, she say she won' do it!' Alessandro
moaned, his words a wail of despair. He could hardly be
heard in the commotion that was backstage, the super.model
sisterhood greeting each other raucously, the less


II

famous models panicking about their hairpieces and
bitching because a favoured stylist had hung a jacket
wrong; the blare of the music, the din ofjoy and hysteria,
and at least two hairdressers in tears, and Michael Winter,
Alessandro's PA, had to strain to catch him. 'I cannot
believe it! She is promised me, now, for two months! She will be the finale, she will make the show live forever! But
now she will not come out! She will not do it! She has ruin
everything, everything I work for for so long!'

'The show will live forever anyway,' Michael soothed
him loudly, shouting above the noise. 'They love you,
Alessandro! They're going crazy for the girls and crazy for
your clothes. Like we phnned. It is petto.' He kissed his
fingertips in an extravagant gesture of reassurance.

' The designer grabbed his hpels. 'Non es perfetto,' he
yelled. 'It is good! OK, this I understarid! But it is not pect! It has to be perfect,t' He took a breath, and Michael
winced; the veins on his boss's neck were standing out like
whipcords.

'Michle, they are vultures! They expect only the best,
ar;d if they do not get it, they will turn on me! Don't you
understand? Now, yes, now they clap, now they are happy
to see all the girls.., but if she does not appear, later, aer
the show, that is when the doubts come in. That we are nearly good enough, but not quite.., not good enough for her.'

Michael paused, unsvilling to accept that possibly, just
possibly, Eco was right. He had always admired Alessandro
for his street-smarts and above all, for realizing that great
clothes- even inspired clothes -were just half the battle.
Fashion was just that. Fashion. Style. Showbusiness. And by
promising to deliver all the world's most beantiful women,
all wearing Alessandro, they'd taken a huge PtL gamble. If
it worked, the company name could be shot to a level
where it would sit alongside not Katharine Hamnett or
1Lalph Lauren, but Chanel, Gucci and Christian Dior.


I2

That was the Holy Grail; to be so big no fashion ed could
shoot you down.

But maybe they wouldn't get there. A show this
expensive was one hell of a PK stunt, and it had better
work. And if the focus was not on the girls who were there,
but on the one girl who wasn't...

Winter shuddered. 'Why won't she do it?'

'She is lock herself in her dressing room, she is refusing
to come out,' snarled Alessandro. 'She not tell me why. I

hate her. She is a grade-A bitch.'

'You got that right.'

'Mich$le. I want you to find her agent,' snapped
Alessandro, his English miraculously improving under
pressure. 'Promise him anything he wants. Anything at all.
We need her for the finale, and we must have her.'


'Babe, please.'

Robert Alton knelt in front of the door, models tripping
over his calves as they rushed to the stage and the eyes of
several amused cameramen boring into the back of his
head. Sweat trickled down his pudgy neck and ran in nasty
little rivulets under his collar. His career was flashing in
front of his eyes.

'Sweetheart?' he tried again, yelling, his plump little
chin pressed dose to the keyhole.

'Get lost, Kobert,' snapped the voice inside. 'I have no
desire to talk to you whatsoever.'

A couple of the cameramen sniggered, and Robert felt
the familiar well of hatred and humiliation boil up inside
him.

'Honey, I know you like to be private, but we really
have to do this show.'

' We don't have to do anything.'

It was a sweet voice, the tones low and dulcet, but
packed with such venom that even her agent, used to it
took a step back.


13

'We're committed. We took a million dolhrs in fee.'

'You mean you're committed. You put the dress on,

Bob. You'll probably rely enjoy it.'

Bitch! Bitch! Bitch! God, how he loathed her!
'Alessandro is tearing his hair out, babe. You know that
the whole deal will be nothing without you. Please, angel,
everybody's counting on you.'

'We all have our problems.' A beat. 'And he has enough

stars out there. He doesn't need me. There are a million

girls. Tell him to use Cindy for the finale.'

Was that it? Alton felt a surge of hope at the faint chink

in her armoury. A drowning man, grateful for a straw to
clutch at, he thought bitterly.

'Stars? Those are ornaments!' he yelled contemptuously,

, praying to Christ that nobody heard him. Elite and Models
One would put a contract out on him if they did. 'There's
only one star here, sugar, and she won't come out of her
dressing room. Cindy won't do, you know that. Christy,
Claudia? Phhh!' He made what he hoped was a suitably
dismissive noise.

"It won't work, Bob. I don't do cattle calls. Not even

with a superior grade of cattle,' she shouted, ice dripping

from every melodious syllable.

Cattle calls! Alton thought, picturing the cream of the
world's superstar beauties pirouetting on the catwalk
behind him. But he was encouraged. Half the battle was
always finding out exactly what type of reassurance she
needed that day, what precise .homage she wanted to extract.

'Sweetie, think of it this way. You aren't working the

main show, you're only coming on for the finale. You'll be
right in the centre front of all the girls. Everybody out there
is waiting, hoping, praying that you'll appear' - me
especially, since I'm finished if you don't, he added silently - 'and they'll go just crazy when you do. Just for that one time.'


I4

'They always go crazy,' came the bored reply, but he
thought he detected an infinitesimal softening.

'Of course they go crazy. Who wouldn't go crazy for
you, babe, if you showed up wearing a sack?' Or a body
bag, preferably. 'But the point is that you'll be leading
them all out.Just once. Infiont. For the finale.' Robert took a
deep breath, and played his ace.

'It'll make it official, as if the world didn't already know
- that you rule them all. It will be' - he paused dramatically

- 'your coronation.'

Silence.

What was she thinking? Alton loosened his collar,
nervous tension eating away at his stomach like corrosive
acid. He could almost see his ulcer expanding under the
pressure. Did she like that idea? Did she agree with it?

As much as he hated this woman - and oh, boy, did he
ever hate,her- 1Lobert had come to understand that there
was a fierce intelligence burning under that lovely cranium.
You could slip nothing past her, nothing. If she did
something he suggested, it was because she'd already
decided it was a good idea. Independent. Astute. Determined.
And if she wanted something badly enough, he'd
learned, there was no point standing in her way. You'd be

better offarguing with a ten-ton truck.

'OK, I'll do it,' she shouted.

The agent practically sobbed with relief.

'On one condition. I don't lead out the finale, I am the finale. Just me, by myself.. None of the other girls.'

ILobert wanted to throw up. '-But sugar, that's impossible!
Everything's already rehearsed! You Can't expect
Naomi and Kate to sit still for that -'

'Kate? Why are you mentioning her name to me, Bob? I
thought I told you never to discuss that anorexic washboard in front of me again.'

Mistake. Mistake. His circuits were flashing red alert.
'Honey, I'm sorry, but -'

15


'No, Bob. No buts. And let me tell you what's
impossible. What's impossible is that I appear in this show
unless it's for thefinale and by myself. OK? Am I being clear
enough? Now you run along to Alessandro and tell him
what I said. And if he doesn't like it, call my driver, because
I'm going home.'

The silken voice was threaded with absolute steel.

'Do you understand?' she demanded.

R.obert Alton fumbled with his collar again, but nothing
could ease this choking panic. He knew that tone. It was
the end of the line.

'Sure, sweetheart,' he shouted through the keyhole. 'I
understand.'

'Is this a joke?' enquired Michael Winter, glancing at his
watch. The show was running on perfect time, down to
the split second. They had ten minutes to the finale, and
she wasn't even in make-up yet.

R.obert spread his fat hands in a well-worn gesture of
helplessness. 'No. She doesn't joke, as I'm sure you're
aware,' he said.

'Unique took a million-dollar appearance fee on her
behal£'

'And we'll refund it if she doesn't appear,' Alton said

with a sigh.

Winter glared at him. The fee wasn't an issue, and both

men knew it. A million dollars was pocket change,
compared with what might happen to Alessandro Eco's
company if this show crashed and burned.

'Can't you guys control your clients? For the biggest

show of the goddamn decade?'

P,.obert Alton looked him straight in the eye. 'Michael.
Please,' he said. 'Nobody, and I do mean nobody, can control her.'

Nine minutes and counting.

'So you're telling me that I have to personally ins.ult- to


i6

demote- eighteen of the most famous models in the world,
in front of the entire fashion media,just so Her Majesty will
walk down that catwalk for thirty seconds?'

A fresh burst of perspiration beaded Alton's neck.
Winter was quite correct, of course. These backstage
shenanigans would leak down to the hawks sitting out
front at the speed of light. She was demanding that
Alessandro snub every supermodel alive, in public, in her
favour.

'That's what I'm telling you,' he said firmly.

Eight minutes and thirty seconds.

Michael Winter glanced at his watch. Either way they
would only just make it. The pressure of the decisitn beat
down on the back of his shoulders like a lead weight.

'OK,' he said. 'Tell Her Highness she's got a deal.'


lapt, the audience, the cream of the glitterati, stared
hopefully at the empty stage. Notebooks were covered in
scrawls thick with underlining and multiple exclamation
marks. The T-shirt dresses, sculptured bodices and flowing
coats in waterproof silk had all been sensations. The
swimwear line added a whole new dimension to thigh
lines, and he'd come up with some amazing bias-cutting in
the evening gowns that turned the demurest walk into a
lilting dance, the tiniest movement setting off a tide of
motion in the skirts. But that was hardly the point...

It was the reams of fdm their photographers had shot
that sent moist twitches between the fashion editors' legs.
That was what would sell magazines; the show as event,
Alessandro as king of babe city. Kate in a strawberry satin
dress that was really a T-shirt with pretensions. Goddess
like Cindy in a simple black swimsuit that would make
every woman who saw it join a gym the next day. Jerry's
blonde cascade tumbling around a severe tailored pantsuit.
Yasmin, regal and aloof in a full evening gown with a
crinoline skirt. Awesome! No other word for it.


I7

And now the finale...

The room was thick with the sound of held breath, the
photographers nervously jockeying for position. Every
supermodel in the world had graced .this show - with one
exception. As each song shiiied pace, as each new set of
outfits debuted on the catwalk, they had expected to see
her. But nothing.

Surely now would be the moment. With mounting
excitement, the eagle eyes ofthejoumos were trained on
the black-curtained entrance to the runway, their talom
scenting blood. She had triumphed yet again. God knew
how, but somehow Unique had swung it. Their mega
client would appear only in the grand finale, setting herself,
by definition, in a class of her own, outranking every
'supermodel in the world. Perhaps she would lead all the
models out, or was that expecting too much? When all that
female loveliness poured out together onto Alessandro
Eco's catwalk, would she slip in with the others? Or would
she try some new trick, some little fillip, that would

'sppntaneously' catch the eye of every camera in the place?
The Leeward Hall shivered in anticipation.

There was a slight rustle of velvet at the side of the stage

and Alessandro Eco, his aristocratic face reflecting nothing
but the profoundest calm, stepped forward to a microphone,
holding up one imperious hand in silence before
the room could explode into applause.

'Ladies and gentlemen, it has been great honour for the
House of Alessandro Eco to present our collection for you
tonight. For your attendance and patience, I thank you.'
He gave a courtly bow. 'As you may know, I have, since I
was a boy, cherished the dream of one day being like the
great masters - Balenciaga, Dior, Chanel - who in our
modem age paid the beauty of woman the homage it
deserves, a homage I attempt, all my life, to pay. The
moment of greatest loveliness for woman is surely the day


8

of her wedding, and traditionally the couturiers present last
the wedding dress, a tradition I am proud to continue.'

The spotlight on the designer faded gently away, and
one by one the other lights in the hall were shut down and
dimmed until the stage was plunged into darkness. A
haunting line of Mozart spun into the still air.

And then the curtains drew back, a web of brilliant lights
lit up the platform- but instead of thirty models exploding
onstage a single figure appeared from the darkness,
stepping demurely into the spotlight. A simple shift of
cream silk clung to her perfect body like a second skin, a
bouquet of pure ivory lilies was clasped in her delicate
hands and a single white rose threaded through her long,
dark hair as she processed slowly, gracefully, down the
front of the stage onto the catwalk.

For a second there was complete silence, as the crowd
was struck dumb by her sheer beauty, by the fragile,
nervous, virginal quality of her walk, the way she seemed
to glance shyly out at them from under those doelike
chocolate eyes, as though completely overwhelmed by the
attention. Then, as the fashion world realized what they
were witnessing, the hall erupted in an orgasmic frenzy of
cheering and applause. The fashion editors were shooting
to their feet in a standing ovation, the photographers
snapping and strapping, flashbulbs exploding around her
for the one picture that would make the front page of
about every tabloid in the Western world the next day the
magnificent, minimalist finale of Alessandro Eco, now
without the shadow of a doubt Designer of the Year, and
the best PP. coup for any mannequin this decade - to oust
eighteen other supermodels, to appear for just these few
moments, to dose the show herself, as though it was she,
and only she, that they had all been waiting for...

As she walked gracefully out towards the frenzy in front
of her, P.oxana Felix pemaitted herselfa tiny smile.


r9

'lLoxana!'

'tLox! ILox!'

'R.oxana, please[ Just for one second!'

They were everywhere, damouring for her attention,
begging for the tiniest hint ofa sn'file or a glance- reporters
from the favoured shows and magazines, trade photographers,
the normal fashion camp-followers. Backstage
was a battleground as people scrambled for a word from
Christy, a comment from Naomi, a precious shot of any
supermodel in glorious dshabillde. But by far the largest
duster of drones hovered around 1Loxana Felix, undisputed
Queen Bee. Disgusted, numbers of the other girls
were leaving, with a curt 'no comment' and frantic agents
trailing in their wake.

' 'Never again will she work for me,' hissed a distraught
Alessandro to Michad Winter as another beauty swept past
him, tiny button nose in the air. 'Michdle, that bitch spill
blood over all my collection - never another cover girl
wed wear my clothes. All I hear, all I see is controversy!'

'Yeah? All/hear is cash tills,' replied Winter, a wide grin
plaStered across his tanned face. 'Controversy and coverage
are synonymous in Webster's, amigo. Didn't you know
that?'

'tLoxana, did you know in advance that Alessandro
would cancel the other girls for the finale?' somebody
asked.

Pushing a lock of glossy raven hair out of her sparkling
eyes, the young woman hughed softly. 'He did what? Damian, you've got it wrong. It must have been planned
that way;'

'No, everybody was pulled in your favour,' another
hack told her eagerly.

tLoxana's sculptured cheekbones and smooth pale skin
registered nothing but confusion for a few moments, while
the pack bayed its assurances that she had been honoured
above the rest. Then a delightful girlish blush spread across


20

handles business,' and every man in the room was in love
again.

'lobet Alton, was it your idea to insist on the change in
choreography?

'Absolutely,' Alton said easily. He was almost enjoying
himself. In her eagerness to pass the buck, his vicious little
cash-cow was turning him into a powerful Svengali of the
beau monde. Surely other stars would flock to him now,
he thought, and then recalled with a pang that loxana
didn't allow him to rep any other big stars.

'Why? Didn't you realize you'd be upsetting some of
the most powerful women in fashion?'

Alton placed a fatherly hand on loxana's alabaster
shoulder, felt her stiffen under his touch and instantly
withdrew it. 'It wasn't about egos,' he said shamelessly, 'it
was about the clothes. I felt that no one but the most
beautiful girl in the world should close the best show in the
world.'

'Oh, Bob, really,' loxana reproved him, in low tones of
molten honey.

'Were you trying to say that loxana is in a class of her
own, like Alessandro is in a class of his own?' suggested a
girl from English Vogue hopefully.

'No comment,' said R-obert sternly, treating them all to
a flamboyant wink.

'Enough, enough, please, signoras, signori,' Alessandro
insisted, knowing a good exit line when he heard one. 'My
little bambina is exhausted. You know how she hate
publicity. Please, this way, we have much champagne...'

loxana Felix exchanged little kisses, pressures and hugs
with the favoured few as they trooped dutifully off in
search of liquid and more basic refreshments, confusion
and embarrassment at causing such a fuss written all over
her face. As soon as the door to her dressing room dosed


2I

she pulled out a small bag of white powder from her blusher box and licked a minute pile offthe back of her tiny
wrist, perfect bones almost translucent under the skin.
Alton eyed it hungrily: the new form of ground Ecstasy
that was all the rage at the shows this summer. She made no move to offer him any.

'A triumph, if I say so myself,' he announced.

'You had nothing to do with it, Bob. Play the big guy
with the schmucks out there, but never try and scare me for
credit. OK? Cause you'll be fired faster than an AK-47.'

'OK, OK,' Alton said, forcing a grin through the shame.
Long ago she had cut off his balls to play marbles with.
'You're'right, sweetie, of course you are. You just added
another thirty thou to every single shoot.'


'Fifty, right,' Alton concurred, wondering if Madonna's
manager took as much shit as he did.

'I'm not interested in that. You know what I'm
interested in,' loxana said, slowly and with menace,
tu,rning those limpid chocolate eyes at him as though they
were bayonet blades. 'Have you found me a suitable
vehicle yet?'

Alton twisted helplessly. 'Didn't you get Beach Party II? I had it messengered over.'

She gave a delicate little cough. 'Let me see. Beach Party
II. The part was for the stupid bimbo who dates the
lifeguard. Yeah, I remember that one. It came right after Living Doll and Sweet Sixteen, the ones Unique sent me last
week.'

Her agent swallowed hard.

'Don't bother to send me any more scripts, Bob.'
'Honey, I knew you'd see reason. Those parts aren't
worthy of you, I know that, but it's allwe could come up
with - lots of girls have dabbled in acting, but the studios
just aren't interested...' Seeing her expression, his voice
trailed away.


22

'You're fired,' tkoxana Felix said calmly.

Alton almost choked in surprise and dismay. He had

discovered tkoxana and repped her for the last five years.
'What?'

'Lost your hearing, Bob? I said you're fired. As my
personal agent and personal manager.'

Robert Alton's pudgy face had gone ash-grey. Over the
years 1koxana had demanded the removal of every other
star model the Unique agency represented, for the
privilege of controlling all aspects of her own career- the
lucrative T-shirts, the calendars, the straight campaigns,
catwalk appearances, the perfume franchise.., it had been
done so slowly and subtly that none of his colleagues had
really noticed, but the Unique agency was Fkoxana, Inc.
Without her they were nothing. A handful of bread-and
butter girls with no star potential in sight.

'I told'you two months ago I wanted to act. And I do
mean act, Bobby, not drape myself over some moron in a
teen beach flick.'

'But the other girls -'
tkoxana sighed, a deep, whistling sigh drawn in through
her perfectly applied soft berry lipstick. 'How many times,
Bob? I am not "the other girls". Something that SKI never
failed to realize.'

SKI? She was going to Sam Kendrick? Bob felt a fresh burst
of sweat erupt down hii collar. He could not believe this
was happening.

Tve been talking to a guy .called David Tauber over there. He's young, he's lean and he's hungry. My plane
leaves for LA at ten tomorrow.'

'Please,' Bob managed. 'lq.oxana, just give us one more
chance.'

Laughing at him, toxana Felix shook her lovely head.
'No way, Bobby boy. There are no second chances with
me. You think you can treat me like a piece of pretty met,

just because I'm a woman? You have another think
coming.'

'loxana, please,' Bob repeated desperately. He was
begging her now, and they both knew it.

'Relax. You can still book my modelling activities.'

Alton almost wept with relie£

'For the moment,' she added icily. A pleasant feeling

began to contract in her upper arms, the first sign of the
drug kicking in. She wanted to be alone to enjoy it. 'Get
out. Bob. And tell the driver to make sure my caris ready at
eight.'

'Yes, sweetheart,' Alton said meekly, the useless sack of

lard. Jesus Christ, what she had to put up with. loxana
stared coldly at him until the door to her dressing room
closed and she was finally alone.

Her painted nail tapped gently on the fret-class ticket to

Los Angeles pinned up on the mirror in front of her.

This was going to be fun.

She was loxana Felix, and she always got what she
wanted.

Chapter 3


Eleanor Marshall was the most powerful woman in LA.

That was the thought that kept drumming away at the
back of Sam Kendrick's mind as he turned his steel-blue
Maserati into the agency parking lot, the velvet-smooth
handling of the big machine slipping him into his acre
wide parking space with its usual grace. Nearly every other
space in the lot was already full, but that fact scarcely
registered on Sam. It was seven-thirty in the morning, and
he expected his damn offices to be full. Never mind that
the contracts stated nine to six. If you wanted to work for
Sam Kendrick International, the third most powerful
agency in Hollywood, you'd better be there by seven and
you'd better not leave till ten.

Out of the corner of his eye Sam recognized David
Tauber's neat Lamborghini parked in the space directly
opposite his. It .was the best unreserved space in the lot,
which meant that David Tauber had got there first.
Probably around five-thirty a.m. He smiled briefly; Tauber
had wanted him to notice that, and he had. Of course.
After twenty-five years as an agent, SamuelJ. Kendrick II
had acquired the habit of noticing pretty much everything.
So Tauber- young, hungry, ambitious- was already fluent
in Hollywood's secret code. Look, boss, I was in first. Well,
OK, kid, Sam thought, dismissing it. David Tauber wasn't
important right now. Eleanor Marshall was.

Don't sweat the small stuff, and remember, it's all small stuff.. The nineties' stress-relief phrase of choice. Sam snorted:

they were wrong on two counts. One, 'Don't sweat the
small stuff' wasn't a pressure valve, it was a commandment.
If you sweated the small stuff, you were dead. You'd
drown. Two, it wasn't all small stuff. Some of it was very
big stuffindeed, and if you planned on being a player it was
highly advisable to know the difference.

Focus, focus, focus. Something else he'd learnt. In this
town, where everybody had a million projects a day, focus
was absolutely key. If you had a big star, satisfy that star first.
If there was a bidding war for some hot property- be that a
script, an actor or a director- aim your fire at that until the
opposition were blown away. Maybe he didn't return a
couple calls he should have for a couple days. So? That's
what kids like Tauber were for. And if you had a major
lroblem, you thought about nothing else and concentrated
on nothing else until that problem was solved.

Sam Kendrick International had a major problem. But
after five days of brainstorming ways to get around it, his
reliable subconscious had started coming up with suggestions.
And the first suggestion was Eleanor Marshall.


'Mr Kendrick, Mrs Kendrick called from the country club
about catering for your party next week. Mr Ovitz's office
called ten minutes ago. Fred Florescu rang at seven-ftfteen,'
said Karen, his assistant, briskly. She had learnt long ago not
to waste Sam's time with 'Good morning' or other
pleasantries of that sort. ,'Plus thirty or so more which I've
prioritized on your desk. Debbie has clipped the trades and
the papers for you. Joanie has stacked most of the mail,
there's just the Zach Mason contract and the coverage on Hell's Daughter that you might want to check out yourselE.
And everyone's ready for the meeting at eight.'

Kendrick nodded absently. 'Fred called, huh? That's
good. I'll get back to him and CAA now. You can call my
wife and tell her that whatever she wants is fine by me.'

He tried not to show his annoyance, How many. times


26

did he have to tell Isabelle not to bother him at the office
with this dumb domestic trivia? As if he had ever given two
pins for what interior designer they used, which benefit
they attended or whatever idiotic food fad was being
served up on smart LA tables that week. Of course, Isabelle
hved for that stuff. No, the calls were a power play, pure
and simple. She liked asserting her position, knowing that
no matter what superstar or studio head was trying to reach
him, she would always be put through first, her call would
always be on top of the pile.

Kendrick strode down the soft grey carpeting of the
corridor towards his offices. You had to pass through three
outer rooms, each with its own secretary and personal
assistant, before you gained entrance to the inner sanctum.
Standard super-agent fare, but also, these days, pretty
necessary. It was barely half-seven, and he'd already had
thirty call.

'Good morning, Mr Kendrick'
'Morning, Sam. Looking good.'
'Great to see you, boss.'

Agents and assistants passed him, smiling, waving,
kissing ass. Only to be expected. At SKI, Sam Kendrick
was king. He'd ceased to be tickled by the routine morning
contest to catch his eye.

leaching his. office, Kendrick slipped into his black
leather Eames chair and reached for the phone without
looking at it, a reflex movement. He left a message for
Mike Ovitz - Christ knew when the two of them would
ever get five minutes free at the ame time - and tried Fred
Florescu at home. The hottest young director in Hollywood
and a new SKI client; signing Fred had been one of
the few bright spots in a bleak fall.

He picked up on the third ring. 'Fred Florescu.'

'Hi, Fred, it's Sam.'

A pleased chuckle. 'That was quick.'

'You're the first call,' Sam lied easily. He was a master of


27

the art of flattery, amongst other things. He knew how to
make people feel good without sliming up to them. In the

movie business, that made a nice change.

'Why? Because art comes first?'

Kendrick snorted rudely. 'You're the artist, buddy. I'm
the businessman. The only art I care about is the little ink
sketch they do on the hundred-dollar bill.'

Florescu laughed, delighted. 'Sam, you have no shame.'
'Did you hire me to be a blushing violet?'

More flattery. The superagent humbles himself before
the talent. I work for you. You're the boss. Well, unless you
were Julia Roberts or John Grisham, talent reports to its
agent most of the time. Talent that forgets this simple rule
tends to have a short-lived career.

'You're the only guy I know who watches Wall Street as a motivational tool, instead of a wan'ring tale.'

Now Kendrick was laughing. 'You're calling me
about...'

'You hinted you had a line on a certain ex-rock star. Is it
true? I'd like to work with him, if it is.'

Fhe first real satisfaction of the week flooded through
Kendrick's lean torso. He had the system down so well,
now his stars were starting to package themselves!

Packaging. What an '8os concept. What a beautiful
concept. Everybody claimed to have invented it, CAA,
ICM, William Morris, you name it. The truth was that it
had just evolved, like Venus rising from the waters, like
Pallas Athena springing fully formed from the head of
Zeus. 'Packaging' was the name given to the process
whereby an agency took one of its star actors or actresses,
or preferably both, hooked them up with a director it
represented and a script whose writer was being repped by
their literary department, and sold the whole project to a
studio as a package deal. This ensured that agency
commission was maximized, all the credit went to your
own firm, and maybe some client you wanted to break got


28

their first big credit on the back of one of your major stars.
Of course, it was your own big-name clients that you had
to sell it to, but a package deal was worth any amount of
bowing, scraping and downright begging. The studios
hated it, because they had to pay through the nose- always
cheaper to make a movie la carte - and because every big
package deal further increased the power of the agency
shopping it. On the other hand, it minimized risk- all that
talent, washed and ready to serve right on the table. Not

that even incredibly large amounts of talent could guarantee
filled movie theatres. Look at Steven Spielberg, Julia
loberts, Bob Hoskins and Pobin Williams in Hook. Kendrick winced at the memory. Can you say "over
budget'? At least that turkey hadn't been his fdm.

No, Sam never bothered to claim that he'd fathered the
packaging idea. He hadn't, and he didn't care about being
first. He only cared about being best. Fifteen years ago,
he'd spotted the brilliance of the idea early on and had
started tying his small, classy roster of talent together for
deals. Within ten months the Sam Kendrick Agency had
shifted from being a Tiffany boutique to a medium-size
'corner' with an unparalleled fee rate for its clients. In
another ten, they were Sam Kendrick International, with
as many cheesy superstars on their books as critically
acclaimed Oscar-winners, and offices in Pome and
London. Sam loved it. He'd never looked back.

Packaging had made him a star; not the kind of star he
bought and sold, whose box office dwindled as their looks
failed, but the real kind, the typetrade.magazines referred
to using their first names alone. The kind that pinned up
the firmament, not merely glittered within it. It had made
Sam his first million, and then his first ten million. But right
now it was the cause of his problems.

Times were lean, margins were small, and the major film
studios had become far less accommodating than most of
the big players were used to. Since the recession of 99o-93


29

the leisure dollar had shrank considerably; everybody who
used to cackle about the entertainment industry being
depression-proof had proved horribly wrong. The record,
TV, magazine and film industries had all suffered; Ken
drick could still remember the wave after wave of
redundancies and big-budget movies that stiffed all summer
long in those two terrible years, 9 and 9z. At the same
time, star power, and price, had increased to ridiculous
proportions as studios searched desperately for ways to
ensure recouping their investment. Of course, there's no
such thing, and gradually it became clear that even the
biggest star and the most well-worn formula couldn't
guarantee a hit. File that under Last Aaion Hero. Anyway,

, they became even more terrified of green-lighting anything;
money committed is monkey risked, right? And
when Demi Moore demanded $7 million for the third Barman movie, they told her to take a hike.

It had been a lean few years for SKI. Nobody was
starving - they repped too many big names for that to
happen - but the studios had turned aside all their package
deals, permitting only named stars to sign up for fees which
were high, but, despite the best efforts of Sam and his
minions to the contrary, still well within the accepted
ballpark. But no packages. No blockbusting movies
stamped 'Property of Samuel Jacob Kendrick' on them in
big gold letters. Not ,that the other agencies hadn't had
problems, but at least they'd seen.one or two fat deals come
together. SKI had been coasting. And you know the old
story about the LA agencies being like sharks? If they don't
move forward, they die. As far as Sam Kendrick was
concerned, a truer word was never spoken.

He needed to get a package deal on screen, a major
movie that would grab all the headlines in Variety and blow
away his critics. And he needed it fast. Only last week,
James Falcon, the fortysomething superstar who:d been


30

with Sam for ten years, had had his hwyers call to say he
was now represented byJeffBerg at ICM.

That was when the situation had shifted out of yellow
alert. It couldn't be more than a week before that little snippet leaked to the papers, and then everybody else
would be considering their position . .. and the shark
infested waters would be alive with movement, circling,
circling, as the other finns scented blood and moved in for
the kill.

Sam knew the score. He'd done it often enough himself.

Hence the full staff meeting at eight o'clock this
morning.

Hence his delight that Fred Florescu wanted to work
with David Tauber's new client.

Hence the reason that he'd woken up this morning with Eleanor Marshall branded into his brain.

'I shouldn't tel/ you that, man. Confidentiality,' he

replied, carefully keeping the elation out of his voice.
'Bullshit, Sam. Anyway, that's a yes.'
'How do you figure that out, Fred?'

'You can't have confidentiality with someone you don't
represent.'

Sam chuckled darkly. 'Wait a second.' He scribbled his
name on the bottom of Zach Mason's contract, holding
the receiver over the pen. 'Hear that sound? Know what
that is?'

'No. What is it?'

'That's the sound of ink drying. On our deal with Zach
Mason,' Sam confm'ned, feeling the satisfaction return.

Fred Florescu's voice was a hiss of drawn-in breath.
'Think you can get us together?'

'Think, nothing. I know you're the only director for
him, Fred.'

'I'd appreciate it. West of the Moon was a really vital
record in my life.'

That took Kendrick aback for a second. Christ, he'd

forgotten Florescu was only twenty-nine. He was a fan of
Mason's band! He was just a kid himself! Lord, that he
should live to see the day when a red-hot director was
panting to work with a rock star because of the guy's music I Slackers my sweet ass he thought silently. They're the
pushiest little bastards since the fifties. And they gaze so
hard at their own navels it's a miracle they don't all walk
around cross-eyed.

'You know what I'm saying? Zach Mason is, like, a
prophet of his generation. 1Keally on the level. The shit he
was singing about was important, Sam. Dark Angel are a
major loss to us. I want to put him in a movie very badly, I
hope I can help him share some of that vision.'

Kendrick was staggered. Not only was Florescu coming

' out with all this garbage, was that humility he heard in his
tone? Fred Florescu, the director who famously told the
studio head on his last picture to go fuck himself, was
speaking about some two-bit singer as if he was his
personal god. Sam wondered how Florescu would feel if
he knew what David Tauber had told him - that Dark
Angel had split up over a petty squabble about T-shirt
royalties, and Zach Mason himself was a spoilt brat who
threw a tantrum if the mineral water in his dressing room
was the wrong brand. A real primadonna whose only
concern was the megabuck career of one Zachary Mason.
David was a smart kid; he could see that right off. Yolanda
Henry, the band's manager from the beginning, hadn't
wanted to kiss Mason's ass in the way that twelve million
records had led him to expect, plus she thought it was a
dumb idea for him to dabble in movies. The woman was
another of these music junkies, reckoned that time spent
away from the studio or the stage was time wasted. No
wonder her little canary was ready to sing a new tune.
David Tauber was to be commended for checking out the
opportunity; he'd kissed up to Zach like he was Roxana
Felix herself, and promised him the sun, moon and stars,

32

yesterday. It had taken the 'prophet of his generation'
exactly ten days to spht his band, dump the woman who'd
discovered him sleeping rough and busking in Miami, and
ship out to LA from New York, bringing with him only
the second ray of sunshine SKI had seen that lean summer.
And according to Tauber, he'd picked Florescu's last
smash, Light Falling, to watch on the private jet on the way

down.

Sam leaned back against the supple leather. He had his
mind on music, too. The sweet sound of cash tills chiming.

'I understand completely, Fred. You might not believe
this, but I was young once! I think you guys can make
something really magical on screen together. Forget Reality Bites '

'That fakola bullshit.'

' - and just start thinking about what kind of a dream
you migh[ create with Zach. I think your generation
deserves a spokesman.'

'Spokesman,' said Florescu, reverently.

Kendrick's eyes rolled in his head. 'Absolutely.' He
glanced at his watch: five to eight. 'Hey, I have to split. Let
me talk to Zach, set a meeting up. OK?'

'You got it,' the director said, hanging up happy.


The SKI conference room was packed and nervous. Stress
hung in the air like humidity, an almost palpable feeling of
tension rising from the hunched necks and taut postures of
the agents seated round the table and standing lining the
walls. Nobody knew what to expect; Kendrick had called
this meeting personally, the word of God descending from
on high, summoning the miserable sinners to account for
themselves in his presence. Everybody knew that Sam was
unhappy, despite the decent business. SKI was doing in
commissions. They were fading from the limelight, and
that wasn't a good position to be in in Tinseltown. Plus,'


33

James Falcon had walked last Friday. Kendrick's Commandos,
as they were popularly known, had good cause to
be anxious - when Sam was unhappy, that emotion
seemed to have a magical way of transferring itself to his
employees.

The rookies stood against the wall; they'd been there for
a couple of hours, most of them, but nobody would have
dreamed of taking a chair. Those were strictly left for the
head honchos, whenever they should choose to appear.
No, the new kids stood up with their well-thumbed copies
of Variety and the Hollywood Reporter and tried to memorize
weeken.d grosses, commission records for the SKI stars
repped by their departments, whatever significant sand
shifting had taken place in the business that week, and the
current dollar exchange rate to the pound, mark, yen and
Swiss franc. You never knew. It was pure torture, all the
mindless cramming, but that was part of the deal. They
were rookie agents. They existed to be tortured by their
betters. And heaven help you if Sam Kendrick, or even
your department chief, decided to call on you for a
question and you couldn't answer it. They were worker
ants, but they were worker ants in Hugo Boss or Donna
Karan, and to a man and woman they looked forward to
the time when they would be able to torment their own
rookies.

The wall also gave the grunts a chance to observe those
mighty merchant princes, the department chiet and senior
agents who rated the thirty or so hard chairs ranged round
the long mahogany table: Lisa Koepke, the elegant head of
TV, responsible for dreaming up Beechwood Halls, American
Hospital and Joe's Princess amongst other hit shows. TV was
like Lisa, a solid performer with occasional flashes of
brilliance, but nothing much to write home about. Phil
P,.obbins and Michael Campbell, the heads of the international,
and domestic film divisions, respectively: Phil, a


34

slim, good-looking blond in his mid-thirties and rum
oured karate expert, had less to worry about: his boys and
girls had been energetic in the sale of foreign rights over the
past quarter and SKI commissions in Southeast Asia had
never been higher. Plus, went the whisper round the back
wall, that David Puttnam/Hugh Grant Brit flick looked as
if it might be gonna happen. Now that would surely give
Mr Kendrick something to smile about. Mike, a cropped
brunette in bespoke Ray-Ban shades and a dark Savile
low suit, obviously had more problems - after all, why
were they here? And finally, amongst department helmers,
there was Kevin Scott, the fifty-something Boston brahmin
who'd been in charge of the literary department for
fifteen years. It was he who had brokered the $4 million Sweet Fire deal in '89, an industry record at the time, and he
who'd discovered eight novelists who'd gone on to top the New York'Times bestseller list.

But that, as they say, Was then, and this is now. Kevin
Scott was in over his head. The world of literary rights had
changed a little from the courteous-handshake business he
was used to, where a gendeman's word was his bond. Deals
were now done in unseemly haste, prices seemingly
bearing an inverse ratio to critical merit. The leisurely,
well-lubricated publishing lunch was a thing of the past in
New York. And the old school of donnish, intelligent
literary agents with English degrees and a passion for the
written word were being replaced everywhere Kevin
looked by hyenas in designer jeans, twenty- and thirty
something puppies with mobile phon.es glued to their ears
and Sonic Youth blaring from their in-car CDs. He
shuddered to think about it. Most of them probably read
five books a year, and all of those courtroom thrillers. And
yet, despite his stern protests, Sam and Mike had insisted he
fill his department with these obnoxious creatures.

Somebody had turned up the volume on his world, and
Kevin Scott was not happy.

35


Nor was his division selling any scripts.

But most rookie eyes glanced lightly over the four
principals today. It wasn't the division heads they were
really interested in; it was the senior agents, the corners, the
two-year veteram seething for position under their bosses.
Joanne Delphi and Sue SuBman in Foreign P, Aghts. Peter
Murphy in TV International, and John Carter in TV East
Coast. And particularly, David Tauber, the shooting
comet blazing across Domestic Movies, the most vital
division they had.

Tauber lounged slightly in his chair, sitting in pride of
place at Phil's right-hand side. If he was aware of all the
hungry eyes crawling across his muscled torso, he gave no
sign of it. At twenty-six years old, David Tauber was a
gorgeous creature, and sexual charisma radiated from every
inch of him. Thick hazel blond hair, cut into an almost
military crop, complemented his tanned skin, deep tawny
eyes and a body that paid tribute to his nutritionalist and
personal trainer. Nice toys if you could afford them, and
Tauber could afford them easily. He'd pulled three times
the commission of the other agents of his rank last year and
earned double the salary. He drove a cherry-red Lamborghini
and already rated a good table at Spago's.
Hollywood prides itself on scenting out the Next Big
Thing, and right now David Tauber was smelling of roses.
Last week had seen the biggest coup of his young but
glittering career o far: the defection of Zach Mason, ex
lead singer of Dark Angel, from the stable of Yolanda

Henry to the mahogany doors of SKI.

His colleagues hated him.

'Ladies, gentlemen, good morning,' Sam Kendrick
barked, striding into the meeting room and pulling up the

chair at the head of the table.

Everybody stood.

'Sit down,' Kendrick said sourly.


36

Everybody sat.

'OK, here it is,' Sam continued briskly. Just because he
was in a better mood didn't mean he was gonna cut these
snivelling layabouts one inch of slack. 'This year, the
agency has seen its worst billings since I founded it. We've
stuck a couple of our big names in movies, but that's about
it. We're trailing the fucking pack and I don't think it's the
luck of the draw. I want, one, a convincing explanation of
everybody's performance over the last quarter; two, a list
from every person in this room of who they represent,
what they're doing with them, and who they're gonna

bring into this agency in the next month.'

Several faces round the room paled.

'That's the warm-up. Later we're gonna discuss the
studios- and I expect everyone to have some new
knowledg.e to share with us and how we fLX this problem. I
want this agency to package a deal. Now. If not sooner. Are
we clear on that?'

Frantic nods. They were dear on that.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam noticed that useless old
lush Kevin Scott, surreptitiously pop a Valium into his
mouth. Christ, he was pathetic. He should fire him, but the
guy had once been so good. And they had once been
friends. He also noticed the Tauber kid, slouching in an
Italian suit, looking confident. He hadn't nodded with the
rest of them.

Kendrick had a good feeling about Tauber.

'OK, people. Let's go,' he ordered, sitting back to watch
the dogfight start.


'David, I don't think you understand.'

Kevin Scott was getting redder and redder in the face.

'With respect, I think I do, Kevin. Jason wrote a script
for that TV movie '

'Beyond Loving,' someone supplied.


37

'Beyond Loving, right. Sold very nicely. Seventy thousand
bucks for, what? Two weeks' work? I think he'd be
perfect for this project.'

Scott almost choked on his outrage. This damn junior
agent from the movie division, who'd been butting into
everybody's reports all meetinglong, was now trying to tell
him how to run his literary department? Some boy who'd
just started shaving?

'Jason felt he had to take the Beyond Loving script on to
pay his rent. He is a Serious Novelist,' he managed, hoping
to shame Tauber into shutting up.

An elegant shrug. 'So explain that if he writes this movie
he won't have to worry about rent. He can buy his own
condo.' Tauber glanced up at Sam Kendrick. 'This is the
nineties, Kevin. Starving in garrets is right out of style.'

Scott glared at him bleakly. 'Thank you for your advice,
David.'

'My pleasure.'

'But the literary division need not be your concern.'
A direct rebuke! Now every agent in the room was on
tl/e edge of their seats, holding their breath, waiting for
Kendrick to step in and intervene.

David Tauber sighed. 'I wish that were true, Kevin. But
unfortunately, it's not... I represent some interesting new
clients in the movie division, and we would like to be able
to package them' - the magic word - 'with a script from
SKI. But everything that comes down to me from you guys
is an art movie.'

'We have one of the best records for Academy Awards
of any screenplay department in Hollywood,' Scott
wheezed. The tiny, broken red veins on his nose were
glowing like Rudolph.

'We're still interested in quality here, David,' Mike
Campbell said brusquely. His prot6g6 was going too far. It
was bad policy to let a two-year guy badmouth a division
chief.


38

'Indeed we are,' added Sam Kendrick loudly.

Tauber was unfazed by the general wince that tippled
through the spectators. He stared arrogantly back at Scott.

'Anyway, what do you mean, dients?' Kevin demanded,
his gentlemanly sangfroid deserting him. 'You got one
new guy. Mason.'

David Tauber stretched his legs under the table, catlike,
before replying, and when he did, he looked directly at
Sam. 'Well now, Kevin, that was yesterday,' he said softly.
'I had a new client sign with me this morning.'

'And who was that?' the older man enquired with acid
scepticism.

Tauber studied his nails. 'A model who'd like to be an
actress.'

The room groaned.

'Ten for two cents,' snapped Kevin, delighted.

David hrugged. 'Maybe. But I don't think you'd get
tkoxana Felix at that price.'

Instant pandemonium. Kevin Scott went purple with
confused rage, Mike Campbell spun on his chair to look at
his lieutenant, Lisa Koepke laughed quietly, and the
rookies lost their composure, some clapping, some whistling.
Tauber ducked his head minutely, acknowledging the
triumph.

From his throne at the top of the table, Sam Kendtick
had been watching the duel closely. He hadn't known
about the supermodel, but it didn't urprise him.So, the "
Tauber kid was a real hustler.

Time to show him who was king of this jungle.
'That's great, David,' he began, to the immediate
cessation of all other noise. 'When do we start booking her
modelling?'

Tauber looked wary. Tve only signed her to us for
performance, Sam. Unique in New York are still her
bookers.'


39

Kendrick shrugged. 'Too bad. Still, I guess she must
have a hot showreel.'

'Uh, no - she hasrr't acted before now.'

'Then maybe she can't act.' Kendrick's voice was a
whiplash. 'What are you going to tell me? She looks hot, so
she'll be huge box office? Did it work out like that for
Isabella Ikossellini? For Paulina what's her name? For Madonna?'

The room was stunned. Tauber shifted a little on his
chair, creditably hiding most of his embarrassment, and
Kevin Scott suddenly had a nasty smile fixed on his puffy
face.

'We'll have to see. It's still good that you signed her,
though, David,' Kendrick continued, his tone more
soothing now. 'But let's not.jump any guns. It's your other
client I really want to build a package around. We've seen
Zach Mason test, and he's hot enough to fry breakfast on.'

The room had turned from the battle between the old
and new guards now. Every eye was trained on the boss.
When Sam spoke like this, he sounded like the Oracle at
Delphi. They waited, eager for guidance, for whatever
brilliant idea Kendrick had that would add lustre to the
tarnished SKI star, and therefore glitter on all their
r6sum6s.

'In fact, I think it is a woman who'll provide the solution
to our problems,' Kendrick went on. 'But her name isn't
loxana Felix.'

He waited, letting term hang Jn the air, dependent on
him for a few seconds.

'It's Eleanor Marshall,' he said.

4o


Chapter 4


Seven a.m. and already the morning sun was blazing down
full force on the LA freeway. Driving a smooth, traffic-free
path to work - there had to be some advantages to ,getting
up this early- Eleanor Marshall had opened the sun roof of
her dark green Lotus in order to get the full benefit of it.
Her neat bob of platinum-blonde hair was still damp from
the shower, and she needed it to be dry and impeccable
before she reached the wrought-iron gates of Artemis
Studios. Everything about her had to look immaculate,
these days. Of course, elegance had always been a priority,
but since last month it had become an immutable law now
she had to be perfect at all times.

Now she was president of the studio.

'The Boys of Summer' by Don Henley flooded the car's
luxurious interior with soothing, mellow sounds, and
Eleanor let the music wash over her, finding a small haven
of pleasure and relaxation in the combination of speed and
melody. God only knew that once she stepped inside the
lot she wouldn't have a chance to breathe all day. And
when she got home...

Eleanor shrugged, feeling guilty. She knew she ought to
look forward to going home. She pictured Paul Halfin, her
partner. Forty-five years old, aristocratic, thick grey hair
and intelligent, cold blue eyes. Very sober, very suitable,
Paul was a pin-up boy for the new, eco-conscious decade;
he worked out, shunned red meat, always stood in the


4I

presence of a lady and was utterly faithful. He preferred
opera and free art to watching a baseball game, was well read
and highly polished, and had been at home in the finest
country clubs since birth. As a respected investment banker,
his career neither overpowered, nor was overpowered by,
hers. Paul had had no problem with Eleanor's promotion,
the day it finally came. Why should he? Albert, Hal/m,
Weissman had completed another successful takeover only
that week. On the contrary, Paul took Eleanor to Ma
Maison for champagne and celebration, and basked in all the
little tributes she received as Hollywood queued before their
table to kiss the hand of the new queen in town.

He was a perfect escort. Everybody said so. And in the

, nineties, that was what it was all about. The days of cocaine

and musical beds were long over. Now, if you weren't half

of a loving, devoted couple, or at least a couple which appeared loving and devoted, you were nobody. And a
Hollywood woman's top accessory of choice had shifted
from a diamond necklace to a diapered baby.

.The CD skipped to a sexy James Brown track, and the
president of Artemis Studios pushed her foot almost to the
floor, picking up a burst of speed, trying to drive through
the sudden stab of pain, blinking rapidly to get rid of the
instant fdm of tears that had settled across her eyes. She
couldn't afford this weakness. She couldn't afford to
surrender to the permanent ache, the feeling of emptiness
and pressure, the terror that she'd left it too late. Not now.
She couldn't think about a baby now.

By the time her gleaming car swung into the executive
parking lot, past the saluting guards, Eleanor Marshall, 341cthe
most powerful woman in Hollywood, looked like somebody
who was always, always, always in control.


'Hey, good-looking.'

Tom Goldman, chairman and chief executive of Arte


42

Eleanor's office. 'Thought I heard you coming in.'

'I know you're a sucker for my light, tripping footsteps,
boss.'

They smiled at one another, co-conspirators at the top.
Eleanor felt the inevitable small shock of pleasure at seeing
him for the first time that day. Goldman was her closest
friend and best ally. He'd been her mentor at Artemis
since the sixties, when she was a novelty woman
employee, albeit just a lowly reader, and he'd been
number two in the merchandising division. Their paths
up the -greasy pole had run pretty much together, although Eleanor had taken far longer to make that final
push into the Artemis inner circle, the tiny little group of
people who, despite all the fancy titles and vice-presiden
tial perks of the common or garden management, were
the only xnes with any real power to get anything done.
For five long years Eleanor had done time in Marketing,
making buckloads of money for the head honchos in New
York, all the time trying to prove that she had what it took
for a creative position. Tom had always pushed for her, in
the mild way senior Hollywood people push for favoured
juniors. After all, no one can afford to be too closely linked
to an untried exec. They might screw up and make you
look bad. But finally, last month, Goldman had really
come through for her.. After Martin Webber, the last
president, was fired for a hit-free year, Tom gave a slick
presentation in the boardroom of the parent corporation,
and Eleanor Marshall was the newest recruit to the
world's most exclusive sorority. Female Players. Girls

with the clout to cut it with the boys.

She was thirty-eight years old.

Goldman looked his new second-in-command over.
This morning she reminded him more than ever of Grace
Kelly, a soft De La R.enta suit in buttery silk setting offhe
flawless blonde bob and impeccable complexion, and low

43


heals from Chloe dongating her already endless, slender
legs. Nojewellery except a subtle Patek Philippe watch on
her right wrist. No make-up except a light base, maybe a
tiny dash of blusher across those high cheekbones. Elegant
Eleanor. He smiled, thinking how well she dressed for the
part, how perfectly she matched up to all those insulting
nicknames that the male VPs threw around. The Ice

Princess. The Blessed Virgin. Killer Queen.

'Always.'

It was true; nobody made him laugh like she did,
nobody understood him better. Tom wondered for the
millionth time if there'd been a chance for him with
Eleanor once, but they had both been so wary playing the

studio game, making sure the correct amount of distance
' was always between them...

Eleanor tapped a heel on the soft carpet. 'Better watch
out for these footsteps, Tom. A woman's shoes can be a

deadly weapon.'

'Yeah?'

'Sure. Didn't you see Single White Female?'

'He laughed. 'You coming after me in a wig? That scene
doesn't play.'

'You never know.'

They smiled at each other, but there was an edge to it.
Since hst month, all the rules had changed. If Eleanor
screwed up, Tom would be the one who'd have to fire her.
And if she did great .... maybe he would look good to his
bosses on the East Coast, or maybe they would replace him
with her. They had been friends for fLeen years, but now,
at the top, it was harder.

'We have a meeting with Sam Kendrick this morning,'
Goldman told her, throwing himself into a leather
armchair opposite her and resting his shoes on top of her
desk.

'General or specific?' Her brittle professionalism always
took him aback.


44

'General, as far as we're concerned. I wanted to brief
him on what we might be interested in this season.'

Standard practice. Talk to the big agents, let them know
roughly what you needed right now. It was a timesaving
device; that way they weren't pitched with a billion Pretty
Woman clones when they were looking for Terminator XV.

She nodded. 'OK, that's useful. But your tone would
seem to imply that this isn't routine for Sam.'

Goldman shrugged. 'I got the feeling he had something
in mind. I pressed him a little, but he didn't let on.'

She felt her second small thrill of the day. A deal ...
maybe. Sam Kendrick didn't usually drop false hints. She
wanted to do a deal, she'd already been here a month. Not
that anybody expected her to prove that she was Jeff
Katzenberg in a little over four weeks, but the pressure was
still there. Martin had finally got fired, but the internal
whispers about him, the nasty little rumours, the lack of
respect at cewa.inkey restaurants in town; that had started
earlier- much earlier. Like about three months into his
presidency, when no major deals had been signed. Of
course, Martin's reaction had been to green-light that
terrible soft-porn flick that made the grosses on Body of
Evidence look lAke Jurassic Park, and the other dog about the
handicapped cop. She wasn't about to make the same
mistake, please God, but she could understand now how
Martin had felt. The pressure to do a deal, to make a movie,
to have a hit, mounted from the second they put your
name on the stationery. And with her being a woman, not
having come from the creative side of the business, and
following Martin and his equally disastrous predecessor,
the pressure was now up to steel-crushing levels. Artemis
were desperate for a hit. Eleanor was desperate to fred
them one, desperate for the right deal.

Sam probably knew that. Well, she wouldn't bite unless
it was good.

She hoped it was.


45

'We'll see in Sam's own sweet time,' she said casually.
Goldman nodded and stood up. She admired the way he
moved. She had a brief flash of fantasy, of Tom inside her,
stroking her with his cock, teasing her over the edge. He
would be wild in bed, he would fuck like a savage. Not
perfunctorily, like Paul, ticking off another goal for the
day.

'Are you guys free for lunch next Saturday, by the way?'
Tom asked, already on his way out. 'Jordan and I are
having a small party on the yacht.'

'Surely,' said Eleanor. They would just have to cancel
on the Wintertons; Paul owed her one anyway. She liked
spending free time with Tom, away from the relentless
pressures of work. Even if it did mean socializing with that
jailbait Barbie doll he'd married; Jordan Cabot Goldman,
twenty-four years old, with hair down to her ass and tits
out to the horizon and baby-soft skin that always made
Eleanor feel like a wizened old crone. A self-styled feminist
with no career and an IQ smaller than her bust measurement,
but an unerring knack for giving the right parties and
sipporting the charity dejour. Eleanor was sure her picture
was in every dictionary right next to 'trophy wife'.

One look at Jordan in her skintight wedding dress,
slender young arm possessively wrapped round a besotted
Tom, and Eleanor had smiled gently at Paul and felt hope
shrivel and die inside her.

'How sweet of Jordan to think of us. We'd be
delighted,' she said brightly, smiling back at him.

The phone shrilled on her desk. 'No rest for the
wicked,' Tom told her, grinning and walking out.


Eighty-nine... ninety.., ninety-one...

David Tauber raised his torso up from the polished
hardwood floor of his home gym, arms locked together
over his head, bronzed legs stretched out straight in front of
him, using only the well-developed muscles, of his


46

stomach. Heavy rock music thudded around him, but the
melody was just so much background noise. Tauber's
handsome face was set in a grim expression of pain and
determination as he brought his trapped elbows down to
his knees, right, left, then lowered himself back down to
the floor and started again. Ninety-three... ninety-four... The agony was visible in the sweat that was beading all
over the tanned, toned body that stared back at him from
his mirrored walls, but then that was the prize. Two
hundred and fifty pounds of solid muscle, with body-fat
composition a mere 13 per cent. Ninety-eight . . ninety
nine . . . David Tauber never gave up, no matter what
torment his muscles were suffering. One hundred. There.
Done. Tomorrow he might go for one-thirty.

Tauber stood up painfully and switched off the music,
an incomprehensible rant about alienation and heartbreak
by Dark Angel. Definitely not his normal thing. He
preferred Gershwin and Cole Porter, but if Zach Mason
was going to be his client, then David Tauber was the
world's biggest Dark Angel fan, as of the second Zach's
inky scrawl had dried on his deal. He was going to learn to

like industrial metal. If it killed him.

'I guess I'll see you later, then.'

A tanned, stacked blonde hovered in the doorway,
hesitantly. Tauber's eyes flicked over the tight T-shirt
pulled across jiggling breasts, real ones, which had made a
nice change for him, the equally tight jeans stretched across
a butt that was fractionally too wide, the long, soft hair and
the dumb hazel eyes. He was pleased to feel a twinge of
desire, which was amazing really, considering that he had
come in her mouth so recently.

What was she waiting for? Did she expect to be invited
for breakfast?
'Sure. I'll call you, Data.'

'OK,' said the girl, disappointed but having the good
sense to pick up her purse and leave. David glanced balk

47


into the bedroom, saw that she had left a neat pile of glossy
eight-by-tens on his bedside table. He smiled. Some things
never change. Maybe he would call her.., she had just the
fight looks for a small walk-on in Baywatch he'd heard was
coming up, if she lost ten pounds. That should be no
problem, it was just puppyfat she was carrying around.
Only sixteen. And on the upside, you got great skin at that
age. Plus, he thought he might want seconds. She'd been supple and compliant, she'd shaved herself between the
legs and she knew how to suck. And she'd left in good
time, too.

Tauber flashed on to a mental picture of her soft lips
sliding up and down his cock, reddened with lipstick in the
way he'd told her to do it, so he could get more pleasure
,out of watching her. He sensed himself get hard again,

remembering her perfect sense of pace, the warm juices of
her mouth dosing round him, that tricky little thing she'd
done with her tongue. Yeah, he would definitely call her.

He flicked on the percolator and went to take a cold
shower. All his energies had to be directed just one way this
morning. Towards the meeting at Artemis. This was
exactly what he'd been waiting for and hustling for ever
since he arrived at SKI two years ago, a green kid fresh
from Yale with little more than a small trust fund, an OK
grade-point average and limitless ambition. He'd hustled
his way into a secretary's job right off- no messing around
with the mailroom for Iavid Tauber- and he'd hustled his
way right back out again, making junior agent within two
months. After that it had been a little tougher. No talent
wants to risk association with some greenhorn kid playing
agent, but no greenhorn kid gets up to agent status without

a talent. Catch-zz. Your problem. You figure it out.

But he had. And how.

David twisted under his power jets, letting the icy bhsts
instantly eradicate his moment of lust. He wanted to raise
the temperature, but resisted the temptation. Two more


48

minutes. His trainer insisted cold water did wonders for the
circulation.

The first signature had been hard. Colleen McCallum, a
fat, riding Irish actress with a great career as a sex bomb ten
years back, now reduced to putting out decent-selling
schlock-folk albums and guest spots on summer specials.
ICM had basically given up on her, but that didn't mean
Colleen was ready to chance it with a new rice. Jesus, how
he'd had to chase the bitch. A twenty to the local florist had
revealed a taste for orchids, and sure, they had to be the
most expensive ones, and David had sent huge bunches
morning, lunchtime and night for three weeks. Cost a
fortune. He called six times a day. He put clippings
together of all the shows he thought she'd be right for.
That was when she'd permitted him more than a few
seconds on the phone when he called. He remembered
now that he'd thought about taking her out and sleeping
with her - that was what she'd really wanted, wearing
those see-through pink chiffon robes over her chunky
body when he called round. David shivered at that
memory, shutting the water off. Hell, he should just think
of that whenever he wanted to cool down. More effective
than cold water any day. Thank God he'd realized just in
time that if he faked a relationship with Colleen he'd be
stuck with it. You could pack cuties like Dara off in the
morning, but not so a client. Your gig was to make them
big, and if they got big they could make big trouble.
Tauber shuddered at the thought of Colleen complaining
about him to Mike Campbell, or worse still, to Sam
Kendrick. Because he had made he big, and now his job
was to keep her both big and happy.

It had been the research that had done it. Finding out
exactly where she'd come from, a little Irish village called
Dunkenny, and then arranging to have the local paper
flown in for a week. Other guys would have ordered a
Chanel suit or bought a little sports car. But David Taube

49


was more imaginative than that. He'd worked on the rule
he applied to everyone and everything - find out what
they want, then give it to them.

It worked with Colleen McCallum. She'd signed up to
SKI the day the third paper arrived, put herself in Tauber's
hands, and the rest was a breeze. He'd put her on a strict
vegetarian diet, sent her to a trainer and a very expert, very
discreet New York phstic surgeon, and fired her old
record producer. They got a stylist to eliminate the faded
prettiness and pink chiffon numbers, and Tanber began the
rebirth. First, they stiffed MCA for a huge budget rise and
hired the best country-and-western producer in the
business, and the new, mature, degant, slender Colleen
had come out with a middle-of-the road hybrid they called
"Celtic Country'. It sold across Midwest America like it
was going out of style. Then, by dint of months of old
fashioned grovelling, he got Colleen onto an Oprah special
on comebacks, where mid-show she broke down in team,
confessing a past addiction to drugs and alcohol and her
rebirth in Christ Jesus. Sales in the Midwest soared, the
prdss got involved, Tauber found her a support slot in a
Fred Florescu remake of one of her old movies, playing the
mother of her original character, and one season later she
had an Oscar nomination and a big-rated chat show on one
of the Christian networks.

Colleen McCallum had been David Tauber's shot, and
one had been all he needed. Weird that it was someone like
Colleen who had brought him .Zach Mason. But that
C&W producer knew everybody, and the music business,
as Tauber had discovered, was a very small place
indeed...

He dried himself briskly and slipped into his Joseph
Abboud suit. Milk-chocolate cashmere, the perfect weight
and cut and colour for a midmorning pitch. Set offhis sandy
hair and gleaming tan, too. After all, Sam had made such a
big deal about Eleanor Marshall chairing the meeting, and


50

Marshall was a woman, after all. A woman with the power
to green-light his project. A woman with the power to
make his career.

Then he could really tell Kevin Scott to go fuck himself.
He wanted that loser out of the agency. He wanted to
break tkoxana and Zach together.

He checked himself out in the mirror. Armani shoes,
leather briefcase, classic Wayfarer shades, and a movie
package that Sam Kendrick had OK'd himself.

David Tauber was ready to go to work.


Sam Kendrick strode into the Artemis lobby like a pro
football player or a running politician. He always moved
that way when he was under stress; kind of a natural
defence mechanism. Nobody would ever guess it, the way
he beamed at the receptionist and headed down the right
corridor'to Eleanor Marshall's office without being asked.
The secretaries and a few low-level female execs sighed slightly as he passed. Kendrick had that rolling confidence,
that animal gait to his body that spoke of money, power
and excess testosterone. Such was the force of Kendrick's
personality that they almost missed the incredibly cute
young guy dogging his left heel. The blond who looked
like a refugee from Muscle Beach. o. kind of young to be
turning up to a meeting like this. Which meant he was a
new kid on the block, one of the handful that get straight
on the fast track every year.., more female sighing. Studio
work didn't give a young woman a lot of time for
socializing. David Tauber smiled at each one.of them, right
in the eyes.

'OK, guys, are we ready?' Sam asked his-team as they
stepped out into the back lot, standing in front of the small
exclusive building where Tom, Eleanor and a few of the
most senior VPs had their offices. 'Are we all clear on
everything?'

They nodded: Tauber, who was repping Zach and

tLoxana; Mike Campbell, head of his domestic movie
division, who was repping Fred Florescu; and Kevin Scott,
because Sam needed a script guy to be in on this. Kendrick
winced again at the sight of Kevin's crumpled tweeds.
Couldn't the guy get some style lessons from his movie
boys? Mike, in his regular black Armani, and the Tauber
kid in that chi-chi little brown deal? Personally, Kendrick
didn't like a man who so obviously took trouble over his
appearance. Seemed a little faggoty. But shit, the girls in the
offce seemed to melt into a pool of seething hormones all
over Tauber's feet. And it was his first big meeting as an
equal with agency hotshots, so Sam guessed he could dress
how he liked. Maybe Eleanor Marshall would go for it too,
,but Sam knew Eleanor and he doubted it. The Ice Queen

was all business, always had been.

'We should be clear, after that briefing you just gave us,'
Campbell replied.

Sam grinned. He'd had them all meet at SKI an hour
earlier, just so he could hone this pitch to perfection.

,'You got that right. Eleanor Marshall is our best shot.
She's new, she came from Marketing, she badly wants to
do a deal and we badly want to help her. And if any of you
assholes screws it up for me, I'm gonna give you a new
one.'

Kevin Scott frowned at his boss's language, but said
nothing.

'We won't screw it up,' DavidTauber said soothingly.

'Not if you want to stay working for me,' Kendrick
confirmed grimly, unimpressed.

The SKI group walked inside the dark glass doors and
Sam announced them to another receptionist, who rose in
a graceful slither of Donna Karan and conducted them
across acres of original-weave Persian carpet to Tom
Goldman's office.

'That'sOK, hon, we can take it from here,' Sam said.

'Welcome, gentlemen, come in,' Eleanor Marshall sad,
standing to greet them.

Tauber noticed that Kendrick, Campbell and Scott
almost involuntarily straightened themselves. Christ, he
was doing it too! How did she do that? Maybe it was the
buttermilk suit, maybe it was the sleek hair, maybe just the
intelligent, modulated tones. Everything about Eleanor
Marshall said lady. It wasn't a first impression he'd had of
any other woman since he'd arrived in this city.

He flashed her his deepest, sexiest smile, the one he
reserved for babes already hooked up with other guys.
Women had told him it made them think of his lips on

theirs. And he didn't mean the pair located under the nose.
Ms Marshall returned him a steady gaze.
David snapped the smile off?.

'Tom, Eleanor, you already know my guys, Mike from
Domestic and Kevin from our script department.' Sam
ignored Kevin Scott's imperceptible shiver of distaste. He
loathed his precious literary division being called the 'script
department'. As far as Kevin was concerned, Kendrick
knew, scripts were a necessary evil. But they were having a
meeting with Goldman and Marshal/, for God's sake.
Maybe little David was right about Kevin... 'And let me
introduce you to David Tauber, a very bright young man,
who represents two of our new clients.'

'Mike, Kevin, David.' Tom Goldman nodded at the
three of them, polite but reserved, like a king holding
court. 'Have a seat. Sam, you know we convened this
meeting so Eleanor could discuss with SKI a broad
framework of what we might be looking for this season...

'... but I take it that you already have something to
pitch to us,' Eleanor continued, gesturing at David. 'Since
you've brought along a specific agent.'

Sam noted the way they seemed totally at ease with each
other, finishing off each other's sentences, sharing that

¸53


chintz couch together. Not often you saw a studio chairman and president so well attuned. He didn't like it;
strong studios, weak agents.

'Let's hear it,' Goldman was saying.

'You're right, of course.' Kendrick shrugged charmingly,
like a little boy caught stealing apples.

'We should know you by now, Sam,' Eleanor Marshall
said, smiling at him. They had been old sparring partners
from her marketing days; Sam had always wanted huge
promotion guarantees for his stars, and Eleanor had always
fought to keep the spend down. Eleanor had usually won.

'Well, Sam Kendrick now represents two new stars and
we want to build a ftlm around them,' Sam said.

'We have a number of very established actors who
' would be perfect in support roles. We think this could be

huge,' Mike Campbell chimed in. 'We're looking at a

motion picture that will appeal to kids and their parents.'
'Who?' asked Eleanor Marshall, bluntly.

'David signed them, so I think he should do the
honours,' Sam said expansively. 'You guys are absolutely
th first to hear about this. The deal was only finalized
yesterday.'

David Tauber turned his dark gaze towards Eleanor.

'Zach Mason and ILoxana Felix,' he said.

Tom Goldman breathed in, sharply.

'We have a screen test for Zach,' Sam added, patting his briefcase. 'He can realy act. I'll run the tape for you.' He
leant forward, looking at Eleanor, the new kid on the
block. This would be the coup de grace. 'And we have also
signed a new director - Fred Florescu.'

'Does Fred want to work with Mason?' Eleanor
demanded, u'ying not to show how excited she was.

'He asked Sam to hook him up with Zach,' Mike
Campbell said.

Eleanor shifted on her seat. She could feel the waves
coming right out of Tom's eyes and boring into the back of


54

her neck - Do a deal! Now! Quick! Bffore they show this
package to anyone else!

But although he was straining at the leash, she knew he
wouldn't override her. Not in her first meeting. Tom had
appointed her president, and he'd let her make her own
decisions. It was one of the reasons she Liked him so much .. was that the right word?

'Sam, we'll need to see that test. But Zach Mason with
Fred Florescu sounds very strong.' She didn't care about
the supermodel. Not unless she could act. Most of those
clotheshorses had no idea what to do once they had to
open their mouths. 'And I think we can offer you a deal.
But there is one condition.'

'Name it.' Kendrick was still leaning towards her.
'Zach Mason's a superstar.., in rock 'n' roll. But there's
nothing to say his appeal will hold for moviegoers. It didn't
even work for Madonna. Now I know you guys have got a
lot of established talent for support, but this project needs
one more dement. It's crucial. And we won't green-light
anything without it.'

Eleanor nodded at Kevin Scott, completdy certain of
what she was saying.

'We need a dynamite script. Get me that, and we're in
business.'

Chapter 5


'Honey, over here!'

Megan paused for a second, just a second, to catch her
breath. She'd managed to get the order of three plates
heaped with fried chicken, coleslaw and two pitchers of
beer over to table six and set down without spilling it, even
when the fat slob with acne had made a grab for her ass,
cackling, and she'd had to swerve away. How could they
eat mounds of fried chicken in the LA summer? Sweat
beaded her forehead, making her fringe cling damply to
her skin. Her thighs felt heavy and sticky, gross in the too
short skirt. She'd put on twelve pounds since she started
vorking here; at the end of the shift she was always too
hungry and too exhausted to resist her free 'Mr Chicken'
employee meal. Even though the mere thought of all that
stale batter frying up in pools of grease made her nauseous.
Jesus, she thought, when I get out of here I'm never going
within ten miles of a piece of fried chicken for the rest of
my life. iF i ever get out of here.

'Honey, we need some service.'

'I'll be right there, guys,' Megan called out, threading
her way past the other waitresses towards table four,
nearest the bar. Oh God, it was them again. The drivers.
Worked for some Hollywood chauffeuring service and
turned up here once a week with their seersucker suits and
attitude, boasting to the other girls about what they'd said
to Demi Moore last Tuesday or Tom Hanks on Friday.

'OK, fellas, what'll it be?' she asked nervously..


56

'Two buckets, four 'slaws and a pitcher,' the scrawny
one gabbled. Megan wrote furiously, trying to ignore the
geek with the sideburns who was staring right up her skirt.
She longed to slap him, but what could you do? It had
taken her three weeks to find any kind of a gig. Even the
waitressing slots were hotly contested in this town, and by
wannabe actresses too, x x S-pound babes with legs that
went on forever and eyelashes so long you could braid
them. Overweight and over twenty-one usually meant

over and out. She had no savings. She needed this job.
'Great. Like a piece of corn with that?'

'No, but I'd sure like a piece of your sweet ass,' cracked
Oscar Wilde with the facial hair. His companions roared
with laughter.

Megan felt the anger bubble up inside her throat, but
forced it back down. 'Not on the menu today. Sorry.'

'Mebbe tomorrow.' Oscar wasn't giving up when he
was on a roll. He leant forward and jabbed a grimy finger
into the cellulite on Megan's upper thigh. 'Mebbe you'd
like to drop a couple pounds. I could help ya with that.
Sweat it off. Get it?'

Jesus. She felt even hotter, her clammy skin prickling
with rage and humiliation. Had it come to this? Being
propositioned by a bunch of slobs who were tellingher she
was fat?

'I'll get the order,' she.mumbled, and broke away from
the table, her face the colour of the ketchup bodes.

'Don't mind them.' Stacey, one of the other waitresses,
put a soothing hand on her arm. Stacey was a petite
redhead from Indiana who'd started two weeks before
Megan; and the only girl in the place who'd given her the
time of day. 'They're just assholes. Standard issue.'

'Stacey, am I fat?' She was transfixed by the sight of her
friend's slender legs, looking so cute in the itsybitsy
yellow frilled uniform. And her clear skin, with no
gathering pudginess under the chin. Green eyes and nea


57

red hair. Stacey could even look good in canary, a colour Mr Chicken might have chosen on purpose to make its
waitresses look sallow.

'No way.' Stacey wasn't looking at her. 'This society's

all hung up on weight, anyway. It's natural for a woman to
have curves.'

'I am fat,' Megan said, horrified.

'No you're not. You might think about losing just a
touch. But only if you wanted to,' Stacey added hastily.

Both of them glanced involuntarily down at Megan's
soft thighs spreading out under the raffled hem, orange
peel dimples just beginning to form across them.

'Hov's the script going?' Stacey asked hastily, changing
the subject. 'Got an agent yet?'
, Megan laughed bitterly. 'Of course. Mike Ovitz rang

yesterday. Which is why I'm still here, schlepping for
standard-issue assholes.' She broke off at the fight of
Stacey's hurt face. The younger girl wasn't exactly Simone
de Beauvoir, and she wounded easily. 'Oh, Stace, I'm
sorry,' she sighed. 'I didn't mean it like that. I guess it's just
getting to me today. I got rejections through from William
Morris and Sam Kendrick this morning.'

'Oh, Megan, I'm real sorry. That's too bad.'

'¥eah,' Megan said shortly. She glanced at her watch.
Half-ten. Thank God. 'At least I get offin fifteen minutes.'

'You go on home. I'll cover for you,' Stacey offered,
thinking how low Megan looked this evening, like a
puppy with all the fight kicked out of it.

'Would you? Oh God, thanks, Stacey. I'll come in early
tomorrow,' Megan promised, rushing through the dirty
double doors of the kitchen to get changed. She knew she
shouldn't have accepted, shouldn't have taken advantage
of Stacey's soft heart. It only meant Stacey would be stuck
with the jerks on table four instead of her. But God help
me, she thought, tonight I just can't make it through
another minute. She felt so exhausted she could lie down

58


here and just sleep through all the racket and shouting
without any problem at all. At least, she told herself grimly
as she struggled out of the horrible uniform and pulled on
her loose jeans, I could if the floor were cleaner.

'See you tomorrow, Megan. Quarter of nine. Sharp,'
Mr Jenkins, the supervisor, said pointedly to her, nodding
at the clock on the wall. 'You don't keeping mucking
about with your shift times like this. OK? Shifts are set for a
reason.'

Megan mumbled something placatory, hating herself.
'Want your Mr Crispy Special?' Jenkins demanded,
proffering her a small tub of fried chicken wings packaged
with a tub of barbecue sauce and a microscopic corn on the

cob.

'Not tonight.' She was totally starving, but the humiliation
had been too recent. Even her loose jeans had gotten
snug around the waistband.

'Sure?' He was surprised.

She ignored the growling in her stomach. 'Yeah.
Thanks.'

On the long drive back to Venice, Megan checked
herself out in the rearview mirror of her beat-up Flat It
was practically a felony to drive a car this old in the city of
gleaming Mercedes and personalized Polls-Ikoyces, but at
least it was night. And there were some advantages to
having lousy wheels. Like nobody would bother carjacking
someone who so obviously had nothing worth
stealing, and the drive-by shooters wouldn't waste a bullet.
Megan smiled to herself, with grim humour. She better
find something to laugh about. Because her reflection wasn't
funny.

The weight was the first thing; OK, so she wasn't fat fat,
not obese, tkoseanne Arnold was fat fat. Oprah before the
diet. No, Megan was just- what? Plump? Fleshy? Nearly a
stone heavier, and she'd been no Kate Moss before she left
San Francisco. Now it showed on her face, as well as her


59

ever-thickening thighs. An unsightly bulge under the chin.
A rounding of her features, enough to give her a moonfaced
expression. And a stomach that was nudging at the
waistband of her loose jeans. Megan knew that when she
sat down in the bathtub a small roll of flesh would crease
over her midriff. She'd started to use bubblebath regularly,
and now she guessed it was so she wouldn't have to look at
what was happening to her. At those little dimpled
cushions that were developing at the tops of her knees.

Tears started to ftlm across her tired eyes. Oh, God. She
didn't want to see this, didn't want to take a good look at
herself. What would R.ory say if he could see her like this?
tory, her last boyfriend up in Frisco, the one that she'd
dated for nearly a year and then dumped, three months ago
now. There had been nothing wrong with lory, which is
why they'd lasted so long. He'd been as comfortable to
Megan as her favourite old jumper. But there had been
nothing much tight with him either- he'd never been able
to get passionate about anything except sex, he was happy
with their little world exactly the way it was. Though
M'egan had looked forward to going back to lory at
nights, she'd never managed to get worked up about it.
The thought oflory waiting for her had never given her
that wet, sticky, pressing feeling in her pussy she got when
she was fantasizing about Harrison Ford or Keanu leeves
in the library. And lory on his own had only been able to
give her quick little orgasms, not the more satisfying,
deeper spasms she got when she shut her eyes and guiltily
imagined it was Zach Mason she was fucking. So
eventually she'd got round to chucking him, because she
couldn't shake the feeling that as long as she was with tory
she'd be missing out on something. Something special,
something different. Passion. Infatuation. Her heart speeding
up, that faint sickness ... the. stuff she saw in the
movies, the stuff she read about. Sleepless in Seattle, Romeo
and Juliet,. Scarlett O'Hara melting for Rhett Butler. God,


6o

listen to me, Megan thought, pressing her foot on the gass,
picking up speed. Even thinking about it, it sounds
ridiculous. When does it ever happen to anyone? How
many Richard Geres are out there waiting for your average
streetwalker? And dumping Kory, for that. What a joke. If
he'd seen her like this, he wouldn't have stayed with her
for ten minutes. Even Dec would have been embarrassed
by the total mess she was sliding into.

It wasn't just the pudginess. The whole thing was a
disaster. Poor diet and no exercise and lack of sleep had
shot her skin to hell. Her face was grey-complexioned,
pallid and dull. On top of that, she had breakouts, nasty
little whiteheads peppering her forehead. The lank hair
was probably making that worse. She washed it every
morning, but cheap shampoo was no match for the spitting
oil and rank steam of the Mr Chicken kitchen. And she
noticed that the real beauty, the red zit on the end of her
nose, had triumphed over the six layers of cover-up she'd
plastered on it this morning, and was now throbbing dully
and noticeably at her in the rearview mior

Well, Megan thought, if the car breaks down at least I'll
be able to light my way home. And then she was really
crying, big, salty tears that spilled out of the corners of her
eyes and tickled as they ran down her plump cheeks.

She slowed down, sniffing and reaching up with one
hand to dash the water away. She didn't want a car wreck.
Wouldn't that be the perfect end to the perfect day?

It had started off on the wrong foot this morning, not
that there was anything new about that. Her alarm shrilling
at eight, waking up with a headache, stumbling into the
shower to wash it all away. That had been OK: the hot kiss
of the water, the soft bubbles of her shower, her fingers
slipping between her legs for a little relief, and a shockingly
good orgasm five minutes later, leaning back against the
thin plastic shower rack, warm rivulets of water flowing
across her fingers, mingling with her own juices, letting

6I


her come, knowing that her ragged gasps wotfld be hidden
from the others by the noise of the shower. Towelling off
quickly, she'd almost felt good; relaxed and unstressed, like
some soothing hand had temporarily untied all the knots in
her muscles. But it hadn't lasted.

'What's up?' she greeted Jeanne and Tina, her roommates,
who'd already had breakfast and were sitting at their
small table in the cramped kitchenette, drinking instant
coffee. The apartment was grimy and too small, the
showerhead needed jiggling every other day and the paint
was peeling in most of the rooms, but it was also incredibly
cheap. And thus in demand. She'd been really lucky to
have the other two pick her out of a long list the day she
answered the flatshare ad; maybe it was because she was so
'much plainer than all the other girls who'd applied, and

they hadn't wanted any competition. Whatever, neither of
them had gone out of their way to make her feel at home
once she'd moved her single suitcase in. At least they
weren't overtly hostile. Perhaps that was what passed for
friendship in this town. And they hadn't objected when
she'd tried to make the dump seem a little more like home:
hanging a surrealist print over the stain in the hallway,
putting her faded Afghan blanket down in the kitchen, and
tacking her Dark Angel and Metallica posters up in her
bedroom and the front room.

'Hi,' said Jeanne, a French girl with a chic brown bob

and impeccable skin., Jeanne sold insurance over the
phone, downtown, and wanted to be an actress. Central
Casting. sometimes called her in to do extra work, and
she'd once had a speaking line in a dogfood commercial.

'Post came for you,' Tina added, not without sympathy.

Tina was dyed-blonde and silicone-breasted and checked
coats at a not-so-exclusive nightclub. She always had more
money than her salary would explain, and Megan never
asked how she got it.

Megan had walked forward to the table, her .mouth

62


suddenly cottony-dry. No mistaking it. Two fat
velopes, addressed to her in her own handwriting, lt,
about eighty pages fat. Her script, tLetumed to her again,
rejected again. Dismayed, she looked at the franking on tlae
top. Sam Kendrick. Oh no. And William Morris.

She sank into the vacant chair, feeling despair envelop
her in its familiar thick fog.

'It isn't that bad,' Jeanne said, offering some uncharacteristic
sympathy. 'No one gets accepted right off.'

'You have to know someone,' Tina confirmed. 'Do
you want some coffee? I'm gonna get some more.'

Megan didn't want coffee or anything else unless it was
laced with strychnine, but she also didn't want to offend
Tina. 'Thanks.' She ripped open the envelopes, saw those
death-kisses, the stapled sheets marked RETURNED UNREAD,
with a form letter saying that the agency was not accepting
unsolicitsd scripts at this time.

'That's so you can't sue them,' Jeanne told her, wisely.
Jeanne considered herself a veteran, a pro. She knew all
about 'the Business'.

'I don't understand,' Meg-an said, faintly. At least in San
Francisco her novel had been rejected. Here she couldn't
persuade one agency to so much as read her screenplay.
'Unread'. 'Unread'. 'Unread'. They'd all said the same
thing, and they'd all sent it back by return of post. Megan
couldn't afford to make huge numbers of copies, so she'd
sent out two manuscripts, sending the same copies out
again when they came back. Which they always did, like
the world's most accurate boomerangs. Megan had started
with the small agents, where she fdlt she had the best
chance, and worked her way up. Not that it mattered;
she'd struck out all the way up the pond, from the
minnows to the whales. And now William Morris and SKI
had told her to get lost, she was about through her entire
list, with only ICM and CAA remaining. Yeah, right! Like.
either of them were gonna give her the time of day.


63

'It's so you can't sue them if they rip off your idea,'
Jeanne explained. 'So if a studio makes a movie, and it's
kind of like your script, you can't sue them and say they
used your idea and ripped you offwithout paying for it.'

'P,.eally?' Megan asked. She felt so helpless. 'But then

how does anybody ever get a script read?'

'Beats me,' Tina said shortly, putting a mug of coffee

down in front of her. Megan knew Tina looked down on
her, compared with Jeanne. Not only did Jeanne have
looks and style; at least she was" failing to be an actress.
Megan was only failing to be a writer. How low could you
get?

'You have to know somebody. Tina's right,' Jeanne

said.

' 'But I don't know anybody.' Not in showbusiness, and
not in this whole fucking city, Megan thought. She picked
up her copies of the script, ready to slot them into new
envelopes for CAA and ICM. They felt like lead in her
hand, heavy with the weight of foolish ambition and
frustrated dreams.

"So what are you going to do?' asked Jeanne.

Megan shrugged. 'Right now I guess I'm going to
work.' And she'd gone back into her bedroom to pick up
the Mr Chicken uniform, all ready for another fun-packed
day in Tinseltown ....


She turned down Cari]lo, nearly home now. Pretty quiet
out there tonight; only a few bodies huddled in doorways,
the normal night-time groupings you didn't look too hard
at, kids selling skin or crack, more likely the latter. More
money in it. The tears had stopped now; she was too tired
to cry. She just wanted to get inside, get something in her
stomach so she could sleep. There would be a little less
time tomorrow morning, too, because she'd have to get in
fifteen minutes earlier. Although there'd doubtless still be
time to get back both copies of See the Lights, her. script,


64

from CAA and ICM. And Megan wondered for a second
what she'd do then. When she had literally run out of
chances.


'Hey, Megan,' Tina yelled out as she walked through the
door. 'Come and have a beer.'

'What's this?' she asked, hanging up her uniform on the
back of her bedroom door and wandering into the kitchen.
'Are we celebrating?'

'We are.' Jeanne had picked up two six-packs of Bud
and some grass. The heady, bittersweet scent of marijuana
smoke hung in the tiny room, and Megan was assaulted
with a sudden rush of homesickness. 'Want some 6fthis?'
Jeanne proffered an expertly rolled joint and Megan
accepted it, taking a deep drag, right into her lungs. Maybe

a little dope would relax her.

'Beer?:

'Yeah. No,' Megan said, thinking of the calories. Tm
gonna try and lose some weight.'

'Jeanne got a part,' Tina told her smugly.

'You did?' Megan asked. 'Truly?'

Jeanne nodded her sleek head proudly. 'Second lead in
an art ftlm by tkay Tyson. I'm getting twelve hundred
dollars.'

Twelve hundred dollars! Megan was appalled to find
herself swamped by a wave of envy and resentment. What
had Jeanne ever done that was worth so much? Jea.nne was
stupid, a bimbo with an accent. But she was slim, she was
chic. Things Megan would never be. It was so unfair.

A quotation from the Bible floate'd into her mind: To
him that hath, more shall be given; and to him that hath not, even
the little he hath shall be taken from him.

'Congratulations,' she said, as brightly as she could.
'Who's going to be Your agent?'

'Oh, I'm not gonna bother with an agent,' Jeanne said
loftily. 'Why should some jerk take twenty per cent df


65

what I make? I got this part myself, I guess I can get other

ones, too.'

Megan was too weary to argue with her. 'OK,' she said.

'Hey, Megan, maybe you should send your script back

to SKI,' Jeanne said, with the generosity of the fortunate.

Megan shrugged. 'Thanks, Jeanne, but I don't see the

point. If they wouldn't readit the first dine, I don't see why
they'd change their minds just because I repeated the
process.'

'Jeanne heard some girl at the casdng saying that SKI are
suddenly desperate for scripts,' Tina butted in.

'It's a real hot rumour,' Jeanne confirmed. 'That

Artemis are looking for a vehicle for this new star they've
figned.'

Megan laughed. 'But that would only work if my script

was suitable for this star.' She thought about her screenplay,
the labour of love that took her less than a fortnight to
finish off. God, the way the words had just tumbled out of
her head, so quickly she'd been scared she might not be
able to type fast enough to get them down. The movie had
written itself, playing in her head as clearly as if she was
sitting in some darkened theatre with a bucket of
Butterkist. The bittersweet story of a young musician and
how fame warps him on his way to the top, only for him to
be rescued in the third act by the girl he'd previously cast
aside. It had sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll and mad passionate
love too. She'd been so proud of it, so fdled with certainty
that it was her ticket out ofnowheresville.

Certain enough to draw out her entire meagre savings
account from Wells Fargo and get on a Greyhound bus.
Certain enough to risk everything she had. And, it seemed,
to lose it.

'But it's totally suitable,' Jeanne said. 'I guess, anyway. If

he doesn't mind being typecast.'

'Who is this guy they've signed?' asked Megan, only


66

slightly interested. Like it should affect her if Tom Cruise
or whoever switched agents.

'Zach Mason,' Tina informed her.

'Say that again?' Megan stammered.

'Zack Mason. You know, he used to be a rock star. Sang
in that band you like,' Tina said. She added grudgingly, 'I
guess he would be right for your script. But I'd forget about
it. IfJeanne heard, every real writer in town knows about it
too, and they're all connected. You'll never get them to
read your script.'

Megan hardly looked at her. Suddenly she knew it was
going to be OK. This movie had her name on it. All she

had to do was get her script read by the right person at SKI.
'Oh yes I will,' she said.

'And how are you gonna do that?' demanded Tina
nastily.

'I don:t know,' Megan told her. 'But I will.'

67


Chapter 6


His cock felt like it was going to explode. It was huge,
desperately thickened, throbbing with need. When he
glanced quickly down, gasping with almost unbearable lust
and pleasure, Howard Thorn could see the long blue vein
that ran down the side of it swollen at as an earthworm. He
i:ould dimly register that his cock seemed to have grown to
twice its usual size when he had a hard-on. That had
everything to do with the slender, perfect fingers wrapped
round its stem, opening and closing in a tiny butterfly
movement, then pinching him very faintly around the
bucking velvet tip, just enough to stop the violent orgasm
he was sure would burst out of him any second. He pushed
helplessly, mindlessly, guided by instinct, rubbing his dick,
wet with the juices of her million-dollar mouth, against her
baby-soft skin. Not that Howard was thinking about her
skin. He could hardly think about anything at all. His
company, his jealous wife, his power, his receding hair had
all evaporated into the mist. The universe had shrunk and
contracted, until the only things that Howard Thorn was
aware of were his cock and her hands and his acute need to
come, to end this exquisite, torture she was inflicting on
him. 1Light now, the entire cosmos was wrapped up in the
nine inches of his erect, straining, pulsing dick. And the
only lucid thought in his head was Roxana Felix is thefuck of
the century.

'Now?' 1Loxana asked him, her gentle voice low and
teasing, laced with a breathy sensuality that sent another


68

sharp stab of pleasure right through his balls, hardened and
shrunk and totally ready. Howard stared glassily at the
cloud of her ultra-glossy, jet-black hair, hair he could
practically see his face in. He managed to choke out the
words: 'Yes. Please, yes.'

'Are you sure? I could last another ten minutes.'

She could last forever with ludolf Valentino here.
Jesus. She couldn't come for him if he was the last man on
earth and masturbation was banned.

'Please. Please.' He was begging, his cock leaping at her
touch, beading at the head with his liquids. He wasn't
going to last ten more seconds, let alone ten minutes. 'I
have to come. I'm gonna die,' Howard choked.

Maddeningly slowly she lifted herself forward over his
supine body, positioning herself directly above him,
sliding her pussy right down the length of his shaft with
immaculme timing, so that the movement from her hands
to her crotch was seamless.

Howard Thorn cried out from sheer pleasure.

'You're not going to die, baby. But you are going to
heaven,' l:koxana Felix whispered, and then, to his utter
astonishment and bliss, Howard found his cock being
caressed by the inner walls of her pussy, the tight,
controlled muscles of her vagina milking him out like a
second set of hands, and he saw her rocking above him, her
small pert breasts bouncing, her flat stomach pearled with
sweat, her exquisite face contorted with the violence of her
orgasm, and he erupted inside her, his come tipping out of
him in great spasms of ecstasy that shook his entire body,
the most incredible, intense climax he had ever experienced
in his entire life.

'My Christ,' he said weakly.

She was smiling at him, a languorous, sated smile, like a
pedigree kitten that had just been fed, and Howard Thorn,
billionaire financier and Wall Street raider, felt his heart flip
over like a lovesick teenager.

69


'You're so good, baby. What you do to me,' Roxana
Felix murmured, faintly.

Thorn felt his pride swell up nearly as much as his dick
had been swollen a moment ago. He felt a wash of sheer
machismo roll over him, as though he were a caveman
who'd dragged the world's most famous supermodel back
to his de by her long black hair, and then shown her what
good loving was all about. The possibility that Roxana
might have faked it never entered Howard's typically male
head. The idea that one of the most breathtaking women
he'd ever seen might not go ga-ga for his middle-aged
spread, beady eyes and encroaching baldness simply did
not occtir to him.

'Honey, you inspire a man,' Howard said, smiling fady
'at her. The little rolls of flesh on his cheeks twitched
upwards in a smirk.

'If only you were free.' She gave a delicate sigh, glancing
sadly at his wedding ring.

'R.oxy, R.oxy,' Howard said, patting her knee as though
she were a favourite schoolchild. Damn, he was sorely
terhpted to promise to give Bunny up, the dry, frigid bitch,
and take this hot tamale back to Dallas with him. But he'd
married in the frfties, without a pre-nup, and Bunny had
raised three kids with him and been there the entire time
he'd worked to make Condor Oil a reality, including the
last five years, when he'd expanded into broadcasting and
real estate. Condor Industries. An American colossus, and a
company that Bunny might be able to claim f-y per cent
of, or so his lawyers had told him. Goddamn 'women's
movement' with its goddamn communal property laws.

There was only one thing Howard Thorn loved more
than sex, and that was money. He patted loxana Felix's
slim leg again. 'You know I'd love to, but I just can't do it
to Bunny. We were not meant to be.'

Obviously disappointed, she turned away from him and
started to dress.


to
'But I got you those other things you wanted,' Thorn
said quickly. 'All of them. I called Tom Goldman last night
about screeningyour tests. And my guys have talked to the
trades and the press. Even the New York Times. It'll be
pandemonium when you get there.'

Completely covered up in her opaque Mark Eisen
scarlet shift, loxana turned back to him, her chocolate

eyes shining with pleasure. She took his breath away.
'P,.eally? You called Tom Goldman?'

'Yes, ma'am,' Thorn confirmed. 'Told him he better
make sure everybody watched your tests and that he'd
better be positive about it.' He hoped he sounded suitably
menacing. 'Jeez, I told him to cast you, but he said it don't
work like that.'

loxana beat down a scathing retort. Howard Thorn
was not Bob Alton. He had to be played carefully. 'Why
not?' she-asked, disappointed, pouting, little-girl-lost.

Howard looked at her and felt his anger at that little kike
come rushing back. 'Christ, honey, I know what you're
thinking. He runs the damn studio. But there's a new
president appointed, a woman' - and one who sat on a few
charity committees with Bunny, he couldn't push P,.oxy to her- 'name of Eleanor Marshall. Seems like it's her first
project, and he can't override her "creative control".' He
put quotes around the phrase. The only creative control
worth a damn to Howard Thorn was the kind his accounts
practised on the company books.

'Oh, Howard. I want it so much. I just don't know what
to do,' said loxana, helplessly, her long lashes beading
with tears.

Thorn looked at her, furious with Tom Goldman. If
loxana Felix wanted something, by God she was going to
have it. Fuck Eleanor Marshall. Fuck anything that stood in
his way.

'You just go to LA and do your thing, honey. I'll get yo.u
that movie.'


7I

'Promise, Howard?'
loxana stood in front of him, looking up at him like a
little girl looking at Santa Claus. A little girl whose
gorgeous raisin nipples were winking at him through the
cherry satin of her dress.

For a second, Howard Thorn thought of the risks
involved in messing around with the casting of a movie. A
financier like him with a large stake in Artemis Studios
really shouldn't be concerning himself with petty little things like that..And when loxana Felix was the gift he
was hawking, the situation more or less invited attention. Begged for suspicion.

But then he thought of her fingers tickling the stem of

his cock, the clutching, intimate caress of her pussy, that

, superman-size hard-on she'd given him. loxana Felix had
shown him things no hooker he'd ever had could even
dream of. But she was no hooker, she was a world-famous
supermodel. The classiest piece of ass on the planet.

For fat, plain Howard Thorn, she was a wet dream come

true.

"I promise,' he said.


In the relaxed comfort of the ftrst-class cabin, P,.oxana Felix
was doing a lot of thinking.

This wasn't behaviour she normally indulgedin. Think'
ing was for when you were travelling by private jet, when
you had time for it. VChen she was slumming fret-class,
loxana treated it like a show. Every move worked out
with precision: the dramatic entrance, just a fraction late,
but never late enough to delay the plane - she'd decided
the superbitch, primadonna image was pass these days and
the sexy, stylish, never overpowering outfits she
picked to travel in. Her small, dark green cases, made to
order on Bond Street and so much more chic than boring
old Gucci or Louis Vuitton. The gentle politeness to flight
attendants. The sweet but firm requests for privacy if some


72

odious businessman wanted an autograph, and the equally
sweet acquiescence fib.is four-year-old kid asked for one.
After all, she had a duty to her public. She was more than a
model. She was P,.oxana Felix, a lady, a role model,
America's sweetheart. And you never knew who the first
class crowd actually were - heaven forbid she should lose
face when a Vanity Fair reporter might be taking notes in
the row behind her. You might even snub that reporter
himself without realizing it.

P, oxana frowned. P, eporters took themselves so seriously.
Stupid writers mistaking themselves for people
other people might be interested in. Look at that Norman
Mailer interview with Madonna a few years back - more
about Mailer than the lady he was supposed to be talking
to, and all he could ask her about was why she hadn't done
beaver shots for 'Sex'. Christ. As if anyone in the whole
world gave a shit about Norman Mailer, that pretentious
fat fuck.

Anyway, today she just couldn't be bothered with
reporters or kids or anyone else. She'd had her travel agent
arrange for her to be seated at the end of an empty row, and
the stewardesses were under strict instructions to keep the
great unwashed away from her.

Incredibly, things were not going according to plan.

It had started with that call from David Tauber last
week. Two days after her Chicago triumph, with the
entire fashion business falling over itself to be the first to
fling itself at her Salvatore Ferragamo heels. Bob Alton had
melted into a seething pool of adoration and dollars as the
phone at Unique rang off the hook. Guess Jeans. Chanel.
The new Calvin Klein perfume. And best of all, P, evlon's
offer to feature her, alone, in a one-offlipsdck campaign -
'The most beautiful woman in the world wears lq.evlon.'

When she read that she'd practically come. What was it
Bob said? Her coronation. Right. Sometimes he was
nearly worth tolerating. The Alessandro show had been

73


her coronation, the apex, the zenith of the beauty tree.
She, P,.oxana, had finally been crowned queen, succeeded
to the throne she'd always known she was born to occupy.
When she strutted into the Limelight, her favourite club in
New York, the DJ had put on luPaul's 'Supermodel of
the World' in tribute, and the kids all applauded when
she'd glided onto the dance foor.

How Cindy must be seething. How Linda must be livid.

As if she gave a damn!

It was all she'd ever dreamed about. As far as she was
concerned, all that kissy-kissy, babe-canIborrow-your
blusher, Naomi-loves-Christy crap was the purest bullshit.
And she was sure all the girls secretly felt the same. This
wasn't about there being enough work for everyone, this was about supremacy. About who was top. Who could
beat offthe new girls - Brandi, Amber, Megan, Shalom et
al - the longest.

And at Alessandro's little shebang, she, Koxana Felix,

had simply walked over the pack of them in her made-to
measure sandals.

o why wasn't that enough? She couldn't figure it out,

truly. She just couldn't see why the sweet sense of victory
had lasted such a very short time, such a mere heartbeat of
space, before all the demons had come back, all those ugly,
nagging black feelings she had to work so hard to bury...

Koxana shook her head, hard. No. She wouldn't think

about that now.
Just take it as a given that although the new contracts

she'd signed since the Alessandro sensation would keep her
in fist-class seats for the rest of her life, that simply wasn't
enough. As she'd found out when David Tauber called her
from LA to tell her of the problem.

Sam Kendrick International had put her forward as a
contender for female lead in the Zach Mason vehicle, to be
directed by Fred Florescu. Merely the sound of his voice,
hearing him say 'Zach Mason' and 'Fred Florescu' and her


7.

in the same sentence, had sent shivers down her perfect,
jaded little spine. Zach Mason[ She loathed that dreadful
music Dark Angel spewed out, she'd had to endure it
screaming from the speakers at enough of the ultra-hip
shows. In fact music in general left her cold. Most things
left her cold. But Zach Mason was a god to billions of kids
around the globe, a sex god and soothsayer rolled into one.
People she knew had reacted to Dark Angel splitting up as
though it was John F. Kennedy getting shot in Dallas all
over again. He defined his generation. And Fred Florescu
was not only the hottest, most commercial director around
after Spielberg, he was by far the most credible, the only
Generation X-er to really make a mark on the American
consciousness.

To play opposite Zach Mason in a Fred Florescu


She would no longer be a clotheshorse. She would be
more, even, than the biggest celebrity in the world. Yeah,
1Loxana thought, maybe that was what she had realized
that as a model, it was her perfect face and her perfect body
that were famous, not her. She was nobody. Nobody cared
what her opinions were on anything, what she planned to
do after she'd fmished modelling. My God, she thought, I
might as well be unknown.

To be a movie star would give her more than celebrity.
It would give her fame. And immediately she realized this, she'd realized that
she must have it. The demons had swarmed up in a black
cloud like bats. Any lingering pleasure over the Alessandro
triumph had become so many ashes in her mouth. And it
was just at that moment when Tauber informed her that
Artemis had said they weren't interested, but he'd try to get
them to look at some tests.

'I guess I didn't hear you right,' she'd said, her heart
hammering with blind panic. 'I thought you said you were
going to try to get them to look at my tests?'

75


Her voice had been colder than liquid nitrogen.
Tauber sounded placatory, but he'd stood his ground.
Bob Alton fainted dead away when she used a tone like
that. 'Yeah, I did. And I will try my absolute hardest,
loxana, but I can't guarantee they will see yourtests.'

'You're telling me that I have to take a screen test? Do

you know how many commercials I've done? And you're
telling me that even if I accept this insanity, Artemis may not
even look at them? Does this Eleanor Marshall have me
mixed up with somebody else?'

Tauber hadn't flinched. Tm - we're- incredibly thrilled

to be representing you, P,.oxana. You're the most beautiful
woman alive, and/know you're one of the most talented.'
The implication was not lost on her. 'But unfortunately,
the motion picture industry needs a whole new set of skills.
We're gonna have to persuade them that you have what it
takes.' His tone was as warm as his words were chilling.

'You're saying I can't go in at the top.' Her words were a

flat monotone. Disbelieving.

Tauber had changed tack, gone for intelligent candour.
'loxana, I told you I would never bullshit you' - she
rolled her eyes- 'and I won't. This is the truth. The talent I
see in you, talking to you, other people out here don't. We
have to prove it to them and that's gonna take a little work,'
and then he'd added the magic phrase, 'but I know you
love a challenge.'

Oh yes, loxana thought, yes, indeed I do. And this

will be as nothing compared with the real challenges I've
already faced. Challenges that you can't even begin to.
dream about, California boy, not in your worst nightmares.

'I'll do those tests, David,' she said calmly. 'You just

husde them at Artemis. They'll get seen.'

Already she had flashed onto Howard Thorn, one of the

many hugely powerful, hugely stupid, hugely married
names in her little black book. Men she threw a mercy fuck


76

at now and then, who provided her with favours as
needed. Howard Thorn was one of the most useful.
Chained to his wife by billion-dollar handcu, he was
guaranteed not to give her any trouble or bother her
overmuch, and his massive holding conglomerate, Condor
Industries, had helped her up the ladder with magazines,
cosmetic .contracts and many kind little whispers in smoky
clubs. Naturally, Howard was besotted with her, and every
time she screwed him she made sure it was better than the
last. And like all her other sugar daddies, Howard thought
he was the only one.

Thank God, Ioxana thought contemptuously, ,for the
fact that a girl can rely on some things in this life. The vanity
of men was one world resource that would never run out.

Howard Thorn had bought faCteen per cent of Artemis
Studios only last year.

'They'll get seen?' Tauber repeated, questioningly.
'Yes, they will.'

'OK,' Tauber answered, not pushing it.

She was glad they understood each other. Because she
found herself in a position that she hadn't known for years
- helplessness. She couldn't threaten David Tauber with
firing him because, unlike at Unique, she wasn't Sam
Kendrick Interuational's only client. Jesus, from the
sounds of it she wasn't even an important client. And
anyway, Sam Kendrick had Zach Mason and Fred
Florescu, and that was the pect movie, the one she
wanted to be in. Already she knew that much. A movie
would be no problem. But it was this'movie she wanted.
The movie.

That was why she'd taken time out last week to do the
test, and shown that jerk banker a little bit of nirvana this
morning. She was already working for it, struggling for it.
Roxana needed this ftlm, and if laying Howard Thorn was
what it took, laying Howard Thorn was what she would'

77


do. She loathed him, but this morning she'd fucked him

like she was Scheherazade and her life depended on it.

The plane banked and dipped, preparing for the descent

into LAX. P,.oxana Felix gazed out at.the glittering grid of
the city, laid out before her in a jewelled web of light,

sparkling against the darkness.
It was a strange thing.
She was frightened.

78


Chapter 7


Jordan Cabot Goldman was in an agony of indecision.

She twirled in front of her floor-to-ceiling mirrors,
ignoring the reflection of the palatial bedroom behind her - the kingsize four-poster, an Elizabethan original
imported from England, the carpet of delicate Chinese silk
and the sunkenjacuzzi she'd had installed at the foot of the
bed. Silver vases were scattered in a careful way about the
room, crammed to overflowing with white and yellow
roses, flowers that were changed every morning. The huge
bay windows had a pofished mahogany window seat, laid
out invitingly with soft downy cushions, embroidered in
Scotland. The whole effect was an absolute triumph of
wealth over taste, in the grand tradition of the Duchess of
Windsor's jewels, and Jordan was very proud of it, just as
proud as she was of their ultra-neat gardens, which she'd
had equipped with the very latest in both sprinkler and
security systems. Tom Goldman had taken a while to get
married, but Jordan Cabot Goldman was here to see that
he never regretted that decision. Not for an instant. Hence
the jacuzzi in the bedroom and the cupboard full of erotic
paraphernalia hidden behind a bookshelf. And hence
Jordan's own slender, toned, worked-on young body that
was bouncing so gratifyingly as she twisted about, pretending
not to watch herself, holding up first the pink Chanel
suit and then the navy Bill Blass dress. Both suchgroum-up designers. But Jordan knew it was her duty to reflect the
status of her husband in the outfits she wore. She no longer'


79

owned a pair of jeans, even designer ones. It was so
annoying that she couldn't get Tom to do the same thing.
Hugo Boss chinos. That was what he should be wearing
when he needed to go casual.

The pink was more attractive, it set offher tan and her
blonde hair and her dazzlingly white teeth, but the navy
had more gravitas, made her look older. She could be
twenty-eight in that navy.

Isabelle wouldn't hesitate for a moment, Jordan
thought, jealously. She'd know exactly what to wear.
She'd know before she even got to the closet.

Isabelle Kendrick was Jordan's lunch date. Married to
Sam Kendrick, she had been a social powerhouse in the
city for fifteen years, and Jordan was in awe of her. She

' didn't like her, of course, but that didn't matter. The fact
was that Isabelle sat on every important charity committee
in LA, gave the definitive Oscar night party since Swifty
Lazar had passed away, and somehow, invisibly, imperceptibly,
marked out every new girl on the scene and
ranked her desirability. It drove Jordan crazy; after all, wasn't she the wife of a studio head? And Isabelle only the
wife of an agent, even if he was a fairly heavyweight agent.
But there was no getting away from reality, and in LA the
reality was that Isabelle ruled. From Cedars-Sinai to the
San Francisco Opera House, she sat on every important
board. Her little soir6es were the most sought-after,
reported-on dinner parties in the city. And at her big
spectaculars once a season - there was the summer ball
coming up at the end of this month - more business got
done than at Cannes. If President Clinton came to town
and wanted to eat with somebody besides David Geffen,
Mrs Samuel Kendrick was the second name on his list.
With her own ears Jordan had heard Isabelle chatting to the
First Lady on the telephone as though she were an intimate
friend. 'Yes, Hillary, Irish salmon.' 'No, Hillary, I promise
I'll keep.the cholesterol down.'


80

It was all fantastic, and Jordan wanted it for hersel£. She was Tom's wife and she should get that respect. Well, she
knew how jealous they all were of her, even the ones that
were nearly as young and nearly as attractive as she was.
And the older women were just green. Too bad, Jordan
thought maliciously, surveying her large, firrn breasts and
slimline thighs. You had your chance once, and now it's
my turn.

After all, nobody had dared to actually snub her, much
though they might have liked to. It was Los Angeles, and
when all was said and done, she was the wife of a studio
chairman, and thus unsnubbable. Plus,Jordan had a certain
survivor's instinct that had served her very well all her life.
She knew better than to try to compete with Isabelle
Kendrick. No, she had to carve out a new place for herself,
a complementary place, as the queen of the new generation.
Jordma had started to support the more modem
charities, giving nice little dances for AIDS research,
sponsoring walks for the war against drugs, and throwing
well-attended dinners at five thousand bucks a plate for
whatever issue was in the news. Her last one had been a
minor victory: An Evening to Stop the Killing, raising
money for the struggle against gang warfare in South
Central LA. They'd played hardcore rap music very
quietly over the speakers while entertainment industry big
shots sipped Dom Prign0n and toyed with their caviar
and blinis. It was too bad that she hadn't been able.to get
Spike Lee to attend - or, indeed, even answer her gilt
edged invitation - but then everybody knew how difficult he could be. Her Serene Highness Princess Caroline of
Monaco had been guest of honour. Such a step up from
that little tramp Stephanie. Yes, it had been quite a
triumph, and Jordan hadbeen able to seat Isabelle next to
her and bask in her approval.

There was only one aspect of that evening to mar her
enjoyment of it, the reason she'd pleaded with Isabelle for


8i

some time today. But deftly positioning herself alongside,
and not against, Isabelle Kendrick on the LA circuit,Jordan
Cabot Goldman had acquired a major advantage. Isabelle
was becoming her mentor.

With a flounce of her nicely tanned ass, cheeks high and
tight in the mirror as she turned round, Jordan tossed the
navy dress over a P,.egency armchair and selected the
Chanel. Just the thing for lunch. Surely you couldn't go
wrong with Chanel.


'Mrs Kendrick, how good to see you. Won't you step this
way,' gushed the maitre d', leading Isabelle deftly into the
main restaurant and up to the second-best table. Normally,
she might have protested; Isabelle had huge clout at

,
	Morton's, but her practised eye settled almost instantly on
Madonna and Abel Ferrara sitting at the place she normally
occupied.

Oh well, thought Isabelle. C'est la vie.

She smoothed down the featherweight cashmere of her
lalph Laurenjacket, supremely confident in the elegance
of her look. At thirty-eight, Isabelle graced every best
dressed list in the country; her hair was a smooth,
beautifully penned cap of chestnut brown, with the tiny
grey streaks in it marvellously covered over every month
by Dino Castoni, this year's favoured Beverly Hills stylist.
Her dermatologist ensured that her skin had excellent
elasticity for its age, arid while Isabelle would have died at
the vulgarity of a public gymnasium, Liz Xanthia, her
fanatically discreet private trainer, and Margot Guise, the
Kendricks' vegetarian chef, between the two of them kept
her in wonderfully svelte form.

Isabelle's green eyes, so perfectly matched to her
emerald earrings, latched onto Jordan Goldman immediately.
Dear Jordan, she thought. Tries so hard. But pink
Chanel for a blonde! So obvious, so lacking in imagination
....


82

The younger woman stood up to greet her and the two
women leant forward, planting loud kisses on the air next
to their respective cheeks.

'Isabelle, how kind of you to come,' Jordan gushed,
hoping for exactly the right mix of gratitude and graciousness.
'I know how busy you must be, with the party in a
fortnight.'

'A nightmare,' Isabelle agreed. 'The flowers are giving
me all kinds of headaches. You must let me have the name
of that man you used at your last dinner.'

Glowing, Jordan promised to look it up for her, while

Isabelle ordered a Caesar salad and mineral water.

'I'll have the same. Thank you.'

'What would we do if they ever ran out of Caesar
salads?' Isabeile joked.

Jordan laughed, too brightly.

There ¢as an awkward silence.

Isabelle looked at Jordan sharply, feeling her curiosity
begin to pique. Good Lord, something was wrong! She'd
assumed this lunch was just par for the course, a further sign
of Jordan's respect, possibly a bid to get closer to her now
that Sam was cooking up some deal with Artemis. Not for
one second had she thought Jordan would actually have
something to discuss. But there was no mistaking it, that
hesitation, the reluctant blush, the way her irritatingly
lovely blue eyes kept dropping to the table. And it wasn't as
ifJordan had a job, which meant.., trouble with Tom. They
had only been married a year.

Isabelle felt the unfamiliar sensation of excitement.
What problem was the little shiksa about to blurt out? How
did she expect Isabelle to help? And would she, should she
help? Did she want Jordan Cabot to stay married to Tom?

With the lightning speed at which she made every major
decision, Isabelle decided that yes, she probably did.Jordan
might be annoyingly young and stupid, and disturbingly
sexual, but she had paid Isabelle proper tribute. She


83

represented no threat. Who knew what another Mrs
Goldman might be like, how far Jordan's successor might
try to push it?

Better the devil you know.

'My dear, I can see that you've something you want to

tell me,' Isabelle said gently, ignoring Jordan's look of
surprise. Oy, she really had no idea how obvious she was.
'Don't be embarrassed. I only hope I can help you. What
are friends for, after all?'

'It's Tom,' Jordan said, carefully hiding her delight at

being asked what friends were for by Isabelle Kendrick.

'Is it really? I had no idea. I thought things were
wonderful between you two.'

'It's Eleanor Marshall,' Jordan said, bitterly.

, There. It was out. The thing she'd been carrying around
for months, wondering what to do about it, if anything,
wondering if she was imagining things. She'd thought
about asking Isabelle for advice ages ago, but had resisted
the impulse until the last possible moment. After all, not
only was there a danger in confiding worries about your relationship to anybody, there was the sheer embarrassment.
Aider all, how could she, Jordan Cabot, twenty-four
and the youngest wife in Hollywood, with her long blonde
hair and Baywatch-approved figure, she who had introduced
Tom Goldman to such excesses of sexual pleasure
that he'd proposed within three months, how could she
admit that she was concerned about her husband's feelings
for some flat-chested bitch more than ten years older than
she was?

At first she hadn't even recognized the danger, because

she just couldn't conceive of it. Tom and she were so great
in bed together, or at least she was great for him. She'd
worked hard on that. And he'd been working with the
Marshall woman all his single life and yet they'd never
dated. Plus, Eleanor Marshall was thirty-eight. Practically
forty. What man in his right mind would find that


84

attractive? Jordan wondered, as she checked out her own
supremely youthful body in the mirror every night,
rubbing Donna Karan body lotion into every inch of it, the
musky, sensual fragrance that drove Tom so wild. Would
Eleanor Marshall know how to do that trick in the hot-tub,
the one where she lifted herself slightly out of the water
and pressed her wet, warm pussy against the centre of his
spine, rubbing herself up and down him until he turned
round with a growl and screwed her on the spot? No, she
would not. The woman didn't even wear figure-hugging
clothes when shecame to dinner, although her figure
wasn't bad. She didn't even flirt with Tom when they
came round to the house. This Jordan was quite sure of;
after all, she never took her eyes offthe bitch for a second.

But there was a problem, all the same. It was there in
Tom's eyes, following Eleanor round the dinner table,
watching "her when she got up to refill her plate from a
buffet. The way he always seemed to be so damn interested
in what she was saying, like business was all that mattered.
He laughed at all her jokes, as if somehow they were really
amusing. OK, it wasn't a crisis or anything. She knew she
could still get him hard for her, even at a table Eleanor was
sitting at, by lowering her hand under the tablecloth or
flashing him a quick sight of her pantie-less crotch, crossing
and uncrossing her legs in a way that revealed her to his
eyes only. He needed her sexually. She made him feel like a
man; he said so often enough.

So why was Tom so negative to Paul Halfin?

He was never rude. Quite the opposite, in fact; always
pressing Paul to refill his glass, or asking him boring
questions about investment banking. It was uncomfortably
like watching a man who had something to prove. But she,
Jordan, she noticed the way his body tensed, his eyes
narrowed, and he kept glancing back at Eleanor.

So he had a little crush. She could have lived with that.
Only lately, they'd started to fight. Tom was being so


85

crass, it was as though he didn't care about the house or
their parties or anything. Except sex. Sex was the only way
he communicated with her now. He'd even been refusing
to stay on the Pritikin diet she'd put him on! And he was
being such a boor. Like that night with the De Veers last
week. She'd finished offher cream silk gown with her little
AIDS brooch, the one all studded with rubies in the shape
of a ribbon, and he'd actually got all angry with her and
asked her when was the last time she'd visited an AIDS
ward or volunteered at a counselling centre...

Jordan had sobbed that she guessed he wanted her to get

a job, that she wasn't as good as the women he worked
with,just because she wanted to be a homemaker and raise
a family.

Tom had melted, all contrite. He wanted a family too.

He knew how disappointed she was not to be pregnant

yet, why didn't they practise?

She shivered in her pink Chanel. Thank God Tom had

never even guessed at the little white pills she hid in the
kitchen cupboards.

So that quarrel had been made up.

But she couldn't help but wonder why he was getting so
grouchy. And he was asking Eleanor and Paul over all the
time!

Oh, Jordan Cabot Goldman was very worried indeed.

And she'd never tell Isbelle or anyone else about the final
straw, last Wednesday, when she'd been woken by him
muttering in his slumber, and had twisted in their black silk
Pratesi sheets to see his massive hard-on stiffening from the
dream, ready to take him in her mouth, to wake him up in
the way he most adored and make that dream a reality,
when he'd jerked in his sleep, his back arching a little, and
murmured: 'Eleanor.'

Jordan had been frozen to the spot. He was lying next to

her, twenty-four, a world-class babe, every man's fantasy


86

wife, and he was having a wet dream about some middle
aged career spinster with grey streaks in her hair?

She had called Isabelle Kendrick fast thing the next day.
'Eleanor Marshall?' Isabelle said now, leaning forward,
shocked.

'Oh, he hasn't said anything. They haven't done
anything,' said Jordan, delicately.

'But you see signs. You're worried. Oh, my dear, you
were so right to come to me,' Isabelle breathed, reaching
across the table and patting Jordan's hand.

Eleanor.t ILidiculous. Just look at Jordan ... but of
course, as soon as she'd said it it made all kinds of sense,
Isabelle Kendrick thought, her heart speeding up. She'd
started recalling all kinds of functions where she'd seen
them together. Was it possible they had been at the same
studio all this time, and not? But of course it was possible
... what-an appalling thought. Eleanor Goldman. Oh,
dear Lord, but that would be just too much.

'I know I must be putting you in a terrible position,
Isabelle,' Jordan was breathing, 'knowing her for as long as
you have...'

The question mark hung in the air, but Isabelle, for
once, was not inclined to keep her supplicant on tenter
hooks.

'Well, that's troe. But it's a moral question, isn't it? After
all, you are his wife.' Joydan nodded her coiffed blonde
head eagerly, and Isabelle added, 'And dearEleanor.. . she works so hard. I'm sure she would not wish any unpleasantness.'

Jordan breathed out as the Caesar silads were set before
them, almost overwhelmed with relief. There could be no
mistaking Isabelle's tone. She hated Eleanor Marshall, hated
her even worse than maybe she did herseltq. Now she came
to think of it, hadn't she heard stories from some of the
other girls? About how Eleanor was always turning down
Isabelle's invitations to sit on committees because she wai

87


'too busy'? As ifshewas the only busy one,Jordan thought
with disdain. They all had things to do. Dressing properly
required an invesmaent of your time and, of course, they
were all so active in charity work, and charity work was
very important...

Isabelle hadn't taken kindly to being blown off. And as
Jordan stared at her across the table, she noticed something
else - weren't Isabelle and Eleanor about the same age?
That meant, she realized, that Isabelle resented Eleanor for
more than just her superior attitude; the fact was that
Isabelle had no hold over Eleanor because she simply did
not care about the social world. Isabelle resented Eleanor
for working, being a working woman, one who now
wielded power, real power, in Hollywood.

' Eleanor was a queen regnant, not a queen consort, and
Isabelle Kendrick just hated her for it. There was no way she was going to allow her to marry Tom as well. It would
be the cherry on the cake, a final triumph that Isabelle,
resentful and furious, would not allow her to have.

The two women gazed at each other with perfect
unlerstanding.

'Will you forgive me if I speak frankly?' Isabelle said.
'Jordan, you must understand that men are ... sexual creatures.' Her tone held up the word to the light as
though it were something disgusting she'd discovered on
the sole of her shoe. 'No matter what they have, they
always want something, else. No matter how ridiculous.'

Both women thought of Eleanor Marshall and compared
her to Jordan. Unfavourably.

'The thing is, and I know this will be a diflficult thing for
you to accept, darling, such a newlywed as you are, but you
must learn to turn a blind eye to their little peccadilloes.
Men are such simple creatures, they really can't help
themselves.'

Isabelle dismissed unfaithfulness and betrayal with a light
laugh, aware that Jordan was hanging on her every.word.


88

Good. At least the child was going to see sense; it was never
those irritating little diversions their husbands found that
were a problem, it was the state of the marriage. After all,
everything was founded on, centred on the marriage. A
divorced queen was a dethroned queen, something she
had realized ten years ago, coldly, precisely, about the same '
rime that she'd seen the love draining out of her
relationship. That was when her ascent to super-hostess
had begun; recognizing that Sam no longer felt for her as a
woman, Isabelle had identified a different desire in him,
the bearing, rampant, killer ambition that was driving him
forward day by day. She had set out to help him sarisfy that
need, to become such a social lioness that Sam Ke'ndrick
could never divorce her, never leave her, because his
business would be hurt by letting her go. Sam continued to
screw around discreedy and she continued to throw
exquisite parties.

Love and hope had died in Isabelle Kendrick a long time
ago, but she was still rich, still stylish, and still accorded
respect in this town.

She was still married.

'What shall I do?' Jordan asked her.
'In cases like this, there's only one answer, dear. Give

him what every wife should. What she can't.'

'You mean 'Yes
I do. Give him a baby.'

Chapter 8


Kevin Scott was having a bad day. Another one. In fact, it
was shaping up to be a very bad week. Ever since that
blasted meeting at Artemis Studios on Thursday, his
department had been in complete chaos.

'Ten more Elsie thinks you should take a look at,'
, panted Katherine, his English assistant, waddling into his
office. She was waddling because she was weighed down
by a pile of scripts, the paper stacking up against her bony
torso, her normally pallid face bright red with physical
effort.

Kevin gestured wearily to the free corner of his desk not
already covered with manuscripts. That made thirty-five
he had to wade through by the weekend, and there would
be more in by then. Many more. The ones that had made it
to his desk were typical in their variety of the hundreds that
had only got as far as his subordinates - dogeared, pristine,
typed on vellum, covered in dear plastic or leather-bound.
Some leather-bound a, nd embossed. Some with spurious
gifts attached to them, like little packets of Cuban cigars or
a pair of solid gold cuff]inks.

Those were the ones he was always tempted to bin first,
but alas, that wasn't how it worked. Suppose he were to
throw away the specimen written on pink parchment,
with the Mont Blanc fountain pen attached to it by orange
velvet ribbon. With his luck it would turn out to be
another Ghost or Jurassic Park. Just because the writer was a
vulgar oaf didn't mean his script was necessarily unusable.


90

After all, Kevin reflected, all screenwriters were vulgar oafs
by definition. And in this crass and vulgar world, many of
them were very highly paid.

He took a slice of that high pay, which normally
consoled him for having to put up with hawking their trash
for a living. Today, it didn't even come close. What had
happened, Kevin wondered, to the appreciation of literature?
To delicate sensitivity and free writing? Oh, for a
Proust or Joyce that he might represent, selling exquisite
penmanship for large amounts of money. Or at least a
Norman Mailer.

Kevin Scott was f'y-five, and a long time ago he had
been educated in England. How his old beaks at Eton
wotfld cringe for him now. How his Oxford dons would
wince. He considered himself a gentleman in a world
overrun by ruffians, subliterate, ill-educated ruffians who
wanted Jadith Krantz, John Grisham and Forrest Gump. Even the President of the United States had had a 'popular
music' group playing at his Inaugural Ball. There was
simply no end to it. And now he himself was embroiled in
the indignity. For a while, at least, he had been able to
carve a small oasis of sanity in the Hollywood madness -
while the unpleasantness of working with scripts could not
be avoided entirely, his literary division had managed to
work almost wholly with quality films, producing a run of
Original Screenplay and. Adaptation Oscars that was the
envy of all the other big agencies. Although the division
hadn't turned out all that much profit in and of itself, the
Oscars and Golden Globes had attracted acting and
directing talent Sam's way, and once ;n a while one of the
obnoxious kids that reported to him - all hired by Sam or
Mike Campbell direct- shopped some piece of violent or
pornographic trash to Columbia or Paramount, and they
cleaned up. Thus Kevin had been tolerated, allowed to go
about the more serious business of selling novels in New
York.

91


Lately, that had all gone to the wind. As the packaged
movies dried up, Sam had been putting more and more
pressure on him to come up with commercial scripts. The
pushy little Tauber brat hadn't helped that situation much,
either. But after the Artemis meeting, forget about it.
Word from the top was loud and clear. They wanted a
script for the rock star and they wanted one yesterday.

Outside the air-conditioned, soundproofed sanctum of
Kevin's office, he could see hordes of people milling about,
many carrying bound manuscripts or parcels, their noiseless
mouths opening and closing furiously as they argued
with the harassed assistants and a couple of the junior
agents. They'd been arriving all morning - the scumbags,
the bottom of the pile, low-life writers with no contacts

' and no reputations and not so much as an article in the
Nowheresville, Alabama Gazette on their r6sum6s, and yet
every one of the losers thinking that SKI would be
impressed with their bravado if they crashed the doors in
person.

They'd been watching too many movies, Kevin
th'ought, pleasing himself with the ironic conceit. Turning
up as singing telegrams. With huge bouquets of flowers.
Holding massive bunches of balloons. One, heaven
preserve him, had even sent a stripper. He recalled seeing
her shaking her tassels in poor Katherine's astounded face,
thrusting a script forward between two sets of blood-red
talons, before the grinng SKI security arrived to throw
her out on the sidewalk. There was, as he had discovered,
absolutely no limits to how deeply embarrassing this
business could be.

And yet the sheer volume of these wretched scripts was
taking him aback somewhat. The meeting with Artemis
had obviously been leaked minutes after it had finished,
because by the time their limo had returned him to the SKI
oces there were already ten calls on his sheet about 'the
Mason/Florescu project', and the first manuscript, about a


92

rock star who lives a double life as a sexual serial killer,
arrived an hour later. They might as well have put up a
billboard on Sunset and an ad in Daily Variety. Forget the
Information Superhighway. Showbusiness gossip was the
universe'.s most efficient communication mechanism,
because by theend of that day every two-bit hack in LA
knew all about it. And by Monday six hundred of them

had written instant movies over the weekend.
And yet not one of them was any good.
'Mr Scott.' Katherine was buzzing him.

'What is it?' Kevin snapped, chucking another pile of
nearly typed pages onto the floor. The trash basket had
given up the unequal struggle this mormng, so now he was
just throwing them down for the janitors to deal with. 'I
thought I told you no calls.'

'But it's Mr Tauber again, sir. He insists on being put

through,' aid Katherine weakly, sounding distraught.
'No! Goddamnit, Katherine!'

Scott felt his blood pressure rise. Two calls per hour
from Sam and one from Mike and now that - that odious little toad Tauber thought he had the right to bother a
depattment head? 'Especially not Tauber! Not under any

circumstances! Do I make myself clear?'

'Yes, sir,' said Katherine meekly.

He slammed down the receiver and tried to concentrate
on the next script, Hot Rockin'.


FADE IN


INT. BACKSTAGE- A SEEDY CLUB A
SERIES OF ANGLES

A naked WOMAN is tied down with scarlet rope across two
Marshall amps. ZEKE and BEILTIE stand to one side,
watching the DOBERMAN PINSCHEI. that is licking her
between the legs.


Sighing heavily, Kevin Scott lifted the manuscript and
threw it behind him without another glance.


93

'You OK, hon?'

The waitress looked Megan over with genuine concern.
Most of the time she was too busy or too hardened to
worry herself with the punters' problems - bleak-eyed
hookers that might stumble in with braised faces and call
for coffee, or the shabbily dressed unemployment types
that turned up for the cheap burgers and beer. Don't talk,
don't get involved. Too much heartache that way, not to
mention that you wanted them out so you could serve
someone else. In cafes as cheap as this one, volume was
where it was at. Pack them in and throw them out. Shit,
this wasn't the Ivy. But something about this girl was
touching; a little fat and plain maybe, but she'd ordered a
full meal and then hardly touched it, just drunk pot after
pot of coffee and sat there shaking. She looked real
innocent, in a way. Soft and lost. Must be new in town.

'What? Oh, thanks. I'm fine,' Megan said, giving her a little smile to back up the lie.

The waitress hesitated, hovering, but what could she
do? If they don't want to talk- 'OK. Well, if you're sure,'
she said, moving off.

God, how obvious I must be, Megan thought miserably.
She'd arrived there half an hour ago and ordered lunch, all
keyed up, excited, nervous but a little thrilled in a way.
After all, this was it. She'd taken the day offwork, as little as
she could afford to piss Mr Jenkins off, she'd taken the
original copy of See the Lights out of its special hiding place
in the back of her cramped closet, and she was going to
come out here to storm right through the hallowed doors
of Sam Kendrick International, script in hand, to make

their deal come offand her dream come true.

Ha, ha, ha. Nice joke, God.

Pete's Caf had been her choice for a good reason:
despite being crowded, noisy, dirty and full ofscumbags, it
was situated just offSunset, and through its grimy windows
she could watch the immaculately clean black .marble

94


fronting of the SKI offices, check out the agents coming
and going, psych herself up. Megan recalled what a good
idea she thought that would be; she could get all inspired,
get up the courage to just bttrst in there and blow them
away.

It hadn't exactly worked out like that. From the
moment she sat down at eleven-thirty, Megan had watched
with growing horror as a stream of people - men, women,
and your guess is as good as mine - all clutching scripts, or
parcels that looked like scripts, or briefcases that must
contain scripts, had fded steadily through the doors. Some
of them wore the most outlandish rig, including some
raddled hag in an overcoat and stilettos. Megan had
watched with a kind of sick fascination when she landed
back on the sidewalk, nude except for tassels and a gold G
string- and still clutching a script. In they poured and right
back out-they poured, cursing, shaking themselves down
and still clutching their scripts. She saw some of them txying to
warn off the others coming in, who merely cursed them
and chanced their luck anyway.

The plan that she'd thought unique was being tried by
every schmuck writer in LA, right in front of her eyes. And
it was failing.

'Jerks, huh?' the waiter had asked, reftlling her coffee
cup. 'Some people.'

'Some people,' Megan agreed.

She wondered if she'd been this dumb growing.up, or if
it was a talent she'd only recently perfected. What was she
going to do now? Sitting here with her script, opposite
SKI, with her perfect story for their perfect deal and not a
damn way she could get them to read it.


Above him, David Tauber could see the craggy side of the
cliff, with a smattering of green scrub vegetation clinging
gamely to the rock face, determined to survive and grow,
no matter how hostile the conditions. He focused on it fdr


95

a second. He empathized with it. It could have been an
agent.

But there wasn't much time to start meditating on the
Malibu vegetation. His dick wouldn't allow it. There
wasn't much space for concentration on anything except
the obvious - Gloria's heavy, sculpted silicone tits bouncing
nicely in front of him, her curvy ass grinding from side
to side as she danced for him, crooking her long, tapering
legs as she twirled, letting him get a good look at the silky
brown hair on her pussy, damp with her arousal. Jesus, this
was turning him on. A little strip on the sand, a little head in
his Lamborghini at the side o£the road while he talked to
Sam Kendrick, making his point about Kevin Scott. His
cock pulsed a little harder at the thought of it, Gloria
*making those little sucking noises he loved to hear while he
was being fellated, his hand covering the carphone so Sam
wouldn't hear, while he slid the knife deeper and deeper
into Kevin Scott's useless fat belly. The old guy had
snubbed him one too many times and now he was going to
pay. The image warmed David's already hot blood, adding
to he sensations of desire and languorous lust that were
pooling in his cock. God, look at Gloria. She was totally
wet for him now, her pussy flexing closer and closer
towards his face, golden-brown haunches shuddering
forward. That was what got him going: the way she
wanted him, just for himsel£. Sure, David enjoyed the
power-trip fucking, e little starlets, the Hollywood
wannabees who'd do anything . you cared to suggest,
whether it involved bringing their friends round for a floor
show or going down on one of your buddies in front of
you. That had a thrill all its own which had nothing to do
with desire. But this was different; this was a woman who
desired him for himself, for the muscled body and deep tan,
the hazel hair and his big, thick, beloved cock. Gloria was a
corporate attorney and one of the best lays he'd ever
known. Her desire, the way she choked out his .name


96

when she came, the way she'd start breathing raggedly if he
talked dirty to her down the phone, all of it tickled his
vanity.

Shit, they had a mutual fan club. He loved her large,
berry-brown nipples and the way they .jumped in his
mouth, the tips of them hard as sun-dried raisins. He
admired her large, toned butt and the way it tapered in to a
minute waist. The original hourglass figure.Jesus, that butt
was something else, the way she'd grind and swing it.
David grunted, his cock aching now. Enough. He reached
up to grab her, tripped her over on the sand and felt her
crotch. Ohhhh, man ... slippery wet like somebody

poured a bottle of baby oil all over her.

'Want it?'

His question was a tease, asking her like that while his
fingers were busy stroking her labia, making her moan and
twist into him.

'Yes. Now,' she gasped. He could sense that he'd better
be quick if he didn't want her to come right there. He
could se6 her lower belly tightening up, flattening. Swiftly
he took his hand away and twisted her over, placing her on
her hands and knees. Gloria groaned. He put his hand
under her, giving her a quick, almost patronizing caress
between the legs. She knew better than to break position,
just lifted her head, shuddering with arousal. His hand
slipped to her midriff, lifting her up, arranging her for his
entrance. David felt her respond all over her body as he
touched her, the nipples on her delicious pendant breasts
stiffening even more, shrinkingtiny and tight like his balls.
The skin of her belly was incredibly hot, warm with her
blood pooling in desire. He fluttered his fingers across it
and heard her gasp. That was so horny, feeling her lust
literally burning at his touch. He saw a drop of moisture
pearl on the end of his cock. Time to go for the main event.

David walked round behind her as she crouched in front
of him like some wild beast, the smoky scent of her arousal

97


distinct even through that designer perfume she was
wearing. He put his two hands on the soft curves of her
hips, allowing himselfa little leverage. Then he was leaning
forward, over her back, his dick finding the entrance to her
like some military fucking torpedo guided by radar. He
inserted just the tip, going maybe a quarter of an inch inside
her, forcing himself to resist the temptation to shove it right
in and nail her fabulous fucking ass until he boiled over,
emptying himselfimide her. Time for that later. Control,
control.

'Madre de DiosP Gloria sobbed. 'More! David, Jesus
Christ!'

'More?' he asked softly, sinking in another inch.

She was so aroused now, she was desperate. She was
obbing openly from wanting it.

He slid in another inch, smiling despite the fury of his
own lust.

'Hey, take it slowly, baby. Don't get greedy.'

'David!'

She'd come any second. So would he. David Tauber
pulled out, slowly, until he was almost completely
withdrawn from her, and then thrust savagely, quickly,
back inside her, all the way in, right up to the hilt, hearing
her ecstatic scream only dimly because of the burning
blood pounding in his own ears, finding his rhythm
immediately, thrusting, thrusting, feeling her spasms start
up, and then there it was, that great white fucking wall. Oh
JesusJesusJesus, oh, yes...


Gloria moved first, shifting forward and easing him out of
her, and just as quickly Tauber tucked himself away and
started buttoning his fly. DKNY for Men pants in the
lightest cream wool, and he didn't want to be getting sand
in them. The R.olex said it was five after four. Time to be
heading back; a few more instances of that old faggot Scott
refusing to take his calls, and he was gonna bust into his


98

office in person. David knew Sam would back him this
time. They had a window of opportunity for this deal, and
he wasn't about to let that fake-ass would-be limey jerk
him around because he couldn't pick one good script out
of- what? - eight hundred? How many had they seen this
week? And he called himselfa literary agent.

Writers were scum, but even writers deserved better
than Kevin Scott in their corner.

Gloria P,.amirez handed him his copy of the latest
Colleen McCallum contract when they got back to their
respective cars, and Tauber put it carefully in his briefcase.

They shook hands briskly. He could see her mind was
already somewhere else, at her next appoinmaent, on the
next deal.

'Nice doing business with you,' David said, flashing her
a warm smile. She'd be back for more, he knew it. He was
good, re:flly good.

'Sure,' she said absently, adding, 'You know, David? If
that Kevin guy is really so bad, maybe you should take a
writer on. Show Sam Kendrick how bad he is by doing
better.'

'But I'm a movie agent,' David said, slowly.

'So?'

He blew her a kiss as he slid into the low-,slung leather
seat of the Lamborghini. Not only was Gloria a great lay,
she was a smart bitch, too. So, indeed. Just because it hadn't
been done before didn't mean he couldn't do it. "

All the way down the Santa Monica freeway the idea
blossomed in his head, exciting him so much he didn't
even bother to put on his meditatior; tape.

If he could find a writer for this movie, he could get
Kevin Scott fired.

He could put a part in it so perfect for l:koxana Felix
they'd have to cast her.

He would represent the lead male, lead female, and the
writer.


99

Fuck the literary division.

J

etl$.


David Tauber pressed his foot on the gas..


Quarter of five, and the asshole supply had finally dried up.
Maybe it was because everybody knew that Kevin's
department shut its doors at five on the dot, but the singing
telegrams and balloon ladies had given up the game about
twenty minutes ago. The phone was still ringing off the
hook, but his assistant was dealing with it. Kevin stared
morosely at the huge pile of paper on his desk, waiting for
somebody to take it out to his tLolls. He would have to try
to look at about twenty of these tonight, but he was almost
ast caring. 1Lately had he been so glad to get to the end of a
working day.

'No. There's no way.'

Katherine's voice, louder and shriller than normal,
floated towards him from the department lobby. He could
see the tight silhouette of her back blocking the entrance to
his office. 'You cannot come in. We only accept scripts
referred to us by known sources.'

Somebody was arguing quietly, a young woman.
Enraged, Kevin thrust back his chair and lumbered to his
feet. This was the last straw! These people had no manners,
just wouldn't take no for an answer. Well, he would give
this one something to think about before she next barged
into somebody's private oflices.

'Katherine, what is the matter here?' he demanded
portentously, flinging open the door. Yes, he'd been right.
Some plump, mousy girl stood all alone in his reception, a
final, forlorn figure standing on crushed flowerheads and
bits of popped balloons and wrapping paper. Dear God, it
looked like some child had thrown a birthday party out
here. It had better, he thought ominously, be all cleaned
away by the time he got in tomorrow:

'It's this young lady, Mr Scott. I was trying to explain to


I00

her that we do not accept unrecommended scripts,'
Katherine said thinly.

'What in God's name do you think you're playing at,
miss?' Scott roared. The girl shrank, clutching her script to
her chest. 'We have a policy in this agency, you know!
Didn't you understand my assistant? We do not accept
unrecommended material!'

'But I'm newly arrived here,' the mouse said. She
appeared to be on the verge of tears. 'How can I get
something recommended when I -'

All he registered was that she had made no move to
leave.

' We do not accept - ' Kevin practically screamed. "
'What's going on?'

Apoplectic with rage at being interrupted, Scott whipped
round to face the intruder and promptly found his

blood pressure rising even. further.

It was David Tauber.

Instantly, the girl was forgotten. 'Do you have an
appointment?' Scott spat, his face motded puce with
hatred.

'No, sir,' Katherine said quicldy.

Tauber shrugged. 'You wouldn't take any of my calls,
Kevin. So I thought I'd come to see you, see how you're
getting along with a script for Zach.'

Megan, watching stlendy from beside the desk, felt
herself blush. The stranger who had so suddenly diverted
all Kevin Scott's rage towards himself was the picture of
nonchalant calm and compostre. The nuclear blast of
Scott's wrath that had threatened to break her down right
there in his lobby merely washed over this guy like a gentle
summer breeze. He was so masculine, so self-assured. Scott
did not frighten him.

And he was so fiandsome. Movie-star handsome, male
model handsome, with thick hazel hair and an exquisitely
muscled body. She could see his biceps oudined through

I01


the sleeves of his gorgeous cream wool suit, which
contrasted so beautifully with his golden-brown tan. Her
heart sped up, she felt a small wash of warm desire seep
through her lower belly. It wasn't jus his good looks and
confidence, there was something else ... masculinity,
sexuality. The way he moved, he just gave it off. If it hadn't
been five in the afternoon, Megan would have sworn this
man had just had sex.

Her mouth went dry,

Tauber turned round to the girl Scott had been yelling

at, knowing she was staring at him. He could feel her eyes
on the back of his neck. An unprepossessing kid, shy,
needed to lose weight, but she had a pretty face - pale skin
and long black hair wound up in an unflattering bun. She
'was looking at him with a mixture of awe and admiration,

maybe lust, too. No, definitely lust.

Megan dropped her gaze, flushing a deeper red with
embarrassment.

' When I have something I think is uitable,' Kevin was
sputtering, 'I'll show it to Sam.' He rounded on Megan. 'Get out.'

'Hey, don't be so hasty,' Tauber said. He didn't give a
damn about the girl, but she was bugging Kevin. Plus,
she'd looked at him in a way that he liked. 'Maybe the little
lady wants to submit a script.'

'Her and a million others,' Kevin Scott hissed, hardly
able to credit that Tauber would countermand him. 'This
division does not accept unrecommended material.'

Megan was gazing at David Tauber, holding her breath.
He looked her over, a slow, assessing look. It felt like a
caress, like feathery hands feeling up and down her body.
Her nipples hardened.

'I'll bet you waited all day to come in here. I'll bet you
waited until all the others had gone,' Tauber said to her,
guessing shrewdly. She looked desperate, deten'nined. He
knew the type.


I02

'I'm not looking at that script!' Scott bellowed.
Tauber held out his hand and took the script from

Megan. 'Your name and number on this?' he enquired.
She nodded.

'Tauber, what the hell are you doing?' Kevin Scott
shrieked.

David turned to him with an insolent smile. Tm
accepting submission of this manuscript.' Not a hope in
hell it'd be any good, but that wasn't the point. The point
was a declaration of war, and this script would be as good as
any for that. 'Since your department has its policy, I'm
going to look at it myself. We don't demand recommenda

tions in the movie division, and Kevin, I do need a script.'
'But you don't represent writers!'

Tauber shrugged. 'As of now, I do.' Ignoring the older
man's incensed look, he turned to the little mousy girl and
gave her a friendly smile. 'You can run along, honey. I'll
take a look and be in touch if it's suitable.'

With one final glance at Kevin Scott's maroon complexion
and Katherine's expression of mortal outrage,
Megan turned on her heels and fled.
I03


Chapter 9


Flashbulbs exploded around her like firecrackers, microphones
from local TV stations were thrust forward in a
little forest under her nose, and a crowd of print reporters
jostled around the airport security guards, tape recorders
shoved wildly in her general direction. Behind her,

,
	1Koxana could see the other passengers swamped as a pack
of fans broke through the yellow security ribbons, many of
them screaming her name. With a practised eye she
assessed the situation: no, there were too many guards here
for them to get anywhere near her.

Inwardly she smiled. Howard Thorn had done a good


My God, am I safe?' she whispered loudly to her nearest
bodyguard.

A hundred mikes picked up the comment. She watched
the TV hacks dutifully train their cameras on the mle of
fans behind her. That turned the story from 'Supermodel
Arrives in LA' to 'Ro;ana Causes Riots at Airport'.

'Roxana, does it bother you to get mobbed everywhere
you go?'

She bent her gorgeous head towards the electronic
thicket in front of her, replying bravely, 'No, I love to see
my fans. But it's a little scary when I haven't made enough
security arrangements.' An elegant shrug. 'It was supposed
to be a secret that I was coming to LA.'

Good-natured laughter. 'Are you here to meet with
producers?' 'Are you planning on acting?'


Io4

'I'd rather not comment right now.' She smiled dazzlingly at them all, angling her head for the best
pictures.

'But isn't it true that you've signed up to Sam Kendrick

Intemati0nal for an acting career?' somebody yelled. Score two for Howard.
loxana turned in the voice's direction, surprise written
bright across her face. 'How did you know about that?' she
gasped, and then covered her mouth with her hands, as
though caught out. More flashbulbs. All the other reporters
babbling at once, firing off questions.

'When did you decide to start acting?'

'What's your first project? Why SKI?'

'Is this the end of your modelling career?'

'OK, people, that's enough. Let the lady through, she
has no further comment at this time,' snarled the bodyguard,
hu, tling her with admirable slowness through the
journalists towards her waiting limo, giving everybody
enough time to get a snap off, oxana in 'casual' clothes cutoff
denim shorts that came right up to her ass, hugging
her rock-hard, slightly curved butt and displaying slender,
supple thighs that tapered down to endless calves and slim
ankles. This had been teamed with a Richard Tyler T-shirt
in caramel silk that set offher glossy black hair and million
dollar face to perfection, clinging to her heavenly breasts
that were lifted even further skywards by a satin Wonder
bra. The whole effect was calculatedly casual, displaying
her breathtaking body in the best possible light. The outfit
cost her over three thousand dolhrs - the shorts were
Chanel originals- but Joe Public would thinkshe'd picked
it up inJ.C. Penny, and she looked stunning anyway.

Roxana smiled gently, apologedlcally, at the crowds of press and fans who crammed their noses and lenses against
the tinted windows of her limo, maintaining her expression
until the car had rolled forward onto the tarmac and
the last of them had slipped away.


lO5

'The Beverly Hills Hotel,' she ordered the driver,
sharply.

She'd be staying at the best bungalow in the grounds,
the absolute height of luxury in a city where luxury was
second nature. Not that she'd be footing the bill-. Unique,
her modelling agents in New York, were paying; she'd
thought about asking SKI to pick up the tab, but the bald
fact was that she wasn't sure they would. To Unique, she
was invaluable. To SKI, she was disposable.

loxana frowned. By this time next week, that attitude
would have changed.

She flicked open her Filofax, looking for the list of
number she'd jotted down in the plane. Around thirty
calls to make before they got into the city, and her little
' campaign would be all set.

The first name on the list was one of the most useful; an
old schoolfriend, a girl she hadn't seen since they were at
the Sacred Heart, San Francisco, together. But that
wouldn't matter. She wanted to be a hostess, and she,
loxana, was the biggest supermodel in the world right


Deliberately, she punched the number into her car
phone.

Jordan Cabot Goldman.


'Hey Megan! Over here!'

So, I'm moving up m the world, Megan thought, as she
dumped two trays of dirty dishes on the sideboard. They
know my name now.

Bob Jenkins shoved a dishcloth at her. 'The machine's
full and we need more plates. Wash these.'

Disbelievingly, Megan stared at the sink. It was piled
high with greasy plates, some of which hadn't been
properly scraped off, so that rank gobbits ofundercooked
chicken and oily skin swam around in the water. The
whole si was vibrating from the rattle of the huge


i06

antique dishwasher stacked next to it, filled to capacity and
straggling to cope with the load. The movement was
making the filthy water eddy about in murky rivulets.

'What are you waiting for?' Jenkins was watching her
like a hawk. 'Got some problem with that? They're only
plates, for Chrissake. All the other girls are busy.'

That was a blatant lie, Megan thought, looking round at
Sandra, leaning against the wall with a cigarette, and Lisa
who was hanging onto the payphone like it was her
personal life-support system. She'd been on the damn
thing all day. Maybe it was her life-support system. But she
didn't dare object. Lisa and Sandra kissed up to Jenkins and
they hadn't taken Tuesday off.

'No, it's fine,' she said, taking the dishcloth from him.

Jenkins grunted. 'Yeah, well, you better make it snappy.
We got another six in five minutes ago.'

'OK.''She'd be Zen about this, take the path of least
resistance, Megan told herself as she sank her arms in the
washing-up, right up to the elbows. It was lukewarm and
viscous, almost made her want to gag. That was the way
the guys handled things in Frisco.

'Are you all right?' Stacey said. 'You look real upset.'
Tm fine,' Megan said, but she couldn't keep it up, and
the tears started to roll down her cheeks, big, splashy tears
that pooled at the end of her nose and dripped into slimy
water.

'Hey, don't let it get to you,' Stacey whispered,
squeezing her arm. 'It's the weekend tomorrow.'

Which meant it had been three whole days since that
SKI agent had taken her screenplay. Which meant he
hadn't liked it. And God, that story could have been
written with Zach Mason specifically in mind. If it wasn't
good enough for his project at Artemis, it certainly wasn't
good enough for anyone else. She was also absolutely sure
that See the Lights was the best she could do.

Time to face reality. She wasn't good enough.

lO7


'Yeah, I know,' Megan sobbed, not wanting to discuss
it. She searched for a reason Stacey would understand. 'I
was thinking about my ex-boyfiiend.'

'I understand,' Stacey said gravely, patting her sympathetically.

Miserably she started to wash up the dirty dishes as fast as
she could, grateful to have some work to do, but she just
couldn't keep her mind off it. It was so viciously
heartbreaking to want something so hard, wait for it so
long, and then fail so completely. And what made it even
worse was that finally she had had that shred of hope. The
way the young agent had taken her screenplay - the older
guy, the literary guy who should have been in charge, he'd
been ready to hit him, but that hadn't stopped him from

, taking her script. It was as though she'd eventually
stumbled across an ally. And he was so hot-looking, and
he'd given her that sexy once-over that made her feel so
wet and squirmy, so that when she pulled up outside the
apartment she'd felt more alive, more bright with hope
than she'd done in years. Like she was on a threshold. And
ttat night, a hot, sticky night, she hadn't been able to sleep,
just lay on her bed with her eyes open listening to the cars
and the gangbangers streaming past in the street, until
finally she started to touch herself, thinking about that
agent - somebody Tauber, the other guy had called him
thinking about his muscles and his eyes and his tan and his
walk, what that silky hazel hair would feel like brushing
between her thighs, until she'd had a gentle climax, orgasm
running sweetly over her like ripples across a pool, and
slept at last.

The phone had rung on and offall that week, sometimes
for her. Calls from the caft, even a call from Dec up in
Frisco. But as Wednesday became Thursday, and Thursday
became Friday, the lling of the phone turned from
hopeful music into sadistic mockery. There were a lot of
calls for Megan, but not one of them from SKI. Today was

Friday, Friday afternoon to be exact, and Megan Silver had
learnt enough about the movie business to know that if
they don't call you quickly, they don't call at all.

She shook her head, aware that Stacey was sill] gazing at
her sympathetically.

'You must miss him like crazy, Megan. I've never seen
you this upset.'

'I'll get over it.'

Stacey wasn't convinced. 'If you want to go home, yon
can always just go, honey. You don't have to stay here. I
know you wanted to try out with your script, but...' Her
southern twang trailed off, embarrassed. 'Well, you know
how you hate the place...'

Megan glanced down at the greasy washing-up. 'It's not
exactly Shangri-la.'

'Kids come here all the time and try out. Mostly it
doesn't vCtrk, an' I seen a bunch of them slip into really bad
stuff. You might be better off going home. You worked
for the library, right? Maybe you could get a mortgage, get
a house.' She shrugged. 'Gotta be better than this.'

Somehow Megan just didn't want to hear it from
somebody else, especially not somebody as pretty and as
stupid as Stacey. It sounded so true. Jesus, it was true. But is
that all there is to life for me, truly? she wondered. A
detached bungalow, a mortgage, a comfortable, passionless
marriage? Was that, in real life, the highest goal, was that as
high as she should set her sights? And just pray God that at
least she'd feel something when the kids came along?

'It worked for Jeanne,' Megan said.defiantly. 'She got a
part just last week. Second lead in an art movie by a guy
called Kay Tyson.'

For a second Staceyjust gaped at her, and then looked
swiftly down, obviously trying to stifle a laugh. 'Christ,
honey, you have to be kidding. Everyone knows P, ay
Tyson around here. He bugged me for weeks when I first
started this job. The guy shoots, you know, dirty movies.


lO9

Sells videotapes direct to the sex stores, gets a flick screened
in a porno house from time to time.'

'Everybody knows this?' Megan repeated weakly,
feeling sick. 'Jeanne knew?'

'Sure. She must have done. He's a dirty old man, sixty
maybe. Not even in the Guild. He pays a good rate, that's
what they told me before.' Stacey wrinkled her perfect
little nose. Td never be that desperate. And I know you
never would either, but this place ain't good for you. You
got a college degree, you need a real job.'

'You work here,' said Megan, stubbornly.

Stacey gave her a long, cool stare, and then said, not
unkindly, 'But honey, you're twenty-four. I'm still in high
school.'

' 'What are you two gabbing about?' Mr Jenkins snarled,
passing them. 'Stacey, they need two pitchers on seven.
Megan, Jesus. Get a move on, willya? I told you we need
this done, and that means now, not some time before you
die:' He jabbed her back with a bony elbow, watching
until she picked up the scourer and began to attack the
pl:tes, the slimy water splashing across her bare forearms.
Mr Chicken didn't bother with mundane luxuries like washing-up gloves.

Two more hours, Megan thought, bowing her head so
Jenkins wouldn't see her reddened eyes. Two more hours
before I get paid for the week. And that's it. It'll be enough
for a bus ticket back to Frisco, and I'm gonna be on the first
one tomorrow morning.

She was ashamed at how swiftly she'd given in, turned into
the quitter she swore she'd never become. She'd been so
certain that she was destined for a real adventure in life,
something better than Dec and Trey and Francine. So sure
that there had to be something out there for her, something
bigger and better than listing textbooks at the San Francisco
Public Library and talking about beat poets over coffee.

Well, how wrong she'd been.

No

'Take a look at this.'

Sam Kendrick flung the paper across to Mike Campbell
with a snort. It landed on the polished marble coffee table
with a heap of other papers and magazines, all of them
adorned with pictures ofloxana Felix. Smiling, pouting,
winking. Standing up, sitting regally on a chair in the Polo
Lounge, walking into Le Dome, lying curled on the beach
like the proverbial sex kitten. In each and every shot she
looked utterly stunning, endless legs stretching on forever,
raven hair glistening halfway down her back, pale skin
freshened with luminous blusher. The clothes were always
impeccable, from the silk T-shirt she'd worn at the airport
to the black cashmere blazer that had starred at her dinner
at Morton's, the first evening in town. Looking at the
mountain of press, you'd imagine that Poxana was on
some mission to check out, and be snapped at, every star
hangout in LA, from Twin Palms to the Viper Poom, the
tkoxbury to House of Blues.

'Yeah,' Mike said, attempting to frown but unable to
drag his gaze from one shot oflkoxana in a copper silk dress
which showed her full nipples dearly outlined under the
delicate fabric. 'I gotta say I've never seen anything like it.'

'Three days! That's all she's been here, three days. She's trying to snow me.'

Sam was seriously pissed-off.

'It's not just the papers, either. She's on every radio
show, every local TV station, Entertainment Tonight, did a guest slot on MTV at the Movies just yesterday,' Campbell
agreed hastily. If Sam was pissed with Poxana then so was
he, no matter how much of a world-class babe she was. 'I
guess she's trying to force us into pushing her, going flat
out for her. If we don't get her something good after all
this-' He gestured at the copy of LA Weekly Sam had


III

thrown him, which had PUTTING HER FAITH IN SKI written
in large black type under loxana's picture.

'Yeah. Thanks, Sherlock,' Sam said sourly.

MTV at the Movies? Damn, the woman was better than
he thought. She was running this campaign more precisely
than most politicians. Of course, most politicians had a
harder time getting coverage than tkoxana Felix. But still!
This was crazy. Surely the media would have tired of her
by now, or at least kept her off the cover pages and the
prime gossip slots. Her arrival in town was news, but aider
that? You'd think this broad was the Queen of England,
the way they were fawning over her every move. They put
her on the cover when she blew her little retrouss6 nose.

Sam Kendrick had been around the block a few times,

, and something about this frenzy smelt odd. To be exact, it
smelt of friends in high places. Very high places. And Sam
hated the idea of any shadowy puppet master trying to
yank his strings.

Still, he had to hand it to her. She was pretty fucking
determined. My God, the first night she'd arrived Sam
came back home to find his wife out at an impromptu
dinner with Jordan Goldman and loxana Felix! Apparently
loxana and Jordan had been Catholic schoolgirls
together in San Francisco and now just couldn't wait to
celebrate their joint elevation to the Baby Millionairess
Club. Obviously what loxana wanted, and right on cue,
according to Isabelle, Jprdan had spilled her bimboid guts
about the Zach Mason project at Artemis, including the
news about the script. Jordan, meanwhile, gets a new
member of the Board for her chi-chi little dinners against
gang violence and AIDS and a new star at the dinner table.
And Isabelle, who for some reason had htely adopted
Jordan Goldman as her prot6g6e on the socialscene,just sat
there and invited the bitch to their next frigging party.

Normally, both Jordan and Isabelle would have cut
somebody like loxana dead. He knew that. lox.ana was

II2


far too beautiful. Too much competition. But by marking
herself out as an actress, she had, in that single move,
eliminated herself as a danger. She would need both Tom
and Sam in her attempt to get this deal, and that meant she
needed their wives.

And if Jordan was pushing Tom for loxana the way
Isabelle was pushing him, she'd succeeded.

'Did you check out her tests yet? David Tauber got the

ftlm through this morning, sent a tape to both of us.'
'He did, didn't he?'

David Tauber. His instincts had been right, yet again.
That kid was a corner; the way things were going he'd have
his fingerprints on three out of the four deal priricipals.
Only Fred Florescu, the director and therefore the most
important guy in the package, was repped by somebody
else - namely Sam himself.

Kendrick admired Tauber, pleased with himself as he
undoubtedly was. He just hoped the kid knew his place. He better, Sam thought, grimly.

'Not yet. I've been on the phone to Eleanor Marshall
about the script all morning.'

'They're OK.'

'OK, they suck, or OK they rule?'

'Just OK. Not too bad, not too good. Like Madonna in Desperately Seeking Susan.'

'As opposed to Body of Evidence.'

'You got it. She's better than Isabella lossellini,, but not
so good as Andie MacDowell. She's -'

'All right, all right.' Sam held up a gnarled hand. 'I get
the picture. Why don't you shove the tape in the machine,
let's see what the little chiquita can actually do.'

Mike reached forward and slid the video into the
recorder, artfully concealed under an original Matisse.
Across the other side of Sam's office, computerized
dimmer switches automatically darkened the lights and a
wall slid noiselessly back to reveal a huge digital television

II3


the size of a cinema screen. As the two powerful agents
settled back into the Eames leather sofa, loxana Felix's
stunning face, her pores flawless and tiny even at ten times
life size, swam into view.

Sam Kendrick watched with something like real curiosity.
Interesting. So this was the woman who'd been
turning the media heat on him like it was her personal
flamethrower. Even though they hadn't bent over for her
right away, and she must have been used to that as a model,
it hadn't stopped her or even slowed her down. As much as
he would have liked to chuck her tests in the can and send
her gift-wrapped over to ICM - Sam hated clients who
tried to push him around - he knew that loxana Felix
had, in three days,just about removed his power to do that.

'The entire LA wolf pack were now watching him with
their little yellow eyes, checking out what he was going to
do with his pretty new toy.

And holy shit, was she ever pretty.

Maybe it didn't all come across in still photos.
Would you look at that!

Mesmerizednow, Sam Kendrick stared at the screen.
The supermodel was reciting some Shakespeare with bare
competence, but he wasn't listening to the dialogue. He
couldn't lift his eyes from the way her skimpy little
costume swung on her slender hips, the tiny flashes of
brown thigh she kept turning to camera, the way she
would pause every couple of minutes and run the barest tip
of her tongue over her lower lip. Her bra was definitely not
underwired, the way those titties were swinging. If she was wearing a bra. Shit, maybe if she moved a bit faster he'd be
able to tell for sure. And how she walked. Demurely from
the outside, a woman might say demurely, but with just
that suggestion of a sway, no, more than that, ofagrind that
put you in mind of the better strip bars, up in Canada
maybe. She was batting her eyes down now, playing it
vulnerable but somehow managing to suggest with her

your eyes out as look at you.

Her dialogue was wooden, but her body language was
eloquent.


'I am ashamed that women are so simple

To offer war when they should kneel for peace;

Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway,

When they are bound to serve, love and obey.'


Unbelievable. Sam felt himself getting hard. Beauififul
women were usually cold narcissists, one more LA clich
that was totally true. But loxana Felix was obviously
nothing like that.

He wondered if she'd ever been fucked the way she
deserved. He doubted it. Most guys would be utterly
terrified by a woman as gorgeous as loxana, would just
thrust in,nd out a few times before they came. Performance
anxiety. Yeah, well, not him. He'd show her exactly
what that flat little stomach could give her as well as him,
how much he could get those perfect thighs to tremble,
what happened to those plump, pointy nipples when they
were sucked and stroked properly. Yeah, he'd like to have
her underneath him, thrashing about in orgasm, all ready
to fake it again and then suddenly realizing what was
happening, tensing underneath him as her pussy started to
get tight, but he wouldn't stop, he wouldn't break pace,
he'd ride her like a thoroughbred filly, until she was
incoherent, scratching at him and biting his shoulder, wet
with her own sweat, and just at-that moment he'd slip his
right hand in between her legs, just above where his cock
was, and rub her lightly so he'd be pressing on the clitoris
above and below. He'd show her that he was a powerful
man and powerful men had beautiful women all the time,
that they were just a perk of his job like any other, and he
wasn't afraid of her, he was going to enjoy her; in fact, he
was going to fuck her ambitious little brains out.

II5


And she'd love it. And she'd come for him, she'd come
screaming.

As the tape ran to an end, Sam moved a copy of Variety onto his lap to hide his arousal. No need to get locker
room with Mike at a time like this.

On screen, 1koxana's jet-black eyes, frozen in digital
perfection, seemed to look right through him, as though
the woman herself was up there, mocking, teasing him,
calling to a part of himself that had seemed long dead, laid
out cold in the headlong rush for glory.

For a second, Samuel Kendrick wondered uneasily if he
had finally met his match.


David Tauber punched the redial button on his mobile
phone, the other hand resting lightly on the wheel as he
bombed down Sunset. Engaged again. Shit, he was making
a habit of this - first Kevin Scott, and now some five-and
dime restaurant. What was the point of living in the Age of
Technology, of being a suffer on the Information Superhighway,
if you could never get through because people
were always using the goddamn phone? Well, if you need
something done, do it yourself. As he'd snidely said to
Kevin Scott when Artemis finally came through with their
draft screenplay approval.

He, David Ariel Tauber, the next Mike Ovitz, was pleased with little Megan Silver. Pleased with her for
turning up in Kevin's oce, pleased with her for writing
such a kick-ass first draft script, not that it wouldn't need a
load of work, and pleased with her for obviously not
knowing the first thing about the movie business. And for
being violently attracted to him. She was nothing to look at
herself, but at least she had taste. And it was kind of sweet,
watching her blush when he'd caught her staring at him.
Sweet was not an adjective often applied to LA screenwriters;
it might be fun, working with Megan, showing
her a thing or two. She was close to his perfect client:


II6

talented, naive and desperate. Which was why, having
failed all day to get through to the two-bit joint she was
working in, David was doing her the honour of turning up
to tell her the good news in person.

And shit, the girl must have been psychic. Not only was
her little movie absolutely tailor-made for Zach Mason the
guy would practically be playing himself- but she'd
also written in a hefty female lead for the musician's
girlfriend, who was, check it out, a supermodel. IfP,.oxana
had looked dicey for a female lead before - and he didn't
know what Sam's reactions had been to her test - surely
this part would at least double her chances. The PP,. blitz
would help as well. In fact, sometimes he got the feeling
that P,.oxana didn't even need his help. This he didn't like.
Who needed to feellike an accessory? Who needed a client
who knew what they were doing and, worse still, knew
what he should be doing? l<oxana Felix kept track. She was
on his case, really on his case. Six times a day. But now,
finally, David Tauber reckoned he had something for her.

Yeah. Megan Silver didn't look like a sorceress, but
maybe that's just what she was - waved her magic wand
and made all David's problems gb away. Which is why he
was running red lights on the Boulevard at ten to nine,
going to pick her up himsel£.

She deserved it..


Fifteen minutes. That was all she had to keep telling
herself. Fifteen minutes, and then she could get out of here.

Megan kept herself busy. It wasn't difficult; what with
the men all screaming for beer, and new heaps of greasy
chicken and grey frozen fries being shovelled into pans a
foot deep in spitting oil, and buckets of indifferent-looking
'slaw hefted round the kitchen, she hardly had time to even
glance at the clock. She tried not to. If Jenkins saw her,
he'd say she was slacking and dock her pay.

'Five minutes, sugar,' Stacey muttered in her ear,


II7

sweeping past with a basket of com. She dumped k
unceremoniously on the front of table twelve and came
back into the kitchen, her pretty face alive with excitement.
'Look at this, Meg! The most incredible car just
pulled into the parking lot.'

Megan, like most of the other waitresses, craned her

neck for a quick look.

'Man or woman?'

'It's a man,' Megan said, watching a figure in an
expensive-looking grey suit step out of a stunning cherry
red sports car. 'Maybe you'll get lucky, Stacey.' She dusted
her hands on her canary Mr Chicken frilly skirt. Nine p.m.
exactly. "Well, thank you, God. 'I'm going to get paid.'

Utterly exhausted, she walked over to the little cash

' counter where Jenkins was sitting.

'So we'll see you Monday,' he said sourly.

Megan didn't have a decision to make. She'd been
thinking about what Stacey had said all night and she knew
she was right. It was OK to be a waitress at seventeen;
twenty-four, and you had serious problems.

"No, I don't think so. I quit.' She tried to give him a
smile. That's it, Megan, kiss ass like the corporate little chicky
you are. 'Thanks for the tryout, Bob, but I just don't think
it's worked out.'

His eyes had a mean glint to them. She could see it even
through the clouds of steam fogging up the kitchen. 'You
can't do that.'

Megan shrugged. 'I gotta go home.'
'Shoulda checked your contract.'
'My contract?' Megan asked, mystified.
'You signed it when you got hired.'

That little scrap of paper? That was a contract?

She tried humility. 'Look, I'm really sorry if this is any
bother for you, but '

'You need to give me a month's notice. If you ain't
giving notice, you ain't getting paid for the week.'.


I8

Despite the heat, Megan went pale. 'You must be
kidding, Bob. You can hire anybody, you don't want to
make me stay a month. I'm a lousy waitress. You said so
yoursel£'

'You're not that bad.' He was eyeing her speculatively,
greedily.

My God, Megan thought, suddenly realizing what this
little charade was all about. He doesn't want me to stay, he
wants me to get so mad I'll just storm out and he won't
have to pay me for the week. Guess he doesn't realize how
badly I need that cheque.

'OK.' She stared back. 'If it's what you want. Consider

this a month's notice. I'll put it in writing, if you like.'
'You sure?'

She was right. Now he was mad. God, he must have
been sure she'd burst into tears and run off.

'Yeah;Bob, I'm totally sure. You owe me a week's pay

and I'm not leaving without it.'

'Why, you -'

'Megan.' Stacey, blushing red to her roots, had come
over to interrupt them. 'Bob, I'm sorry, but we need
Megan right now. There's a guy out here asking for her

personally. Won't talk to anyone else.'

Dec? thought Megan wildly.

'You know the rules, Megan. No personal visitors,'
Jenkins said nastily. Tm.coming with you.'

'Jesus, Bob. I finished my shift. I can see a visitor.'

He rounded on her. 'Not on Mr Chicken premises you
don't. This is where you work, not where you get to hang
with your friends. Assuming you want to stay working
here.'

'Megan?'

The three of them spun round at the strange voice to see
a tall, blond man in a Yohji Yamamoto black wool suit
standing at the entrance to the kitchen. He had a gold
watch on his fight wrist and was carrying a briefcase in soft

II9


pigskin leather. He reeked of money and confidence,
absolutely aware of the sensation he was causing in a dump
like this. Enjoying it, too. Stacey could hardly take her eyes
off:him.

Megan couldn't breathe.

'Who the fuck is this?' Jenkins demanded, recovering
himself. 'Look, mister, she isn't allowed visitors here. Not

if she wants to keep the job.'
'She doesn't.'
'And who says so?'

'My name is David Tauber, Sam Kendrick International,'
David said, giving Megan his most brilliant, luminous
smile. Tm Ms Silver's agent. Isn't that right, Megan?'

Megan felt faint, almost dizzy with joy. Eventually,
'realizing that Jenkins was staring at her with a glare that

could strip paint, she found her voice.

'That's right, David,' she said. She turned round to
Jenkins, suddenly unable to keep a huge grin off:her face.
'Hey, Bob. You know what, you're absolutely right. You
can keep that pay cheque, because I quit. Right now. And
I'R tell you something else.'

She leant forward, right in his acne-pitted face. 'It's
worth every cent, just to see the look on your face.'

'Ms Silver, shall we go? I've got the Lamborghini
waiting outside for you.'

David Tauber stood there in the door frame, handsome
as Adonis, offering her his arm. And Mr Chicken frilly
uniform and all, Megan took it like a queen.

'Why not?' she said.

I20


Chapter IO


The script felt good in her hands. That was a strange thing
to notice, but Eleanor couldn't help thinking about it as
she walked into her office and hefted it out of her briefcase.
The physical weight of the paper, the n.eatness of the edges,
all the telltale signs that let her know it had been handled
by so few people. She had a tiny thrill of electricity just
picking it up.

That same electricity had been with her ever since she
pulled out of the garage this morning, sending the blood
tingling round her veins, giving her the feeling of wanting
to get into the office, to start the day, to make this deal
work. One of those mornings that reminded her why she'd

longed to work in this business in the first place.
Excitement.

See the Lights was good, she could feel it, she could sense
it in her bones. From the moment that slimy little jerk
Tauber over at SKI had messengered it across with that
pretentious note about 'the next Close Encounters' and
'Pretty Woman meets The Doors' she'd been convinced.
And God knew she hadn't picked it up with any
expectations - after all, nobody had h4ard of Megan Silver,
whoever she was, and it hadn't even come from Sam's
script department. If she hadn't wanted the deal to work so
badly, she might have refused to look at it, might have
passed it down the food chain to one of Artemis's 'readers',
the amoebae at the bottom who normally accepted
screenplay submissions. She'd have liked nothing better


121

than to snub David Tauber. He was a two-bit hustler
barely out of diapers, the type who expected all women to
fall at his.feet with their legs open just because he had a cute
smile and a tan. She was used to guys like Tauber. Probably
worked out in a gym with mirrored walls.

Still, there was no way she could have refused to look at

the script. Jerk though Tauber was, he was also the classic
model of the Hollywood corner. Breaking onto the scene
from nowhere with Colleen McCallum, and now Zach
Mason as well as the model. Heavy-duty clients eventually
turn the most featherweight agent into Mike Tyson. So
she'd started reading it at nine a.m. that morning, intending
to skim it in ten minutes.

She'd finished it at quarter of ten and called Sam
Kendrick immediately.

See the Lights. An incredible love story. An action
thriller plot. A backdrop of sex and drugs and rock 'n' roll.

It was going to make her name, and she'd come into
Artemis this morning with the intention - oh God, God,
this was so great, and so terrifying - of green-lighting her
first movie.

'You look happy.'

'Hi, Tom,' Eleanor said, looking up to see her boss
standing in the doorway of her oce. He was wearing
some nondescript black suit that made his brown hair look
darker but did nothing for the slight jowliness of middle
age that had settled around his chin. He moved like a man
long accustomed to power.

She felt the familiar longing twitch between her thighs.
'I brought breakfast,' Tom said, striding across the room
and dumping a grease-spotted paper bag down on her
desk. He took out a jelly-ftlled doughnut and a paper cup
of coffee and offered them to her with a grin. 'Caffeine.
tefined sugar. Saturated fat. Eat.'

'I can't eat that!' Eleanor protested, laughing. 'It'll head
straight to my thighs. Paul wants us to go on the Pritikin

I22


iet, that one where you eat no fat at all. He says we should
hire a vegetarian low-fat cook.'

Goldman shook his head. 'So? Jordan wants me to
become a goddamned vegan.' He leant towards her. 'This
is why people have jobs.'

'So they can secretly eat doughnuts?'

'Absolutely. Now eat it. That's an order.'

Smiling, she took a large bite. It was sweet and oily and
delicious.

Tom watched her with immense satisfaction, then
reached into the bag for his own doughnut, polishing it off
in three bites.

'My God, it's Captain Caveman,' Eleanor said. 'And I
bet you ate at home, too.'

Tom shrugged defensively, grinning. 'I work out.
Sometimes.' He reached forward and wiped gently across
her chee removing a small oozing trickle ofjelly that was
slowly running down her chin, licking his thumb clean.
'President of a movie studio, and she has no doughnut
eating technique at all. I find that very sad.'

'Talking of which' - Eleanor put down the rest of her
doughnut and patted her script - Tve got something you
should see.'

'We can talk business later. It's only eight o'clock, you'll
have all day for chat,' Goldman said, impatiently. 'When
do we ever get a chance to talk? Tell me how you are.'

Eleanor shifted on her seat. She was almost embarrassed.
Her feelings for Tom were long recognized and admitted,
filed neatly away under 'might have been'. But that didn't
stop the private joy that ran through her during their early
morning moments together, when she was alone with him
before any of the assistants arrived. And, she was dismayed
to find, it didn't stop the wild arousal that had swum hot
and squirming into her belly when his hand touched her
cheek. She'd wanted to press it into his palm, to turn her.
lips to his wrist and cover it with hot kisses, to take that

dthumb into her own mouth and lick and suck it dean.
From that one faindy erotic touch she was wet. There was
more sensuality in Tom brushingj elly from her cheek than
there was in the whole of the sexual act that she performed
with Paul every morning.

The morning session with Tom was enjoyable and
innocent precisely because they never did or said anything
of consequence, unless it was business. But now he was
looking her straight in the eyes and asking her how she
was!

'Fine,' she said. 'I'm fine.'

'Are you?' Tom asked softly. 'How's life at home? How
are you getting on with Paul?'

Words trembled on her lips. 'Just great.' 'Terrific, thank

' you.' 'Oh, he's incredible.' All the safe, stock answers she
came out with every day. They were the solid couple.
R, ock steady, the way LA royalty should be; the studio
head and the investment banker, William III and Mary II,
joint sovereigns. Monogamous and neatly paired off. Very
nineties.

But somehow, sitting here looking at Tom Goldman,
she found it hard to say. She flashed back to the scene
today. The first light of dawn creeping through the fragrant
darkness of their garden, the scent of hibiscus and jasmine
in the cold morning air, the way it always was when they
woke at 5 a.m. to the strains of whatever soft classical music
he'd programmed into the CD the night before - Bach or
Mozart. And then Paul would reach for her. No preliminaries,
he would just reach for her, as much a part of his
early-morning routine as the jog at half-five, or the orange
juice and mineral water at six.

Only this morning she'd turned away.

'Come on, what's the matter?' he'd asked sleepily,

nuzzling against her shoulder. 'Don't want to?'

Tmjust tired.'

But the truth was she didn't want to: Not right now. Not


124

after going to sleep on See the I'ghts, with all that raw
passion and obsessive love. She'd dreamed about Tom, and
just for today, just for this morning in the gentle half-light,
something in her skin rebelled at the thought of Paul
touching her.

'You're never tired.'

She hated that tone - it was accusatory, whining.
'You just forgot to put your diaphragm in last night.'
Eleanor started to deny it. 'No I didn't, Paul, I '

'I don't see why I can't make love to you without it. I
don't see why you always have to insist on using that damn
thing.' He was angry and cold now. Thankfially, she felt his
erection shrivelling against her thigh. 'You say yoh want
kids, but you know it's getting hter and later. I don't see
why we can't get married.'

'We've had this discussion before,' Eleanor said, feeling
her defenges fly up. She hated, utterly hated, to talk about
this. She didn't want to acknowledge it or see it, didn't
want to confront it. 'This just isn't the right time.'

'When will it be the right time? When you're fifty, and
we have to adopt?'

Paul threw back the covers and stood up to dress, his
long, lean body blackly silhouetted against the weak dawn
light from the sash windows. Eleanor could see anger in

the whole way he carried himself, in the set of his muscles.
'Will you marry me?'

It was a demand, not a request.

She tensed. 'Not yet.'

'I won't wait forever, Eleantr,' he warned her as he
walked towards the bathroom. 'I want kids.'

Oh, so do I, she'd thought as she lay there, Irish cotton
sheets clutched protectively around her. So do I.

Children. A baby, maybe two or three, little infants with
their wide eyes and tiny hands and all the love and fears that
they couldn't even articulate. She had always wanted
children, in that confident way that young beautiful

women have, sure that life will serial them the husband they
desire and deserve, happy to trust in their wombs,
unhurried and unpressured. 'Kids some day.'

She couldn't now mark out, couldn't recall, the exact
moment that the first flush of youth had left her, the precise
period of months when she'd started to get concerned and
anxious. Maybe it combined with the period when it had
dawned on her that Tom Goldman was never going to
take his flirtation any further, when one girlfriend replaced
another, and suddenly all the girlfriends were five, seven,
ten years younger than her. Teenagers and twenty-twoyear-olds.
That was when she'd accepted the best, most eligible of
the bachelors who swarmed around her, fetched her drinks
at charity bails and monopolized her at Isabelle Kendrick
dinners. Paul Halfm had then been thirty-nine, handsome,
rich, educated, champing. He was fun to talk to, if you
didn't want anything too wild. Knew everything there was
to know about Shakespeare and Vivaldi, and his firm was
pretty hot, had been involved in a couple of high-profile
entertainment deals just that year. Eleanor was thirty-two.
They were two 'beautiful people'. They would be a power
couple, Bill and Hillary on the way up their separate
ladders.

Eleanor thought Paul was cute. She moved in with him.
The relief had been amazing, so much so that it revealed
to her as though for the first time how pressured she'd felt
being single. For the ft time, she had nothing to prove in
social situations. Executive wives thawed perceptibly to
her. She always had someone to take her to Artemis
premieres, and a wonderful, enviable escort for company
dinners. For the first few months together they had
teetered on the brink of marriage, which, inevitably,
would have led to children. An ideal Beverly Hills family.
She couldn't do it.

That was what stopped her. Children, the thing she'd

dreamed of since she was a child herself, tucking her doll
into its cot, nursing teddies through their various exotic
ailments. She'd been an only child of elderly parents, and
she'd always imagined herself as a beautiful young mother
with a gaggle of babies. When she got older and started to
dwell on it, the precious wonder of human life, she simply
couldn't understand how so many people treated their
children so lightly, divorcing without the slightest effort at
patching it up for the kids' sake, or starving them of
affection. She couldn't believe all those deadbeat fathers
that snuck away from mothers they no longer desired,
frightened of responsibility or scared of another mouth to
feed. God, weren't they even curious? A baby was such a
miracle, it was their descendant, their link to the future,
their line spanning down the generations. Did they never
see it like that, those men? Eleanor wondered. Did they
never look'at their babies and see their own eyes staring up
at them, the future small and soft in their arms when they
hid it in the crib at fright? To create life, together, was that
not the ultimate bond two people could have?

And in her own mind, when she thought of her child,
flesh of her flesh and blood of her blood, she could not see
it with Paul's eyes, his nose, his chin.

When she saw the features of the father of her child, she
imagined Tom Goldman's eyes, staring back at her.

Of course that was quite ridiculous. Tom felt nothing
for her. He had this string of interchangeable nubilebabes,
he was her boss and her friend. So she'd had a crush on him
once, so what?

It was the advent of Jordan Caboi that finally drove
Eleanor to admit what she was feehng. Jordan, who'd
arrived in LA from San Francisco eighteen months ago, the
blonde scion of a rich, gentile family, just another stupid
bimbo looking to hook a Hollywood executive. By tim
time, of course, Tom was chairman of Artemis and the
biggest catch in town. Jordan, possibly, had simply lucked

out by being the right girl at the right time, coming along
when Tom was newly promoted and pleased with himself
and his life. And let's face it, in a town full of pneumatic
flaxen-haired curies, Jordan Cabot was something else. A
perfect hourglass figure combined with a truly-pretty face
of the All-American type. Great skin, white teeth, athletic
muscle tone, and a mere twenty-three years old. But even
that n-light not have been enough to get a ring on Tom's
finger, as chary of tying himself down as Eleanor knew he
was. What had finally swung it for Jordan was her ability in
bed. Whatever skills she'd perfected, Tom was addicted to
them. This Eleanor knew because he'd told her, buddy to
buddy. He wasn't coarse about it; he would just come into
her oftice and marvel at how incredible, how alive, how

' young Jordan made him feel. Said he could never get
enough. Could never get tired of it. Soon, Eleanor had to
knock on his office door instead ofjust walking in like she
used to, for fear ofinterrupring one of his heavy phone-sex
sessiors.

Torn became obsessed. He said Jordan made him feel
lille a teenager again.

Eleanor began to have nightmares, dreaming of Jordan,
young, flawless, perfect, contorting her body in wild ways
which she, Eleanor, could not even begin to imagine.

Three months after he'd met her they were engaged. A
month later they were married. And when Tom, two
months into their marriage, confided in Eleanor that he
wished Jordan would get pregnant, that children were the
one remaining consuming desire of his life, she was forced
into recognizing the great tragedy of her own life.

She loved Tom Goldman, loved him desperately. It was
the explanation for the searing, ravaging pain that swept
through her as she listened to him. And she wanted no man
but Tom to be the father of her children.

It was never going to be. She knew that, accepted it as
the clear truth. If she, Eleanor Marshall, wanted, to be a

i28

mother, she was going to have to find a different set of
genes to mix with. Moreover, she was going to have to
find them pretty soon. She was thirty-eight. And if not
Paul, who else? If she left Paul, would that do her any
good? Whoever else she hooked up with, they wouldn't
be Tom either.-So shouldn't she avoid making the perfect
the enemy of the good? When there was no guarantee that
she was ever going to fred anything better? And the feeling
of desperation, of endless longing for that child waiting so
impatiently to be born, was beginning to swamp her.
Sometimes seeing little children with their mothers in the
mall would make her cry. She'd started to dream about
babies, torturingly realistic dreams, where she could smell
the milky, sleepy smell of their velvety skin, see every tiny
finger curl with its miniature fingernail, notice how their
fragile lashes seemed too long for those minute eyelids.

And Pal was pressing her to marry him, to conceive.
So far, for three months she'd been stalling.

This morning, Eleanor had felt all the walls starting to
close in. She'd have to decide. And she had no idea what to
do.

Eleanor gazed up at Tom, leaning over her, staring at her
with his odd intensity. 'You want the truth? Things aren't
so hot.'

'Work pressure?'

He was probing her now. For a moment Eleanor sensed
he didn't want her to answer yes, that he wanted to hear
something more personal.

She thought about saying that Paul was swamped over at
Albert, Halfin, Weissman.

'Paul wants me to marry him. I guess I'm not sure if I'm
ready,' she said. 'And you? How are things with Jordan?'

'Not so hot.' Tom smiled ruefully at her, but then
looked away. 'I probably didn't realize what the age
difference would mean.'

'Nothing serious, though?' God, look at me, Eleanor

thought, mad at herselE. All I do is reach out to comfort
him. Why don't I do something about it?

'No. I'm sure it'll all work itself out. Especially when we
get pregnant.'

She nodded, trying to stifle her disappointment. Not to
mention that horrible ironic stab - 'when we get pregnant'.
Tom was bunting to be a father, then. He longed to
beget children. But not with her.

'But I gotta tell you, sometimes it's really hard. Talking
to her, I mean. It's not' - she could see him struggle with
his words, wanting to tell her his problem, trying to avoid.
criticizin.g his wife - 'not like it is with you. She's not
interested in -'

She's not interested in anything. Except sodal climbing,
' designer dresses, and making thegossilo columns, Tom thought.
He'd thought that he could never get fired of sex with
Jordan. And he wasn't. But he was wondering if he'd tired
of everything else.

He heard his own voice trailing away. He couldn't
admit it, not even to Eleanor, as well as they knew each
other. In fact, especially not to Eleanor. Not as she sat there
in that deep blue suit, radiating intelligence and sensuality.
Flirting with her had been a constant as long as he'd known
her, but lately the flirtation seemed to have taken on a new
edge. He had always desired her, but his respect for their
friendship, his wariness of professional misconduct, and his
terror of- what? Ofleing tied down? Of sex that wasn't
the type you could walk away from? Well, his terror of that
nameless connection, all those things had kept him from
making his move. Desire was joyous and clean. Desire you
could control. And he had, in the end, married a girl who
could satisfy his desire with the skill of a virtuoso.

Jordan. She was far more attractive than Eleanor, surely.
And fourteen years younger.
So why was lust curling around his crotch? Why had he


I3O

felt his sex get warmer and harder the instant his thumb
touched Eleanor's cheek?

'I think I'm just too old and too square,' Goldman
finished.

Eleanor looked across her desk at him, the coffee in its

Styrofoam cup cooling in front of her.

'No you're not, Tom,' she said.

The silence between them hung in the air.

Then Goldman reached forward, his large right hand
closing over her small left one, his grip solid, even tight,
and said, 'Eleanor -'

'Hey, my two favourite people.'

Without so much as a glance at her, Tom Goldman
snatched his hand away as though her skin had suddenly
become corrosive acid. Past his back, Eleanor could see the
dapper figure of Jake Keller, her most senior vice-president
of Produ'ction. Her deputy at the department, Jake had
been the man passed over for the presidency when Eleanor
got the job. He'd always been totally friendly and polite to
her since, butJake was an enemy and Eleanor knew it. He
was bitter. The sight of him interrupting them sent shivers

down her spine. Unpleasant ones.
He hadn't seen anything.
She hoped.

'Eleanor, do you have a second? I wanted to discuss that

script you sent me yesterday. See the Lights.'

'Sure, Jake. Of course.'

Eleanor picked up the copy lying on her desk and passed
it to Tom, briskly. 'Tom, you rnight a.s well take this away
too. It's the script for the Zach Mason/Fred Florescu
project, which is a go.'

'You're green-lighting this?' Keller asked. His tone was
heavy with disapproval:

'I am.' She refused to be rattled, or to respond to the
insult. Jake Keller was not to approve or disapprove of her
decisions. She was his boss.

I3I


Tom Goldman looked swifdy from one to the other, all
business now. 'Jake, maybe you should bring it up in the
production meeting at ten.'

He was backing up her authority, Eleanor knew. She
also knew that Tom would listen carefully to whatever
criticisms Jake had. He wouldn't prevent her from green
lighting this project- after all, being president was all about
making those decisions - butJake would get to register his
protest. And if this movie screwed up, Jake Keller would
get credit for his'warnings.

'Sure,' Keller said easily. 'See you later.'

He turned to leave, and Tom followed him. 'See you
later, Eleanor.'

'Of course.' All traces of their earlier intimacy were
wiped away, but she had expected that. He was probably
regretting it right this minute. 'Tom, try and skim through
that script before the meeting if you get a chance. It's really

hot. David Tauber at SKI is representing the writer.'
'I thought Kevin Scott had all their writers.'
tAll except this. Tauber found her himsel£.'

'He did?' Tom grinned, amused. 'That kid's in a hurry.
OK, I'll check it out now.'

Eleanor watched his retreating back, realizing with a
slight misgiving that already David Tauber's name carried
some weight. Tom was more inclined to read it quickly
because Tauber had foqnd it. Well, that made sense: it was
David Tauber who had brought in Zach Mason, and this
was his movie. Fred Florescu was the most important
element of the deal, and Fred was Sam's personal client, but
still ... if Hollywood was a jungle, in the nineties it
belonged to jackals like David. And she noticed that Tom
hadn't responded to her assurance that this screenplay was
terrific. She knew him well enough by now to see when he
was reserving judgement.

Eleanor glanced at the clock on her computer. Quarter


I32

of nine. The big Artemis production meeting was in just
over an hour.

Damn, she hoped Tom liked it. But even if he didn't, in
this meeting she was going to back her own judgement.
She had found the right script t'or Mason and Florescu, and
when they had cast the female lead-Julia P,.oberts,Jennier
Jason Leigh? - they were going to have a smash.

Despite her ragged emotions, Eleanor Marshall t'ek a
small thrill. She was going to exercise her new power for
the first time. This was scary. This was exhilarating. This
was the movie business.

It was everything she had always wanted.

Well, almost everything.

I33


Chapter I I


As she threw open the last window, the scnt hit her. First
thing in the morning, and the air in the Hollywood Hills
was fragrant with jasmine, hibiscus, she didn't know what
else. Up here she was above the smog line, and the sky was
humid, not exactly threatening to rain but allowing

myriads of minute water droplets to hang shimmering in
the air in a warm, transparent mist. Birds were singing, a
sound so unfamiliar to loxana- Ms City Girl numero uno - that for a second she hadn't known what it was. Standing
there, looking out at LA, a peaceful grid laid out below her,
silent from this height, she felt a strange sensation.
Happiness.

loxana shook her lovely head in a movement so
graceful it was a shame she had no audience for it, her long
black hair swinging behind her in a pigtail, her normally
pale cheeks flushed from her morning workout. Her first
morning in LA out of a hotel, and already she was getting
weak and stupid.

David had found her this place and she had to admit he'd
done a good job. The house was perched on a nearly secret
ledge high in the hills above Sunset, protected by cleverly
grown hedges from any long-range lenses or curious fans
with binoculars. It had been designed by an unknown but
very talented architect, probably back in the thirties, and
re-equipped several times since. Now she had a Moroccan
villa on the outside, all coffee-coloured plaster and
Hispanic white details, with a marble fountain playing day


134

and night in the courtyard, and a New York penthouse on
the inside, with a private gym, a home office complete
with several phone lines, faxes and a PowerMacintosh, the
ultimate in electronic sensor security systems and plenty of
natural light. Not to mention mirrors. The swimming pool
was sunk in the middle of the central reception room,
another detail she had approved of. loxana didn't like
outdoor pools. Any schmuck with a helicopter could gawk
at you.

The rent was astronomical, but so what? She was
astronomically rich. And very soon she'd be astronomically
famous, too. When the call had come from Tauber
last night it hadn't surprised her in the least. Everybody
else; perhaps, but not her. This was what she'd come out to
LA to do, and she was going to succeed, of course. She
always did.

She was loxana Felix, and she always got what she
wanted.


'And what did you tell her?'

Sam Kendrick tensed, not liking Eleanor's tone. Fifteen
years as one of the best agents in Hollywood had given him
near-psychic powers in reading people's moods. And
Eleanor was pissed-off. He scrambled to recover his
ground.

'Actually, Eleanor, D;vid called her. He told her she'd
been shortlisted for the part ofMorgan. Which you.told us.
Nothing more, nothing less.'

'Uh-huh.' The president of Artemis tapped one manicured
nail on the papers in front ofhe. They all bore inset
stories on the front page with headlines like 'loxana Starts
Acting Career', 'Silver Screen Supermodel', and the worst,
the New York Times, ran 'loxana Beats Out Julia, Winona, et al'.

Sam stifled his own furyl God, how he agreed with
Eleanor. It was the most unprofessional thing he had eve


35

seen. But he simply could not show his feelings to his old friend. The bitch was, aer all, his client.

'Eleanor, I swear, we had nothing to do with this.'

'It puts me in an extremely difficult position, Sam. As
you know, we're still considering casting. We haven't got
back to Bridget's people, or Jennifer's people, or Julia's
people or Winona's people. And they read this in the
fucking press.'

Sam was on red-alert. Eleanor never swore, she was
more decorous than a whore at a christening. 'I'll speak to
her, Eleanor, I promise.'

'You do that.' She was still angry. 'I swear, I should just
issue a release saying the whole thing is a fabrication by
your client. Butjustln case we do cast her, I'll have to keep

, quiet about it. For now.'

'OK.' Kendrick nodded his head, accepting blame.
'You'd better go, Sam. I have to make my apologies to
Mike Ovitz and Jeff Berg and every other major player
Ikoxana Felix just spat on.' Eleanor took a deep breath,
composing hersel£. 'And Sam, make sure you see her
yourself. Don't send that little jerk Tauber in to do it. I
want someone who's gonna give Ms Felix a lesson in how
we do business in the movie industry, not crawl up her ass
instead of.kicking it.'

Despite himself, Sam grinned. 'OK, Eleanor. I'll see to it

personally. It won't happen again.'

'It had better not.'

She was the Ice (ueen again, cool and menacing.
Kendrick almost regretted the reversion to type as he
shook her hand and left. It was kind of interesting to see
Eleanor Marshall steamed up, even if he was on the
receiving end. He'd always imagined Paul Halfin shoved
her in the deepfreeze when she got home nights, to warm
her up a little bit.

Eleanor dismissed Sam from her thoughts almost before

he had left, dialling CAA and ICM and everybody.else to


36

offer her apologies, smooth practised words disassociatin
Artemis from any involvement with these stories. The
couldn't afford to offend any of the big female stars - n
studio could. Female actors were still paid far less than the
male counterparts, but their cents on the male doll:
crawled up every year. Something she, Eleanor, we
corned, although she'd never paid a woman star a ce
more than she had to. If equality happened for actresses, :
would happen naturally, when market forces dictatec
You couldn't bring feminism or any other agenda into i
Business was business. It was that attitude that had ensurec
at long last, that she got to sit in the president's office. An
it was that attitude that now forced her to look' at
Roxana situation with as much detachment as she cou]
bring to it.

God, it made her mad, the way the woman obvioug
thought she could just walk all over Artemis and SKI. Sh
was incredibly beautiful and incredibly arrogant. And n
Meryl Streep, either. She thought that lovely face was ht
passport through life, and Eleanor dearly longed to sho
her othervcise, to rule her out for this part and show her u

in every major paper that was fawning over her today.
But she couldn't do it.
loxana, loxana, loxana. That was all she'd heard fi
a week. As soon as the project had been green-lighte
David Tauber was calling her twenty times a day, loc
press and TV shows had asked for her response to tl
rumour, and Tom Goldman was suddenly insisting th;
she test with Zach for the part. Eleanor had shrugged h,
shoulders and agreed. After all, the original tests of R.oxar
Sam had sent over weren't dreadful, even if they al
weren't good enough. With the male star making h
acting debut, plus a first-time screenwriter, she'd want
to play it safe with the female lead. After all, they had a k
of money riding on this production. As it was, Sa,
Kendrick International was looking at a fat package deal fc
I37


the director, star and scriptwriter. And Jake Keller had
raised objections at literally every stage of the process, from
the first production meeting to the marketing budget. She,
Eleanor, had overruled him, but effectivelyJake had forced
her to put her ass on the line. She'd had to sit. there and
watch Tom Goldman, magisterial chairman and CEO,
observing the polite duels of his two most senior execs as
though from the heights of Mount Olympus, not taking
sides,just taking notes. Standard Hollywood-mogul practice.
Tom neither blamed nor praised See the Lights, and
that way he could take all the credit if the movie was a
smash, and disassociate himself if it bombed. Every senior
guy played it that way, and she had tried not to take it
personally. But it still hurt. See the Lights was her first

, project, she could tell Tom loved the script as much as she
did, and she longed for him to back her. Maybe because
there would have been something deeply sexual in the idea

of him throwing caution to the winds for her sake.

But that was dreaming.

At any rate, it had amazed her to see Tom getting
involved in casting matters; he was far too busy for that, the
creative side wasn't the realm of the chairman, he was the
one who Concentrated on making them look good to their
shadowy .lords and masters on Wall Street. Still, if he
wanted loxana Felix to test, so be it. He was her boss. And
he had been quite insistent on the matter; why, she
couldn't figure out.

'Eleanor, you must be insane. All these no-name
people -'

'I wouldn't call Zach Mason a no-name,' she'd said at
the casting meeting, her light tone covering a steely
reproof. Who the hell did Jake Keller think he was? She
hid her satisfaction at the thought that Keller was criticizing
Tom's suggestion in front of him, and not her own, as he
imagined. Tom had spoken to her privately, so she gave
out that the decision to test loxana had come from her.

I38

Jake therefore attacked it, right on cue. 'Movie no-nam
OK, so he's a rock star. Like Mick Jagger and Sting ar
Madonna. Great box-office.'

'That's tree. But we've seenZach's tests as an actor, ar
we're all agreed he has an amazing talent.'

'OK, maybe.' Keller couldn't deny it: Mason had test
like God's gift; he acted as good as Olivier and he looked
good as Keanu tkeeves. 'But it's still a risk. And we didi
like t(oxana's tests.'

'That was before we had decided on See the Lights as
script. The male lead is a rock star, the female lead
supermodel. They'd both be playing themselves. I thir
that's a strong angle.'
'You can't seriously want to cast this on the basis publicity,' Jake sneered.

Eleanor remembered staring at his upper-class WAS]
suit, his red hair combed in a neat centre parting, aJ
feeling a dislike of the intensity she normally reserved
Isabelle Kendrick and her coven of Beverly Hills la&
who lunch. She'd smoothed her Georges 1kech pink si
skirt across her legs before answering him, a feminin
appealing gesture calculated to contrast with her ne words.

'We're testing loxana Felix tomorrow.' She paused,
let that sink in. They should all take note, all those bal
vice-presidents eagerly watching the grown-ups fight.
was the president and she intended them to have no
about that. Jake Keller had ten years as a creative and she
come from Marketing, and he intended to show up
creative 'weakness' wherever and whenever he could. At
if she showed any weakness whatsoever, he'd exploit it
a germ-warfare expert faced with an open wound.

'Tomorrow morning. Jake, tests fall within your jut. diction, so you can arrange it. I'll come to a screening in
afternoon; we can review everyone's tests together. To
will that be good for you?'

I39


'That'll be free. I don't have anything then I can't shift.'
Tom had looked at her with just the faintest gleam of
amusement and approval in his brown eyes, nodding his
head slowly, in a way that made her heart skip over, and
Jake Keller had gone the colour of a beetroot.

'You OK with that, Jake?' she'd pressed him coolly.

'Sure. Fine.'

He had to agree. He knew it, she knew it, everyone in

the room knew it. And, damn, maybe this was her nasty
male aggressive streak, but- admit it- she'd really enjoyed
rubbing his nose in it.

Walking into the darkened screening room had felt
strange. All of a sudden Eleanor had a personal stake in
P,.oxana Felix, a woman she hadn't particularly even
wanted to test. It was a big deal, too: her first movie, a rock
musician starring, an unknown screenwriter and a huge
budget. That much she would have to give Keller, the
female lead was important. And they had looked at some of
the biggest females in the industry. Competition to work
with Zach and Fred was intense among a whole generation
of actresses, Jordan Goldman's generation, the 'X'-ers, to
whom both director and star were pop-culture gods. The
reaction had made Eleanor feel old and out of touch; she'd
known Mson was a huge star, seen his sales figures and the
rest of it, but she somehow had had no idea of the quasi
religious feeling the guy could inspire. For the twenty
somethings he was a p.rophet, their Bob Dylan. Weird. It
was why people like Fred and Julia and Winona, all
Hollywood royalty and way higher up the movie-business
tree than Zach, were scrambling to work with him, even
before they'd seen him act.

But as the various lovely faces replaced each other onscreen,
testing with Mason, she'd had a sinking feeling in
the pit of her stomach. It didn't work. Not with any of
them. Oh, they were all great actresses and they all looked
fine, even believable in the role ofa snpermodel. But the

magic, the chemistry with Mason, that wasn't there. See.
Lights had to crackle with sexual energy. That was w
only guys normally attended these tests for female leads
blockbuster movies - a woman had to chart high, notj'
on her acting ability, but on what was known on the loI
the 'peter meter'. Vulgar, but effective, and for ye
Eleanor Marshall had not been required to attend. We
they couldn't stop her now. Now she was president. So S
got to sit in this dark baby cinema with the boys, watchi:
unhappily as actress after actress triggered off little me
than polite murmurs. Great skill, no sizzle. For See
Lights that wasn't gonna work.

And then, last, they'd shown tkoxana's test.
Instant reaction.

As the camera panned onto Morgan, the girlfriet
making her way bac.kstage, every man in the room shift
on his chir, loxana was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, }
as she strutted into the centre of the screen, emanati
arrogance and boredom, she was as graceful and deadly;
lioness. A lioness on heat. Mason's response to her x
something else, his eyes raking over her chest and crotch
they started to run the fight scene, stripping her with 1
eyes so blatantly that Eleanor, to her astonishment, fou
herself getting aroused, a silken line of sexual heat traili
down her belly. Now l&oxana made to slap him round t
face and Mason caught lier arm, viciously, pinning her
against a crate. She twisted free, defying him, the lo
upon her face so feral that any minute you expected her
draw back her lips and snarl at him. The excited babble
the male executives stilled, the sound of their breathi
heavy in the room. Zach and tkoxana went through th
lines on-screen, but Eleanor could see that nobody x listening to anything but the body language. Des.
seemed to rise so strongly between the two of them d
she almost felt as if she'd walked into somebod
bedroom. You expected to see them abandon their li

I41


any second and just go to it, right there. Involuntarily,
Eleanor found herself looking round for Tom Goldman,
wanting to see his reaction, wanting to be near him while
she felt like this. Warm, slow feelings trawled across her
crotch, as though a feather-light hand were stroking her
there, as though Tom were breathing softly on the nape of
her neck. She was actually wet. The sexual energy onscreen
was so strong she felt like holding up a match, to see
if it would ignite. Was she imagining things, or had the
crotch on Zach Mason's pants got tighter? And were
loxana's Felix's high, tight nipples contracting under that
cotton T-shirt?

As the test faded to darkness, Eleanor Marshall listened
, to her male colleagues consciously control their breathing,

and smiled to herselE.

Fuck you, Jake Keller. This movie's gonna work.

They'd announced no decision then and there, of
course. Too much of an insult to all the other candidates.
Eleanor had merely remarked that it seemed an interesting
performance, and Tom had agreed with her, and then
everybody had gone back to work. But privately, the
casting of Morgan was a given.

Which .was why, even though there had been no
announcement of casting and her behaviour was unforgivable,
Eleanor Marshall knew that she wasn't going to slap
Roxana down.

loxana Felix was Heir new star.

Eleanor finished up her call to Mike Ovitz, grovelling
abjecdy in apology, and quickly pressed the red light on

her phone. Tom .Goldman buzzing her.

'Have you seen Sam?'

'¥eah. He's going to talk to her. I told him to do it
himself.'

Goldman grunted. 'Good. Well, I think we better
eonfirm it as soon as possible. If we keep them hanging on

for anqther two days and then announce loxana, it'lllook
like we're dicking them around.'

'Language,' said Eleanor automatically. 'OK, Tom. I've
just got offthe phone with CAA, so let me leave it an hour
and I'll put out an announcement. Yes?'

He laughed, a low, warm sound. 'Sure. I'll leave it to
your impeccable judgement.'

There was a moment's silence.

'Are you coming to Isabelle Kendrick's party tomorrow?'
Tom asked casually.

'Only for ten minutes. We're just going to show up and
leave.' Eleanor smiled into the receiver. 'iF i cut the whole
thing, Isabelle and' - she nearly said 'and Jordan', but
stopped herselfjust in time- 'and the rest of them will stick
all their little voodoo pins into me.'

'Oh.' He sounded disappointed, hesitant. 'I was hoping
you'd stay longer. We might get a chance to talk.'

Eleanor felt herself tense up, that same sick-excitement

feeling she'd had with Tom yesterday morning.
She had to test it. 'But we talk all the time.'
'Not about business.'

'We get to see each other socially, though. We all played

tennis together only last weekend.'

A pause.

'I meant on our own.'

A jolt of electricity surged through her.

She tried to control it. As casually as she could manage,
she said, 'Do you mean that at a big party we'd be able to
slip away and talk?'

'Yeah. Exactly.' He was grunting again, obviously
embarrassed.

Eleanor thought the sound of her own heart beating in
her ears might deafen her. She couldn't speak.

'Whatever,' Tom said. 'I was just hoping you would stay.'

'I'll stay,' Eleanor said.

I43


He hung up.

For a full minute, Eleanor Marshall gazed at the phone,
attempting to still the wild, strange pulse racing through
her blood.


David Tauber had taken over her life, and Megan didn't
know which part of it had been the most wonderful- the
way he'd turned up in his red charger and whisked her

	from her shitty little job; the champagne and pink

away

roses that he'd sent around the next morning; or actually
signing the contract in the marbled offices of SKI, under
the impassive gaze of Sam Kendrick himself and the baleful
stare of Kevin Scott, a contract which, David had taken
great pleasure in telling her, was for $.5o,ooo. A quarter of a
,million dollars! Tina and Jeanne had been utterly blown
away, unable to stifle their jealousy even for the sake of
sucking up to her, which was what she'd expected. Maybe
it was un-nineties, but Megan had enjoyed it when she saw
their mouths drop open. Although it was nothing compared
with the pleasure she had in driving down to Mr
Chicken in her newly leased BMW to pick Stacey up on
her lunch break. Bob Jenkins had tried to slime his way
back into her good graces, apologizing for 'being a little
short with you' and attempting to kiss her butt - 'We all
knew you would make it, Megan. We could tell the
second you walked in the door you were gonna be
someone special.' At vhich she'd turned round, in the
middle of the hushed diner, and said loudly and sweetly,
'Unlike you, Bob, you pimply little fuck.'
Well,.it was tree what they say.
levenge is sweet.

Megan could still hardly believe it was true. She had to
pinch herself every time she got up in the morning, look
around her and wonder if this could actually be happening.
It still took her a second or two to figure out where she
was: the new apartment was so clean and spacious,

compared with what she was used to, and it was as silent as
the grave. Apart from the traffic rushing by, of course, but
you tuned that out in a city. No, what she meant was that
she didn't have to hear Jeanne and Tina bickering any
more, didn't have to wake up to find all the hot water gone
and some unshaven jerk that Tina had brought home with
her sitting in their kitchenette drinking coffee out of her
mug. This place was all hers; it had a fully equipped
kitchen, soft carpets in every room and even a little home
office for her to write in. David had found it for her, and
when he'd shown her through the door she'd had to fight
back the impulse to tears.

'It's beautiful, David! But I can't afford it.'

'Sure you can.' He'd been so certain, so confident;
Megan looked at his immaculately tailored suit and
platinum 1q.olex and felt like an idiot for even suggesting it. Ofcourseshe could afford it, or David wouldn't have leased
it for her.

'We're paying rent and amenities directly out of your
account. You don't have to worry about it. You don't

have to worry about anything.'

'Out of my account?'

'We set up a facility with Norman Drew for you.
They'll be your accountants now. You'll get on great with
them, I always use them for my new clients.'

My accountants! She hadn't known whether to laugh or
cry. What would Mom say if she could see her now?
Plump, plain Megan, the perennial loser, always the last
one that the family thought about, installed in a chic little
apartment of her own in the heart of Century City, LA.
Megan knew she should have called back to tell them the
news, but somehow she'd been putting it off. Her family
were normally so discouraging, deep down inside she was
afraid they might snipe at her, and worse, that she might
care. She didn't want any of the bloom taken off this
particular rose just yet.

I45


'All your new clients?' she couldn't help asking. 'Does

that include Zach Mason?'

David laughed at her indulgently. Damn, what a sexy

laugh, Megan thought. Sated, as if he'd just had sex. But
then everything about David Tauber made her-think of
sex.

'It does.' He craned his head around to look inside her
bedroom, noticing her Dark Angel and Metallica posters
tacked up on the wall. Megan always stuck those posters up
first, wherever she was - they helped keep her rooted. But
for the first time she felt ashamed. He would think she was

too old for posters. 'I see you're a fan.'

She nodded, blushing.

'So now you share accountants. It'll give you something

'else to talk about besides music when I introduce you.'

'When you introduce us?' Megan repeated, holding her
breath.

'Sure. At Isabelle Kendrick's party tomorrow night. I

asked Sam if I could bring you along. Everybody will be
the, re - Zach Mason, Fred Florescu, Sam, the Artemis

execs in charge of your project.'

Her projeet t.

'And me.' David gave her that special, lazy smile, his
polished white teeth dazzling against his tanned skin. In
that Gucci suit that pulled taut across his impressive chest,
he reminded Megan of every college football hope she'd
ever seen, or of some gdrgeous male model right out of an
Armani campaign. She couldn't dwell on her own bad skin
or her plumpness when she was with him. There was no chance to consider anything physical except David. He
was so perfect, she found it tough to look away from him.

As though aware of her thoughts, Tauber winked at her.

Tm no Zach Mason, I know. But you'll let me be your
escort to this party, won't you, Megan? I can't wait to show
off my latest client.'


I46

hug herself.

Td love to go with you, David,' she said shyly.
'Great.' Another dazzling smile, and he was turning to
go. 'Oh, and Megan' - he handed her an American Express
gold card, made out in her name - 'you should go buy a
new dress. No offence, but this is a serious party and I don't
think what you have there will cut it.' He glanced neutrally
at her plain black dress, her one 'good' outfit that was
hanging by itself in an open wardrobe.

'No. Sure. Of course,' Megan said hastily, burning with
embarrassment.

'Terrific.' He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed it,
and the slight pressure of his lips burned on her skin. I'll
see you tomorrow.'

And he'd gone, leaving Megan alone with a fifteen
thousand-dollar line of credit, one day to get ready for her entr& into her new life, and not a soul in the world she
could talk to.

47


Chapter 12


The Kendrick mansion was in a state of complete chaos.
Only two hours to go until the party was due to begin, and
a horde of immaculately groomed waiters were swarming
over the grounds like black and white bees, radios
crackling as though they were the Secret Service as the
party director relayed his and Mrs Kendrick's orders to
various parts of the ground.

Standing on the terrace, Sam Kendrick sighed inwardly.
He didn't understand the subtleties of party-giving and he
never would. The whole place looked fine to him: mini
orchestra set up in the ballroom, chamber quartet out by
the' pool, which was covered in a thousand minute
sandalwood candles, floating across it like perfumed
fireflies, no to mention the food and different types of
champagne set up all over the house and grounds. His wife
had never done things by halves. There would be caviar in
ice sculptures laid out all over the place, together with real
truffles, plates ofoysters dim-sum and Belgian chocolates,
all the normal Hollywood titbits; but Isabelle eschewed the
trend towards poolside buffets in favour of a formal sit
down dinner, with the seating arrangements worked out
more carefully than most of his contracts. The pillars out
front of the house were all wreathed with pink roses, solid
columns ofcolour, and the rest of the flowers appeared to
be a kind of weird mix of roses, orchids, violets and
mistletoe, imported from northern Europe and flown in
specially by the florist.


I48

The effect was certainly magnificent, Sam thought
wryly. Jeez, they had probably scented the air above the
whole of Beverly Hills this evening. And provided it with a
free new-age soundtrack. Talk about stress-reduction -
Isabelle had wreathed their entire gardens with miles upon
miles of the most delicate Japanese bells, strung on invisible
silk threads, so that the slightest breeze provoked a
gorgeous whispering music. He knew Isabelle would have
liked to hire a few peacocks to strut around the grounds,
but Elizabeth Martin had done that for one of her bashes in
New York a few years back, and Isabelle would as soon call
in McDonald's for her catering as imitate Elizabeth.

Sam grimaced. Maybe it was his biggest failing ih their
marriage, that he would never make as much as Alex
Martin, the oil billionaire, and thus never enable Isabelle to
throw the kind ofpa-y she would really enjoy. His budget
didn't stretch to flying their guests to a tropical island for
some end-of-hop beachcombing. Nonetheless, Isabelle
considered Elizabeth her only rival, so peacocks were out.
Instead she had, despite his misgivings, brought in sixteen
tiger cubs which were tethered to different pillars and
sculptures on very short leashes, their collars studded with
diamonds. Insurance was costing him a fortune, and
although the little bastards were semi-sedated, Sam didn't
trust beasts that grew up to prey on human flesh. He had
enough of those at work,

'Excuse me, sir,' gasped a waiter, staggering past him
with a bowl of beluga so heavy it made Sam's wallet ache
just thinking about it.

These parties were important to lfis position in town,
vitally important. Every year he added another stack of
favours in his credit ledger by granting invites to actors and
directors whose wives were desperate to attend. Isabelle
had worked hard at making herselfa social force in the city,
whatever the hell that meant. It gave him a nice feeling o.f
male superiority not to know exactly. All these charity

149


committees and thousand-dollars-a-plate dinners. Hospital
boards and museum benefactor lists. All total bullshit,
but that was the way things worked. The wives wanted to
join the right committee, they had to be on the right side of
Isabelle, And that gave him more pull with their husbands,
it let SKI punch above its weight. You never knew when
that might be important. In' their recent lean patch, Sam

was uncomfortably aware, it had been vital.

Well, that was all over now.

Sam fiddled with his tux in the scented air. Maybe it was

a good thing that Isabelle was so obsessive about this party.
Everybody would be here to congratulate him on his latest
big score- Artemis Studios presenting See the Lights, a Fred
Florescu production, starring Zach Mason and loxana

'
	Felix. Screenplay by Megan whatsemame. A great, big, fat,

Sam Kendrick International package deal.

Kendrick smiled to himself. He was back in the game.


Megan twisted in front of her new mirror. Was this OK?
She couldn't believe she'd spent this much money on one
dless. Two hundred dollars! A month's rent back at the
Venice apartment. And she still wasn't sure it looked right.

It was another long number in black. When you weren't
sure, black was the only choice, you didn't have altema
rives, but this was a bit more formal than her old 'good'
gown that David had heaped such scorn on. It came right
down to the floor for a start, hiding her still plump legs, and
then gathered in gently at the waist before flaring up with
an inbuilt push-up bra to give her some semblance of a
decent cleavage. In San Francisco, Megan had always been
faintly proud of her breasts- a good 3 ¢C cup - and lory or
whoever had always seemed impressed. Here in Los
Angeles, home of Woman as Art Form, Megan felt flat
chested as well as dumpy.

Still, this dress went some way to remedying that. It
wasn't silk or satin- she'd asked the price of a few designer


15o

silk numbers and nearly passed out at the reply- but it was
made of a decent brushed cotton, it was bias-cut and it
moved with a swing. Megan had purchased a pair of silk
heels to match it, tD'ing not to glance down at the amount
she was signing for. They had made her feet look so hot,
slimming her ankles and throwing a whole new gait into
the way she walked.

She'd put on new L'Or6al make-up, sweeping blusher
under the chin and cheekbones to give her face more
definition and dabbing white eyeshadow underneath the
brow as Declan had taught her. It was supposed to make
you look more alive. There was no jewellery, of course,
but perhaps they'd all assume she was aiming for the
simple, sophisticated look, Megan thought hopefully.

Her reflection stared back at her from the mahogany
frame. Not bad. No true Angeleno beauty of course, but
not bad, zll the same. She'd lost six pounds since leaving
Mr Chicken, and though she was still overweight, most of
the excess fat was hidden under the forgiving sweep of her
skirt. The heels almost made her look tall, and her hair,
which had been set at a beauty parlour earlier in the day,
fell in loose, soft curls to her shoulders. She looked young
and pretty. Feminine.

Megan tapped one silken heel to the pounding bass of
'Frozen Gold', Dark Angel's anthem from West of the
Moon. The track was a kind of talisman for her. It had been
the first rock song she'd heard and liked. But somehow the
movement seemed ridiculous. Dark Angel or Pantera or
whoever, you listened to them in jeans and a T-shirt, not
silk heels and a black evening gown. IfDec and Trey and
the others could see me now, she thought, they'd all howl
with laughter and then they'd say I'd sold out. Swapped
my soul for a quarter of a million. Look at me! Back home,
would I ever have given a damn what a bunch of suits
thought of how I looked?

The thought hovered for a while, then she dismissed it.

ISI


She was going to meet Zach Mason at this party. So this

couldn't be selling out, because Zach would never do that.
The door buzzer shrilled. David!

Suddenly as nervous as a virgin, Megan went to open

the door.


tkoxana Felix took all of five minutes to prepare for
Isabelle Kendrick's party. She had selected her look the day
she arrived: strappy silver Manolo Blahnik heels, bright red
lipstick, to contrast peffecdy with her pale skin and raven
hair, and the simple cream shift dress that Alessandro Eco
had used for the wedding gown in his Chicago collection.
No jewels. No make-up, either; that was a particular

, arrogance, to show that she had skin so flawless she didn't
even need foundation. Down her back, her long jet-black
hair flowed freely, shining and full of body like some ad for
the world's most expensive shampoo.

She was travelling to the party in Jordan Goldman's
limousine and she had no doubt that even sexy little Jordan
wuld be sick with envy when she caught sight of her. She
looked even more breathtaking than usual. If that were
possible.


'You look great,' Paul said automatically, coming out of

the bathroom with one hand on his bow tie.

'Do I?' Eleanor asked. 'Do I really?'

Her partner named, surprised by the nervous tension in

her voice. Her normal response was 'So do you.' Which
was fine by him; why waste time on flowery compliments
and checking each other out? They already lived together.

Eleanor was pirouetting in front of the mirror like a
nervous teenager. Actually, she did look great. It was a new
dress, a floating, romantic number in dusty pink chiffon,
with a scoop-collar neckline dusted over with tiny
r.osebuds in scarlet satin. Her ice-blonde hair was swept


I52

upwards in an elegant French style, and drop diamond
earrings glittered at her cheeks, a matching necklace
sparkling exquisitely against her delicate collarbone. Pink
satin shoes he could only just see peeped out from under
the hem of her gown, and her make-up was subtle and
understated.

'Yes. You look' - he searched rustily for some poetic
word - 'ravishing.'

'You don't think I look too young? Mutton dressed as
lamb?' Eleanor asked, anxiously.

Paul Halfin glanced at her. What was getting into her
tonight? This was his wife-to-be, the queenly president of
Artemis. Not to mention one of the most impeccable
dressers in the city. Jumpy nerves were simply not her style.

'You're only thirty-eight, for God's sake, Eleanor.
You're a young woman.'

Not as young as Jordan Goldman, Eleanor thought.
'You look lovely, dear. leally.'

'Thanks, Paul,' said Eleanor, and she wondered why his
compliments made her feel so guilty.


Tom Goldman shifted on his bed to get a better look at
what his wife was doing. Her tongue had ceased licking his
balls for a second, but he didn't care. One pleasure was
replaced by another as he watched her, eyes shut fight
kneeling in front of him, slip her right hand across the
downy mass of curls in between her supple thighs, rubbing
her fingers backwards and forwards over herself, the
knuckles suddenly glistening in .their soft bedroom light,
slick with her own moisture. Hiscock throbbed in
response. Jordan always knew how to do such hidden,
wicked things, it made him harder than a baseball bat.
Opening one eye to check his reaction,Jordan grabbed his
dick in her free left hand and started to tease him, opening
and closing her fingers in a fluttering movement, then
sliding up and down him with perfect rhythm, playing


I53

with herself, knowing he was watching her, mesmerized.
A bead of pearly liquid dewed the tip of Tom's straining
cock and he moaned, the normal signal, so she finished
herself off in front of him with two deep circular thrusts,
knelt forward and took him in her mouth, as deeply as she
could, sucking him hard, strongly, not allowing the pace of
the pressure to slip. Tom's last conscious thought was to
thank God for one woman who understood that if he'd
reached a certain point he wanted to come, not to be taken
back down and then brought up again or whatever.., it
was never as strong if you did it like that... Oh, God...

His back arching as though in agony, Tom Goldman
lifted himselfhalfoffthe bed, thrust into his wife's throat,
and came.
' Jordan waited barely a second and then spat him out,

turning her face aside. She reached fastidiously for a box of
tissues she kept next to the bed and wiped her mouth,
grimacing with distaste. Goldman watched as she went to
the bathroom, reaching for the mouthwash, his hard-on
shrinking almost as quickly as it had arrived. Somehow,
after sex, he always felt older. More disgusting. As though
she was a hooker, or he was a dirty old man, not her
lawfully wedded husband.

Mentally Goldman chided himself as he reached for his
shirt and pants. He should say making love, not having sex. After all, their child might be conceived on any one of
these encounters.

He tried to ignore the fact that at the moment of climax
it had been Eleanor Marshall's face he had imagined. And
not that. of his gorgeous wife.

Jordan emerged from the bathroom, dressed and ready
to go in a tailored Yves Saint-Laurent pantsuit, a neat
Chanel purse swinging from her left shoulder.

'Come on, honey, let's go. I promised R.oxana we'd
pick her up at half-eight.'

'So we'll be ten minutes late.' She looked cute in those


154

silk pants; they hugged her ass. Tom reached for her.
'Once more, for luck.'

She swatted his hand away as though it were an irritating
fly. 'Tom! We can't be late. You know loxana, she won't
wait, she'll just call a limo service. And I want to arrive with
her. It will be such a coup. You know? Because she
promised to get me some sponsorship from Vogue for the
next gun-control party! Isn't that wonderful? And we did
go to school together...'

Goldman listened to her chatter on, his mind already

elsewhere, desire totally evaporated.

'Tom, are you listening to me?'

'Sure, honey, sure.' This was an important party; they
had a movie at SKI now. And Isabelle's parties were always
important. He didn't want to row with his wife tonight.

Besides which, if he was lucky, he'd get to talk to
Eleanor alone.

Suddenly, Tom Goldman couldn't wait. 'Let's go,' he
said, smoothing his jacket down.


Eight o'clock exactly and everything was in place. Not a
servant, not a leaf out of place, not a ripple on any one of
their four hundred Irish linen tablecloths could be seen to
mark the cyclone of activity Sam had wimessedjust half an
hour before. My God, it's like a military operation, Sam
thought. In fact scrap that. No military operation was ever
that efficient these days, not with that fat asshole Clinton in
charge. At any rate, their house had been transformed in
just a few hours into Isabelle's persgnal Arabian Nights
fantasy. It was perfumed, it was belled and it was wreathed
in flowers and glittering with gems, like some doe-eyed
houri in a pasha's harem. For a second, Kendrick imagined
loxana Felix like that, robed in see-through silk, her long
black hair caught in a diaphanous veil, chained to a
jewelled collar at the foot of his couch. He felt his groin
grow warm and heavy with blood at the thought, desire

tugging at his crotch with sharp little fingers. Yeah, on
another planet that would be nice, he thought. A doubly
pleasant way to take his revenge. Jesus, that bitch was
running rings around him! First the little game with the
Ptk. Then she has Isabelle nagging at him on her behalf,
and Isabelle was not an easy woman to ignore. Then
somehow, and he was still trying figure out exactly how,
she gets Tom Goldman to push her at Artemis. Then she
issues this bullshit release to the press before she's been cast,
and Eleanor Mrshall is eating him, Samuel Jacob Ken
drick, for her low-fat lunch. Then somehow, despite all
the above, she manages to get herself cast! The woman was
unbelievable. And he had sworn blind to Eleanor that he
was personally gonna put a rocket up her ass.

' What a joke. He'd called every half-hour yesterday, and
she'd simply refused to take his calls. 'Sam, I'm so sorry, I'm
busy right now.' Tmjust in the shower.' 'I'll call you right
back.' Then she'd switched on the machine.

Even now, a whole day later, his blood was still boiling.
Well, he knew she was coming tonight. With his wife's
latest protegee, Jordan Goldman. And that would mean
she couldn't run from him forever.

FLight on cue, Isabefle appeared beside him at the top of

the steps in a Balenciaga original as the first headlights
appeared at the end of their drive.

Banishing all thoughts of anger and lust, Sam composed

his face into a rare smile.

Showtime!


Megan Silver clutched onto her agent's arm as though it
were a voodoo talisman. David Tauber - she'd only
known him for four days, but that was four days longer
than anyone else she could see. A sense of complete
unreality had descended on her. She couldn't stop looking
around, her head turning constantly, as though she
expected the whole place to shimmer and disappear like a


I56

desert mirage. Back in San Francisco she'd always been the
clever one, intellectually self-assured, cynical, worldly. A
perfect nineties twentysomething, a girl who'd been raised
on grunge and political apathy. She might not have made
any money, but she was cool. Megan knew every lyric
Kurt Cobain had ever written, considered Jim Mordson an
alcoholic loser who'd wasted his talent, and was on first
name terms with the doormen at all the hippest dubs. She
wore Caterpillar trainers and Veruca Salt T-shim and
nobody fucked with her. She was in with the in-crowd.

But here! Holy Lord God, this was worse than the first
time she'd dropped acid. Megan felt totally lost. Hundreds
of people thronged past her, almost all of them over forty;
big, powerful men who walked nowhere and strode
everywhere; shorter, meaner-looking ones whom everybody
else seemed to be afraid oi and women, crowds of
women, practically every one of them sporting gemstones
the size of small birds' eggs, floating past her, pushing past
her, in clouds of taffeta and chiffon and the finest moirt
silk, in designer outfits so signature that even she could not
fail to recognize a few - sparkling Versace designed for a
wearer thirty years younger, immaculately fitted Chanel,
impossible for anyone to mistake, Gucci with its signature
buttons. Every one of them had tight, clear skin that she
imagined would,crack if they laughed. And every one of
them moved with utter self-possession, accepting a crystal
flute friedwith pink champagne from a waiter like she
might reach for a cold Bud, or turning down caviar or
truffles as though they were M&M's. Megan guessed they
might add an ounce or two to all thos o-pound frames.

From the second David had helped her out of their hired
limo Megan had ceased to feel successful. Looking around
at her fellow guests, she knew what she was. The smallest
of the smallfry. Unsophisticated. Fat. And poor.

'You're doing free. Relax,' David whispered in her ear,
steering her towards the buffet.

I57


'Oh, David, I can't eat anything,' Megan said miserably.
She was twenty-four, and she felt heavy and unattractive,
as though her youth was a creel joke. What good did it do
her to be twenty-four when there were women here with
thighs barely bigger than her upper arms?
'Sure you can,' David told her, a brilliant smile
permanently fixed on his face, adding, 'Best go for the
caviar and the fruit. No fat that way. And skip the breads.
You don't need complex carbohydrates right now.'

'OK,' she said, feeling fatter than ever. But grateful, of
course. David had been so good to her, and now he was
going to help her with her diet ... and David should
know. He was a prime physical specimen, Megan thought,
as she snuck a glance at her companion, waving and
nodding at four different players a minute. He'd told her
his tux was from tkalph Lauren's latest collection, and it
certainly looked stunning on him - the wool was the
darkest, deepest blue, practically black, but with just
enough colour to set offhis hazel eyes and sandy hair, and it
was flawlessly cut, fitting his large, athletic frame to
perfection.

Being with David was the only thing that gave her any
reassurance, Megan thought. At least she didn't have to be
ashamed of her escort. The dress she'd been so proud of
earlier now looked as though it had walked right out of a
Frisco thrift store, but nobody would notice the dress
while she was with ,David. Moguls and movie stars
swarmed all around her, but she knew she was with the
best-looking guy in the room.

'Here.' He handed her a small plate heaped with
glistening fish eggs, a slice of lemon, and a minute silver
dish of sliced strawberries and gooseberries. There were
two delicate silver spoons on the side. 'And take a glass of
champagne, too.'

'Can I?' Megan asked doubtfully.

'This is a celebration,' David said generously. She felt his


158

strong hand take her elbow, leading her deftly through the
crowd to one of the rose-strewn tables on the terrace, the
area nearby flickering and dancing with shadows thrown
up from the hundred little candles drifting across the
darkened surface of the pool.

He picked up the lemon and squeezed it deftly over the
caviar, a thin trail ofjuice trickling over his palm and wrist.
Megan felt need stir in her groin. She hadn't been touched
since she left tkory, not that any man would want her. Still,
she had a strong urge to bend her head towards him and
lick him dean.

To her total embarrassment, David looked up and
caught her staring at him.

Megan blushed bright red.

He gave her a soft smile, and dug one of the silver spoons
into the mound of caviar, scooping up a wet, shining pile

of miniature black pearls, and held it out towards her.
'Try some of this.'

Dutifully Megan swallowed the caviar, taking it in her
mouth as delicately as she could. Essence of salt fish and
slime. Ugh.

'You like?' Tauber was asking her.

'Delicious,' Megan said.

'It's an acquired taste.' He can see right through me,
Megan thought, sensing her blush deepen, but David was
already on his feet. 'And you'll get used to it. All my clients
do. Within six months you'll be able to tell a good
champagne vintage with your eyes slut. Come on, I have
to introduce you to your new colleagues.'

With a regretful glance at her untouched champagne,
Megan followed him, unsteadily. Jesus Christ. She would
never get used to high heels.


Jordan was burning up. She couldn't help it. They hadn't
even gone into dinner yet and already she was being
thoroughly upstaged! Every society wife she'd ever me


159

was pressing loxana to attend this dinner or that party; the
news of her casting had gone round the room in twenty
seconds, and all Jordan could hear was 'the next Julia
Roberts'. As if the bimbo had one ounce of Julia's talent.
And worse still was the way their husbands had-started to
jostle the Goldman party as if loxana were some
incredibly rare wild animal in danger of extinction before
they'd had a chance to gawp. They stared, they ogled, they
paid her inane compliments on her dress, they asked about
her new career. All the attentions that she, Jordan Cabot,
was used to receiving - for the last eighteen months she'd
been the youngest woman at any high-powered party by a
good ten years. And now she might as well be invisible.

Furiously, Jordan flashed Barry Diller a beaming smile
and took a deep sip of her loederer Cristal champagne.
She noticed that loxana, next to her, had not so much as
glanced in the TV mogul's direction. But of course not,
Jordan thought bitchily, loxana waits for the Barry Dillers
of this world to come to her.

,She began, flashing back to unpleasant memories of their
shared schooldays at the Sacred Heart. Even there, Jordan
had always been the prettiest girl at the convent- bar one,
of course. Was she destined always to take the silver medal?

In the sdented, darkened air, Jordan slipped her perfectly
toned arm through her husband's. At least Tom wasn't
fawning over loxana, and she should know, because she'd
watched him like a havk from the moment the bitch had
stepped gracefully into their limo. He had given her a
once-over, of course, but in a cold, detached way. Jordan
had seen him give other movie stars the same clinical look.
He was checking her out for her box-office potential, nothing more. In fact, while Jordan had been explaining all
about the gun-control dinner, Tom had interrupted them
just once, asking loxana if she'd spoken to Sam Kendrick
recently. And P,.oxana had smiled coolly and repli.ed that


I6o

no, she'd been too busy to speak to Sam, and after all,
David Tauber was her agent.

Jordan had no idea what all that was about. But she was
glad her husband,didn't seem to care for the supermodel.
That would have been all she needed.

'Sweetie.' Tom was bending down to her, whispering
in her ear. 'Do you need me? I have to go and talk toJake
Keller about something.'

He was amazed at the easy smoothness of the lie. Why
didn't he just say Eleanor? Eleanor was his president of
Production. He talked with Eleanor all the time.

'Oh.' Jordan gave him her best little-girl pout. 'You
know how I hate all your silly business talk. Well, dbn't be
long.'

'I won't.'

Why did she have to act like that? It was stupid, Tom
thought, tlmost angrily. Since when was she six years old?

'Come back soon. Me miss 'oo.' She blew him a kiss
from her full, perfectly lined lips.

Oy vey. Goldman turned away, sighing.


Sam Kendrick moved fluidly round the room, working
the groups Isabelle wasn't covering. Over the years they'd
got this down to a fine art: Isabelle chatted with the players
and female stars, he attended to the male stars and wives. It
was exactly the opposite.of what everybody expected, but
it worked perfectly; the men gave him beaucoup brownie
points for being able to lay offbusiness for one night- how
many of them would be capable of the same thing? - and
their wives, normally expected to jtist show up, shut up
and smile, were insanely flattered to have a heavy hitter,
especially one as sexy as Sam Kendrick, ask their opinions
as though he were actually interested. It bought him alot of
extra influence, and it was another social trick Isabelle had
wised him up to. Take care of the wives. They won't forget it.
And they'll push their husbands for you all year long.


161

The second trick was timing. You said as little as possible

to as many people as possible; that way you could make an
impression on everyone.

Sam glanced at the time on his subtly lit Cartier watch.
He was making good progress.

Then, out of the corner of one eye, he saw Tom
Goldman break away from the little throng of people
crowding P,.oxana.

His blood pumped a little faster. Now was his chance.
With a murmured excuse to the wife of some TV
producer, Sam crossed the terrace.

'Ladies, gentlemen, would you excuse me?' he said
loudly. 'I have to monopolize this beautiful lady for a few
seconds.'

'Your latest client, right, Sam?' one of the suits
enquired.

'She is indeed.' He smiled proudly.

'Lucky dog,' somebody else said, and there was general
laughter as his guests moved away.

1Loxana Felix leant back a little against the marble pillar
she was standing in front of, and regarded the head of her
agency with a cold stare.

Sam looked. Then he looked again. And again.

In the soft light from the Japanese lanterns, her face and
hair framed by a wreath of pale pink roses, 1Loxana Felix
reminded him of a picture by those British painters what
were they called? - the, Pre-tLaphaelites. Right. All pure
white skin and silken black hair, her full mouth red as
blood, her eyes dark as sin, and her slender, perfect figure,
simultaneously hidden and revealed by the cream sh/fi
dress, the most tempting thing since Eve introduced Adam
to harvesting. But no, maybe not. The way .those
Victorians had painted, their ladies seemed pure, ethereal
and ghostly. 1Loxana Felix was none of those things. She
was everything he had seen on screen, everything that he'd
been fantasizing about. Sex projected and oozed out of


I62

every tiny pore of her flawless skin. She was no cold,
narcissistic mannequin. She was a flesh-and-blood woman
and she conjured up images of the hottest luck you would
ever have in your life. Even the way she was standing right
now, defiant and outraged, regarding him with such
hostility. Her body seemed poised to strike, as graceful and
deadly as a panther.

She was the most attractive woman he had ever seen,
and Sam Kendrick had seen a lot of attractive women.

Desire hit him like a lightning bolt. Savage. Intense.
Astonishing.

'Are you done?'

She had a low, sensual voice, but the tone was absolute
steel.

'Are you done, Mr Kendrick? Do you think you could
pick me out of the police line-up now?'

'We have to talk,' Kendrick said, firmly. He dragged his
gaze back up to meet her eyes. Jesus Christ! Just because
she'd been around the block in the fashion business didn't
mean that some twenty-four-year old baby was going to
chew him, Sam Kendrick, out at his own party. He
recognized that note in her voice. It was the same one he
used to demolish his various underlings, or to pole-axe
studio execs that were screwing with his clients. That was
the tone of command, of a person used to authority. OK,
so loxana Felix had been boss in her world up to now.
But this was a different universe and he was its resident
God. This, she had to learn. This, he was going to make
her learn. Sam Kendrick had not reached the summit of the
game to surrender his authority to some sassy piece of ass.

'I was talking. To those gentlemen, whom you so rudely
interrupted.'

Uh-huh. Nice grammar. Well, he got enough of the
fake limey bullshit from Kevin Scott.

'Listen, princess.' He saw her eyes narrow in shock and
anger, and felt adrenalin start to knot in his stomach. This

I63


was the tough bit: blasting the client without getting fired.
You had to bluff, and you had to gamble on how badly
they wanted the part. Poker with people. He'd alway
been an expert. 'You can hold court with the boys some
other time.'

'Who the hell do you think you are?' tkoxana
demanded, scarcely able to believe her ears. Sam Kendrick
was just another salt-and-pepper suit. A looker, but so
what? Did he think she was going to cut him any slack
because he'd retained a little masculinity? Nobody, but nobody, spoke to her like that. Not any more.

Tm the head of SKI, Roxana. And if you want to stay
represented by us, you'll shut the fuck up and listen to me.'

She gave a disbelieving laugh. 'My God. Do you think
you're the only agency in this city?'

Kendrick looked her over, slowly. 'No. But we're the

only agency with See the Ia'ghts.'

There was a long pause. 'I've been cast,' she said finally.
Defiantly.

Sam leant towards her, a pleasant, businesslike smile on

hig face, so that anyone watching would think nothing of
it. When he got close enough to smell the faint tang of
cinnamon :on her breath, he said, softly, 'And I can have
you uncast. In ten seconds. With five words to Tom
Goldman.'

'You wouldn't do that,' loxana said, staring right back

at him.

Doesn't give an inch, Sam thought admiringly. Very
good.

A player less skilled than he was might even have been
fooled. But Sam had been in the game too long not to
notice the tiny tremor, the inability to control the breath,
that gave away her horror at that idea.

Still speaking softly, he said, 'Try me.'

She didn't reply.

'The stunts you've been pulling with the press,' Sam

said. 'I didn't like them, but I didn't care. When you've got
to know me a little better, you'll understand that nothing
you can do will pressure me into anything.' She looked
sharply at him, and he gave her a knowing, indulgent
smile. 'You thought I didn't realize? Come on, baby. I'm
forty-five. I've been doing this stu'since before you were
born. But your cute little games aren't the point here.
What/s is that you put out a bullshit release to the press
about getting cast before you were. Now, that embarrasses
Artemis and it embarrasses me. And if you ever, ever do
anything like that again, this will be the last big movie you
ever make. Understand?'

loxana felt humiliation crash over her like a tidal wave.
She couldn't even look at Sam Kendrick as she nodded her
head.

'OK. Good.'

This was turning him on, Kendrick realized. She was
too gorgeous to spar with like this and not want to fuck.
Despite himself, his cock was hardening where he stood.
He had to get away from her, or he'd be the chief talking
point at his own goddamn party.

Tm sure you're going to do us all proud in this picture,
loxana. See you later,' he said in more normal tones, and
strode offtowards the dining room.

Momentarily alone - she could see all the tame suits
waiting to swarm back in on her- 1Loxana Felix watched
Sam Kendrick go.

Jesus, how ridiculous. She sensed something stir in front
of her that she hadn't felt in years. Lus. Why? Just because
Kendrick hadn't crumpled in front of her like every other
guy? Or because he had that strong, wild look about him,
that maleness, a sense of raw power, the real kind? Sam was
a lion, whereas David was just a peacock. Poxana had been
around the block enough times to know the difference.
And it wasn't just money. She could wrap Howard Thorn


I65

round her manicured finger, but this one was the real deal. The dominant male.

As the fawning crowd engulfed her again, loxana
seethed under her designer silk, almost paralysed with
mortification. She could not and would not feel like that.
Sam Kendrick had just insulted her. And Sam Kendrick
would pay.


Ten minutes to go, ten minutes till dinner. Tom Goldman
thrust his way through the crowd, feeling the pressure
pulse against his skin with every tick of his platinum Patek
Phillipe. Isabelle always held dinner bang on time, and he
wanted ko speak to Eleanor alone. Before they sat down.
He lnew that afterwards he wouldn't get a chance; Isabelle
had arranged for everybody working on the Mason/
Florescu project to be seated at one table, and he, Tom, a
studio head, would be expected to make all the introductions
and steer the fucking boring small-talk conversation.

Guests rustled past him in designer tuxes, velvet gowns,
tailored suits in silk jersey. Producers, agents, actors.
Blondes, redheads, blue rinses, brur/ettes. Long hair, short
hair, balding. And just about every one of them appeared
to want to talk to him. Goldman smiled and muttered
indoherently, said 'Great to see you' and 'Call the office
tomorrow' at least twenty times, kept himself moving, his
sharp eyes scanning the crowd for Eleanor. He had to speak
to her; he didn't know: why, he just had to. About the way
he'd been thinking of her lately. About Jordan. Or
whatever. Maybe that was too indiscreet. And yet he knew
he had to talk to her, even if he had no idea what the hell he

was going to say...

'Tom.'

'Look, I can't talk right now,' Goldman snapped,
turning to see who was plucking at his sleeve. He stopped
walking, half jumping out of his skin. 'Eleanor!'

'Hey, it wasn't important. I'll catch up with you later.'


I66

'No, no, wait.' He was nervous. Forty-five years
old, with a woman he'd worked with for the last fifteen
years, and he was nervous. Jesus. He passed a hand self
consciously across his thinning hair. 'I was looking for you.'

'You wanted to talk, right?' Eleanor said, feeling her
heart speed up. 'I thought we might take a walk into the
grounds.'

Away from the party. Away from all these people. OK,
Goldman thought. You did deals totalling a hundred and

ten million dollars last week. You can handle this.
'Sure. Let's go.'

As he followed her down the Kendricks' alabaster steps,
Tom flashed for a second onto the irony of this. He, Tom
Goldman, the playboy, the man of a million women, all of
them as pretty and forgettable as each other. Except Jordan,
who was prettier than the rest and thus his wife. He'd never
had a second's trouble with girls since he'd joined Artemis
at twenty-five, straight out of Yale. Making forty-seven
grand a year, and that was in the seventies. If he hadn't left a
trail of broken hearts, exactly, he'd certainly left a trail of
disappointed starlets, students, debs. Women got nervous
around him, not the other way round.

They walked together along the raked gravel path that
led to the nearest sculptured grotto, silently, in the
aromatic darkness, the hubbub and laughter of the gala
behind them. Goldman realized that Eleanor was the only
woman he knew who wouldn't have to ask where they
were going. She knew the Kendricks' gardens as well as he
did: she'd been a senior movie executive for more than a
decade.

Just as they turned off the path into the little marble
sanctuary, with its polished oak bench and statue of a

rearing unicorn, he heard Jordan calling his name.
'Tom! Tom?'

Her voice carried clearly enough; she was shouting.
Goldman realized with acute discomfort that Eleanor


I67

could hear her. It was unmistakable. Eleanor could hear his

wife shouting for him, and they both knew that he could,

tOO.

He should excuse himsel£. Go find Jordan. Bring her to

join them.

'Eleanor, we need to talk.'

'So you said.' But she wasn't mocking him, Goldman
realized, with a quick flash of gratitude. He looked at her,
the first real chance he'd had to see her since he arrived.
Jesus, she looked stunning. Elegant and classy as ever, but
somehow - softer, more appealing. Those tiny rosebuds.
She looked like Cinderella at the ball, her intelligent
sapphire eyes glinting even in this darkness, her creamy
white breasts pushed high up, spilling over the boned
bodice of her gown, the minute lines around her mouth
welcoming. Her hair was swept up, and even though she'd
never made any attempt to cover the few grey strands
weaving throUgh the blonde he didn't care. It looked
beautiful, like gold shot with silver thread. It suited her. She was beautiful

'Eleanor tried to look away. She knew she should break

the moment. It was dangerous... Paul, Jordan...

But Tom Goldman was standing there, eating her with

his eyes, lobking as though he wanted to kiss her, and...
'Tom,' she said gently. 'You're staring at me.'
'You're so lovely,' Goldman said, without thinking.
Eleanor turned her Iaead aside not wanting to let him
see her eyes fill with tears. At this moment, in this spot, she felt lovely. Not middle-aged, unwed, overpromoted or
barren; just beautiful. For one blessed second she had seen

herself in the mirror of his eyes, and she felt beautiful.

'Thank you,' she said.

Tm lonely,' Goldman said, and felt a huge release, as
though a physical weight had been lifted from his
shoulders, The words had come by themselves, d the

168


second he said them, he knew they were tree. 'I'm so
lonely, Eleanor. I can't talk to her.'

Eleanor Marshall felt time freeze around her, her own
pulse thudding out of rhythm, out of control. She tried to
breathe normally. Did he say that? Had he really said that?
A million obvious responses presented themselves. 'Is this
your version of' 'my wife doesn't understand me", Tom?'
'Shouldn't you be discussing this with a shrink?' 'Try
getting in touch with your feminine side.' But she refused
to trot one of them out. Tom Goldman did not play games.
Not with her.

And besides, she wasn't sure if he had a feminine side,

she thought, smiling a little in the shadows.

'It's hard, to be with someone,' she said.

The effort to keep a check on herself was overwheLming.
Why do humans do this to themselves? Eleanor
thought, agonized. Why have we erected these huge,
sacred walls? What she longed to say was, Torn, I love you.
Get a divorce and marry me and we'll have children and we'll be
happy.

But she just couldn't. Tom was a married man and her
oldest friend. For all she knew, this was a passing phase, and
next month he'd be as wrapped up in his kid bride as he
had been at first and then where would she be? And she,
Eleanor, she was still with Paul Halfin... could she cold
blobdedly betray him, lere, now, for the sake of a sweet
look and a little perfume in the air? Expose him to
knowing glances from Tom for-the rest of his life? Because
she was kidding herself if she thought Tom actually meant
it. There was no way he was going to divorce that young,
stacked, tanned sex goddess he'd married, the one who was
the new social force with all the hot LA charities, for her,
Eleanor Marshall, a career woman with grey streaks in her
hair and the odd line on her skin. She had to get real. This
was life, and not the movies.


I69

'Are you going to marry Paul?' Tom asked her,
urgently.

She shivered at the force behind his question. 'I don't

knowo '

'But it's not certain.'

She said as lightly as she could, 'Nothing's certain,
Tom...'

'Eleanor,' he murmured, and then he was leaning closer
to her, his body closing on hers, his head dipping towards
her...

'Tom Goldman and Eleanor Marshall. I'm so glad I
found you.'

Eleanor spun round to see Isabelle Kendrick standing in
front of them, her emerald-green Balenciaga trailing in the
night-time dew. Her expression was one of the purest
delight at having stumbled across them, but Eleanor wasn't
fooled. Not for a second. She wondered how long Isabelle
had been watching them, and she didn't even have to
glance at Tom to tell that he was thinking the same thing.

'Hello, Isabelle! It's a wonderful party,' Eleano¢ greeted
her. 'You must excuse Tom and me for sneaking away.
We were, talking shop - about your husband's latest
project, actually.'

Eleanor knew the tight-assed cow would hate that- I'm talking business with the boys, dear, so stuff your stupid
canapes.

'But how marvellous,.' Isabelle's professionally made-up
face was totally inscrutable, her smiled freed and gleaming.
'That's exactly what I came to find you for. We're starting
dinner in a moment, and Sam simply insisted that all the
people on this Bright Lights fdm -'

'See the Lights,' Goldman muttered.

' - sit together. So I've put loxana Felixl the model,
next to you and Paul, Eleanor, and the screenwriter next to
you, Tom. Jordan will be sitting with the rock star.'

Her face contracted tautly with disapproval, and despite

I70


her bitter frustration Eleanor felt a flicker of amusement.
So, Zach Mason had done something to piss the old witch
off, had he? Maybe he hadn't pressed his tux correctly? She
was pleased. When she'd been into rock and roll,
musicians existed for the sole purpose of pissing offpeople
like Isabelle Kendrick.

'That sounds great, Isabelle.' For the second time in two
days, Eleanor had seen Tom Goldman snap straight back
into character. Now he was all the relaxed mogul at play,
being gracious to his hostess. 'Let's go.'


Megan's head was spinning. Partly from the exhaustion of
following David around - he never wanted her to sit
down, and he was constandy introducing her to people as
his new client, the 'first-time screenwriter- she wrote the
Mason/Florescu thing over at Artemis' - and partly from
lack of fod. She was dying to take one of the little dim
sums or handcrafted chocolates that the waiters thrust
under her nose, but David kept giving her friendly little
warning looks. It was humiliating, but, she reminded
herself, it just showed that he cared about her. He
obviously knew how to look after his own body. If she
hadn't been such a pig, such a slob, beforehand, she
wouldn't feel her thighs grazing each other under her skirt
now. And her feet were in agony. The homegirls back on
Haight didn't even own a pair of heels between them.
Jesus, did women wear these things .vo!untarily? But she
knew they did.It was a new world for her now, she was
going to have to tear up her old rulebook We're not in
Kansas any more, Toto.

But this party... Tired, confused, fat and underdressed
and she still couldn't get enough of it. Pure luxury
everywhere you looked.., on the walls, in the food, in
the dresses of the women ,.. baby tigers! In diamond
collars! And no one remotel surprised! And the stars she'd
seen Michelle and Winona and Julia, RJchard and

7I

Cindy, Arnold and Maria, Jack and AI and l:kobert and
Harrison, and even, oh my God, it was him, Keanu...

She felt like a jerk for staring. Nobody else gave any of
them a second glance. They were all too busy with their
double-dutch movie conversations - 'Did you hear what
the rolling break-even on that thing was?' 'Five points off
the top. And ten per cent of the merchandising.' 'Fifteen
million bucks, and that's just for above-the-line.' None of
it fazed David, of course, but why would it? That was his
business. So Megan Silver stood, suffered, and smiled.

But now they'd called dinner. Thank God. And David,
handsome and confident as ever, was steering her through
the marble lobby, past the huge crystal vases heaped with
orchids, and through the vast ballroom, with its sea of

'opulent tables, to one particular table at the head of the
room, right under two of the largest cut-glass chandeliers
she'd ever seen. Most of the chairs were filled already: Sam
Kendrick and his wife she'd met; the middle-aged man and
elegant lady in the pink ballgown David had told her were
chairman and president of the movie studio; an incredible
lo6king blonde girl; another middle-aged man - and oh
my God, loxana Felix! Was it? It was! And who was that
in the corner, and what the hell was he wearing?

R.oxan looked at Megan with contempt and indifference
as David introduced her.

'Everybody, this is our screenwriter, Megan Silver.
Megan, this is loxana Felix, Paul Halfin, Jordan Cabot
Goldman - Sam and Isabelle and Tom and Eleanor you've
met...' He coughed, insistently, and Megan felt her heart
lurch as the figure at the end of the table turned round. He
was wearing a crumpled black jacket, thrown casually over
a Metallica shirt, and his eyes narrowed, cold and hostile, as
he looked at Megan, standing there with David Tauber's
arm round her waist.

'Zach, say hello to Megan,' David said. 'She wrote See

the Lights.'

172


Faced with her all-time hero, Megan suddenly clammed
up. He was glaring at her. He seemed in a really, really bad

mood.

She just nodded at him.

Utterly unperturbed, David pulled out a chair for her
and the two of them sat down.

'And that makes everybody.'

Isabelle Kendrick looked round at her table with
satisfaction, as though she'd personally created each one of
them. 'We must have a toast. What shall we toast to?'

'Isn't that obvious, Mrs Kendrick?' David Tauber asked
respectfully. He took the bottle of pink champagne nearest
him and filled Megan's glass, then raised his own. 'To See
the Lights. One thing everyone here has in common: the
movie.'

'The movie,' everybody said.

Megan "lifted her glass to her lips, terrified, but she
managed to smile.

'The movie,' she repeated, and drank.

173


Chapter 3


Screaming kids. Everywhere you looked. Teenagers and
twentysomethings in black jeans, plaid shirts, combat
boots. Longhairs and skinheads and glamorous babes in
bright red lipstick and anarchy T-shirts, they formed one
seething mass of rebellion, Generation X in full cry. As far
as the eye could see, they crammed the stadium, heads
banging, bodies flying, arms outstretched towards the
stage, their expressions ranging from adulation to fury.

As the coloured spotlights swept the masses, it was
obvious that this was no eighties poodle-rock crowd.
Instead of standing demurely in their allotted places, the
udience was cramming the aisles and standing on their
seats. The crush barrier down the front was ten rows deep
in human bodies. Security guards stood to one side shaking

their heads, useless and helpless.

Dark Angel were onstage.

Screaming into the packed darkness, Nate Suter's guitar
announced the beginning of 'Fighting Fire', the antigovernment
anthem that had started it all. A great howl of
approval rose up to meet it, kids slamming forward as they
started to chant the words, bodies drenched with sweat, a
whole generation of young Americans cursing the system
to eternal hell. The peace-and-love boomers were now
running the banks, ruining industry, pricing them out of
college. They had no jobs, no prospects, and no hope.
P,.age and betrayal crackled electric through the humid air.
Some security men shrank back against the walls, grateful


I74

for the San Diego riot squad stationed right outside the
venue. But they needn't have been concerned. All the
anger, al/the protest, all the energy, was being channelled
into the razor-sharp rifling of this music, the raw harmonies
bleeding from the giant speakers, and the furious,
intense face of the singer, staring snaight into the camera in
front of him, so that his vast image, blown up to thousands
of times life-size on two giant screens at either side of the
stage, appeared to be gazing directly into the eyes of each
and every fan as they chanted the lyric together.

Zach Mason. Lead singer of Dark Angel, the crown
prince of the counterculture. As sensual as Jim Morrison, as
angry as Malcolm X, as articulate as Kurt Cobain. Never
gave interviews. Endorsed no politician. Spoke to the fans
only live or through lyrics. And at moments like this, when
you saw eighty thousand kids utterly mesmerized, you
knew that-if Mason but said the word, they would riot.
They would rise up and follow him. The camera panned
from left to right, across the throng of heaving, chanting
kids, their aggression focused on the music with laser-like
precision.

Dark Angel were the first band for years to scare parents.
They appealed to fans of REM and Metallica and hardcore
rap alike. They were angry. They had something to say.
And looking at this wild, incensed, unified crowd, it was
obvious that American youth was listening.

Zach Mason shifted uncomfortably on the soft leather
sofa. 'Turn it off,' he said.

'But Zach, I thought-'

'Turn it off.' Mason's voice was a low growl.

David Tauber turned it off.

'I don't want to watch that,' Zach almost snarled. 'That
was three years ago. I'm not interested in the past.'

His gaze swept the Artemis conference room, challeng=
ing any one of the suits to disagree. Jake Keller, the vice=
president of Production, looked away, unab],e or unwilling

I75


to meet his glare. Sam Kendrick, the head of his agency and
a man whom Mason had got to know a little, nodded
sagely. Good. At least one of these fuckers understood
where he was coming from. And Eleanor Marshall, the
stem-looking lady in the dark green suit, was. completely
impassive. Only the dumpy little kid sitting next to David
Tauber, the screenwriter, looked anguished. She was
staring at the now blank screen with a mixture of wonder
and regret. And he'd seen the way she looked across at him
while the tape was playing - almost accusingly. Did he
need this? He didn't need this. Not from some kid who
was younger than he was. Not from some kid who looked
like one of his fans, reminded him of things he preferred to
forget.
Megan Silver. That was her name. He'd asked Tauber
about her; she was twenty-four years old, she'd gone to
college at Berkeley, and she'd written an awesome
screenplay.

He hadn't said two words to her, but she still made him nervous. . 'Sure. I understand,' David Tauber said smoothly. 'I just
thought it might be a good idea for us all to get a feel for the
backdrop of this movie. Fred Florescu messengered over
the tape, and I know loxana's studying them, but since
this is our first script meeting together...'

'I don't need to get a feel for what it's like to be around a
band.' Mason nodde, d insultingly at Megan. 'Maybe she
does.'

The girl started to say something, but Taubcr's hand
descended on her shoulder, and she relapsed into silence.

'Of course, Zach. This was more for Sam andJake and
Eleanor,' David said. 're've all been examining the script,
and I know they have some suggestions. I thought it might be beneficial if everybody knew what they were dealing
with here.'

Yeah, right. Like any one of those fortysomething corporate

assholes would suddenly 'get' rock 'n' roll from watching a half
hour video.

'You have script suggestions? Let's hear them,' Zach
said, his green eyes narrowing. Personally, he'd thought
the script was just fine as it was. But David had told him
scripts could always be improved. And he wanted this
movie to be the best it could be. Let's face it, for him, now,
to reinvent himself, the movie had to be superb. Millions
of dollars were at stake. His career. His future. His I/.

It was the only reason he'd come to this meeting in the
first place - artistic control, creative control. He'd had it
with his record company and now he'd have it with his
film studio. So what if the director was usually the only guy
involved in the rewrite process? He was Zach Mason.
tLnles that applied to other actors didn't apply to him. No rules applied to him.

'OK, Zach.' Jake Keller was falling over himself trying
to kiss his ass. 'Let's look at the opening scenes first... I
had some ideas for beefing up your entrance...'

As the agents and executives began to rip her opening
sequence into tiny pieces, Megan Silver lowered her head,
scratching the odd word on the notepad in front of her.
She didn't want to have to look at any of them. It was great being at Artemis, great that she was having her movie
made, but.., she just wasn't prepared for this. The way
they were all talking at once, discussing her story like she
wasn't even there. Movie business terms flew around the
room - 'plot point', 'the inciting incident', 'counterpoint
ing with the Morgan strand', 'the action sequence, eight
through ten', 'pushing up the CIA payoffk And they
thought she understood?

God, it was such irony. When she'd finally had the guts
to call the others back in Frisco, they'd reacted with
stunned silence, stammered congratulations and utter
jealousy. Only Dec had the generosity of spirit to really be
happy for her. He'd enthused about how glamorous her


I77

	life would be now - her own office on the lot, working

	with big, shot studio executives, hanging out with tkoxana

	Felix, and best of all, getting to know Zach Mason. She

	would actually talk to Zach Mason! On a regular basis! Dec

	had laughed and told her she'd be the envy of millions.

	And he'd been right.
	..!

	And he'd been wrong.

	Megan had got her own office on the set- a windowless

	cubicle in the main building, with an assistant who

	resented her. She'd got to meet Eleanor Marshall, who

	seemed a nice woman but who'd explained that her script

	would need 'a little work'. By the time David had

	explained to her what 'a little work' meant, Megan was

	more upset than she would have believed possible. Artemis

	' had paid $25o,ooo for her script, but she wondered why

	they'd paid anything at all- since it was patendy useless and

	would have to be written again. More or less from scratch.

	Probably five or six times.

	'Megan, sugar. It's all in the rewrites,' David had told her

	patiently. 'It never works any other way. You gave them a

	great first draft, but obviously, the movie will end up

	nothing like that at all.'

	Obviously. And she'd looked at her gorgeous agent,

	smiling benignly at her like she was a beloved but rather

	slow infant, and felt like a moron for ever thinking

	otherwise.

	Her first day at the, studios, a vice-president namedJake

	Keller had come round and made it very clear that if she

	was bothered about rewriting, she could just quit and

	they'd hire someone else to do it. Oh, and give them back

	$oo,ooo, since that was the part of her deal allocated to

	rewriting.
	Megan had smiled sweetly at him and Said she wasn't

	bothered.

	As for hanging out with loxana Felix- well, she'd met

	the lady at Isabelle Kendrick's party and been thoroughly


78

snubbed. She'd met her a second time at Artemis and been
told 'You're the writer? Morgan needs more lines. I think
that's obvious. We need at least fxy per cent more lines for
Morgan' - and here she'd been flashed a smile as cold and
deadly as liquid nitrogen - 'or I'll have to find a writer who
understands this movie better. Character dynamics, Meg

an.'

And loxana had swept out, with a contemptuous
glance at her still too-thick thighs.

For a week she'd practically starved hersel£ loxana was
so exquisite and so creel she made Megan feel like the
ugliest woman on earth. And she had power - she was
threatening to have Megan replaced. A writer who understands
the movie better? She'd written the damn thing!

But, as Megan was finding out, that counted t'or very
little.

A writer is disposable.

A star is not.

In the world of"See the Lights, her movie, Megan Silver
had the least money, the least looks, the least knowledge

and the least sle, and no power whatsoever.
She was the low girl on the totem pole.
She didn't like it.

And as -or talking to Zach Mason . . . she didn't dare.
He'd reused to speak to her at the Kendricks' party, and he
was scowling at her every time she caught his eye. The
video of" Dark Angel had moved Megan almost to tears,
but Zach Mason, sitting there, more physically attractive,
dark and brooding than she'd ever imagined even in her
fantasies, hadn't even been able to witch it. Jesus, was he
saying that none of-it had ever mattered to him?

light now, f'or her younger self, f-or all her Mends, even
for stupid pretentious Sasha weeping her heart out in the
Horseshoe Caf", Megan felt deeply unhappy. Foolish and
naive. Practically every kid she'd grown up with had been
a f-an of- Dark Angel, had really believed. And was every

I79


one of them an idealistic idiot? Apparently so. How dumb
of her to have thought anybody actually gave a damn.

The young man opposite her had been her idol since she
was fifteen years old, and maybe she'd never even known
who or what he really was. A star first and foremost. And
music was apparently just not part of the gameplan any
more.

She hadn't cried when Dark Angel split up, but she
wanted to now.

'Megan, did you get all that?' David was asking her.

She looked up, started. 'Oh yeah, sure. Thanks.' She
patted her notepad. Tll get right onto it.'

'Well, make it snappy,' Jake Keller said coldly. 'We only
have a month allocated to preproduction.'

Hating herself, Megan nodded brightly. 'Sure.'
'Thank you, Megan,' Eleanor Marshall said, more
kindly. She and Jake gathered their papers together and
stood up to leave. 'We have another meeting we've got to
get to, but I know Zach wants to talk to you about his part.'

Oh great, Megan thought. He probably wants me to up
his lines by fifty per cent as well. This should be good!

'Zach,' 'Sam Kendrick prompted. 'You were telling us
earlier about touring, some of the script ideas that maybe
couldn't really work.. :'

Zach Mason looked across at Megan Silver, his tongue
suddenly stuck in lockjaw. It was easy enough to tell the
suits where they got off- he'd been doing that all his life. It
was easy enough to order SKI about, too. David Tauber
was a good agent, so was Sam Kendrick, that was why he
was with them, but agents were just suits that worked for
you. Twenty per cent and all out for their own glory. He
knew what they were like - thought all the stars were scum
to be bought and sold, but still laboured under the delusion
that they were stars themselves. He didn't trust any one of
the bloodsucking assholes. It was just business, all the way
down the line.


i8o

Megan was different.

Now he took a closer look at her, she was actually quite
pretty. Soft chestnut hair that fell to her shoulders in gentle,
natural curls, intelligent-looking brown eyes, and large
breasts hidden away under her voluminous cotton sweater.
OK, she had puppy fat, but she'd lost weight since that
bullshit flesh-pressing party. Anyway, the weight kind of
suited her. Made her real.

Zach Mason wasn't used to real women, and he
certainly wasn't used to intelligent ones. The groupies that
made it through Dark Angel's military-style security were
hardened cases, bleached-blonde bitches ready to screw
anything that had got within ten paces of Rolling Stone magazine, and to do half the crew on the way in for the
privilege. Then there were the others, bored wives of
record company execs, Hollywood starlets who wanted to
double their chances of getting written about, models who
wanted to 'date' a rock star because that was fastbecoming
the tradition. In fact, Zach had more respect for the
groupies. At least they were honest about what they were
looking for. But all of them were dumb and starstruck and
greedy, all of them were tradingsex for fame.

And that could make you bitter. That could make you
hate. Mason had seen normal guys turn into woman
hating pigs after six months on the road, the kind who'd
fuck a groupie and then kick her out into a hotel corridor
stark naked. The kind who insisted they put on a show for
thirty members of the crew before they earned the
privilege of giving a musician head. In public. And the sick
thing was, the girls almost always agrbed. He'd seen guys
try to outdo each other in inventing new degradations for
women, and yet there was always at least one of the bitches
around for whom there was nothing, absolutely nothing,
too gross. It could dehumanize you.

Zach hadn't let himself slide into hatred. He didn't care enough to hate. He just packed a gross of condoms and


i8I

fucked his way around the world - pliant groupies, fame
hungry actresses, they all wanted that fake image. Zach
Mason, lead singer of the world's biggest band, the
prophet, the spokesman, the superstar. And he wanted sex.
So every encounter was a trade: cold, insulated lonely.

Zach didn't know how to talk to someone like Megan.
She'd been to college. He knew all this, because the See .
the Lights script had just blown him away; it was more than

a movie, it was beautiful and exciting and poignant and
romantic. It was brilliant. It took his breath away. And then
to find that the kid who wrote it was younger than he

was . . .

Some of the words Zach had had to look up in a
dictionary. That made him feel small, in awe of the writer's
learning. He himself had started Dark Angel at sixteen, got
a deal at seventeen, and when his classmates graduated high
school he was out on the road. When they graduated
college he was out on the road. When they graduated
business, law and medical school, he was out on the road.
He had never had a proper education, and it bothered him.

Most of the time that was no great problem- the record
industry wasn't exactly packed with university graduates. It
wasn't William Morris, where you needed a college degree
even to sort the mail. No, the music business was full of
talents and gangsters and street-smart hustlers who paid
armies of lawyers to do their thinking for them. But
sometimes, just somemes, he'd meet a real intellectual -
CliffBumstein, say, DefLeppard's manager, Tom Silver
man of Tommy Boy Pecords, or tkowena Krebs from.
Musica, and he wouldn't know what to say. He'd grunt
monosyllables, and nobody even cared. What else would
you expect, from a dumb-ass musician? And so what if all
the magazines called him intelligent, profound, astute?
They analysed his lyrics as though he were Voltaire, and
though those lyrics came right from his heart, Zach knew
they would kiss his butt anyway. After all, if they didn't,


i82

Yolanda would just have denied them access to the band.
And what music paper could sell copies without Dark
Angel? So their opinions meant nothing. They were
bought.

'Some oft he stuffyou have in there couldn't possibly
happen,' he said.

Megan shrugged. 'OK. You tell me what's wrong and
I'll change it.'

Why did I ever think somebody would actually like my
work? Zach Mason doesn't like it. He thinks it's unrealistic
and stupid.

Zach heard the reserve in her voice. 'The warm-up
scene with the other guys in the band,' he said coldly. 'It
would never happen like that. If I'm playing Jason, the audience is still going to assume the picture is about me,

and if this is roman d clef-'

Megan-giggled.

'What the fuck are you laughing at?' Zach snapped. 'Roman c clef. It's French. You pronounce it "clay", not
"cleft' - the word means "key", not clef like a treble clef,'
Megan explained, smiling.

Zach Mason went purple with rage and humiliation.
Jesus Christ, the bitch was fucking laughing at him. 'It's
French.' Like she was so fucking smart, and he was just an
idiot with a guitar.

'Yeah? Well you just ftx it,' he snarled.

'I'll do my best,' Megan said, shrinking back in her chair.
'You'll fucking succeed. Or you're offthis movie,' Zach
Mason told her, and stormed out of the room, slamming
the door behind him.

183


Chapter 14


'Come on, honey, you can do it.'

David's voice was sweet and encouraging, urging her
on. Megan could imagine the cheerleading expression on his handsome face as he stood behind her, pushing her on.
'Just ten more. Let's go.'

, Every nerve in her legs seemed to be screaming for
mercy, but she obeyed him, her breath coming ragged and
strained. Madonna was pumping from the stereo, but her
tortured body had drowned out the music. All she was
aware of was the floor and her elbows.

'Eight... nine...'


	You have to. You have to.

Wearily she forced herself down and back up again.
'Ten! That's great, Megan. Just great. Now hit the
showers,' David said, throwing her a towel as she staggered
to her feet. 'I'll bet you feel great.'

She caught sight of her face in the wall mirror- red as a
beef tomato and shiqing with sweat, her hair plastered
wedy to her forehead, her mouth open like a fish, gulping
weakly for air.

'Yeah,' she managed, trying for a smile. 'I feel terrific.'.

'You look terrific,' her agent said, as she stumbled
towards her bathroom.

Megan peeled offher Lycra leggings and Tshirt, both of
which were clinging to her skin as if someone had thrown
a bucket of water over them - nice - and chucked them in
the laundry basket. Tentatively she climbed .on the


184

electronic scales David had bought for her last month.
hundred thirty-one pounds. Well, she was getting ther,
As she stepped gratefully into the shower and let
powerful jets of warm water hammer her aching should,
muscles, Megan felt a small glow of achievement. She st
hated seeing herself naked, hated weighing herself, bl
every day the mirrors were a little less insulting, the electr
tally a touch less traumatic. She could see the Changes in h,
body - the growing definition around her chin, tl
disappearance of the fat pockets above her knees. It w
working. And she had David to thank for it. As he he
telling her, if he didn't show up to supervise her workor
she'd never have had the will-power to keep them up.

He was more than an agent; he was her dietitia
nutritionist, stylist, beauty adviser and personal traine
And as th! work on See the Lights got harder and har&
David was there, always fighting her corner. She kne
Zach and loxana both wanted her fired, as did Mr Kelle
but David was in there, arguing for her, defusing eve
body's anger.

She owed him her house.
She owed him her job.
She owed him everything.

'Would you like some decaff?.' David called from t
kitchen.

'Yes, thanks,' she yelled back.

Oh good, that meant he'd stay for a cup of coffe
Megan knew she should tell him-to skip it and get back
SKI - poor David was always so overworked- but she w
just too selfish to do that. Pre-production had gone in
overdrive, and thanks to David's efforts she was still t]
sole writer. But the Artemis team changed their rail
about something every single day, and it seemed that s]
was always working flat out to change something, the
scrubbing it all the next day and starting again. Meg:


85

thought of herself as LA's Alice through the Looking

Glass, running her heart out just to stay in the same place.
So she never got out. Who had the time?
Never - unless David took her out.

Those were the nights that made it all worthwhile,
when Tauber would show up in his cherry-red Lamborghini
right outside her apartment and tell her he was taking
her to dinner, and then she'd grab one of the outfits he'd
told her to buy - oh yes, she should add personal shopper
to his list of roles in her life - and drive her to Spago's or
Morton's or Le D6me, where the maitre d' would
invariably greet David by name and show them to a good
table, and they'd eat something low-fat, and then later he'd

take her along to the toxbury or the Viper R.oom, where

' the club doormen always ushered them past the queue and
David would lead her directly into the VIP area. He was so
powerful. And he knew everyone. 'Hello, Brad.' 'Hi,
Shannon.' 'How's it going, Keanu?'

When Megan spent the evening with David Tauber,
she seemed to spend most of her time blushing and trying
not to stare.

He was the perfect gendeman, too, always driving her
home and seeing her into her apartment building with a
peck on the cheek, or kissing her hand. Megan knew it was
ridiculous to hope for anything more - hadn't David done
enough for her already? But she couldn't help herself. He
was the proverbial knight on the white charger, rescuing
her first from her mundane existence and then from
herself. He had the power to open any door for her- he'd
told her that often enough.

And he was so, so, so damn gorgeous. At least when he
put her through this agonizing workout three times a.week
Megan could be sure that he practised what he preached.
His lean, mean body, muscles rock-hard and gleaming
with health, was a testament to that. His thick hazel hair
shone with a natural vitality only gained from the ideal


186

diet. Even his perfectly shaped teeth were whiter than her
own, whether Megan was using one of the expensive
cosmetic pastes or not.

Since the second he'd turned up at Mr Chicken with her
contract, Megan had been daydreaming about him. But
lately, those dreams had been getting more detailed. More
frequent.

Shaking her head to try to clear the familiar twitch
between her legs, the warm flush of desire creeping across
her thighs, Megan towelled herself off and got dressed,
picking a flowing Indian-print skirt and tight black T-shirt
top, pulled on over a 34C-cup Ultrabra.

'Coffee's ready,' David called from the kitchen.

Her silhouette didn't look at all bad; the sweep of cotton
forgave her hips a lot of their sins and in a push-up bra her

breasts were impressive, even by Hollywood standards.
Megan-pulled her top down tighter.
'Coming,' she said.


tkoxana Felix was sobbing.

Her hands gripped the cool marble of the balustrade
fence that surrounded her hilltop garden, manicured nails
and tanned, slender fingers wrapped tightly around it like a
drowning man clutching a raft. Her body was raised
horizontally, parallel to the ground. In front of her she
could see halfway to the ocean, the Hollywood Hills
giving way to Los Angeles's busy grid, peaceful as ever from
this height. The blazing sun sparkled off the tiny cars,
logjammed on the freeway in the morning rush hour. All
around her, birds were chirping and tWittering, and the air
was fragrant with roses and orchids and the honeysuckle
wound into the tall, protecting hedges.

Her slender body bucked again as he crashed into her.
Her long black hair, normally so sleekly coiffured, fell
tousled about her shoulders and back, strands of it brushing
against her pendant breasts. Her skin was ho.t and aroused,'


I87

fight with wanting. Her nipples were almost painfully
erect. She was close to orgasm.

'Had enough?' he asked, teasing her, deliberately
slowing his rhythm.

R.oxana squirmed against him, her knuckles white
against the marble, urging him on. She could feel his large,
strong hands under her thighs and belly, supporting her.
She knew he could feel her heat, the blood warm under
the skin, her stomach slick with sweat from her desire. His
hands were on her. He was holding her.

The thought sent a spasm of lust fight through her.
'Please,' she said.

'Say it again.' She could feel his cock leap inside her.
This was turning him on, too. His voice was rough with

sex.

'Please. Please. Don't stop. Just do it,' she moaned,
pushing the firm globes of her butt back against him, her
vaginal muscles tightening around him and then relaxing
again. He wasn't the only one who knew how to please,
she thought, and hearing him groan l&oxana had a vague
axcareness oftfiumph through the hot mist of arousal that
was consuming her.

He started to thrust, and thrust, and thrust, every time
going a little deeper, every time a little harder, telling her
how good she felt, telling her how hot she was, asking if
she liked it, if she liked what he was doing, and loxana
sobbed yes, yes, and b-is rhythm was perfect, and suddenly
there was a new sensation in her belly and she was climbing
a great wall of ecstasy, she blocked out everything except
his voice and his cock, all she could feel or know was
herself impaled on his cock, moving with him, and he was
getting more urgent and thicker inside her all the time, and
deeper, and suddenly she could feel him fight down inside
her, hitting that exquisite, melting spot on her vaginal wall.
Jesus Christ, the g-sp'ot, and she felt the world go black and
explode in blinding pleasure, breaking and shattering


88

around her, her pussy and her stomach contracting into
spasm after spasm as loxana Felix rode the longest,
strongest orgasm she had ever known.

For a second he stayed inside her, holding her in
position, .letting her regain her breath. Then he gently
withdrew, still holding her, and scooped her up in his arms,
naked and bathed with perspiration, and carried her back
inside the house.

He set her down on the polished wood floor of the
bathroom, carefully, as though she were made of the most
delicate bone china.

'How was that?' he asked, grinning.

Roxana brushed past him, turning the taps on her
bathtub. Showering was for people in a hurry; she
preferred to soak. She reached out one toned arm and
selected a small crystal bottle of lavender bath oil, especial/y
blended for her by a chic Paris pafumerie.

'What, do you want a rating out often, Sam?' she asked
coolly. 'Eight and a half. You were very good. You get
better all the time.'

She emptied the entire bottle into the bath and the
heady floral scent rose up in clouds of steam, overpowering
any lingering trace of sweat or sex.

Kendrick reached for a bathrobe, not wanting her to see
him limp. 'Oh, you were verygood, she says, so matter-offactly.'
loxana slipped into her bath, the perfumed oil making
the water turn white. With her black hair and tanned skin
she looked Egyptian. She glanced at him haughtily.

Cleopatra bathes in asses' milk, Sam thought. She was
truly exquisite. And colder than ice.

'If you wanted hearts and flowers, Sam, you came to the
wrong place. A great fuck is a great luck. End of story.'

She shrugged, sending tiny rivers of scented water
trickling across the tops of her perfect breasts. 'It's .jus.t
friction, at the end of the day.'


89

'Justfn'etion?' Kendrick repeated, disbelievingly. 'Is that

how you would describe what happened out there?'

This was the hottest, most sexual thing he had ever
dreamed of, and loxana could dismiss it as just friction? Shit, one moment he was screwing her in mid-air, feeling
her buck underneath him, beg him not to stop, and the
next.., this? Wham, barn, thank you sir?

'Yes,' loxana said, beginning to wash herself briskly

with a sponge. 'Would you like a shower? There's a
separate one in my bedroom.'

Kendrick stood up and laughed shortly. 'I don't buy it,
babe.'

'leally.' There was nothing in her tone, not even a
pretence at interest..

,
	'Yes, really. No woman thinks of making love that way.

Especially not when it's as intense as that.'

'I'm glad you were pleased,' loxana said, stepping out

of the bath and reaching for a towel.

The sight of her wet, naked body, the smooth flesh
shining from the water, her soft pubic hair flattened against
th curve of her belly, her berry nipples erect again in the
cool bathroom air, crowning slick, damp breasts that tilted
youthfiflly:upwards in natural perfection, did something to
Sam Kendrick. Immediate hard-on. Despite the fact that

he'd come less than five minutes ago.

Jesus, Sam thought. Is she for real?

He was forty-five yars old, and P,.oxana Felix had him

as horny as a teenager.

loxana glanced at the bathroom clock- nine-thirty a.m.

'If you wouldn't mind showering and dressing, Sam. I have
a script meeting at Artemis at ten.' She turned her back on
him, heading for her walk-in wardrobe, dismissing him.

'OK,' Kendrick managed, astonished at her attitude.
'Thanks.' She gave him one quick, dazzling smile. 'Oh,
and Sam, one more thing - you may have been making
love, but/was having sex. That's all.'


19o

Open-mouthed, Sam watched his new mistress walk
away.


As her limo turned into the wrought-iron gates of Artemis
Studios, tkoxana Felix smiled to herself. She was wearing a
Mark Eisen tailored suit in palest pink cashmere, her makeup
a sweep of matching light rose tones; a breath of blusher
on her perfect cheekbones, minimal highlights above her
long black lashes, and her full mouth covered with the

latest glamorous wet-look lip gloss.
She was as sexy as hell.
And that was the idea.

A month in LA, and tkoxana had learned a few things.
The most surprising was that, here, she was only a middling
fish in a very large pond. Not everyone asked how high,
ma'am, when she told them to jump. She didn't get her
own way'fight off. And sometimes, as with Sam Kendrick
at his wife's party, she even had to back down.

A lesser woman might have been disheartened. Might
have shrugged it offand returned to modelling, where she
ruled with a rod of hand-cured Italian leather. But not
P,.oxana Felix. She had come to Hollywood to find true
fame, to have the world fall at her feet, not the feet of her
silent, frozen image. What had that artist done? Painted
pictures of pipes and labelled them, Ced n'estpas unepip. This is not a pipe.

She had friends who'd never understood that. They'd
stand there and laughand say, 'If it's not a pipe, what is it?
Sure looks like a pipe to me.'

But toxana had understood right away.

It looks like a pipe, but it's not. It's a picture of a pipe.
Big difference.

So what if the world looked at her picture and adored? Ced n'est pas Roxana. And she wanted them to adore
Poxana. So See the Lights was more than important, it was
vital. She'd had to fight harder than she had in years to get


I9I

into the goddamn picture, and now, it seemed, she was
going to have to fight twice as hard to stay on top of it.

It was only pre-production, and already she was running
into problems Her part was way too small, and no matter
how much she turned the screws on that dumpy terrified
mouse writing the script, the little bitch stuck firm.
Morgan's part was just right. To increase it would be to tilt

the movie too much towards the romantic subplot

Subplot? She wasn't sub anything.

But the trouble was that after the first disastrous
screenplay meeting, Eleanor Marshall had taken control.
Nobody spoke to Megan Silver without her being present
in the room. That way, it was always her fault and not
Megan's - and most of the time that bearded pricl

,
	Florescu, who couldn't keep his eyes off loxana's legs,
agreed with her. And after Isabelle's party, tLoxana had
learned that she could threaten a writer, but the director
and the president of the studio? No way. It was preproduction,
and she could still be replaced. So she was
smiling sweetly and biding her time.

But it wasn't in tLoxana's nature to do nothing. She
planned ahead. Ever since.., ever since...

Behind the tinted windows of the lirno, a shadow of fear
:and pain crossed 1Loxana Felix's lovely face. Her lips set in
straight line. No, no, not. She never thought about that,

/ele'.

Anyway, planning head. In less than a month they
would be on the set, ftlming, and.at that stage she planned
on throwing her weight around She was going to make
enemies. So what else was new? But she'd need allies. That
much was clear. So she'd been quietly observing, surveying,
calculating. Who had the power? David Tauber? No .. it just looked that way. Megan Silver thought the sun
shone out of his backside, and Zach Mason was happy with
him, for now.., but ILoxana was her own woman. She
had no loyalty to agents. Bob Alton could tell you that.


I92

And David was too green, too cocky. He thought he was a
lion, but he didn't realize that Eleanor and Tom and Sam
were just letting him tag along. Sam had Fred, and this was
Sam's movie. They were all Sam's movies. He really was a
lion; David Tauber was just a jackal, feeding on the carcass
his master had left and calling it a fresh kill. He was a good
talent scout, but that was about it. And she suspected that if
he ever deluded himself that he could cross swords with his

boss and win, David Tauber would find that out.
Sam Kendrick, though, was truly powerful.
Sam had proved that to her.

Sam could be useful. She could use him. And when she
had the bastard wrapped round her finger, when she'd
eked out every bit of power he had and taken it for her
own advantage, she was going to break him. Sweet, deadly
revenge.

So wharifhe was good in bed? So much the better, if she
could enjoy herself'at the same time. It made no difference.
Sam Kendrick thought he could insult P,.oxana Fe/ix, and
he had to realize that there was a price. He was going to pay
her with everything he had.

But Sam was already falling for her. He'd be back for
more, she knew it. It wasn't Sam she should be concentrating
on this morning.

It was the man she'd decided she needed to be publicly involved with- the superstar romance that would help her
with this movie, help her with its launch, help her with
setting up her new career.
Her next lover.
Zach Mason.

93


Chapter 15


'I have the results of your tests,' Dr Haydn said.

Eleanor felt like yelling at her, of course you have the
results of my tests - you called me into your office, didn't
you? But she said nothing. She never did. The antidipatory

fear was just too great. Her thrice-yearly check-up with the
' best fertility specialist in LA was something she both

needed and dreaded; needed, so that she could be reassured
that it wasn't too late for her, and dreaded, just in case this
time it was, this time would prove to be the visit where Dr
Hadyn would mutter something about conception being
'unlikely'. Not to mention the fact that actually walking
irlto the Haydn Clinic was difficult, dragging to the surface
her deepest conflicts and bitterest fears. With every day
that passed, she knew she was heading closer to the line.
She would have to choose. Commit to P.aul, or leave him.
Settle, or risk everything, lisk even her chance at a child.
Because, right now, she knew no other man that she could
be with, and her time,was running out.

Since See the Lights went into pre-production, Tom
Goldman had been cutting her dead. He saw her only in
the company of others. Somehow, top-management issues
always got discussed over the phone. And wheneverJake
Keller issued a new protest about how Eleanor was
directing the rewrite process, Tom went out of his way to
have it formally minuted and documented. He had
suddenly become the studio chairman again, the ultimate
power, sitting in judgement, as impartial as King Solomon.


194

Eleanor was not surprised. He had come to his senses
like she knew he would, and now he was retreating into his
shell, embarrassed at whatever might have happened. She
had thrown herself into her work, and there was more than
enough work. She was solely responsible for this major,

big-budget movie - a ninety-five-million-dollar gamble.
But privately, secretly, she was mourning.
Something deep inside her had died.

'I'm glad to say everything seems to be fine,' Dr Haydn
went on, and Eleanor felt a sharp crunch of relief in the pit "
of her stomach. She glanced around the elegant consulting
rooms, a fantasy of maternal pastels in pink and eggshell
blue, at the posters for breast cancer research and antenatal
exercising, trying to avoid revealing her feelings. Dr
Haydn already thought she was weird. If she was so
worried about her fertility, why wasn't she pregnant? She
must be the only client on the specialist's highly expensive
books who still regularly used her diaphragm. Somehow,
sitting in the oak-panelled waiting room with the other
patients, nervous, frightened women prepared to put
themselves through drags, calendars, artificial insemination
and God alone knew what else, women who Eleanor
knew would have given anything for the news she had just
heard, her actions seemed incomprehensible, even to her.
She wondered what Dr Hadyn thought of her. Selfish?
Thoughtless? Immoral, even?

Eleanor clasped her hands firnaly in her lap. Who cared
what the woman thought? She could test her own fertility
if she felt like it and that didn't mean sh was obliged to get
pregnant. My body, my choice, she reminded herself.

'However, your fecundity levels have dropped somewhat,'
the consultant continued. Her voice was cold and
clinical. 'A woman's fertility naturally declines with age
and that process is speeding up for you now.'

Peliefwas replaced by a clammy fear.


I95

'You said I could still conceive, though?' Eleanor
pressed.

Dr Haydn looked at her over the tops of her wire
rimmed glasses. 'At the moment? Absolutely. But could conceive and will conceive are two different matters.' Her
gaze was steady. 'Ms Marshall, you are entering the final
years of your reproductive life. If you want to have a child,
it is my duty to advise you that you should begin trying to
get pregnant as soon as possible, and in any event, no later

than six months from now.'

Eleanor sat very still.

Liz Haydn reached across the desk with her wrinkled
hand .and patted Eleanor's smooth one. 'It's not too late,
you know.'

She made an effort and smiled. 'Thank you, Doctor.'

It's not too late, Eleanor thought dizzily, but it soon will
be.


Megan said, 'I want him to drink milk. It's deliberate.
Morgan is sitting backstage and we've just seen her mixing
a'vodka orange -light on the orange, right? She's a bad girl,
she score! drugs, she drinks. But Jason, he's supposedly the
wild one; but he's not really. I want to highlight that by
hving him reach for a carton of milk. He's clean, she's not.
It's the contrast.'

The heat in the meeting room was incredible, even with
all the windows open,and the air-conditioning at full blast.
Outside, blazing LA sun streamed onto the lot, beating
down on the palm trees in the drive and the long stretch
limos parked out front. Studios execs walked past with
their shirtsleeves rolled up, or fanning themselves with
scripts and treatments. The ice in their jugs of iced water
had melted in five minutes.

Nobody wanted to work. But they had to. There were
just three weeks to go before shooting started.
The studio president sat quietly toone side, dressed in a


i96

cream suit, taking notes. P,.oxana Felix, her long hair
plaited into two thick, glossy pigtails, lay on the black
leather Eames sofa, propping up her head with one hand.
Her exquisite face was delicately made up in soft tones of
coral and apricot, and she wore a cut-off Mark Eisen T
shirt in peach silk teamed with tight white satin shorts by
Adrienne Vittadini. No longer pale, Poxana's skin had
tanned all over to a honey brown, no lighter, no darker,
the tone controlled exactly by her choice of sunscreen.
Acres of taut, slender, golden flesh appeared whenever she
shifted position, and the stomach displayed by her school
girl-style outfit was as flat as a board. With the pigtails she
looked as though she might have been some predocious
sixteen-year-old, the budding breasts and subtle makeup
designed to arouse. Only her shiny wet lips with their kiss
of tangerine gloss, and the two huge diamond studs that
glittered ia her ears, spoiled the picture. She looked
breathtaking, rawly sexual. She was direcdy opposite Zach
Mason, and every time he looked at her, she moved a little,
displaying herself for him.

Why does she bother? Megan Silver thought bitterly.
It's like using a sledgehammer to crack a nut.

Zach Mason would only ever consider a woman like
R.oxana - luminously beautiful, naturally slim, a celebrity
like himselE. Never mind that she was a vain, selfish bitch.
Never mind that her petty objections held up the script.
Never mind that all she considered was her own part, and
never the movie as a whole. 1Loxana Felix lived and
breathed in the same air of fame and riches that he enjoyed.
She was designed for him - supermodl-cum-actress dates
superstar-cure-actor. Models and rock stars, a classic
pairing. Like salt 'n' vinegar or sugar 'n' spice.

Whenever Zach cast an admiring, stripping glance over
the superbitch, Megan felt a little more dowdy, a little
more plain.

She herself wore a loose shift dress in brushed cotton,


I97

sprigged with a pattern of roses, and the stacked sandals that
were in fashion just now. Thanks to David Tauber's
Professor Higgins routine, Megan now weighed a hun°
dred and twenty pounds. She was slimmer than she'd ever
been in her life, her skin had cleared up, and she was nicely
tanned. She'd have knocked the guys dead back in Frisco.
But so what? Against R.oxana Felix's awesome beauty, or
even compared with your normal tall, blonde, stacked
California babe, she was a nothing. Invisible. The moth
amongst butterflies...

Zach said disrnissively, 'A singer wouldn't drink milk
before he performed.'

'Oh yeah?' she snapped. David had warned her of the
need to kiss up to the stars, but David wasn't here today,

, and it was just too hot to take the macho bullshit. 'What's
the matter? Milk lousy for your image? Does the guy always have to down halfa bottle of Jack Daniel's before he faces
his adoring public?'

Eleanor Marshall looked over at her, surprised, but said
nothing.


	R, oxana Felix laughed. 'Well! The mouse that roared.' You bitch, Megan thought, dropping her gaze. She bit

her tongue to stop the retort that wanted to fly out of her.
Mason and she were sniping at each other constandy, but

so far she'd always been polite. She'd always had to be.
'That's got nothing to do with it,' Zach said.

'Give me one good reason why Jason shouldn't drink
milk before he sings,' Megan insisted.

He looked at her levelly, liquid brown eyes meeting
hers. God, he was gorgeous. It still got to her, sometimes,
that she was fighting like mad with a guy who'd been
tacked up on every wardrobe she'd ever had.

'Because milk coats the back of your throat. You'd sing
like shit.'

loxana Felix clapped her hands in delight and laughed
again, cattily.


I98

Megan blushed, embarrassed. 'OK. Sorry.'

Zach gave her a hint of a smile. 'Maybe he could drink a
diet soda.'

'So, you don't know everything, Megan,' R, oxana Felix
purred, stretching on the sofa. 'Perhaps you could listen to

Zach next time. You might learn something.'

'loxana,' Eleanor Marshall warned her.

Ioxana paid no attention. She wanted her pound of
flesh. '1Light, Megan?'

Megan gritted her teeth. 'I guess.'

'I know,' 1Loxana said sweetly, and Megan saw her give
Zach Mason the most dazzling smile. She lowered her
head and crossed out 'milk' in the stage directions,
substituting 'diet Coke', At least the bastard was fight
about that. A diet soda would serve the same purpose for
her characters. Focus on your work. Focus on your work. All she
had to do Was write a great script and she was out of here;
she could start another one that involved absolutely no
fake-messiah musicians and their bitch-goddess girlfriends.

After the session was over, Megan gathered up her notes
and headed for the car,feeling a little happier. She was
having lunch with David Tauber. He'd picked a new place
specially, a Chinese where they had nothing but low
sodium vegetable dishes on the menu. Not normally her
thing, but ... he was teaching her how to look after
herself. She should be gra.teful. She was grateful. After all,
without David, she knew she'd be lost.

Megan glanced at her watch. Twenty after twelve. She
was meeting Tauber at half-on, so she spun her tiny
BMW towards the apartment. She could do with freshening
up.


When she walked through the door Megan kicked offher
shoes, revelling in the feel of the soft grey carpet against her
bare feet, picked up her post and headed for the bathroom..
Two bills to forward to the accountants David had found


I99

for her. A letter from Tina and Jeanne. Amazing how
people got really friendly the second you picked up a little
success. Well, maybe she would read it later. And a

postcard from Dec. He was madly in love again.

Megan smiled. Some things never change.

She was about to hit the shower when she noticed the little red hght flashing on her answer machine. That was
weird. She'd only been at Artemis an hour, and she wasn't

expecting any calls.

She hit play.

'Megan? This is Zach.'

Megan froze. Oh, God. Had she gone too far? Was he
goingto tell her he was having her replaced?

'Electric City have asked me to jam with them on Friday

' night. I was wondering if you'd like to come along. For

research. Anyway, call me.'

Electric City. After Dark Angel, they were the second
biggest band in the alternative-rock revolution; though they'd never carried the social weight that Dark Angel had,
they sold millions of records. She had two Electric City
albums. Dec had all of them. The gig on Friday, a stadium
show at the Cohseum, had been sold out for two months.

To see Zach Mason jam with Electric City! To go as his
guest!

For a second Megan stood there, thrilled. Then she
remembered. Zach Mason was a fake, a betrayer of all the
things his fans had t4hought he stood for. He was just
another egotistical jerk who wanted to be a movie star.
And he'd been down on her like a ton of bricks from the
second she met him.

He said research and he meant research. Zach just
wanted the movie to be the most realistic it.could be, the

perfect vehicle to show him offin all his glory.

He'd sounded sincere, though.

Forget it! Megan" thought angrily, shaking her head.
She'd seen the way he looked at 1Loxanna Felix - his


2O0

were well suited.

She'd believed in Zach Mason once - before she'd met
him.

Yeah..She would go to the show, Megan thought.
Because it was good research. Zach could be as patronizing
as he liked, but her only concern was for her script.

She turned on the shower. She couldn't keep David
waiting.


1Loxana favoured the gaggle of visiting executives with a
slight smile as she strolled across the Artemis lot towards
her waiting limousine. Tom Goldman escorting a bunch
of Wall Street stiffs; young guys, analysts most likely, she
guessed. It must be about time for the studio to announce
its quarterly earnings - P,.oxana knew that some entertainment
companies liked to put on a show for the bankers,
take them around, show them some stars.

Well, these boys had got lucky. They'd got to see her. All eight balding heads had literally twisted round as she
walked past, lean hips clicking and pumping under the
white satin shorts. Once a model, always a model. She'd
heard one of the businessmen mutter 'Jesus Christ!'

tkoxana had sauntered past him, unimpressed. She
always blew men away. She was used to it. If he got as rich
and powerful and useful as that limp dick Howard Thorn,
maybe she might have given him a second look. As it was,
though...

Seeing her approach, the chauffeur leapt forward to
open the limo door, saluting. She didn't look at him either.
Zach Mason might drive himself around, but she was
P,.oxana Felix and she wasn't into fraternizing with the
help.

As the limo eased seamlessly out of Artemis's wrought
iron gates and headed towards Sunset Boulevard, t(oxana
bit her lip in frustration. Zach Mason. What the hell was


201

wrong with the guy? Was he gay? Not unless every mmour
she'd ever heard was a lie. Was he involved? All her
contacts said no. And anyway, when had a man's being
involved made a difference? She could make a twenty-year
marriage fall apart with one flutter of her long, thick lashes.
She had done, more than once.

tkoxana was under no illusions about men's morality.
Sooner or later, every last one of them thought with his
dick. And ever since she'd hitpuberty she had realized that
her beauty was a potent weapon. Ifa guy was straight, she
was a goddamn nuclear bomb. Nothing could withstand
her. Never, not once in all her life, had she set out to

seduce /man she wanted and been refused.

It just didn't happen.

It was incomprehensible.

And she was not about to permit Zach Mason to be the
first to do it.

LA slipped by her, basting in the sun, palm trees waving
gently in the faint breeze. The sky was a deep, cloudless
blue.

'tkoxana noticed none of it. Her anger was consuming
her. It wasn't like Zach didn't see her dressing up for him,
didn't register it. On the contrary, he looked her over
every time, as though rating her. Undressing her with his
eyes. Sexually approving her. These were tributes she
received every day of her life, of course, but from Zach
Mason they meant more - for the simple reason that he'd
been linked with some of the most desirable women in
America. In the world. He was the ex-lead singer of Dark
Angel, and as far as Ioxana Felix was concerned, that
made him a connoisseur.

So what was the fucking problem?

In script meetings, in public, no problem. He'd stare at
her, flirt with her, whatever. The rock star and the
supermodel. Great. And if they rehearsed a scene, there
was incredible sexual heat there. Damn, she actually .wanted

him, in the way she'd wanted no other man for years, with
the sole exception of Sam Kendrick - something she
couldn't explain.

Desire for Mason was easier to understand. He was quite
simply the best-looking, most sensual man she had ever
seen. Even for a palate as jaded and cynical as hers, Zach
Mason represented temptation at the deepest level. He was
rangy and lean, but not in a wimpy way - more sinewy,
well muscled and dangerous-looking, like a wol£. Zach
had wolf eyes. Long, black, unkempt hair, a chiselled face,
and menacing, glinting wolf eyes. In a still photo, she
knew, he might look angelic, Greek-god beautiful, but to
see him move, to watch him talk, that was something else.

Usually, tkoxana was utterly uninterested in the career
of anyone besides herself. And she was nobody's fan. But
since she'd met Zach she had ordered Tauber to send her
up some ,¢ideos of Dark Angel.

The music was dreadful, of course. Meaningless white
noise. She had turned down the volume and merely
watched Mason, watched him move across the lip of the
stage, watched him cradle his rhythm guitar, watched him
speaking to crowd after crowd that rose in a body to salute
him.

He was awesome. Incredible. Intense. And when those
huge video screens they erected magnified his wolf eyes,
staring at the crowd, staring into the camera, loxana had
shivered. It was almost as if he was gazing into her soul,
burning away talk and pretence and every other civilized
defence. His stare could do that to you.

For a few seconds she had been spellbound, unable to
flick the television off. Just for a few seconds, of course. But
nonetheless, Zach Mason was remarkable. She, P,.oxana
Felix, had responded to him sexually. It wasn't just going
to be great for her career to see him for a while, she
thought; it was going to be great, period. And the next day,
when she'd come on to him at the script meeting, he'd


203

reacted perfectly; all raised eyebrows and long, slow,
assessing looks.

And that was it!

He hadn't phoned. He hadn't called her over. He hadn't
sent round flowers.

The next day she'd worn a shorter dress and been more
obvious.

He'd noticed, but - nada. Rien. Nothing doing.
loxana invited him to lunch, in front of Megan and
Eleanor. Zach accepted right away. And then he'd .just
discussed their characters, throughout the entire meal!

She had no idea what pathetic game Mason was playing.
Hard to get? Did he want her to come right out and say it,
was that what this was about? When she'd tried to grab him
after the session this morning he'd actually brushed her off!

Well, loxana thought to herself, seething against the
cool cream leather of her limo, if he thinks he's getting

propositioned by me, he's gonna have a long wait.
But she had no idea how to break him down.

loxana closed her immaculately made-up eyes and
coacentrated.

Zachary 'Mason is just a man like any other. There's a way
round this. I just have to find it...

She reminded herself of her mantra. I always get what I want.
Always...

Chapter I6


The Manhattan skyline glittered below her, New York's
concrete forest glinting in the thin autumn sun. As the
plane banked and veered, preparing for the descent into
JFK, Poxana took another sip of her mineral water,
swirling the ice and lime wedge round in her crystal glass.
She felt refreshed and ready for action. After all her
problems in LA, it was a nice break to come back to New
York, a city she had conquered long before, and be treated
like the queen she was. Amongst the pack of reporters
waiting for her at immigration there would be faces she
knew. When they called the press conference at the
Carlyle, the hotel management would already have prepared
her favourite suite exactly as she liked it, right down
to the number of kumquats in her fruit bowl. And when
they set up the cover shoot for Vogue, Bob Alton would be
there, and he wouldn't have any tiresome explanations as
to why she couldn't do this or wasn't ready for that. He'd
just be failing over his handmade English shoelaces to kiss
her toned, tanned ass.

Exactly the way things ought to be.

The call from Unique had reached tier via David Tauber
on Monday morning. Robert Alton wanted to speak with
her urgently. He'd rung the night before, but they hadn't
wanted to wake her.

1koxana had checked her watch. Eight o'clock. Five in
the morning on the East Coast. Well, it was time that fat,
lazy asshole got up anyhow.


205

She dialled Alton at home.

'What?' answered a sleepy male voice.

tkoxana rutted with impatience. 'Put P,.obert on the
line. 1Light now.'

A second's silence, then Alton answered angrily, 'Do
you know what fucking time it is?'

'Time you slept on the side nearest the phone, Bob,'
1Loxana snapped. 'I don't want to have to chat with your
latest boyfriend when I need to speak to my agent. Is that
clear?'

'Ikoxana? Oh yes, yes of course.' He was stammering in
his eagerness to please. Tll do that. It's done. OK?'

'You called me,' Poxana said icily. 'I hope you had a

, good reason, Bobby. I'm trying to make a movie here.'

'Jackson Cosmetics,' Alton blurted, wisely getting

straight to the point.

Jackson were the hottest new European beauty firm.
Their introductory range had sold out at Saks within
twenty minutes when first introduced to the States two
years ago. Now they were a major house, up there with
Este Lander and Ikevlon, and they packed an extra-chic
punch for being so new. Two unknown girls picked to
model pary. of their skincare range had become instant
supermodels- Adelicia Louvaine and Catherine Braganza.
Jackson was the house for younger women: innovative,
stylish and ultra-hip.

'What about them?"tkoxana demanded.

'They've offered you an exclusive contract. Five years.
Thirty million dollars. And the exclusivity goes two ways
you can't model make-up for anyone else, but neither can
they use another model. Like Isabella P,.ossellini did it at
Lancrme.'

'No make-up. Can I model clothes?'
'Absolutely. Of course. No problem.'
'Other activities? Acting, for example?'


206

'Yes. You could do anything except model makeup,'
Robert wheedled persuasively.

loxana's fist clenched by her side. Yes! Another
triumph. Another laurel wreath. Another contract to end

them all. And thirty million dollars! 'Tell them yes,' she said.

l:kobert was gushing with gratitude. 'You won't regret
this, loxana... I swear I...'

She cut him offin mid-flow. 'But Robert- the price is
forty million. I made seven point five this year, and thirty
million over five years works out at six million a year.'

She knew he wanted to argue with her, tell her that this
year was exceptional, the best she'd ever had, and there
were no guarantees.

'Forty million, R.obert. And I want an answer half an

hour aer business opens. Otheveeise, no deal.'

'R.oxaa '

'Did you hear me, Bobby?'

'Yes. Of course.' He fell over himself to back down.
'Forty million. I'll tell them...'

'Get back to me,' she said, hanging up.

He had got back to her. Forty million dollars it was. And
she would take two days out of rehearsal to publicize the
deal and pose for covers of English, French and American Vogue.

'Can't you stay one more day?' l:kobert had pleaded,
dreaming of all the juicy interviews he could arrange. The Unique Agency Brokers Deal of Decade... . he'd be the talk of
the town. And he'd get some snaps of the bitch to release
over time, to hold her adoring public while she wasted
everybody's time with this stupid movie stuff. 'I mean,
honey, forty million! The picture won't make you forty

million . . .'

'Money isn't the point, g.obert.'

'Of course not, but...'


2O7

'I fly back Friday morning. I have to attend something

with Zach.'

A beat.

'Are you.., are you seeing Zach Mason?'

'Robert, whatever you think you know, you don't
know,' loxana said coldly. 'Keep it to yourself.'

As she clicked her seatbelt into place for landing,
l<oxana smiled in anticipation. Asking Bob Alton to keep a
secret was better than an ad in the New York Times She
would have every reporter in the place creaming his pants,
and then she'd fly back to LA and attend the Electric City
show, where everybgdy would have heard the rumours .. Zach was going to be there, and so would she, looking
the hottest she could manage, with a mega-million-dollar
contract and a new rush of desirable publicity under her
size-six belt.

What was it they said about self-fulftlling prophecies?


'I have to express my concerns, Eleanor,' Jake Keller said.

Tom Goldman's office was set up for the monthly senior
rrtanagement meeting; cut-glass jugs of iced mineral water
and plates of biscuits stood untouched next to a silver
coffee pot Eleanor was the only one drinking coffee, and
she needed it.

'Certainly,' she said, as calmly and coolly as she knew
how.

Bill Janus, the your)g senior vice-president of Worldwide
Marketing, glanced at his notes 'Let's see. You list
budget concerns, but I can't see anything in these figures
that should worry us. For a Fred Florescu picture, this is
looking pretty conservative.'

'Nobody can call ninety-five million dollars conservative,' Keller said, sarcastically.

'For an action movie, directed by Florescul I think they
could,' Tom Goldman said, quietly
Eleanor turned to look at her boss, surprised. Tom


208

hadn't backed her up on a single issue since Isabelle's party.
She was beginning to wonder if he ever would again...
So what was this? A signal that normal service was being
resumed?

'Possibly,' Jake said, recovering quickly, 'but his last
three hits starred name actors. Big box-offlce - Harrison,
Keanu and Tom. All three proven to open a movie. We
have no such guarantees with See the Lights... this project
is naming into the Hollywood Unknowns Employment
Centre.' He laughed loudly at his own joke. 'And I must
say that the romance part of the film is being totally
overlooked. The Morgan character has nothing like
enough lines.'

'Jake.' After the scene with Paul this morning, Eleanor
had had enough. 'First you object to my casting R.oxana
Felix. Then you want to triple her part. Which is it?'

'I object¢d to Ms Felix for the part as it was written,'Jake
said smoothly. 'I think she'd be perfect if the part were
expanded. That would give her a chance to show offall the
emotional virtuosity I just know she's capable of-'

'Bullshit,' Eleanor snapped, oblivious to the stunned
looks Bill and Tom were giving her. 'You want to give her
a chance to show off some world-class T and A. Don't
think I haven't heard from Megan Silver what you told her
to include: a rape scene; a gang-rape scene; two extra sex
scenes with Jason; and a .kick-boxing scene where she
manages to get away but half her costume is ripped offher.'

There was a momentary pause, then Keller shrugged.
'Sex sells,' he said, somewhat defensive!y.

'Listen up, buddy.' She was too furious to stay calm.
'Iape is not sex. Rape is violence. And I do not make
movies that glamorize rape. Now, if you speak to my
screenwriter again without informing me first, I'm going
to inform security that you are banned from all See the
Lights pre-production meetings.'

'You can't do that,' Keller said.


209

'Watch me,' Eleanor said. 'Oh, and Jake - you didn't
object to P,.oxana being cast for the part as it was written,
you objected to P,.oxana being cast at all.' She imitated
Keller's nasal whine. ' "We didn't like Roxana's tests." I
think you'd better gather up all the objections you have casting,
script, budget, marketing proposals- and put them
in a memo to Tom and copy me and Bill on it. That way
you can't rewrite history whenever it suits you. And that
way I'll have something to frame and send back to you
when See the Lights clears costs in its first weekend.'

'I don't think that's appropriate,' Keller said waspishly,
passing a hand through his thinning red hair.

'I don't know, Jake.' Tom Goldman spoke up again. 'I

think it is appropriate. If you want any negative comments
, noted, maybe you should commit them to paper. Eleanor

has a point.'

Keller glanced from Goldman to Marshall, barely
containing himsel£, but managed a nod. 'Very well, Tom.
If you insist.'

'I think I do,' the studio chief said pleasantly.

'If that's everything folks, I have an eleven o'clock,' Bill
Janus said, breaking the tension.

'Sure,Y Eleanor said.

Jake Keller gathered his notes stiffly and left the room
without a backward gLance, and Bill followed him,
checking his watch the entire time to avoid meeting
anybody's eyes.

'Poor Bill,' Eleanor said.

Tom Goldman smiled. 'Yeah. Can't offend me, can't
offend you, can't offend anybody...'

'... because Jake Keller might be running the studio
next year,' Eleanor finished wearily. She sat back down in
one of Goldman's cavernous leather armchairs, suddenly
exhausted. Pressure. It had been crowding her from the
moment she opened her eyes and saw Paul, standing in
their bathroom doorway, examining her diaphragm. She'd

sked him if he was planning to push a needle through it,
The fight that followed had been one of their more
memorable efforts. Then, arriving at her oce, she'd
found a bunch of anomalies in the See the lights budget
figures; all things she was sure she had worked out last
week, but she still had to fx them again. Three of their
current movies had minor problems on-set. A distribution
chain was demanding a meeting. Then this happy little
pow-wow, where her loyal deputy was trying to wreck
her Artemis great white hope with his thousand-point
objections plan.

It was too much. And her new Jimmy Choo heels in
butterscotch clfkin were pinching her toes.

'Hey, Donald Duck might be running the studio next
year.' Tom shrugged. He looked remarkably unstressed;
his black Hugo Boss suit picked out his eyes, his smile and
his tan. Eleanor thought to herself that black suits should be
mandatory for all male executives. Nothing made a guy
look so sexy, but nothing. Talk about power dressing. Paul
didn't own a black suit.

'You can't let it worry you. The point is that you're
running the studio now.'

'This a vote of confidence?' Eleanor asked wryly.
'You handled him great,' Tom said.
'Thanks for the.back-up.'

Her boss waved his hand. 'It was nothing. You had a
point. If he puts it on paper, it's fair both ways.' He
grinned. 'Anyway, I asked them to make you president,
not Keller.'

'Maybe you should have done us all a favour and gone
the other way,' Eleanor said wearily.

'You don't mean that.' Goldman looked over at her.
'Bad day?'

Tve had better,' Eleanor admitted, getting up to leave.

'You should feel better when you read these.' He passed.
over a sheet of nearly typed figures. 'lesult for your first

aquarter as president; pretty good. The sale of the
ising division and your rationalization programme

International have made big inroads into the debt.'

'We still need some hit movies, though.'

Goldman nodded. 'indeed. The stock won't rise unles
the bankers think Artemis is going to do a real convincing
impression" of Lazarus. Which is why I want you to come
with me to New York next week.'

Eleanor froze. 'You want me to come and present to th
board?'

The quarterly results presentation to the board
directors, Artemis Studios's real bosses, was vital if the
studio were to survive. Something Eleanor Marshall had
learned fast was that tree media power was
Hollywood rarely saw; the purse strings were clasped
firmly in the hands of shadowy Wall Street financiers,
media-shy moguls who gathered four times a year in some anonymous Manhattan skyscraper. The Masters of Puppets.

Tom Goldman had never let anyone but himself near
the board since he'd been appointed chairman.

'You got it.' He leant forward. 'And Eleanor - be
convincing. This studio is in crisis. They need to believe
that See'the Lights will be a hit and that more hits will
follow.'

She nodded. 'All right, Tom. But what's the sudden
crisis? You said yourself that the new quarterlies are good.'

'They are, but that's not enough. You see - and this is
absolutely confidential - the board have received an offer

from Michiko Corporation.'
'What?' Eleanor gasped.
'You heard me.'

'But we're one of the last two studios still in American
hands, Tom!'

'Yeah,' Goldman said. 'We are. For now.'


S.he got in around ten o'clock, exhausted, and Paul was


212

waiting for her. The dining-room table was set for two:
their best Delft china; a silver vase crammed with scarlet
roses; champagne chilling in a heaped ice bucket; and
Mozart, a lilting aria from The Magic Flute, floating softly
from their CD player.

Eleanor felt a little of the tension lift from her shoulders.
'I didn't want you to dread coming home,' Paul said,
emerging from their bedroom to kiss her on the cheek. 'I
know you're having a rough time at work.'

Eleanor smiled. That was the closest Paul would ever
come to apologizing. 'This is lovely,' she said.

'Have a seat.' He wandered into the kitchen and
brought out a steaming dish. 'Vegetable lasagne with low
fat cheese. I made it myself.'

Eleanor thought she might have preferred a rib steak or a
pepperoni.pizza, but still ... at least he was making an
effort. When was the last time either of them had bothered
to cook a meal? They ate out or ordered in every night. When they managed to get home within two hours of each
other.

'Sounds delicious, Paul,' she said.

'Why don't you pour the champagne?' He'd dressed up
for her too, she noticed; he was wearing his loose Armani
suit in navy-blue wool over a white shirt, his platinum
R.olex, his gold cufflinks. Obviously this was some kind of
special celebration.

She tried not to compare him with Tom Goldman in his
plain black suit.

Tom would never dream of wearing blue. Or using
aftershave. He wouldn't give a damn about grooming;
he'd think it was effeminate to preen in front of a mirror.

Eleanor tried not to think of it as effeminate. 'What's the
occasion?' she asked brightly, helping herself to lasagne.
'Are you working on a new deal?'

'No deal.' He took a champagne flute from her. 'This is"

just about us, Eleanor. This morning got me thinking,

You're under pressure, I'm under pressure '

She nodded.

'There's no need for us to fight all the time. We should
try to spend more time together, see if we want to be with
each other, see if we'd make good parents.., figure out
where this relationship is going.' He pushed a small red
velvet box across the table towards her. 'Open it.'

Eleanor gently unclasped it. There was an engagement
ring nestling against a bed of cream silk; a vast, dark green
emerald surrounded by rubies and sapphires, mounted in
white gold.

It wa the most ulgar ring she had ever seen. It must
have cost a fortune.

'Oh, Paul,' she said. The ring winked at her like a set of
jewelled traffic lights. 'It's so ... so ... colourful,' she
finished faintly.

Halfin inclined his head, modesdy. 'Everybody goes for
diamonds. And don't worry, I know you're not ready to
give me an answer fight now, but I want you to take your
ime and think about this.' His handsome face broke into a
persuasive smile. 'Eleanor, I think the time has come.
We're both adults. We've both achieved a certain level of
success in our lives. We make a great team, and the patter
of tiny fet would complete the picture.' He lifted his glass
of bubbling wine. 'Eleanor, it's time for you and me to

consider a merger. We'd pay great dividends.'

Eleanor smiled weakly.

'Now, I've got us tickets to the opera for next

Wedrtesday and the ballet on Friday -'
'Paul, I can't go,' Eleanor said.
'What?' His face darkened.

'I can't go. I have to be in New York all next week for a
financial presentation with Tom.'

'I see,' he said stiffly. 'Well, of course you must do what
you have to. Another time, perhaps?


214

Definitely,' she said, feeling guilty. He'd gone to all this
trouble to give her a perfect evening and the only thing she
could do was cancel on him.

Anyway, he was right. They couldn't coast along
forever. And with Dr Haydn's latest pronouncement, she
knew the time had come for her to make a decision. She
just couldn't put it off any longer.

'Look, I really have to do this, Paul. But I'm truly sorry I
can't come to the opera with you ... it was a sweet
thought. And I promise I'll think about e,erything you've
said, and... H1 give you my answer by the end of this
month.'

There. It was done.

She had one month to decide.

Paul took a sip of his champagne. 'To us,' he said
confidently.

'To us,"Eleanor Marshall repeated, smiling, and wondered
why the only thing she could hear was the sound of
gates clashing shut behind her.

'Chapter 17


The limo drove right up to the backstage entrance before
dropping Megan off. It was the only way the driver could
guarantee that she wouldn't get mobbed.

'Honey, if those kids see you walk past them with that
thing,' he said, nodding at the All-Access laminated pass
that swung from Megan's neck, 'you are gonna get
seriously jumped. Normally I'd say just tuck it inside your
shirt, but right now, I wouldn't take any risks.'

She nodded her agreement. Fans were crowding every
available inch of space on the route backstage; security was
having a tough time keeping them back behind the ropes,
md every five seconds some kid rushed up to the car and
pounded on the windows before being dragged away,
their faces hysterical, contorted into weeping masks of
adoration, or frantic pleading. Megan had thought it was
merely another example of Zach Mason being ostentatious
when a limousine with tinted windows, courtesy of the
promoters, arrived at aer apartment to take her to the gig,
but now she wasn't so sure. Right now she was very glad
that although she could see this seething mob, they
couldn't see her.

'Is it always like this?' Megan asked.

'Not for Electric City. But didn't you hear the
rumours?'

'What rumours?'

'They say Zach Mason is gonna show here tonight.
They say he's gonnajam.'

Megan glanced again at the packs of yelling, screaming
fans. 'Are all these kids here for Zach Mason?'

'Every last one of 'em,' the driver said.


David Tauber arrived five minutes before showtime. No
point putting himself through any more of this garbage
than he had to. Besides, twenty minutes before showtime
he had been getting a highly skilled blow-job from a very
exclusive whore, and that wasn't an experience he cared to
rash. You paid enough for it. He had made her perform a
slow strip, then massage him, naked, and finally wrap up a
very pleasant afternoon with some expert head.

Occasionally he liked to pay for it. That way you didn't
have to talk to them. Something he'd appreciated, as her
warm, juicy mouth slid up and down his rearing cock,
gradually increasing the pressure, her tongue swirling
round th# quivering head of his penis and then licking,
hard, along the entire length of it. He fantasized she was
tkoxana Felix, on her back instead of on his, but that didn't
really do it for him. Just thinking about loxana could drop
a fly into any ointment; she was the pushiest, most
aggressive bitch of a woman he'd ever known. He
preferred his women like Megan Silver- trusting and eager
to please. She was no Roxana Felix, of course, but.., she
was pretty. Once he'd worked all that extra fat offher and
put her in some decent clothes, yeah, she was quite
pretty...

As his cock started to swell even harder and he felt his
orgasm begin to build, David Tauber actually started to
visualize Megan kneeling at his feet. He knew she'd love to
do it. She'd love to do whatever he suggested...

On the short drive over to the Coliseum, Tauber
thought about Megan some more. The vibe at Artemis was
that she was extremely talented, but she'd made an enemy
of tkoxana Felix and Zach Mason. But as far as David could
see, everybody made an enemy of the bitch. It was the


217

endless sniping with Zach that bothered him. If he could
get Megan to swallow her pride and kiss up to Mason a
little, her future would be very rosy. As Gloria had pointed
out to him, the Michael Crichtons and John Grisharns of

this world were making five million bucks a script.
He wouldn't mind a piece of that action.
Maybe he would give little Megan Silver a thrill.
David strolled up to the box office and collected a stick
on VIP pass Zach had left for him. Distastefully he
unpeeled the plastic backing and applied it to the lapel of
his Romeo Gigli suit. Ugh. It would probably leave a
dreadful mess.

He noticed that none of the kids packing the foyer and
entrance hall were wearing anything decent. The scene
was all leather and denim and Smashing Pumpkins T
shirts. Time to head backstage; if there was one thing
David Tauber detested, it was hanging around the little
people.


I.oxana stepped out of her limo, All-Access laminate
fastened conspicuously at the front of her belt. That way
she couldbe sure it showed up in all the photos.

Zach had sent a stick-on pass, a little piece of nothing,
round to her house. It was an insult, and if she hadn't been
so determined to hook the bastard, she would not have
shown up. As it was, she'd called Sam Kendrick.



	'I need a laminate for the show tonight, Sam. Call the

promoters and have one messengered over.'

'P,.oxana, Zach is taking care of-'

'Now, Sam. Or you needn't come round this afternoon.

Or ever again.'

A pause. 'OK.'

She had a second to relish the sense of power. So it was
starting already. By the time they started shooting the
goddamn picture, Sam Kendrick would be wrapped round

her little finger. When he wasn't wrapped round the other
parts of her.

A small spasm of desire rippled through her at the
thought. 'Thank you, baby.' She was pure sweetness.

'Why don't you bring it with you when you come by?'
'I want you,' he said, quietly, urgendy.
'It's mutual.'

And it was. That was the strange thing. That was what
threw her. The thought that she might enjoy fucking Sam
Kendrick even if she had no other use for him at all.

'Did you really sign a deal for forty million dollars?'
'Yes, I did.'

'So you don't need to be a movie sta.'

'I want to be a movie star,' 1Loxana corrected him.

'Do you always get what you want?' Kendrick asked

softly.

Always, she told him, and hung up.
loxana turned round and waved gracefully to the rabid
crowd thronging the backstage entrance, trying not to let
her momentary unease show. Dear God, what a pack of
maniacs. Was this what music fans were like? Her own
followers never, ever, exhibited passion like this.

As she turned and began to walk inside the stadium, a
teenage girl leapt over the red crowd-control rope and
lunged towards her, her face contorted with hatred.
ILoxana shrank back, a parlysing fear knotted in the pit of
her stomach. This was vchat every supermodel dreaded.
The one crazed nut with the knife, the gun, the phial of
acid...

Two security men rushed the girl and overpowered her
before she got two feet past the barrier. 'Bitch! Bitch!' the
girl shrieked. 'It's you, isn't it? It's you! You've got him!
You've got him! I love him!'

'Who?' Poxana managed, as the guards dragged her
away.

'Zach! Zach Mason! You're his girlfriend! They

on MTV['

Stunned, P,.oxana managed a bright smile for the
photographers waiting at the backstage door.

'Is that tree, l.oxana?' a reporter demanded. 'Are you
he-re to see your boyfi'iend?'

'Did Zach Mason send for you?'

'Who gave you the laminate, P,.oxana? Did Zach fm it
up for you?'

'Is the movie going to be a love story off-screen as well?'
'Were you guys a couple before you got cast?'
'P,.oxana! R.oxana!'

Flinging her hair back, loxana delicately removed her
l.ay-Bans.

'Zach Mason and I are working together on See the
Lights, people,' she said, her voice honey-low, reserved
and embarrassed. 'That's the only thing I can say right now.
I'm here to enjoy the show.'

Immediately, cameras fired off around her, flashbulbs
popping like machine guns.


	'R.oxana! l.ox! This way, please! Just two seconds!'

She let them snap for a minute, then turned away.

Always keep them wanting more...

'loxana!' one of the journalists yelled after her.
'When's the wedding?'

As she headed inside the stadium, P,.oxana Felix smiled
to hersel£.


The stadium headlights out front were switched on at full
beam. From her viewpoint behind the stage scaffolding,
Megan could see the roadies scrambling to put up last
minute adjustments to the rigging, technicians pulling at an
amp here, moving a laser there. Electric City were
renowned for their innovative stage set; the best thing
since U2 brought the Zoo TV circus to town, they used
giant holograms and computer morphing. Taped music


220

was pumping out of the PA, loud as hell, punctuated by
football whistles, screams and cheers from the crowd.

Anticipation crackled through the air like static. The
headliners would be on any second.

Megan walked around, trying to look as though she
knew where she was going, a mixture of seething
excitement and frantic nerves at the pit of her stomach.
The closest she'd ever got to being backstage anywhere
was when she'd fainted in the front row of the Stone in San
Francisco, during a Bad Brains set, and had been dragged
behind an amp by security. On that occasion she'd got a
cup of lukewarm tap water and been thrown back into the
mosh-pit. Plus, the Stone was a tiny club.

All-Access laminates at the Los Angeles Coliseum were
outside her normal experience.

Being a guest of Zach Mason was outside her normal
experience.

Where the hell is David? Megan thought, as she ducked
out of the way of yet another roadie pushing a huge flight
case across her path. Why isn't he here yet? I need help! I
don't know where the hell I'm supposed to be!

She'd asked David to take her to the show, .but he said he
had to finish off some urgent work on his contracts that
afternoon, and could he meet her there? Disappointed,
Megan had agreed. She'd been hoping David might want to take her.., but who was she kidding, right?Just because
she'd lost a little weight, because he'd found her some half
decent clothes, that didn't mean she was suddenly good
enough for David Tauber. David was a big agent, kicking
ass on the fast-track. He was sophisticfited, he was elegant,
he was super-fit, and he was gorgeous. All things she
would never be. No matter how many miles she ground
out on the Stairmaster.

But she wished David were here now. She wished somebody was with her. It was terrifying, to be backstage at a. stadium gig, no idea where to go or what to do, just


22I

wandering round the concrete labyrinth trying to keep out
of everybody's way. And thrilling. Totally thrilling, to
know she could go anywhere she wanted to, talk to the
band if she felt like it, watch a concert from the side of the
stage instead of two miles away at the end of a sea of seats.
Instead of straining to get a glimpse of five fingers the size
of match-sticks, she'd be standing behind the speaker
stacks, close enough to reach out and touch the guitarist.

She would see the vast crowd stretched out before her.

She would see what the band saw.

For any rock fan, this was a fantasy come true: that
somebody would pluck you out of the crowd and set you
downon the other side.

Megan wondered why Zach had done it for her.

'Hey.'

She jumped round. God, she was pathetic; always under
everybody's feet. Now they must have sent some official to

tell her to get out of the way...

'Megan! Over here.'

'Oh, hi, Zach,' she said, embarrassed. 'I was looking for

you.'

He walked over to her, amused. 'Dark Angel shirt,' he

said, reaching out to touch her T-shirt. 'Were you a fan?'

Megan looked away. Somehow, when she was getting

ready to come out, this had seemed like a really good idea;
black 5os, heeled ankleboots and her favourite Dark
Angel T-shirt, the gold seraph logo on a black background.
Dressing with a message. She would be a walking rebuke
to the asshole.

As a scriptwriter, David had made clear, she was low girl

on the totem pole. If she wanted to keep her job, if she
wanted to write any more movies, she'd better shut u,p and
smile; get along to go along. And a quarter of a million
dollars was a lot of money. So she'd swallowed whatever
insults tkoxana Felix wanted to throw at her, and if she
hadn't been able to control her tongue completely with

22,2


Zach, she had tried her best. Minor retorts, sniping, that
was about the extent of her comebacks to his constant
goading. Since they'd started the rewrite process with that
disastrous first meeting, Zach Mason had goaded her,
teased her, called her writing unrealistic and naive. It was
true that he'd got better as time went on, but still.., and
anyway, as Zach had started being a little kinder to her,
loxana had suddenly got ten times worse. And ifZach and
she ever disagreed, loxana would wade in behind her
fellow star and pour acid all over Megan's point of view.
Like last time. But that was to be expected; loxana and
Zach were obviously doing the wild thing, the way she posed for him in meetings and backed him up all the time.
And all the press and gossip columnists said they were an
item.

It would be interesting to see if the bitch showed
tonight. Megan doubted she gave a damn about rock 'n'
roll, but this was a high-profile event, so she'd probably
turn up. Megan couldn't wait. But she hadn't worn the
Dark Angel shirt because of Zach and l%oxana; the
Beautiful People could do what they liked with each other.
No, she'd wanted to say with her clothes the things she

didn't have the guts to say with her mouth.
Like, fuck you, Zach Mason.
You sold us o.ut.

You're just another rock-star ego, a spoilt brat, a false
prophet. You got rich offour dreams. You lied to us. You
lied to me.

But then Zach had sent round a limo and this incredible
laminate, told her she could do wliatever she liked, go
wherever she wanted. Megan felt obliged and confused.

Why was he doing this? What was his motive?

He hated her! It didn't make sense.

'Yes, I was,' she muttered. 'Everybody was.'

Zach heard the criticism in her voice, but ignored it.
'Did you ever see us play?'

223


Megan looked him in the face. 'I saw you play sixteen
times. I saw you at the Omni in Oakland when you were
just starting. I saw you at the Stone. And the last gig you
guys played here' - she gestured around her - 'two-years
ago, me and some friends from college saved up for a
month so we could go.'

Zach Mason nodded slowly.

Megan looked at him again. He was wearing jeans and

boots too, all black, and a black see-through chiffon shirt,
the latest cool thing in alternative metal fashion. It revealed
his torso; without fabric covering him, Megan could see
that he was actually far more muscular than she'd imagined.
He was built like Keanu tkeeves in Speed. And his face looked even better: sculptured, masculine jaw; long
, dark hair that gave him a feral, menacing quality; and those

incredible predator eyes, eyes that had pierced the soul of
her whole generation, eyes that she'd watched from the
crowd as a teenager and which had burned a fiery rebellion
into her soul.

She felt a hot shock of arousal, and hated herself for it.

"Did you like us?' he asked.

Megan 'reddened. She didn't want to tell Mason
anything. Establishing herself as a fan, and Zach as her idol,
put her in.a supplicant position. Now he knew she had
admired him. More than that. And Megan didn't like it.

'I saw you sixteen times, Sherlock. What do you think?'
'I think you look very pretty,' Zach said. He reached out
and touched her soft brown curls..'Too pretty to be so mad
all the time.'

Megan was completely thrown. He sounded like he
meant it. The guy was dating the world's biggest supermodel,
and he'd just called her pretty?

'Thanks,' she muttered, and then remembering her
manners added, 'and thanks for the pass.'

He waved it away, still holding her gaze. 'De nada. Which track of ours did you like best?'


224

'Why do you care?' snapped Megan. He was playing
with her. He must be.

'I want to know. Indulge me,' Zach said, smiling
wolfrshly at her.
As the crowd started to chant the name of the band,
Megan felt her-groin contract in a violent spasm of desire.
Oh God. She knew she should be stronger than this, but

.. he was so beautiful. Predatory and beautiful.

' "Auburn",' she snapped. 'OK?'

'You don't sound much like a fan,' he said.

'And you don't act much like a hero!' Megan bit back,
furiously.

He was silent.

Out front, the noise of the audience was deafening.
Megan felt a wave of fear rush up inside her. Oh God, what
had she done? Zach was the star of this picture. If he chose
to, he could make one call to David Tauber and she'd be
off[the project for good.

'You don't know anything about my life,' Zach said

softly. 'Do you want to talk about why I split my band?'
She shook her head, mutely.

I know why you split the band, jerk. Money. T-shirt royalties.
A manager who didn't kiss your toned ass hard enough. David
told me.

'I had my reasons.'

Yeah, about twenty million of them, Megan thought,
but she said, 'It's your life, Zach, Dark Angel was your
band. Not mine. You can do what you like.'

For a second he just stood there, staring at her, then
looked away.

'Show's about to start,' he said. 'Come with me. I'll take
you somewhere you can get a good view.'


Roxana Felix was boiling with rage She was sitting with
Megan Silver and a few other women, wives and gir.1
friends of the band, in a tiny concealed VIP enclosure at

225


the side of the stage. Lasers webbed the darkness; coloured
spotlights danced across the stage and Rluminated hundreds
of faces in the ocean of fans that stretched out in front of
them. To her right, Electric City were blasting out their
latest Top Ten smash. 1Loxana registered none of it.

She ordy knew that ten minutes ago she'd been sitting in
here when Zach Mason personally escorted Megan Silver,
that dull little puppy, into the VIP booth, and Megan- a
nobody, a tvr/ter, for God's Sake! - had been wearing a
laminate which she obviously hadn't had to pull strings for.

Zach had sent the little tramp a laminate!

Zach had preferred Megan to her!

And What made it worse was the look of surprise he'd
shot her when he saw her pass - first surprise, and then a
homble knowing look, a sort of contemptuous stare. The
mouse bimbo hadn't noticed it, of course. She was too
busy gazing at the band and the crowd in some kind of
pathetic wonder. Megan Silver actually cared about this
stu

P,.oxana stared at the back of Megan's head. So, this was
what Mason wanted, did he? A donkey instead of a
unicorn. ?; sparrow instead of a peacock. And one who
was so naive she probably didn't even realize it.

Well, the little mouse better not get in her way. Because

if she did, she would pay for it!

226


Chapter 18


Darkness had fallen over the massed ranks of the crowd.
Just for a few minutes more, they would be kept waiting.

Megan twisted in her seat, her stomach knotted in
excitement. It had been a great show. Watching from the
side of the stage was awesome. And in between songs,
when she wasn't getting carried away by the moment,
she'd had time to watch what the roadies and guitar techs
were doing. She had soaked up the atmosphere backstage
like a sponge. It would be great research for the script; with
just a few slight changes, she knew now that she could
make her movie ten times more vivid and realistic. She'd
get home and write new set instructions and stage
directions that would change the entire way it looked on
screen.

But that wasn't the point right now.

She was about to see Zach Mason perform.

Their exchange earlier had been weird.., she'd been
sure that when she came right out and condemned him,
Zach would fly into a superstar tantrum, have her thrown
out of the venue, have her fired: But he hadn't reacted like
that, not at all. He'd been cool. Challenged her, but let her
have her own opinion.

She didn't recognize the star she'd been sparring with.

She didn't recognize the primadonna David Tauber
kept telling her about.

And here, in this stadium, she'd heard the Electric City
fans scream his name all night long. When she ducked out


227

of the viewing booth to use the bathroom, she'd heard
near-hysterical reporters wondering aloud if it was true
that Zach Mason was gonna sing. And walking through
Hospitality on her way back up to the stage, the vibe was
just the same - Zach, Zach, Zach. It was Electric City's
show, but all the anticipation, all the rumours, were
centred on the guy she'd just been fighting with.

Two months ago, Megan knew, she would have been in
precisely the same state of crazed excitement. To her
generation, hearing that Zach Mason was going to play a
surprise jam with another band was the same as somebody
telling her mother that John Lennon's death was faked and
the Beatles would play at Madison Square Gardens this
Christmas. Dark Angel were almost a religion, and Zach 'Mason was everybody's personal god.

In the heady, pumped-up atmosphere of the stadium
tonight it was hard not to see it that way again. To see Zach
through the adoring eyes of everyone else.

Working with him, Megan had come to think of him as
a person more than a rock star. After all, he'd betrayed
them.., hadn't he?

She tried to get a grip, but she couldn't stop the
butterflies squirming in her stomach. Zach would be
onstage soon. Right next to her. And maybe, for a few
minutes, she would see him again as the face she'd had
tacked on her bedroom walls for the last five years.

Suddenly, there was a huge roar from the crowd, a
howling wall of sound rising up into the warm night air.
The hot rainbow of lights switched back on, bathing the
crammed stadium in a pool of colours.

Electric City were back onstage for their encore. And
striding out with them, one hand raised in salute,
acknowledging the rabid adoration of the crowd, was
Zach Mason, bathed in a single white spotlight, his hair
fanning out around him like a black flame. She was close
enough to see the tiny droplets of sweat beading on his


228

chiselled face, close enough to see the intensity of his stare
as he trained those wolf eyes on the crowd howling before
him.

Megan's heart leapt to her throat. All her criticisms of
him were blasted into nothingness. The fact that they were
colleagues now was blasted into nothingness. In the heat of
the moment, she had reverted to the hardcore Dark Angel
fan she'd always been. Zach was her hero. And he was
three feet away from her.

A raging desire gripped her, waves of lust starting in her
belly and spreading out across her body, shooting little
silver threads across her breasts and crotch. She felt her
nipples harden under the T-shirt with his band's name
blazoned across it. She felt her crotch grow warm and
languid with blood, felt her pussy wetting up. Dear God, it
was the most violent arousal she'd ever known in her life,
and she wasn't even touching hersel£.

Dizzy, Megan gripped tightly onto the brass rail in front
of her, leaning as closely in towards Zach as she could
manage.

Electric City's guitarist, Kick de Souza, lowered his
fingers to the fretboard and bled out the opening chords to
'Auburn', the title track from Dark Angel's second album.
The record Megan had told Zach was her favourite.

As the crowd shrieked in ecstatic recognition, Electric
City smiling and waving, the spotlight panned for a few
seconds .away from Zach and onto their own singer And as
he stood there, so close to Megan she could have touched
him, Zach turned round in the darkness and smiled at her.


David Tauber sat on a wicker chair in Hospitality sipping a
little champagne. He checked his watch. Fifteen minutes
till the encores were over, and he saw no reason why he
should have to stand out front, any closer to that
unbelievable level of noise. From all the screaming, you'd
imagine that somebody had turned a flamethrower on the


229

audience. Which wouldn't be such a bad idea, judging
from all the long hair and marijuana smoke. Thank God he
had rescued Mason from this Neanderthal crap.

Colleen McCallum concerts were never like this.

He might' have shown his face in the hospitality booth
onstage, but had been told by a grinning security chief that
his pass wasn't good enough.

'But this is the same pass Zach sent loxana Felix,'
Tauber insisted.

The guy shook his head. 'You don't get on that stage
without a laminate, loxana Felix has a laminate. Who
gave it to her, I don't know.'

'And M'egan Silver?' Tauber demanded, glancing up to

see the back of Megan's head on the stage above him. That

' loxana Felix would have pulled somebody's strings didn't
surprise him in the least, but Megan... she hardly had the
clout.

'She has a laminate too. And Zach Mason saw to that
personally.'

'How do you know?' Tauber snapped, irritated.
*Because I set it up for him,' the ape replied. 'Now, you
wanna keep inside your area, oryou want me to throw you
out?'

David had kept inside his area.

So, Zach Mason was setting up access for Megan Silver.
Interesting. And loxana was having to fight to keep up
appearances ....

As Tauber picked idly at a bunch of grapes laid out on

the hospitality buffet, he started to think, fast. P, Aght now,
he controlled three out of the four principals in the See the
Lights deal - the male lead, the female lead and the
scriptwriter. Sam Kendrick represented Fred Florescu
personally, and that was a pity, but even David could
hardly try to poach a client from his own boss. There were


At the moment.


23o

deal. If the movie was a smash, his name would be made.
His salary would quintuple. He would switch from 'up
and-coming' to 'arrived'. He would be a player.

There'd be a good shot at ousting Mike Campbell right
away. Then he, David Ariel Tauber, would be head of
Domestic Films at a major agency, one of the youngest
guys ever to do it. And before too long he'd be able to walk
away completely, set up shop on his own. David smiled
pleasantly at the thought of it. So what if he was only
twenty-six? He was kicking ass. And if Sam Kendrick
wasn't exactly a clapped-out old lush like Kevin Scott, he
was still getting old.

They were all old and weak and useless.

They could all learn from him. And if Sam Kendrick
had to learn the hard way - so be it. That was the natural
law of evolution; only the strong survive.

Well, he was surviving and thriving, but a lot of his
power base was wrapped up in this movie, which was still
only in pre-production. P, dght now, only Zach's position
was absolutely secure. Megan could easily be fired, that
happened all the time. Writers were plentiful, anonymous
and cheap. And loxana - well, she had more security,
since her tests with Zach had practically set fire to the
screen, but ultimately she was replacoable too. If Zach
refused to work with her, for example, or if she tried
playing the superstar with Fred Florescu. And it was
important to David that neither of them be fired - he
wanted as many fingerprints as possible on this picture.

That meant that all his little kid had to play nice
together.

And something about this latest situation rang a lot of
nasty bells.

Was it possible that Zach Mason actually wanted Megan
Silver? His mousy, unassertive, bewildered little Megan?.
As far as the movie industry went, Megan didn't know

what the hell was going on, and she took everything David
told her as gospel. Somewhat understandable, he guessed.
Megan had come from the cool poverty of a slacker
background in San Francisco, where she'd had a bunch of
friends and been a clear part of a group, to Los Angeles
where she knew nobody, got nowhere and had wound up
in a nothing job - even worse than the one she'd left
behind her. Then by a fortunate coincidence he'd decided
to annoy Kevin Scott right at the moment when Megan
was begging for a chance in his office, and her brilliant,
pacy, commercial screenplay had dropped into his lap like
a ripe plum.

David smiled smugly to himself. He didn't believe in

luck. You made your own.

But Megan wouldn't have seen it that way. Megan
would only have seen a white knight in a red Lamborghini
turning up at her chicken joint to rescue her. She had
pulled his whole deal together, and she still thought he was doing her a favour. She'd had a very tough life, and she was
still functioning in survival mode. It hadn't registered with
hdr that since she'd impressed Eleanor Marshall, there was
bound to be other work for her. In Megan's mind, See the
Lights was her only hope and .David Tauber her only
friend. And David liked that attitude.

He also liked the extraordinary power it gave him over

her. He had taken control of her finances. He had ordered
her to change her eating habits. He'd even put her through
a torturous training regime; it was amusing, the way she
was putty in his hands. And let's be honest, it was pretty
erotic, too. Lately, he'd started fantasizing about Megan.
She was attractive, in a soft, non-LA kind of way.

But what ifZach Mason had started to think so too?
Impossible. Zach fucked models and pore stars and the
best that the groupie sorority had to offer. His women had
thirty-eight-inch breasts and matchsticks legs and long
blonde hair. And loxana Felix, currently rated the most

attractive woman in the world - top supermodd, new
forty-million-dollar deal - was throwing herself at him.
David had seen the headline from yesterday, the gossip
running wild on MTV, the reporters outside this stadium
yelling at him, asking him if he'd introduced 'the couple of
the century'.

David lifted his champagne flute in the direction of the
stage. He'd have to give it to the bitch, she was a smooth
operator. Forget Charles and Diana or RAchard and Cindy,
a Zach-l:koxana romance would mean banner headlines
worldwide. It would guarantee huge box-office.

But if Zach decided he wanted Megan instead, and if
Tauber had learned one thing in this business it Was that
there was no accounting for taste, the whole thing could
blow up in smoke, loxana would insist Megan be fired.
Zach might intervene, have her fired. One way or another
David wood lose out.

And what if the mouse suddenly developed claws?
Megan was adrift in LA. Helpless. But Tauber was sure she
hadn't always been like that. Back home, she'd probably
been tough and cynical.

He listened to the manic uproar rising from the crowd
out front. Zach Mason's voice was coming over the PA,
but the kids were so loud they were almost drowning him
out. And this insanity had been Megan's world. She knew this. She knew Zach.

If they could just stop Squabbling, Zach Mason would
really represent a dream come true for Megan. She might
start to get ideas above her station.

David frowned to himself. This had to be stopped. Zach
and loxana should be together, and Megan should...

Think, David ordered himself. There's always a way. But
you better find it. Fast.


The last notes of'Black lage', Electric City's biggest hit,
faded into the darkness, lost against the waves of cheering


233

beating up to the stage. Zach had only been doing backing
vocals on this one, laying raw harmonies under Karl
Olafson, the headliners' lead singer, but that didn't make
any difference. No matter how far back he stood, Zach
Mason was what the crowd wanted to see. And from the
smiles they were flashing about onstage, Megan guessed,
the baud weren't too bothered. Their own street cred
would soar, merely because Zach had chosen to jam with
them. This was the first time he'd performed live since
Dark Angel split up, and eighty thousand kids were
treating it like it was the Second Coming.

Red and green Varilights swept across the stage.
'You want some more?' Karl yelled into the mike.

The affirmative roar was so loud even Megan took a step

I back. She was bathed in sweat from the heat of the
spotlight and her own excitement. Zach had sung three
songs, and each one had been a revelation.., and to be so
close to him she could watch the veins standing out on his
neck when he sang, see every slight shift of expression even
waen the lights were on somebody else...

She knew one thing. When he was singing, Zach was
thinking Only about his song and the crowd. He to'ok that
intensity powering up from the mass and channelled it
right bact out through his voice. He stared into the
blackness as though sheer force of will could help him see
every passionate face. And his voice! Roughened with
sensuality, fired up frith rebei.'on, soaring with melody...

Megan was lost in it. Drowning, like the crowd in front
of her. There was no fear, no embarrassment, nothing
except the music and the lights and Zach. She was wept
along, lost in the power of the moment.

'I guess we can do one more,' Karl agreed, turning
round theatrically to his bandmates.

Rick de Souza strummed the opening chords to


234

'Fighting Fire', Dark Angel's signature song. The crowd
screamed fit to wake the dead.

'We'd like to introduce you to the guy singing lead on
this little cover - our good friend, Zach M -'

The rest of the introduction was lost in the hysterical
shrieks of the crowd. Zach walked forward to the front of
the stage, bathed in three spotlights, arms extended to the
audience. 'I want to thank Electric City for letting me jam
with them tonight. They were fucking great,' he said,
nodding at Karl.

Massive cheers. The band grinned.

'This is the last number I'm gonna do; something Dark
Angel used to play.'

He turned round and looked towards the concealed
viewing booth. 'This is for Megan.'

Electric City crashed into the classic, dark minor-key
chords exploding around them. The lights flashed everywhere,
the crowd began to chant, tens of thousands of
voices taking up the chant.

Megan stood frozen to the spot, paralysed with shock
and delight.

'Were you pleased with that, honey?' a voice asked in
her ear.

She turned round to see Roxana Felix, wearing a gold
lam mini-dress, smiling pleasantly at her. 'Yeah,' she said. At this moment, not even loxana could upset her. Zach
Mason was singing 'Fighting Fire' for her.

loxana squeezed forward to the brass rail, so she was
standing right next to Megan. She brushed her sweep of
gorgeous, glossy black hair out of her eyes. 'I thought you
would be. It was my idea, you know. I suggested it to him
last week; we thought maybe we'd been a little harsh on
you. '

For the first time, Megan noticed the laminate swinging
from tkoxana's belt. She felt herself crashing back down to.
earth, her stomach twisting in disappoinune.nt.

235


Of course loxana had a laminate.

loxana was Zach Mason's girlfriend.

How could she have let herself forget that? Did she
really think a superstar like Zach would ever have anything
more than a professional interest in her?

He'd said he was bringing her to this show for research
and that was exactly what he'd meant. If he'd decided to be
a little more friendly to her, that was great. It would be
good for the movie. But she was an idiot to think it was
anything more than that.

She was standing in this booth, right next to the world's
most celebrated supermodel, and she reckoned Zach
Mason was gonna pick her? Yeah, right, Megan! Nice
thinking!

'Thank you,' she managed. 'It was really kind of you.'
Ioxana smiled again, perfect, cherry-red lips blossoming
across her face. Close-up, Megan couldn't help
noticing that loxana's skin was absolutely smooth, fight
and unblemished, even without make-up. Like a searing
knife, the recollection ofloxana's huge deal, announced
o the news yesterday, with all the journalists bugging her
about Zach, stabbed into her memory.

'And congratulations on your deal,' she added bravely.
The supermodel shrugged. 'I should congratulate you, dear,' she said patronizingly. 'Writing your first screenplay!
I guess we're both career girls, huh?'

Both careergirls.., yeah. I'm worth two hundred and
fifty grand, less tax, less commission, less expenses, and
you've just signed up to Jackson for forty million.

'Did. you realize we're the same age?' R.oxana asked
sweetly.

'Are we?' said Megan, wondering if she'd ever felt less
adequate in her life.

Onstage, Zach Mason was still holding the crowd in the
palm of his hand. Megan thought he looked breathtaking;
a. hunter, a commander, young and beautifill but still very

236


masculine, like the ancient sculptures of Alexander the
Great. And oxana was slim and exquisite, a delicate,
sensual Aphrodite. They were made for each other.

Zach turned round again and smiled at Megan. But this
time she looked away.


As soon as the lights went down, a security guard arrived to
take them into the hospitality area, where the post-gig
party was in full swing.

'I think I'll skip it,' Megan said. 'I have a lot of work to
do.' She glanced up at loxana, every glossy black hair still
in place. Maybe the bitch never sweated. 'Zach, uh, Zach
brought me along so I could get a better flavour of
backstage life. I have a bunch of new ideas to -'

'Megan, no,'/oxana insisted, threading one toned arm
through hers. 'You must come along. I insist. And I know

Zach will be really disappointed if you're not there.'
'Please, loxana-'

'I insist,' loxana said, steel beneath the honey-satin of
her voice.

'OK,' Megan agreed miserably. Like she had a choice.
But she really, really didn't want to see Zach entwined
with l.oxana Felix, not right now. Last week, she hadn't
given a damn one way or the other. But to see Zach Mason
play was to see him differently. And she was feeling like
such a jerk...

The hospitality area was jam-packed; record company
execs, loud-mouthed radio promo guys in Raiders shirts,
bleached bimbos in dresses that looked like elongated T
shim, and a few highly privileged reporters from Rolling
Stone and other major magazines. The atmosphere
crackled with excitement.

Still waiting for Zach, Megan thought, and wondered if
he'd want to talk to these people. She hoped not. She
wanted him to go to the backstage door and sign stufffor.
the fans.

'We probably won't stay long ourselves,' loxana
confided, slipping her arm free from Megan's as a small
clutch of photographers caught sight of her and ran
towards them. 'I want to get home.' She struck a pose for
the cameras. 'Just a few, guys, please - I'm supposed to be
having the night o..'

Megan stepped out of the way.

'lkoxana[ Great to see you, glad you could make it,'
David said, swooping down on them. 'Gentlemen, that
will be all for now, OK? Ms Felix is here to see Mr Mason.
Can we give her some space?'

R, oxana shot Tauber the faintest hint of a smile as the
media.giays scattered.

'Congratulations on your Jackson contract,' David
added, hazel eyes sweeping across her glittering dress. 'I
think you were robbed.'

She laughed. 'David, you haven't said hi to Megan.'
'No, I haven't,' Tauber said, turning towards her.
Megan tried not to let her jealousy show. Wasn't Zach
Mason enough? Now she had David falling down her
unimpressive cleavage. 'I didn't see her there. Megan,
honey, you look great.'

'ThankS, David,' Megan muttered.

She did not look great. She was wearing a T-shirt and

jeans and her face was red with sweat. You couldn't jump
up and down and slam against a railing for three hours and
look great.

'Let me getyou ladies some champagne,' Tauber
offered, turning towards a passing waiter.

A sudden hum of anticipation rippled through the glitzy
crowd. Zach Mason, changed into an Electric City shirt
and a new pair ofjeans, had emerged with the band from
their dressing room. Seeing Megan and lkoxana, he
immediately started to head towards them.

David waved. 'loxana,' he said, passing her a champagne
flute. 'And Megan. That's for you.'


238

Megan took the drink, grateful to have something to do.
She didn't want to have to stand there like a jerk when
Zach and R.oxana started pawing each other. 'Thanks,
David.' She smiled at him.

'You know, when I said you looked great, I meant it,'
David told her, moving closer. Megan breathed in the light

scent of his aftershave. 'You've lost so much weight.'
'Thanks to you.'

'You're a really pretty girl, do you know that?' David
asked. Ignoring her look of stunned surprise, he put a
muscular arm around her.

At that moment, Zach Mason pushed past the last knot
of people, and stopped dead. There was Megan, pressed up
against David Tauber, just like the first time he'd seen her.
Only now the agent had his arm possessively around
Megan's waist.

'Hi, Ztch,' loxana Felix said, flashing him an incredibly
sexy smile.

'You sounded terrific, Zach,' David said pleasantly. His
hand moved on Megan's hip, an unmistakably sexual
caress.

'Hi,' Zach said blankly.

Megan Silver looked at him, shyly. 'You were great,'
she said.

Mason looked from Megan to David and back again,
not wanting to accept it.. But it was true, of course. Why
had he thought Megan would be any different? She wasn't
the Blessed Virgin. She'd fallen for his competent, slick,
rich Hollywood agent. She was exactly like all the others.
And he'd dedicated a song to her in front of eighty
thousand fans.

He felt like a jerk.

'Glad you enjoyed it,' Zach said coldly. He turned to
loxana Felix, smiling brightly for the cameras that
exploded around them, and took her exquisite head in his
two hands, kissing her luxuriously on the mouth.


239

'Come on, sweetheart,' David whispered in Megan's

ear. 'They don't need us hanging around. Let's go home.'


240

Chapter I9


Eleanor went through her notes on the way to the airport,
knowing she'd have time to practise her speech on the
plane. Tom had arranged for them to fly to New York on a
private jet belonging to Howard Thorn, the billionaire
financier, whose conglomerate, Condor Industries, had
become the single largest shareholder in Artemis Studios
last year. She would have to deliver her presentation to
Thorn aad the other six Wall Street moguls who comprised
the Artemis board.

It was odd, she reflected, how the world had suddenly
become so medieval in its structures. 1Keal power no
longer resided in Presidents and Prime Ministers, but in the
shadowy figures who controlled the flow of money; men
with the power to devalue a currency or crash a stock
market, who sent the world economy into growth or
recession, and who could buy and sell the flow of ideas.
George Soros. Bill Gates. Warren Buffet. Who was the
most powerful man in the world? Probably Rupert
Murdoch, Eleanor thought, the Australian who seemed to
own half of all the papers On the planet as well as three
major TV networks and a fflrn studio.

These were the kind of men she'd be standing in front
of. The modern-day equivalent of the Medici, the Italian
merchant princes who had controlled Europe during the
1Kenaissance. It was, she realized, going to be a baptism of
fire. She had imagined that president of Artemis was one
step away from the top of the power ladder, and she was


24I

now beginning to realize that in fact it was the very bottom

rung.

She was nervous.

The carphone trilled against the cream leather of her

seat.

'Eleanor Marshall.'

'So, are you ready for this?' Tom's voice crackled across

the line, and she could almost see the grin on his face.

'The question is, are they ready for me?' Eleanor told

him.

Goldman laughed. 'That's my girl. I'm sure we're gonna

walk it. And besides, New York will be a vacation for you,

the way things have been going back here.'

'That's very true,' she agreed. It would be pleasant not

,to have to think aboutJake Keller's bitter tittle memos, or
the See the Lights budget problems, and especially her one
month deadline to give Paul his answer. 'Where are we
staying?'

'The Victrix,' he said. 'You're in the Presidential Suite.'
'Ha, ha, very funny,' Eleanor replied, but she was
pleased. The Victrix was simply the most luxurious hotel
in Manhattan, on a par with the Lanesborough in London
or the Oriental in Bangkok. This trip was vital and nerve
racking, but at least Tom had made .sure there would be
certain fringe benefits.

'I'll see you in a while. Don't leave your briefcase on the

back seat,' Goldman te ,ased her.

Eleanor blushed. 'Tom! That was frfteen years ago.'
He was reminding her of an incident that had happened
when she'd just begun work at the studio as a reader. Tom
Goldman, then senior marketing manager and her mentor,
had asked Eleanor to bring over his notes on a merchandising
deal for a kids' feature with Toys R Us. It had been an
important presentation. Eleanor, then twenty-three, had
left the wrong briefcase in her car and Goldman had had to
speak extempore, pretending that the pile of rejected


242

scripts in front of him was highly secret sales projections.
He'd clinched the deal, but reamed Eleanor out. And
hadn't stopped ribbing her about it for the rest of her
career.

'Yeah, yeah, yeah. Once a flake, always a flake,' Tom
teased. 'See you later.'

'See you later,' she agreed, hanging up.

As the P,.olls-loyce glided smoothly and speedily down
the freeway, deserted in the blue half-light of early
morning, Eleanor Marshall felt her spirits lift a little. So,
Tom was in a good mood. Whatever else happened today,
at least she could be sure that the brusque, business-only
awkwardness of their relationship since Isabelle's party was
finished. Perhaps her performance with Jake Keller the
other day had done the trick. Anyway, if Tom was joking
around like this, things were back to normal.

Eleancr checked out her face in the rearview mirror.
Light blusher, sugarplum lips with a neutral berry pencil,
and equally subtle eyeshadow in pale pink and sand-gold.
She'd gone to bed early last night with a sleeping pill, so
there was no redness in her eyes or sallowness in her skin
from lack of sleep. In fact, her skin looked great, under its
sheer mousse foundation; the fine lines around her mouth
and eyes had become far less noticeable .since she'd started
with that Alpha-Hydroxy moisturizer. Thank God, finally
a beauty product that aceaally worked.

She could pass for thirty this morifing. Sometimes life
was good. Even under pressure.


When they pulled up on the runway twenty minutes later,

Goldman was there and waiting for her.

'Got the briefcase? Good, let's go.'

She thanked her chauffeur, took her case and overnight
bag from him and followed her boss up the steps.

'I thought you'd never get here,' Goldman grumbled ks


243

they strapped themselves in for takeoff. 'I was waiting out
there in the freezing cold. Forever.'

She checked her watch. 'Tom, I'm five minutes early.'

He waved that aside as they taxied down the runway.
'Eleanor, I'm busy, Don't bother me with trivial details.'

Once the place had reached cruising altitude, Eleanor
got up from her seat to take a look around. This was a
Gulfitream IV, a serious jet, not your two-bit Astra or Lear
that a mere multimillionaire might use. The only other
man she knew who could afford a Gultream IV was
David Geffen.

'Impressive, huh?'

Goldman walked up to stand beside her as she gazed at
the decor. Howard Thorn had rigged his little toy up in
dark blue leather with gold-leaf trim, the softest wall-to
wall carpeting, leather armchairs, a bathroom, a bedroom
and a kitchen.

'This baby cost twenty-five million bucks. And a
hundred thousand a month to run,' Tom said. 'I know
because I read it in Vanity Fair.'

Eleanor whistled. 'That's one hell of an expensive cab ride .'

He nodded. 'Sometimes I wonder if I got into the fight game.'

'I don't even see a company logo around here,' Eleanor
observed, glancing across at the young stewardesses in their
smart navy uniforms. '[ must say I'm surprised. I didn't
imagine Howard Thorn to be the unostentatious type.'

Goldman chuckled, dearly amused. 'Are you kidding?
This is Howard's private jet. Condor Industries has two
more of these stacked down in Dallas, near their oil
company. And in those you can't move for 10gos.'

They sat down together on a cavernous sofa and Tom
laid out his projections on a glass-topped coffee table in
front of them. They worked through the figures as Thorn's
flight attendants served them breakfast; Earl Grey tea from


z44

a Georgian silver service, tiny smoked salmon sandwiches,
hot, flaky croissants, and racks of toast with marmalade and
strawberry jelly. Eleanor declined a second course ofa Brie
omelette, followed by hot pancakes with syrup.

'Tom, you're going to get fat,' Eleanor warned him
absently, her head buried in her speech.

'Nonsense.' Goldman grabbed her hand and laid it
against the thin cotton of his Oxford shirt. 'That's all
muscle. Feel it.'

He was right, Eleanor thought, her palm connecting
with a rock-hard wall of flesh. It was solid muscle. Tauter
even than Paul, despite his macrobiotic diets and rigorous
exercising. She felt an instant stab of desire.

She snatched her hand away quickly, before things got
any worse. 'Well, it won't stay that way if you keep stuffing
yourself with cholesterol, she said, hoping he wouldn't
notice the slight blush.

Tom snorted, spearing a delicious-looking forkful of
oozing cheese omelette. 'You.sound just like Jordan when
you talk that way,' he said.

Clearly, not a compliment.

'Would you prefer some fresh strawberries and champagne,
madam?' one of the stewardesses asked her, clearing
away Eleanor's untouched plate. 'We have PerrierJouet,
Bollinger, Cristal...'

'No thanks, I'm free,' .Eleanor told her.

She took refuge in her speech for the rest of the flight.


The Artemis board had convened at the studios' New
York offices, an elegant couple of'floors at number
Madison Avenue, right in the heart of the Flatiron district
in midtown.

Tom and Eleanor said little to each other on the way in.
As they drew closer to the meeting, the mood subtly
changed from humour to tension. Goldman was anxious,
Eleanor could see that. He kept double-checking hi


245

statistics, like some nervous housewife who can never
quite satisfy herself that she's sure she's got her passport
with her and needs to look in her purse every ten minutes..

What does Tom have to worry about? Eleanor wondered,
looking out at the lunchtime traffic. He's a veteran
at this, plus he knows all about the Japanese threat.., but
it's my first time at a board meeting, and I have no idea
what they've been offered for the stock. I'm flying blind
on this. And Tom gets to present figures - nice, clean,
explicable figures our accountants have been working on
for months. But I've got to wade in with my pep talk
about See the Lights and how it's gonna dean up with
America's kids. Nothing provable, very touchy-feely.
Very 'feminine'.

She began to wonder if there wasn't something sexist

going on here. 'Who's going first?' she asked her boss.

'You are,' he told her firmly.

'Oh, terrific,' Eleanor muttered, as their limo pulled to a

halt.


	Tom held open the door for her. 'You're gonna be

fine.'

They announced themselves at reception and Tom led

her to the far elevator. 'It's right at the top, but this is one of

those express cars.'

'Great,' Eleanor replied, smoothing down the skirt of

her pale-pink Dior sill, suit.

'You're nervous,' Goldman said, looking at her.

'You're observant.'

'Come on, Eleanor. You're the girl who was debating

for Harvard when she was twenty years old.'

Eleanor shrugged. 'Between twenty and thirty-eight, I

think I may have got a little rusty on the public-speaking

front.'

Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine.., the floor
numbers slipped noiselessly by. They would be there any


246

second. Suddenly, Goldman reached past her and pressed
the halt button.

'Eleanor, look at me.'

Surprised, she did. Tom was staring down at her, his
black eyes picked out by his dark Savile t(ow suit, tender
and full of kindness. 'You remember when we first met?'

'Sure,' she said, wondering where this was going. 'In the
corridor by the canteen. I was running down the hall and I
cannoned into you and you spilt coffee all over yourself.'

He nodded. 'You called me "sir" when you apologized.
Never showed me a second's respect since.'

Eleanor recal/ed it vividly, just as Tom knew she would.
Her first week at Artemis, when she was a lanky, nervous
kid, fresh out of college and desperate to make it in the all
male business world. And Tom Goldman, with a lot more
hair and a lot less style, had been thirty and already number
two in the merchandising division, a senior executive as far
as Eleanor was concerned. She'd been so terrified at
spilling coffee down him she'd gone white with fear.

Tom had laughed and taken her to lunch, thinking she
was cute. By the end of lunch, he thought he might have
discovered a useful future lieutenant. Ideas, intelligence
and enthusiasm bubbled out of her every sentence. He

became her mentor and friend practically right away.
'We were such kids,' Eleanor said.

'We were.' He leaned towards her. 'Now, do you
remember how we flew up here today? Do you remember
the last time you called Mike Ovitz on his private line? Do
you remember having Sam Kendrick sitting in front of
you, begging you to green-light a Fred Florescu picture?
We're not kids any more, Eleanor. We've done absolutely
fucking great. People fell aside, but we kept on going, and
now we run the whole damn studio. And don't you forget
it.'

He released the halt button, and the elevator began to
move again.


247
'You were a gangly college girl in jeans when I met you',
Eleanor Marshall.' The metal doors hissed open, and Tom
followed her out into the studio's corporate headquarters.
Eleanor felt his hand on her shoulder, 'But today, you are
the president of Artemis.'

She had to blink back tears as she glanced up at him.

'We've come too far to give it up now,' Tom Goldman

said. 'You go in there, Eleanor. And you kill them.'

'Mr Goldman? Ms Marshall?'

A brisk, middle-aged English secretary in a tweed suit
was walking towards them down the hushed corridor of
the corporate suite. 'If you'd care to step this way, the
board are ready for you now.'

They followed her past the polished mahogany tables,
biscuit-coloured walls and discreet Impressionist paintings
to a large set of double doors at the end of the hallway.
Opening it, the woman discreetly ushered them into the
Artemis boardroom.

Eleanor took the scene in at a glance. A long, square
table polished until it reflected, like a mirror, the sober
faces of the seven middle-aged men seated round it.
Howard Thorn was the only director Eleanor had met in
the flesh, but she recognized all the others from their glossy
colour pictures in the annual report: Harry Trasker,
Kenneth Rich, Eli Leber, Kit Wilson, Conrad Miles, and
Martin Bimbaum.

All of them serious Wall Street players.

All of them only interested in the stock.

Idly, she wondered if a woman had ever sat on the
board.

'Tom, Eleanor, good to see you,' Howard Thorn said
expansively.

What a breathtakingly ugly man, Eleanor thought,
smiling sweetly at him.

'I know you have a report for us. So why don't we just
cut to the chase and get on with it?' He motioned, to the


248

empty chair at the head of the table. 'Now, whc
presenting first?'

Eleanor took one last look at the room. A porcela
coffee service. A mind-blowing view over central Ma
hattan, the city laid out behind and beneath them in
glittering panorama. And a bunch of financiers, completel
uninterested in what she had to say- they were waiting fi
Tom's real numbers.

'I am,' she said, clearly and confidently. She strode up
the head of the table, clicked open her briefcase, ar
unhurriedly hung her brightly coloured demograplz
charts on the easel laid out behind her. Then she turned
face her multibillion-dollar audience, seven men who h
the power to end her career with a stroke of the pen, ar
sell her studio out to the Japenese.

'Gentlemen,' she said easily. 'My name is Elean,
Marshall,°and I am the President and Chief Operatil
Officer of Artemis Studios.'

249


Chapter 20


They stumbled into the lobby of the Victrix together,
laughing like teenagers. Goldman was still grinning at her
when he checked them in, relaxed and loose in the
aftermath of the victory high.

It had been a great presentation; his numbers had been
'scrutinized and analysed by the board and found to be
impressive, but the real breakthrough had been Eleanor's
speech. Goldman kept visualizing the surprised, attentive
looks on the faces of the staid board members as she talked
to them about the undefinable nature of the movie
business, the difficulty in calculating future returns by past
pei-formance. With fluid gestures and easy words, she had
demonstrated to them that just because Martin Webber
had produced nothing but flops that did not mean she was
going to. And finally she had begun to talk about See the
Lights, driving home her point with such passionate
enthusiasm that even bankers like Conrad Miles and Harry
Trasker had begun to, register what the project was all
about, and how much money it could make for them.
Howard Thorn had said nice things about loxana Felix;
well, Goldman expected that, after the arm-twisting
Thorn had done for her earlier. He wondered briefly if
lkoxana was screwing the fat jerk, but decided she wasn't.
She was a forty-million-dollar supermodel. Surely it
wouldn't be worth it to her, to fuck Howard Thorn just for
help in getting cast. Thorn had only been able to guarantee
her tests got seen, not to cast her, and See the Lights would


250

mount to a day's pay compared with what the woman was
already earning as a supermodel. It just didn't make sense.
But anyway the clincher had come when Eleanor pulled
out a videotape from her briefcase, asked that a TV be
brought into the boardroom, and then played the tests of
Zach and loxana together, drawing attention to the huge
publicity angle in their relationship.

The suits had paid little attention to her words, though,
Tom thought, smiling. They were too caught up in trying
to control their erections. By the end of that five-minute
tape, Eleanor Marshall had every one of the boys eating out
of her manicured hand. As far as See the Lights was
concerned, they were believers.

Goldman wasn't out of the danger zone, he knew that.
The Japanese would continue to circle overhead. But at
least his president had managed to convince them that
selling fight now would be a mistake - See the Lights would
lift the stock price, help them to get more for the company
later, if they still intended to sell. It wasn't rescue - it was
reprieve. But they bought themselves a little time. And
right now, that was as much as he could have hoped for.

'Here you are, sir. The Presidential Suite and the
Emperor Suite,' the receptionist said, handing him their
keys. 'Would you like a valet for your bags?'

Goldman hefted up his lightweight overnight case and
shook his head. He picked up Eleanor's neat little Gucci
case. 'No, thanks, we'll be fine.'

'Are you my porter now?' Eleanor enquired, amused.
Goldman bowed his head in her direction. 'After the
performance you just gave, I'm anything you want me to
be, ma'am.'

'Don't tempt me,' she teased, as they headed towards
the elevator.

The car hissed up the floors as smooth as silk.

'Not going to stop it this time?' Eleanor asked Tom. She
was flirting with him, light-headed with victory. The relief

aof getting through their presentation was so enormous that
it almost made her dizzy. And reckless. A little fun
wouldn't kill them, not in New York, where even Isabelle

Kendrick's bat-ears couldn't pick up what she was saying.
'You can laugh '

'Thanks,' Eleanor said, smiling.

' - but you needed that pep talk. And flit got you results

like those, I reserve the right to stop your elevator car
whenever I feel like it.'

'OK, coach. You got it. And how come I'm only in the
Presidential Suite and you're in the Emperor Suite? Yours
sounds way better.'

'Age before beauty,' Goldman said airily. 'And I am the Emperor around here. Bear that in mind.'

'
	'Maybe it's about time we had an Empress,' Eleanor

threatened him. 'Maybe I'll do aJake Keller on you.'

They stepped out on the penthouse floor; their suites

were right next to each other. Goldman opened up
Eleanor's door for her.

'Look at that,' she murmured, impressed.

The place was a P,.egency fantasy in white and gold; soft
cream carpet was laid throughout with a delicate pattern of gold leaves, twisting in some unseen breeze, repeated on
the walls and around the edge of the ceiling. Long velvet
drapes the colour of burnished bronze hung from windows
twelve feet high, offering a magnificent view down the
Avenue of the Americas. On a white marble coffee table
with gold detailing was a crystal vase fdled with pure white
lilies, stamens covered in thick yellow pollen that reflected
the general colour scheme. The bathroom, as large a room
as the bedroom, was built round a centrepiece of a large
jacuzzi, with a sunken Japanese bath right next to it. But
the third room was the thing Eleanor found truly
luxurious: a perfect reproduction of an English country
library, complete with mounted stag's head, leather-bound
tomes and a dark green leather armchair.

'Jesus,' Goldman remarked. 'Want to swap?'
Eleanor laughed. 'You haven't seen yours yet. Lo(
why don't you go and get changed. I need to freshen
then maybe we can go and have tea together.'

'What, you mean cute little English sandwiches a
scones with cream?'

	'Exactly,' Eleanor said.

'And you're gonna have a shower?' Goldman enquir,
'Can I watch?'

She laughed lightly, but felt Tom's eyes hungry on t
nape of her neck. Come on, now, Eleanor, you

imagining things, she told herself firmly.

	'Nothing interesting to see,' she said.

Tom took a step back from her, staring at her, his
eyes taking everything in, from the elegant ash-blonde h
fxed nearly in place, past the slight swell of her bre
visible under her jacket, to the soft curve of her cal'¢
tapering down into Patrick Cox pumps that emphasi
her slender ankles. Eleanor was beautiful and sensual an
pleasure to look at. He took his time, and she felt his
like a caress on her skin, a sudden lick of sexual h
following his eyes, as though he were actually strippi

her, peeling away her clothes to examine her naked go
'Somehow I doubt that,' Tom said, eventually.

He saw her blush bright red, and the languid snake
lust curling in his belly stirred a little faster. He didn't kill
why he had done that, but it felt good. And it felt good tl
she seemed to know what he was thinking.

	There was a long pause.

	'I'll come and get you in
	' "
	'

	twenty rmnutes, Elea

managed, with an effort.

	'OK,' Tom Goldman said, and left the room.


Isabelle Kendrick didn't usually pay house calls. Eitl
people came to her, at her convenience, or- more usua
- she met with a favoured few at the most highly visil


253

restaurants in town. After all, what was the point of being a
social lioness if one didn't shine in society? But on this
occasion she parked her Bendey at the front of the
Goldmans' Beverly Hills mansion without even taking the
time to gloat over how much more attractive her own
gardens were.

Jordan had called this morning, and it was serious. Extremely serious. So serious, in fact, that for once Isabelle "
had absolutely no desire to discuss the matter in front of a

crowded room. She had no wish to be seen to be discussing
it with Jordan at all. And yet, as Isabelle stepped out of her
car and walked quickly up to the Goldmans' pillared front
porch, immaculate in her navy Bill Blass dress and Charles
Jourdan heels, her heart actually began to beat faster with
' the unusual sensation of excitement.

A uniformed maid answered the door. 'Won't you
come in, Mrs Kendrick,' she said. 'Mrs Goldman's waiting
for you in the drawing room.'

Isabelle thanked her briskly and walked straight into the
Goldmans' sub-Palph-Lauren reception room.
"Just as she had expected, Jordan Cabot Goldman,
overdressed in a glitzy Valentino pantsuit, was leaning
tragically against the fireplace, weeping into a lace handkerchief.
-'Isabelle, thank God you're here,' she sobbed.

'My dear, Ijumpei:l in the car the second I hung up on
you,' Isabelle said, trying to feign compassion through the
thrill of it all. ,

Forget about the parties. Here she had the opportunity
for some real social engineering. And if she succeeded, not
only would it be a strike against Eleanor Marshall, but it
would mean that Jordan Goldman was indebted to her
forever. Indirecdy Isabelle would control not only the Los
Angeles establishment society, but also the flavour-of-the
week PC crowd that Jordan had started to gather around
herself. And Jordan would never be a threat to her position

again.


254

Because Jordan would owe her. Huge.

'He's taken her to New York,' Jordan sobbed, 'and he
didn't even tell me.' Her voice rose to a little-gift wail. 'I
had to find out fromJoanne.'

His assistant. Isabelle's mind worked swiftly over the
situation. The fact that Eleanor had accompanied Tom to
New York was insignificant, just a professional feather in
her cap. After all, she was president of the studio, Isabelle
acknowledged with her usual mixture of envy and
contempt. No, the significant thing was that Tom had tried
to keep it from Jordan. And Jordan already knew her
position was threatened, from the intelligence Isabelle had
supplied her with from her party. That was why she had,
on Isabelle's advice, thrown a fit of jealous rage and then
wounded sorrow, demanding that Tom cease to socialize
with Eleanor. He'd denied it, of course, but according to
Isabelle's spies at Artemis he had been pretty clinical with
Eleanor of late.

Evidently that time had come to an end, and so would
Jordan's marriage, if she didn't move fast.

Tom had concealed Eleanor's presence on this trip from
his wife. That was a major danger signal. Isabelle was
relieved that at least the silly little tramp had had the good
sense to call her about it.

'I know, dear,' she said, calmly but-firmly. 'And you
know what you have to do now, don't you?'

'But who knows how long that would take?' Jordan
sobbed.

'Sometimes we have to anticipate, problems, Jordan,'
said Isabelle with authority, 'and sometimes we have to be pro-active in solving them. Now, I shall tell you what to do,
and I want no arguments.'

'But it'll ruin my looks,' Jordan wept.

'Not if you're careful,' Isabelle told her. 'And at any rate,
dear, you may be out of options at this point.' She crossed
over to the mantelpiece and patted her prot6ge soothingly

on the shoulder. 'You have to do it, Jordan, and you have

to do it now. Trust me. It's the only way.'


Tom and Eleanor arrived back at the hotel around eleven.
They had taken tea, gone for a walk and then gone to see a

movie.

'Are you kidding?' Eleanor asked, amazed, when Tom
suggested it.

'No!' he said, grinning. 'Don't you want to? I mean,
when was the last time you paid to see a movie, in a theatre,
with popcorn, like everyone else?'

'Uh, nineteen seventy-eight?' guessed Eleanor.

'Right! We should do this, it would be great market
research.' Tom warmed to the theme. 'We can charge our

' tickets back to Accounts as a business expense.'

'I always liked the previews best.' Eleanor adSpted a
heavy mafioso tone. 'And now. PAR.AMOUNT PICTURES
presents...'

'ExactlyI Come on, let's go,' Goldman urged, and they
wound up in some little cinema offBroadway, watching a
rerun of Dazed and Confused with a jumbo bucket of
popcorn 'and two huge Coca-Colas.

'It was a great movie,' Goldman said, as they finally
walked into the Victrix's blue marble lobby. 'Although
you seemed to be enjoying it more than me.'

Eleanor shrugged. 'What can I tell you? I was sixteen in
nineteen seventy-four. I lived all that stuff.'

Tom looked at her. 'You smoked dope?'

'Didn't everybody?'

Goldman shook his head, laughing. 'It doesn't compute,
babe. Eleanor Marshall with a reefer?'

Eleanor shrugged defensively. 'I wasn't born like this, you know.'

'Do you want a nightcap?' Goldman asked, and she was
surprised to hear herself say yes. But she did want a drink
with him, she realized. The pleasure of spending an


v.56

afternoon with Tom Goldman, talking about everything
and nothing, was too great just to be suddenly switched off
with a stiffgood night. They hadn't talked like this for years
now, maybe even five or six years. The upper reaches of
the greasy pole were too slippery and dangerous to do
anything but climb.

They rode up to Tom's suite in companionable silence.
It was similar to Eleanor's; decorated in silver and
turquoise, it had shades of an Oriental harem, and instead
of a library boasted a small private gym. His reception
room was also fitted with a fully stocked bar.

'What are you drinking?' Goldman asked her.

Eleanor knew Paul would want her to say 'mineral
water' or 'a Virgin Mary'. 'Bourbon on the rocks,' she said.
'Wild Turkey, if you've got it.'

Tom raised an eyebrow, looking at her quizzically.

God, th guy is so handsome, Eleanor thought. 'Got a
problem with that?' she asked menacingly.

He laughed. 'No, ma'am. I think I'm gonna have to
bring you to New York more often. Dope, drink.., this is
a whole new side to you.'

'I haven't done dope since I was twenty,' Eleanor
protested.

Goldman mixed them both a whisky and they sat down
together on his soft, vast blue sofa.

'To Artemis,' Eleanor toasted him.

'To us,' Tom corrected her, 'because we got there, and
today we made sure we're gonnastay there.'

They touched their crystal tumblers together and drank.
'What did you mean earlier, when you said you weren't
born like this?' Tom asked her softly. 'What do you think
you're like now?'

She leaned back, feeling the pleasant warmth of the
alcohol spread through her. 'Oh, you know. The Ice
Queen. The Statue. All those things they say.'


257

Tom looked her in the eyes. 'I never thought you were
an Ice Queen.'

Eleanor struggled to beat back the slow, heady wash of
desire seeping through her. It was too much, sitting next to
him like this, after the day they'd had, up here, on their
own. She knew it was dangerous. And yet she made no
move to get up.

'Why did you want to make movies?' he asked her.
'Why? I'm not sure.' Eleanor considered it. 'Because it
seemed like a fun thing to do at the time. Maybe because I
watched so many fdms as a girl. Because I liked the way
they always had happy endings and the heroine always
wound up with the tree love of her life. Every woman's

dream. In the movies, everything was passionate and larger
' than life and nobody ever compromised, and I wanted to

believe my life was gonna be that way...'

Her voice trailed offinto silence.

'And now you don't believe it's possible for a woman to
end up with the great love of her life?'

'I believe it's possible.' Eleanor toyed with the rim of her
grass, then glanced over at Tom Goldman, sitting next to
her, his black eyes staring at her so intently, his large body
so dose she could hear his breathing, and his left hand,
gripping his tumbler so tightly that the knuckles were
white, decorated with a simple platinum wedding band. 'I
just don't believe it's possible for me.'

'Look at me,' Tom, insisted. He put two fingers under
her chin and turned her face ,towards him. 'You are
intelligent and talented and beautiful and brave. I knew
you were special from the second I met you. You can have
anything you want.'

'No,' she said, feeling her skin burning where his foagers
had touched her. 'Not quite anything.'

For a few seconds Goldman didn't reply. Then he began
to look at her again, the way he had done in her suite,
infmitely slowly, admiring her sexually, his gaze s.eeming


258

to lift away her clothing, until she felt herself juicing, felt

her nipples stiffen in arousal.

'Don't,' she managed.

'Why not?' Tom asked. 'Am I turning you on?'
Eleanor tried to think straight, through the warm fog of
her desire. Somewhere in the back of her brain, faint and
far away, warning bells were ringing frantically. But the
heady, liquid pulse of her blood drowned out all her

normal caution. For once she didn't want to be sensible.
She wanted Tom. She had always wanted Tom.
'Yes,' she said simply.

'I want you,' Goldman said, and Eleanor said, 'Have

me.'

He leaned forward, very slowly, and brushed a lock of
hair away from the side of her cheek, his rough palm
cupping her soft skin, and then brought his left hand up to
cradle the'other side of her face, holding her head, letting
her feel his strength. Then he bent down and touched his
mouth to hers, a soft, dry kiss at first, then a more urgent
one, and finally he ran his tongue across her lips and cheek,
pushing it inside her mouth, desperate to taste her
sweetness. His arm suddenly circled the small of her back
and pulled her body tight against his, impatiently, insistently,
creasing up her expensive silk suit.

Eleanor was overcome with desire. At the first touch of
his skin on hers, fire shot through her, blossoming in her
belly and breasts, everything animal and female in her in
heat, her blood seeming to warm and melt. Spontaneously
she moved her legs apart, the centre of them moist and
ready for him. His caress was exactly as she had dreamed it
would be for all these years: masculine and tender and
gentle and dominant. His erection strained against her
through the fabric of his pants, large and rock-hard with
need.

'I always wanted you,' he was murmuring, and Eleanor
said, 'Tom, my God...' and then his. hands were

259


fumbling with the buttons on her jacket, clumsily, and
Eleanor twisted apart from him, stripping offher clothes,
kicking offher shoes and peeling down her hose, as hungry
as a teenager, until she was down to her bra and panties,
tiny scraps of coffee-coloured Italian lace, and then
Goldman's hands closed over hers, stopping her, wanting
to do that himself.

'You're so beautiful,' he whispered, and then she
groaned in arousal as his hands closed on the softness of her
breasts, playing with her nipples through the lace, his
finger and thumb rubbing them and stroking them until
she was half-mad with the pleasure, and just when she
thought she couldn't stand it Tom's lips were closing over
them, his tongue lapping and tugging, sucking them, the

' wet heat of his mouth making dark circles on the tips of her
bra cups, the roughness of the lace contrasting with the
smoothness of his slippery tongue until Eleanor was
arching against him, thrusting her flanks against his.

'Do you like that? Huh?' Goldman was asking her, his
voice hoarse with sex, and then his fingers were trailing
d6wn the front of her stomach, just the tips of his fingers
brushing her skin, drawing a long, burning ribbon of fire
across it. Eleanor sobbed with pleasure, unable to believe
herself capable of such feelings, and then gasped out his
name as Tom slid his hand into the soft, downy curls under
her panties, covering her burning, damp mound with his
hand, and then, infinitely gently, sliding two fingers inside
her, rubbing lightly over the slick nub of her clitoris.

'Oh, .Jesus! Jesus, Tom!' Eleanor gasped, feeling her
womb contract into spasm, intense pleasure exploding all
over her and fresh wetness flood her between the legs as
she came.

'That was nothing, sweetheart. That was just the start,'
Tom said, and she felt him unsnapping her bra and peeling
offher panties, damp with her own juices as he rolled them
down her supple thighs. When she was completely nude,


26O

he rolled her gently onto her back, stroking her lightly
from her shoulders, along the curving sides of her body
down to her buttocks, and before she could even twist in
response Eleanor felt his warm breath on the nape of her
neck, teasing her, making the tiny hairs there stand on end,
and then he was kissing her, firm, circular butterfly kisses,
licking and sucking at her skin, flicking it with just the tip
of his tongue, taking his time, moving down her spine.

Eleanor felt conscious thought recede. She was only
aware of Tom's mouth, and the heat of his body crowding
hers, and his strong arms that held her relentlessly in place
as she squirmed, maddened with desire, under the
attentions of his tongue. Her entire body had become one
huge erogenous zone; melting, pulsating streams of desire
seemed to flow out of her spine, where his mouth was, and
bathe her entire skin in ecstatic need. When he finally
reached her coccyx, she was close to another climax.

'Tom, you're incredible,' she sobbed, and Goldman
said, 'I want you so much, I've been thinking about this for
months,' and his hands were on her buttocks, gripping
them, stroking them.

'You've got a great ass,' he said. 'I used to fantasize about
doing this every time you walked down the corridor.'

Eleanor tried to say something, but surprise and arousal
strangled her voice and she could only twist under him,
kissing at his forearm.

'Do you want me, Eleanor?' he was asking, and for
answer she guided his hand to her pussy, open and more
than ready for him, and begged, '-Please, Tom I can't wait
any more,' and he murmured, 'That"s right, sugar, let it
go.' He freed himself quickly, half ripping his clothes off,
and Eleanor opened her arms to him, naked and hard and
straining for her, his cock already dewed at the head,
glistening with his arousal, and the two of them fell upon
one another, kissing and biting, and he found her almost
immediately and with one hard, impatient thrust sank'


26I

himself deep inside her, all the way up to the hilt, and then
all Eleanor knew, all she could think about, was Tom
Goldman, above her, inside her, his swollen thickness
drawing pleasures out of her she had never imagined
existed, his intelligent, arrogant face now staring down at
hers with an intense expression of desire and love, and she
felt his cock, sunk deep inside her, hit some melting,
blinding place, some sweet, secret trigger buried deep
within her, and suddenly a new orgasm was gripping her,
more powerful than the first, more powerful than any
climax she had ever known, the sensations seeming to pour
out of every inch of her body so she could feel the waves
rock he from her forearms to her calves, her whole body
convulsing in blinding ecstasy, and she cried out, 'Tom, I

' love you,' and somewhere very far away she felt him tense,
coming inside her, and she heard him say, 'I love you,
Eleanor, I always did,' and then the final, consuming,
white wave of bliss broke across her body and swept
everything away.

Chapter 21


Eleanor woke slowly, her head swimming up towards
consciousness very gradually and gently, her deep sleep
pierced by soft shafts of golden morning light. She glanced
at the gold carriage clock by her bedside. It was 6.4o a.m.;
in another five minutes the alarm would have shrilled,
waking her far less pleasantly. Sleepily she turned it off,
stretching luxuriously as the memories of the night before
came flooding back. Despite the lack of sleep, her whole
body felt loose and relaxed, as though her very bones had
melted under Tom's mouth.

She twisted a little on the navy-blue satin Pratesi sheets.
Tom Goldman's large, solid back was turned towards her,
moving slightly as he slept. Eleanor admired him briefly for a
second or two, staring at the hard bulk of him, liking the
masculinity of the tiny dark hairs on his back, the scent of his
body next to hers. She debated whether or not to wake him
now, so they could make love again, but decided agaimt it:
they had a flight in two hours and she wanted to dress and
prepare herself, put her make-up on, be as beautiful for him
as she possibly could. Her hair was a wreck, her face was a
mess - well, she'd hardly had time for the cleanse-tone
moisturize thing last night- and she needed to take a shower.

Eleanor slipped noiselessly out of bed, careful not to
wake him, and gathered up her crumpled clothes from the
sofa and the floor. Then she tiptoed back to the bed, kissed
Tom lightly at the top of his spine and crept out of his suite;


263

Megan tried not to give herself time to think about what
she was doing. If she paused for breath, she might back out
of it. This was not something reversible. This was her,
Megan Silver, casting offher old way of life and plunging
head first into the private swimming pool of a new one. It
felt a little uncomfortable, but in Hollywood perhaps this
was the only way.

The mini-library of self-help books that David had
bought for her all said the same thing; you can reinvent
yourself if you want to, physically, mentally and spiritually. Awaken the Giant Within. A Course in Miracles. Stop the
Insanity. The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People ... Megan had read them all, or at least skimmed through
them. She'd had to - David Tauber quoted them all the

, time, and Megan didn't want to look stupid in front of
David. And maybe it was about time she woke up to the
message - change wasn't only possible, it was an American
Duty. And if going from a caterpillar to a butterfly involved
shedding a few layers ofsldn, well, that was simply the way
it had to be.

'The Electric City concert had been the last straw. She
had been Caught up in the magic, she had wanted so much
to be wrong about Zach, to be able to believe in the
idealism of her generation again, to trust in artists, to have
faith in the idea that there were people who sought truth
and compassion, and who rejected shallowness and glitter
and surface perfection.,For a few moments up there, in the
humid darkness, Zach Mason had seemed to be one of
those people, the tree artist, the hero she'd idolized since
she was a teenager.

Pulling on her Calvin Klein jeans, Megan Silver smiled
grimly. Idolize was the ideal word for it. Because Zach had
proved about as genuine a gum as the Great and Powerful
Oz.

Was she jealous ofloxana Felix? Megan asked herself.
loxana was an out-and-out bitch, a fashion princess on


264

the receiving end of a lucky genetic accident which she
obviously thought entided her to be queen of all she
surveyed. To know her was to loathe her. She was spoilt,

pampered, unreasonable and spiteful.
Was she jealous ofloxana Felix?
Absolutely.

Megan grabbed her favourite white cotton Gap shirt
from her closet. A classic white shirt was the best choice for
shopping - a plain background you couldn't go wrong
with. She would be able to try out hundreds of different
looks with this shirt. And a good white shirt, teamed with a
pair of designer jeans and calf-length cowboy boots, could
walk unembarrassed into the most exclusive store on
Melrose or lodeo Drive. And that was where she was
headed.

Megan knew she'd never forget the image ofloxana,
silken hair'flowing round her tanned shoulders, gold lam
mini-dress clinging to her curveless, ultra-slim frame,
leaning towards her in that viewing booth and cooing that
she and Zach had discussed dedicating that song to Megan,
that they felt they'd been a little hard on her...

lage and disappointment had hit her with the force of a
fist in the stomach. She had been so sure that Zach was
finally talking to her, looking at her, communicating with
her. He'd let her criticize him, he'd been kind and gracious
and he'd got up on that stage and sung like God, and when
he looked at her and smiled, Megan had felt, for just a few
precious seconds, that Zach was everything she had always
admired and that - God, how ridiculous - he was
interested in her. Even though she wasr't a model, or a star,

or a rich Beverly Hills babe like Jordan Goldman.
Another dumb illusion.

Well, P,.oxana had put paid to that. And it wasn't merely
the fact that Zach was with R.oxana that infuriated Megan.
The fact was that every single guy backstage had been
mesmerized by her, paying homage as though the bitch


265

was the Queen of Sheba. Induding her David. And if that
was to be expected, Megan also recalled that the other
women - the blonde bimbos, the groomed, polished
trophy wives, the sexy female reporters in their elegant little Chanel numbers - had got their fair share of attention
too, while she, the earnest, idealistic X-er in her T-shirt
and jeans, with her loose brown hair and no make-up, had
been completely ignored.

Zach had snubbed her. David hadn't even seen she was
there, not at first. And none of the other guys in the place
had so much as glanced in her direction.

David had paid her a compliment, true, but then David
was her agent, as well as her friend. And he was obviously
just being kind, because when he'd got her into his

'
	Lamborghini on her own, he hadn't so much as tried to kiss
her-just dropped her offat the apartment with his usual
pleasant goodnight peck.

Goddamnit! Megan thought, getting angry. I want
more than that!

She knew what she was about to do was selling out. She
kiaew this was the kind of status-seeking bullshit that she
had despised in San Francisco... but that was too bad.

Megan Silver was just sick and tired of being invisible.


Jordan Cabot Goldman stepped carefully out of her
limousine, trying not to scuff her Versace mauve silk
pumps on the New York sidewalk. She shivered. God, she
hated Manhattan. It was so bitterly cold in autumn, so
unbearably hot in summer, and crammed full of people
who seemed obsessed with work.

'May I carry your bags for you, madam?' a Victrix porter
enquired, rushing forward from the lobby to assist her.

Jordan shook her head, girlish blonde hair flying about
in the early-morning breeze. 'No, thank you,' she said.
Tm not staying. I've come tO collect my husband.' She
smiled brilliantly. 'It's a surprise.'


266

Megan hit the town with a vengeance. She had a gold
American Express card, a BMW with an empty trunk, and
a ferocious hunger.

She was fed up with waiting for David to notice her.
She'd lost weight, toned her muscles and learned to survive
as a Hollywood screenwriter, but she still couldn't get him
to do anything more than flirt with her. That, Megan told
herself, was going to change. Today.

The first stop on her list was Fred Hayman. Then
Frederick's of Hollywood, where she bought the most
outrageous teddy in crimson lace, cut high on the thigh
and plunging at the neck, a sexy, sinful scrap of scarlet
nothingness that made her gasp when she saw it in the
mirror. Then she headed to Melrose and the boutiques,
and shopped steadily for four hours, refusing to look at the
price of anything, just picking up the receipts to check
later, ater it was too late to back out. She got aprtd-porter Chanel suit in bold purple wool, with satin pumps to
match; a minute Azzedine Alaia clinging dress in black
stretch Lycra; a vermilion satin-knit skirt and flowing tunic
top by Richard Tyler; an Anne Klein pantsuit in the softest
butterscotch cashmere; ten different lalph Lauren shirts; a
halter-necked, bias-cut gown in bronze satin by Isaac
Mizrahi, and suits in pink, dark green and turquoise wool
by Dior, Saint-Laurent and Anna Sui. 'Oh,
ma'am, you look divine!' one of the salesgirls
squealed when she emerged from the changing alcove in
the turquoise Anna Sui. 'That cut is So you. But wouldn't
you rather try it in the red? Turquoise isn't the best colour
for a brunette.'

Megan shook her head, a little grandly. 'Turquoise will
be fine,' she said.

'Yes, ma'am,' the girl agreed, flustered, not wanting to
upset a customer with so many glossy carrier bags.

After all, Megaa added silendy, I'm not going to be a.
brunette for long.


267

Once all her major outfits had been carefully packed
away in the back of her car, Megan spent her lunch hour
shopping for accessories. Court shoes from Kurt Geiger,
two pairs of Manolo Blahnik heels, and trendy stacked
sandals by Patrick Cox. A scarf from Hermes. A Gucci belt.
A signature purse in cream silk from Chanel with matching
kid gloves. And a bottle of Joy perfume to complete it all.

Megan tipped the girl who carried her new bags to the
car twenty bucks and didn't thank her. If Beverly Hills
bitch was what she had to be, Beverly Hills bitch it was.
Rich, ostentatious, and don't talk to the help.

She had used David's name to get herself squeezed in at
the Ivy for lunch. It was another glorious, sunny Los

,
	Angeles day. Megan admired the way the light sparkled on
her water glass, and tried to calm her growling stomach

with honeydew melon and a Caesar salad. For a second she
longed wistfully for the char-grilled burgers she and Dec
used to barbecue out in their yard on Haight, in the
summer, when they had the guys round and everyone
vcould drink cheap beer, and they'd put on a Green tkiver
CD and talk about God and sex and death and whatever
else, or watch Married, With Children reruns. But she
shoved that thought to one side. In San Francisco, she had
been nothing. In Los Angeles, she was going to be a
someone, and surely no self-respecting woman out here
pen'nitted so much as an ounce of spare fat on her cellulite
free thighs. Burgers and beer were out; salads and mineral
water were in.

Megan made it to Le Printemps at two p.m. exactly. It had
taken her a week to get an appointment with Jacques
loissy, the chief stylist, but she was certain it would be
worth the wait: Le Printemps was the most exclusive,
newest beauty parlour in the city, boasting a range of anti
age preparations and UV filter products that had older
women panting, and a team of hairdressers, overpaid
refugees from Vidal Sassoon and John Frieda in London,


268

Jacques loissy had already acquired his own cult, with all
the worshippers drawn from the richest, most privileged
echelons of West Coast females.

Megan knew she didn't need the anti-wrinkle creams
right now, but her hair could sure do with an overhaul, and
she knew she had come to the right place. Face it -
anything this expensive had to be good.

Le Printemps was tucked away on La Brea, behind
discreet wrought-iron gates. Megan was greeted by a
white-coated receptionist and her credit-card details taken
while her car was driven away to be valet-15arked.
Moments later, when she had only just sat down with the
latest Paris Vogue and a fat-free cappuccino, a short, plump
man with slicked-back red hair and a huge diamond pinky
ring burst'into the lobby and swooped down on her,
kissing noisily at the air on either side of her cheeks.

'Mademoiselle Silver, n'est-ce pas? Mais qu'elle est belle!
Comment fava?' he trilled.

'Gave trs bien, merci,' stammered Megan, hoping she
wasn't going to have to rely on her eighth-grade French
for the entire afternoon. 'Et vous?'

'Mon Dieu! Une franfaise!' the apparition squealed,
delighted. 'Mais il faut parler anglais, ici, non? We are
enchanted to see you 'ere,. mademoiselle. Already you are
very pretty, yes? But not chic. We make you trs chic. You
will not recognize yourself.' He paused to draw breath, and
Megan stood up, wondering exactly what she'.d let herself
in for. A second white-robed flunkey appeared with a blue
cotton gown, and Megan tied it round herself as Jacques
opened the door to the Printemps inner sanctum. She had
a glimpse ofa minimalist fantasy palace, the beauty parlour
decked out in Japanese prints, chrome and dark wood.
Expensive-smelling fragrances drifted towards her: jas-.
mine, sandalwood, mimosa, attar-of-roses.

269


'Ma chrie,' Jacques enthused, linking his plump ann
through her slender one, 'we are about to make you into a
new woman.'

Megan thought about Roxana Felix, sashaying into the
backstage hospitality area with her shimmering dress, her
glossy raven hair and her million-dollar smile, and David
and Zach just melting at her feet.

Firmly, she quashed her misgivings. 'That's what I'm
here for,' she said.


Eleanor checked herself out in the bathroom mirror again
and tried not to worry. Maybe Tom was still asleep. Or
maybe he was ordering breakfast for the two of them,
something romantic, like strawberries and croissants and

' champagne. Just because he hadn't rung through to her
room yet, hadn't knocked on her door, didn't mean
anything was wrong.

Her reflection stared back at her, immaculate and
charming in a new suit, a smart navy Jill Sander with a
white trim around the collar and cu. She had packed
[;lack Stephane Kelian heels to go with it, and her makeup
was a fresh mixture of apricot eyes and rose lips and cheeks.
Earlier, when she was feeling lighthearted, almost dizzy
with happiness, Eleanor had actually put on somejewellery
- two discreet sapphire drop earrings, which now sparkled
attractively under her neatly brushed hair. Her small Gucci
overnight case was packed and ready to go.

She had been ready to go for twenty minutes.

Tom couldn't be regretting it, could he? Eleanor
wondered, the thought clenching a fight fist of panic
round her heart. He'd been so tender, so passionate...
everything about last night had felt right, .proper, good.
She had loved Tom distantly for so long, fantasized
hopelessly about him for so many years, and last night had
been all she had dreamed of and more. He had taken her to
a place She didn't know existed, he had changed her life


270

forever, Eleanor knew that now. She felt more of a female,
more of a woman, than she had ever done before. And she
would never see the sexual act the same way again - as a
mildly pleasant activity for women, something the entire
world overrated in one big conspiracy, pretending it was
the best thing since sliced bread, when most girls she knew
would prefer a good back-rob, if they were honest. Last
night with Tom had cured her of that idea for good.
Eleanor could feel the echoes of that white-hot release
inside her still, suddenly realized what the sexologists
meant when they said that a woman reaches her sexual
peak in her late thirties and early forties.

Maybe that was the difference between having sex and
making love.

Last night was the first time that she had ever truly made
love.

Tom mast have felt it too, he must have done. It was too
intense to miss. Surely there was no way he wouldn't have
been touched by what had happened between them, by
what he had caused to happen between them...

Eleanor wondered what would happen now. She had
tried to put off this question, but she couldn't hide it
forever. Would Tom get a divorce? He must, surely, love
her.., didn't last night prove that? And as for herself, she
had been trembling on the brink of commitment to Paul,
trying to talk herself into conceiving a child by Paul, but
that was over now. She had to be with Tom. She couldn't
settle, not any more.

The phone by her bedside pured.

Joyfially Eleanor spun away from the mirror and sprinted
into the bedroom, scolding herself- this was no way for a
thirty-eight-year-old woman tO behave - and dived on the
receiver.

'Yes?' she said.

'Eleanor?'

It was Tom. Her heart flipped over in her chest.


27I

'Hey,' she said softly. 'I thought you'd never ask.'

There was a brief, uncomfortable pause.

'If you're ready, why don't you meet me in the lobby?'
Goldman said stiffly. 'I have a car waiting to take us to the
airport.'

The air seemed to freeze around her. Time pooled and
stopped, and a terrible, clammy fear gripped her throat.

She knew Tom Goldman backwards, knew his every
subde nuance of tone and gesture and expression. And this
was Tom at his most businesslike, his most impersonal.

He thought last night was a mistake. He wanted her to
pretend it never happened.

Tears of shock and disbelief prickled in Eleanor
Marshall's eyes.

'Eleanor, are you there?' Goldman asked.

She took a deep breath, composing herself, and then
replied. 'Yes, Tom, of course. I'll be right down. If we're
lucky, maybe we can catch the eight-thirty flight - that

would give me a couple of extra hours with Megan Silver.'
'OK,' Tom said, and hung up.

Eleanor grabbed her case and her room key and walked
straight out to the elevators, moving as fast as she could,
trying not to give herself time to think. That was a luxury
she could not afford. That would be fatal.

In the elevator car she counted each floor as it hissed
smoothly downwards, recited couplets from Shakespeare,
anything to stop herself from thinking about Tom and
what he'd done yesterday. She realized with a sick crunch
of despair that she was never going to get in an elevator
again without imagining Tom, and yesterday, and last
night.

Mercifully quickly they reached the ground floor, and
Eleanor crossed over to reception to check out. As soon as
she had signed off on the form she turned left and walked
into the lobby, looking for Tom.



	She found him right away.

272


Goldman was standing by a huge black leather sofa,
dressed in a nondescript grey suit, and looking awkward
and guilty.., and.., happy? And with a start of absolute
disbelief Eleanor saw that Jordan was standing next to him,
dressed in a fussy purple pantsuit, one hand fimly clasping
her husband's. -

Eleanor's mouth dropped open before she could pull
herself together, but recovering at lightning speed she
walked up to them.

'Jordan! This is a surprise,' she managed. 'I thought you
were back in LA.'

'Oh I was,' Jordan squeaked, her face a mask of childish
delight, 'but I caught a reallate flight last night and got over
here first thing in the morning. I wanted to meet Tom here
and surprise him in person.' She turned coquettishly to her
husband.

'Can w tell Eleanor, honey? I wanted you to be the first
to hear it, but now...'

'Yeah,' Goldman said, not meeting Eleanor's eyes. He
looked away, subdued, embarrassed. 'Go ahead.'

'Eleanor, I just know you and Paul will be sooo happy for
us,' Jordan cooed, squeezing Tom's hand ostentatiously.
'It's so fabulous[ Isn't it, sweetheart? We're going to have a
baby!'

273


Chapter 22


R.oxana Felix and David Tauber sat together at a corner
table in the small, elegant dining room of Lutece, eating
lunch. Nothing about David Tauber's manner proclaimed
himself to be excited about this: he ordered comfortably,
he ate slowly, and he never so much as glanced at another
'table. But inside, he was thrilled. The hum of discreet
conversation all around him had the music of money
rippling through it; this restaurant was where Wall Street
mixed with Hollywood and flirted with the Social
tegister, and normally he would have had to wait weeks
for a table. Sam Kendrick might have been able to breeze
in'here, but not him. Not yet. But add a forty-million
dollar supermodel to the equation, and it was a different
story.

P,.eservations had fallen over themseFces to accommodate
him. The maitre d' had rushed to seat them as
prominently as possible. And David Tauber had the very
pleasant sensation of knowing that here, in one of New
York's most exalted meeting phces, the great and powerful
were ogling his table, and not the other way round.

Word of this lunch would leak out, he knew. It would
send shockwaves of fear through the fat little fucks at
Unique, tLoxana's model agency. And it would be another
feather in his personal cap - since he'd signed her, loxana
had been dealing more through Sam Kendrick than
through him. For some reason. Well, obviously that was all
about to change.


274

'Won't you have a little more champagne, loxana?' he
asked solicitously, extending the bottle of vintage Tat
tinger towards her.

'Not for me.' Ms Felix shook her lovely head. 'I have to
watch my figure.'

Tauber laughed, and Poxana smiled encouragingly at
him.

The two of us are so alike, he thought. She'll stop at
nothing to get what she wants. She's already demonstrated
that beyond doubt. My God, I remember when I didn't
even think I could persuade Artemis to look at the bitch's
test. And she sees herself in me. She knows I can be useful
to her. Face it, she didn't call me out here for the pleasure
of my company.

'Your figure is beyond perfect, loxana.Just like the rest
of you,' Iavid purred. 'And I bet your photographers out
here are saying exactly the same thing.' He shrugged
boyishly. 'We poor movie-business types have to hope the

Jackson people will let you go in time for a few rehearsals.'
Tll go when I feel like it,' Poxana said.
'Of course.' He was all deference.

'And I didn't ask you here to discuss my figure.'

David leaned forward. 'You know your wish is my
command, loxna.'

loxana Felix regarded her agent through faintly narrowed
lids. Hmm. He was good, no denying it. He'd
dressed appropriately- Hugo Boss suit in dark charcoal
wool, Turnball & Asser paisley tie, no embarrassingly loose
Angeleno style. And he hadn't so much as looked away
from her once.

See the Lights was about to go into rehearsals. One week
of those, and they were on location in the Seychelles. That
was when the fun would start.

Once she was on camera, she would be impossibly
expensive to replace. She wouldn't have to take any more


75

crap from that prissy bitch Eleanor Marshall and her mousy
little screenwriter protgte.

It was going to be good. Establishing herself as a true star
would be her first priority, but revenge would be number
two on the list. Payback time. For every one of them that
had insulted, snubbed or thwarted her.

Zach Mason. Eleanor Marshall. Sam Kendrick. They all
had it coming.

But Megan Silver, the dumpy little nothing, Megan
Silver who had flat-out turned down her requests to have
her meagre part beefed up, Megan Silver, who had
deliberately attracted Zach when she, loxana, wanted
him - Megan was going to pay the most dearly.

This was going to need delicate handling, though. And
that was why she had summoned Tauber to New York.
Because loxana had some serious plans, and they went
beyond just getting a few people fired.

She'd learned some valuable lessons during her time in
LA. Dear God, she hadn't been screwing Howard Thorn
for nothing. She was going to get more than real fame out
of this movie: by the time she'd finished, she would've
shifted the goddamn power balance, at Artemis, at SKI,
and socially.

Those pathetic sun-dried assholes had thought they
could patronize her!

loxana's fingers tightened imperceptibly round the
stem of her champagne flute. Even David Tauber thought
he was using her. Did he truly believe that she could be
manipulated with some decent pecs and a cosmetically
whitened smile?

'Have you seen a lot of Megan lately, David?' she asked
sweetly. 'Such a nice girl. I always hoped you two would
get together.'

David nodded. So that was it. His orders from the
Electric City concert had been confirmed: take Megan out
of the picture, so I can concentrate on Zach.


276

'I haven't been round to Megan's since the concert,' he
said, 'but I've been meaning to see a lot more of her.'

'Good.' His mistress was pleased. She shifted on her
chair, displaying that magnificent body for him as it
slithered luxuriously around under her amethyst silk
Donna Karan slip dress.

'How is Zach?' David added. Let her know he was
calling his marker. After all, like the old Mafia guy said - I
don't do favours, I collect debts.
'Just wonderful,' tLoxana purred. Tm sure he's as happy
with you as I am, David. I'm sure he'll be boasting about
being one of your discoveries in as many interviews as I
shall. After all, Zach, Megan, me - See the Lights is really your movie, isn't it?'

David Tauber felt the warmth wash fight through his
body, with a swift jolt of adrenalin following in its wake.
Great. Sh was going to play with him. She would repay
him. A few well-placed comments with the trades and his

star would be shooting up faster than ever.
He'd have Kevin Scott fired.
He'd walk out of SKI.

With 1Loxana and Zach hitched to his wagon there was
no limit, Tauber realized. He suppressed an urge to clench
his fists. No limit at all. He wouldn't have to try to impress
Sam Kendrick any more - he could be Sam Kendrick.

Forget about money. Forget about coke. Forget about
sex. Power, power was the only drug, and power was what
lq.oxana Felix was offering him.

'It's good of you to say so,' he replied.

'Oh, but I do say so.' P,.oxana speared a forkful of lettuce.
'And if you ask me, David darling, you should be
exercising a little bit more control over it.'

'More control?' Tauber looked blank. 'How could I do
that?'

The supermodel looked at her agent, a tiny half-smile.
playing across her blood-red lips. 'David, you don't really

277


know Jake Keller, do you? He's the number two to
Eleanor Marshall over at Artemis. He has some interesting
ideas about this movie... I think you two would get on
just fine. Perhaps I should arrange for you to play a little
tennis?'

For a second Tauber sat there, frozen, his mind racing at
a million miles an hour. Jesus fucking Christ. What was the
bitch proposing? A conspiracy? Was she out to get Eleanor
Marshall? Who did she have in her pocket? And could he
risk it? Because if you weren't with Roxana Felix, you
were against her.

He was only treading water at SKI anyway - and he'd
always-hated the idea of women running studios. They
shouldn't run anything except errands.

'What a good idea,' Tauber said smoothly. 'I could do
with some work on my backhand.'


Flowers. They were everywhere she looked: huge, vulgar,
ostentatious bunches of them, baskets stuffed full of them,
wreaths and pot plants and every variety knownto man.
Ex)ery designer florist in Beverly Hills must be laughing
their heads off, Eleanor thought bitterly. She couldn't walk
into the Artemis executive offices without being overpowered
by a wash of different fragrances, assaulted by an
ice-cream medley of colours; hyacinth, irises, jasmine,
tiger-lilies, snowdrops - where the hell had Isabelle
Kendrick found snowdrops in July? - and piles and piles of
roses. Peonies and poppies were stacked next to orange
blossom and orchids on every secretary's desk. Some of the
arrangements were in cutesy shapes- a teddy bear of white
chrysanthemums, a stork made entirely of cornflowers.
Many of them were colour-themed in pastel pinks and
blues.

Jesus, but this town was tacky when you thought about
it.
Eleanor tried to ignore the living gauntlet that she had to


278

run on the way into her own offce, the one space in the
building mercifully free from greenery. On the second day
after word of Jordan's pregnancy had leaked out, the
overflow of blossoming tributes had gotten too much for
Tom's secretary, who'd innocently enquired if Eleanor
would care for some pale pink tulips or light blue roses,
only to be told frostily that the president suffered from
hayfever. A manifest lie, Eleanor knew, but what could
they do about it? She wouldn't take any of Tom's
goddamn flowers. She was still president here. That was
one thing she could rely on.

Eleanor sat in the spartan, businesslike fortress of her
office and bent her head, examing the latest projections for Looking Good, the Artemis comedy that had opened the
week before. The figures were creditable, but Eleanor
didn't see them. They swam before her eyes, meaningless, unimportant.

Oh, dear God. All she could feel was the pain. It
occupied her thoughts one hundred per cent of the time,
drumming its agony deeper inside her with every pulse of
her broken heart. Her skin was sallow from lack of sleep.
Her eyes had dark shadows under them, and she was losing
weight rapidly as her appetite slowed and died. How she
got through each day was a mystery to her. How she had
managed the journey down fromJFK to-LAX, with Jordan
sitting in the seat beside her, babbling excitedly on for the
whole five hours, she could not even remember.

Eleanor knew she was still well dressed, even if she no
longer bothered with make-up: After all, clothes were a
form of armour. And she got through meetings with no
perceptible loss of control; the words flowed smoothly
enough.

But behind her cool gaze Eleanor Marshall was a
zombie, going through the motions. Years of businesslike
behaviour had provided her with an automatic pilot, and
she was just coasting along, utterly out of control.

279


The Panasonic on her desk buzzed.

'Yes, Mariah?'

'Mr Keller on line one,' her assistant chirped.
'Thank you,' Eleanor said, hitting the button. 'Jake.'
Her deputy's voice was brisk and calm, no hostility to it
at all. 'Eleanor, I've got some more See the Lights budget
items for you to sign off on, and a few location ideas. Is it
OK if I come over and run 'em by you?'

'Thanks, Jake,' Eleanor said lisdessly. 'That would be
great. Why don't you bring them across now?'

A week ago she would have told him to wait until she
was through with what she was working on. But who
cared?-Now was as good a time as any. Jake was suddenly

cooperative, running off sheet after sheet of budget plans,

'production expenses, location arrangements. She'd
thought all that stuffhad been sorted out, but apparently it
needed changing. Fine. Keller could change what he
wanted.., what did it matter? Minor alterations. Small
adjustments. Whatever.

Two minutes later Jake Keller was in his immediate '
bss's oflfice, clutching a revised set of forecasts and some
new site decisiom. The significant changes were buried in
the middle of the third page, in a couple of clauses it had
taken him all of last night to work out. They weren't
hidden, though - they were clearly laid out, in language
nobody could fail to understand. That was the way it had to
be. If she signed these documents, the responsibility for
them had to be hers- dearly, and without room for doubt.

Keller advanced towards Eleanor, holding the memos
out to her. His heart was beatingin a nervous samba, but he
was sure it didn't show. And if it did, would Eleanor pick
up on it? Would she notice anything?

Not in this state. He had to bet on that. She looked like
shit, she looked really ill. Her cool blonde head had been
someplace else all this week, andJake Keller was not a man
to let an opportunity like this pass him by. He'd had the


280

ultra-intelligent Ms Marshall signing off on proposals an
intern would have objected to. Signing off on the
presidency, he hoped. But these were the big two, two
simple, unrectifiable errors that he was praying would get
her approval, right on the dotted line.

'Sorry to keep bothering you with this stuff, but it's best
we get it right,' Keller said, watching the president's eye
skim over the first page of close print. Keep her talking,
keep her involved, make her trust you. 'Don't you think
so?'

'Sure,' Eleanor said blankly, turning to the second page.
Keller felt the roof of his mouth dry up. She was reading
it. Was she taking it in? 'Are you planning to go but on
location yourself?.'

'Maybe. I don't know.'

She turned to the third page.

Tm glat somebody's doing some work around here,'
Keller ploughed on, desperately. 'With all these dehvery
guys coming and going for Tom and Jordan, you'd think it
was the first time anyone had ever conceived.'

He was unprepared for the effect of his remark.
Eleanor's face drained of blood as though someone had
slapped her. She stopped examining the document, and
reach for her pen.

With a dazzling burst of comprehension, Jake Keller
suddenly realized what the hell was going on. Mentally he
kicked himself for not having sensed it before. Of course! All that jumping apart whenever he'd walked in on the two of
them...

Oh, this was just great. His shark's nose had done more
than scent blood in the water. Eleanor Marshall was badly
wounded, a prey just waiting for a predator like himself to
come along and restore the natural order. After all, this job
should have been his in the first place, Keller thought. That
P,.oxana Felix was a bright woman.

As he watched the Ice Queen sign her own death


28i

warrant, Jake Keller couldn't resist one final, delicious
cruelty.
'Thanks,' he said pleasantly as he took the papers from

her. 'That's great. You know, it's kind of sweet, about this

baby stuff, don't you think?'

'Certainly,' Eleanor managed, forcing herself to meet

her vice-president's eyes.

Jake Keller looked at her impassively. 'In all the time

I've known him, I don't think I've ever seen Tom
happier,' he said.

Then he gave her a friendly smile, turned on his heels

and left.


Megan stepped smardy out of her BMW and tossed the

' keys to the parking lot attendant, usually a little smug and

supercilious in his silver and grey Artemis uniform.

'Park it out back,' she snapped. 'And make sure it's
somewhere close to the exit. I may be leaving early today.'

He gaped at her, did a double-take, then a triple-take.
Megan could see the doubt forming in his eyes- could that rally be Megan Silver? - and some of the icy block of
nerves sitting in the pit of her stomach thawed a little.

Today was the first day of preliminary rehearsals.
There'd be one week of them in LA, involving just Zach,
R.oxana and a few of the main supporting actors, and then
the cast and crew would ship out to the Seychelles, to start
the first part offdming on location. David had told her she
had to be available, to tinker with the script as and when it
needed it, and according to him, once they started
shooting that would be pretty much all the time.

It would be the first day since the movie had been
green-lighted that she wasn't actually supposed to wQrk. It
would also be the first time she'd met most of the cast. Not
to mention Fred Florescu, the most influential director of
his generation, and her new boss. The prospect thrilled and
terrified her all at once. She'd seen all Florescu's .movies;

they were stylish and successful, and people spoke of the
guy as the 'new Spielberg'. Light Failing, his last picture,
had made over a hundred and fifty million dollars - almost
clean profit, since Florescu had shot it on a shoestring
budget.

See the Lights would not have a shoestring budget - her
exotic plot had made sure of that - but Megan hoped Mr
Florescu would think that it had almost as good a script.

lecovering from his hesitation, the Artemis valet said
'Yes, ma'am,' to her, touching his cap as he did so, and
opened her car door.

Oh yes, Megan thought dryly as she walked over to the
soundstage where they were all supposed to meet up. That
would be another first for the day. Everybody was going to
get to see the new her.

She glanced down at herself as she walked. Well, it was
certainly different. And from now on she'd be packing an
attitude to match. Maybe she couldn't compete with
P,.oxana Felix, but she'd at least give the slut something to
think about.

The rehearsal group was unmistakable - even from a
couple of hundred yards away Megan could hear the
excited babble, see the studio production executives, low
level flunkeys, reporting to that scumJake Keller, scurrying
around like the sycophantic toadies they were. Her
walk slowed as she got closer, giving her a little more time
to take in the scene. There was David, looking beautifully
groomed in some hght brown Armani suit. He was
standing next to a young guy with lo.ng black hair, jeans
and a Nirvana T-shirt; it couldn't be Florescu? It was.
Wow. And Zach, in a Metallica shirt and jeans, looking
over at Florescu with respect on his face.

Megan snorted. Check it out. Zach Mason respects something! Well, once he's got the measure of you like I did,
it won't go two ways, you pathetic fake.

And loxana. No more than normally exquisite today:

283


some kind of demure pantsuit in ice-blue silk, navy pumps
and a pair of wraparound shades. Sitting next to Zach. Of
course. But you're not gonna faze me, you bitch, not

tody.

There were the other cast members, and Megan
couldn't suppress a slight blush. She'd never seen so many
famous faces in one place together - Mary Holmes, Jack
RJchards, lobert Finn, Seth Weiss. But she pulled herself
swiftly together. They were all here because she'd written
them suitable parts ... the old Megan might have been
overwhelmed, she told herself intently, but the new one
wasn't going to bat aprofessionally made-up eyelid.

Megan strode up to them, swinging her hips as she
moved, working it all the way.

' 'Hi, guys,' she said coolly. 'Sorry I'm a little late. The
freeway was solid for miles.' Megan paused, drinking in the
shock on the faces that already knew her. 'David, why
don't you introduce me? I hardly know anyone, and that
can't be right.'

'Megan?' Zach Mason asked.


	'Megan?' David Tauber gasped.

'Who else?' she shrugged.

Tauber couldn't believe what he was seeing. Megan had
disappeared - the old mousy, shy, invisible little Megan
with her nondescript brown hair, T-shirts and long skim.
In her place was a tall, slender woman, toned, tanned flesh
bared to the world. Long, lean legs stretched up indecently
from outrageous stacked heels, ending only in a thigh-high
Azzedine Alaia mini-dress of clinging black Lycra, a
creation that left nothing whatsoever to the imagination and
certainly not the high, rounded cheeks of her ass or the
sizable proportions of her breasts, made to look even larger
than normal in a balconette Ultrabra. It was as though she
was flinging those curves in loxana's face. And the
surprise didn't stop there. Megan had a Gucci belt knotted
loosely around her newly wasplike waist and a Piaget


284

watch on her left wrist. The long, gentle brown curls had
gone and in their place was a sleek, geometric Louise
Brooks-style bob, except that Louise Brooks had never
had hair so dazzlingly platinum blonde that she made
Marilyn Monroe look like a brunette. And the usually
naked face had been painstakingly made up, with an
expensive-looking foundation, heavy bronze blusher,
dark green eyeshadow melting into a dramatic plum shade
swept under the brow, and full, shiny lips, lined and
glossed into a wet scarlet bow.

She looked rawly sexual. Demanding attention, Megan
had revealed her new, desirable body in a way that could
only be called exhibitionist. And there was something
more than the hair and the dowdiness that she had cast off.
David had been prepared to start screwing Megan anyway - not a wlolly disagreeable prospect - at loxana Felix's
orders. But now it would be a definite pleasure. The new
Megan Silver was something David recognized, something
he could deal with. Like Gloria lamirez, Megan
Silver was tough. Like him. Like R.oxana. Like that
ambitious teenager he'd fucked last week.

Megan Silver was no longer the little idealist.

She was hard.

'Megan, you ook terrific,' David said, feeling the
beginnings of an erection 'Don't you think so, loxana?'

'Very dramatic, dear,' loxana Felix commented icily,
in a backhanded compliment that delighted her. And as
Tauber started to introduce her to Fred Florescu and the
rest of the cast, Megan was aware of the unfamiliar
sensation of being ogled, of men's eyes roaming across her
body, of being an object of desire. Every guy in the group
had to be staring at her!

Every guy but one. As she finished shaking hands with
the last supporting star, Megan glanced furtively at Zach
Mason.

He hadn't taken his eyes offher either, and as soon as she
looked at him Zach's gaze met hers.

It was filled with shock, disgust and contempt.

Fuck you, Megan thought furiously, and turned back to
David, whose eyes were roaming her with new hunger,
the hunger she'd longed to see there since the day she first
met him. It was always David I wanted, not you.

Zach Mason meant less than nothing to her. Rdght?
Right.

Megan slipped her hand firmly into David Tauber's, and
smiled, as brilliandy as she knew how.


She pulled up outside David's apartment at quarter of
twelve, slipping the BMW sharply into his reserved
parking space, making sure to show off acres of nut-brown
thigh as she pressed down on the brake with her Manolo
Blahnik shoes. Jesus, even her driving was a production

now.

But, obviously, it was working.

'Thanks for the ride,' Tauber said, and Megan noticed
both the hoarseness of his tone and the impressive bulge in

his pants. She was triumphant. So it had turned him on!
'No problem,' she replied, as casually as she could.

'I was, uh, wondering if you'd care to come up for a
coffee?' David asked her, and Megan turned to see the
glitter of lust in his eyes. Unmistakable desire, and it was all
for her. ,

How would R.oxana play this?

'If I come upstairs, I'll be wanting more than coffee,'
Megan said.

Tauber smiled at her, the smooth, practised smile she
had longed for him to use on her for months now. Why
isn't it more fulfilling? Megan asked herself, but then
Tauber unclipped his seatbelt and leant over towards her,
his hands finding her breasts, lightly rubbing across the tips
of her nipples, his lips and tongue flickering across her


286

pushed herself hard against his touch, all her doubts
receding in a hot burst of physical need.

287


Chapter 23


Eleanor Marshall rushed into the women's executive
bathroom and flung herself into the nearest stall, her fingers
fumbling in her haste to bolt it shut. The lock rattled into
place just in time as she knelt forward, gasping, gripping
the seat with both hands, and threw up. Wave after wave of
nausea wracked through her, and she knelt there, shuddering
and wretched, until it finally passed and she was left
with a dry, raw throat and an empty stomach.

Eleanor flushed the vomit away and took a deep breath,
trying futilely to calm herself. Then she reached into a
concealed pocket in the lining of her smart beige jacket and
took out 'the three essential items she'd taken to carrying
around with her: a travel toothbrush and tube of paste, and
a trial-size flask of antiseptic mouthwash.

Male chief executives react to extreme pressure with
stomach ulcers, Eleanor thought wearily. Why can't I do
that? It would be so rtauch simpler...

She scrubbed and rinsed out. her mouth right there in
the stall, thanking God that there was obviously nobody
around to hear her. So far all her attacks had come in the
early morning, when none of the secretaries were around,
but she dreaded the day the sudden terrible crunch in the
pit of her stomach would hit in the middle of a meeting, or
in the lunch hour, when this bathroom was always so full.
Then it would be tough to hide, and the inevitable
rumours would begin to fly around: Eleanor Marshall can't


288

take the heat. Eleanor's cracking up. Eleanor's throwing
her guts up every day at work...

Eleanor stood slowly, looking around her at the cool
eggshell-blue walls with their pristine white accents, trying
to compose herself before she walked back to her office.
OK, that was better. She flushed again, unlocked the door
and surveyed her reflection in the wall mirrors opposite:
pallid as hell, but otherwise acceptable. A lalph Lauren
pantsuit in caramel wool, a crisp white Donna Karan shirt,
Walter Steiger black suede pumps.

Elegant and understated as normal. Perfect dressing for
Eleanor Marshall, president of Artemis Studios and emotionless
control freak.

She smiled without humour. Some joke. Well, her
universe was crumbling around her, but at least she was
wearing the appropriate clothes.

Jordan'Cabot Goldman was pregnant with her husband's
child. Tom's child. The child of the man she loved,
the man she had let herself hope for, with silent desperation,
for some fifteen years, the man whom she had finally
made love to and spent the most blissful night of her life
with. The man whom she could never have.

It wasn't as though she could avoid the agony of that, run from it, ignore it, block it out the way an ordinary
mistress might have. No, she had to be with Tom every
day, witness an endless stream of congratulations every day.
The flowers had eventually dried up, but that wasn't an
end to it; every producer or agent who met them opened
the meeting with good wishes, congratulations or, most
often, father-to-father advice and jokes. Jordan herself had
started to come by the office, and though Eleanor made an
effort to be somewhere else when she arrived, she couldn't
help but see her sometimes, her face so incredibly young
and blooming with health, graciously accepting everybody's
attentions, especially Tom's. That really hurt
watching Tom scramble to open doors for her, rush to get


289

her a chair, refuse to allow her to hft anything heavier than
a porcelain coffee cup. He treated his wife like she were the
most precious thing in the world, and made of spun sugar,
liable to break at any second.

And it wasn't merely the loss of Tom Goldman, robbed
in mercilessly every day like salt in an open wound. It was
the idea of Jordan, twenty-four and pregnant with her first
baby, a little Goldman son or daughter, with more to
come. Eleanor had read somewhere that twenty-four was
the average age for American women to marry, and
twenty-five for. the conception of their first child. So
blonde-haired, blue-eyed, All-American Barbie was doing
it exactly right, perhaps a little ahead of schedule, whilst
she, Eleanor, was almost forty, still single, and childless.

' A year ago she hadn't given a damn about that, couldn't
have cared less. But Jordan's pregnancy had changed
things, dragged all her background regrets howling
viciously into the foreground of her mind. Now Eleanor did care, very much.

.Her own longing for a child was amplified to obsessional
proportions. She thought about it all the time, but then
again, how could she do anything else? It was Jordan this,
Jordan that, all day every day. Eleanor kept recalhng the
story of Ehzabeth the First of Englandl how she had turned
her face to the wall when told that Mary Queen of Scots
had given birth to Prince James; on being asked what was
the matter she had replied, 'The Queen of Scots is
delivered of a fine son, and I am but barren stock.'

Barren stock.., that was exactly what Eleanor felt, every
day. Barren. Empty. Lost.

It would be easier if she was one of those women, like
Isabelle Kendrick, who only wanted to be married, to have
children, to take a place in society's tight, inviolate ark of
coupledom, that huge boat that only lets the animals in two
by two. She knew she could have that, if she wanted it.
Paul Halfin was right there, with his pohshed good looks

29o


and successful investment banking firm, holding out an
engagement ring and a one-way ticket to permanent
respectability. Eleanor smoothed down the sof lapels of
her cashmere jacket, thinking how many other women
would 161l for that opportunity. She tried to be grateful. At
least she had a ticket; do not pass go, do not collect two
hundred dollars.

But she had never wanted to be married for the sake of
it. She had wanted to marry for love, she'd wanted Tom
Goldman. And she had wanted her child to be a bright,
shining star, to meld her own genes with those of the best
possible father, the brightest, funniest, most ambitious and
intelligent and passionate man she'd ever known.

A month ago, perhaps she could have forgotten all that.
Taken heed of Dr Haydn's six-month warning and
wrapped things up with Paul. After all, what hope had
Tom ever given her? He'd married his baby shiksa princess
and there was an end of it... .

Until those hints in the office, the stolen moments at
Isabelle's party and that final, earth-shattering night in
New York, when he had reached out to her and his touch
had awoken her body and exalted her soul.

She could have lived with settling. But Tom had taken
that away from her. In those few glorious hours he had
opened life itself to her, revealed to her verything she was
capable of feeling and being.

Son ofa titch, Eleanor thought, and struggled against the
new tears forming in her eyes. You made it ten times worse.
You make it so incredibly painful. "

Shaking her head, she opened the bathroom door and
walked quickly back to her own office. A plastic cup of
thin coffee from the machine in the hal/was cooling there,
next to an untouched bagel she'd brought with her from
home; she didn't have time to eat breakfast there these
days, she'd been at the studio from half past six. It was
necessary. Work was in crisis.


29I

Funny, isn't it, Eleanor thought, the way you can get to
be grateful for the weirdest things. She took a sip of the
watery coffee and picked up her report on Dog Days, an
Artemis comedy she had bought for halfa million dollars
that was now recommended for turnaround, a polite way
of saying you didn't want to make it any more. The
director was fighting with the screenwriter and three lead
actors had pulled out at the last minute, leaving Eleanor
with her fourth choice, if she wanted him, or the option to
cancel. But Mary Truant, the director, had a pay-or-play
clause in her contract which meant they would lose a
further two million if Eleanor killed the picture. Yet a
turkey of a movie could wind up costing a lot more than
, three million bucks.

Dog Days was only the latest crisis. There was that fiasco
in Marketing in Southeast Asia, the one where their
advertising for Heavy Artillery, a minor Artemis hit of last
summer and the kind of action-adventure that normally
did good in Asia, had been designed to read 'R.ick
Hmmond Raises Hell', and had apparently wound up
meaning 'tkick Hammond Desecrates Graves'. Not good,
in a market where ancestor-worship was all the rage.
They'd been staying away from that in droves. Plus, the
Miramax distribution deal had gone sour at the last minute,
with the other side claiming Eleanor's figures were false
and misleading. She ,had a team of lawyers battling
desperately to stop a lawsuit.

That was the story of her life right now, Eleanor
thought, trying to take in the words and figures that swam
before her eyes. Fighting fires. The last month had been a
succession of disasters; ever since that triumphant presentation
to the board in New York, it had just been one crisis
after another. She had no time to manage the studio, to
give it the kind of planned leadership that Tom Goldman
had been banking on when he chose her for the job: Every


292

spare moment was taken up with brainstorming a solution
to the latest problem.

It was cool in her air-conditioned oce, the silent fans
cycling artificially chill breezes round the room, providing
her with constant protection against the blazing LA
autumn sun, already streaming over the lot outside, but the
cool wasn't helping her concentrate. Eleanor had no idea
how this had happened, and she felt helpless, as if her grip
on her business had somehow slipped.., but then it had slipped. Every new problem arose on matters she had
already considered, budgets she had already approved,
papers she'd already signed off on...

How could I have been so stupid? Eleanor asked herself,
her forehead creasing in a frown. I'm usually so together.
All this stuffis second nature to me.

She felt,a renewed throb of anxiety. This was no time to
be cracking up. If she wasn't careful, the shark pool would
start to scent her weakness, and then it would only be a
matter of time before she lost not only Tom, but her job too.

Eleanor began to make notes on Dog Days, her mouth
set in a hard line. Well, if they were waiting for her to ive
up they'd be waiting a long goddamn time. She might not
be able to prevent Tom Goldman from smashing her heart,
but then love was something that was out of your control.
That was why it was so dangerous. Artemis Studios was in her control, and she wasn't about to let it slip away from
her, no matter how many fires she had to douse.

She had stmgled all her life to gt here. She wasn't
about to gve up now.

There was a knock on the door.

'Come in,' Eleanor called absently. 'Mariah, is that you?
I need the Mary Truant contracts, and the production
executive's notes on the script meetings. And I'd kill for
some real coffee.'


293

'Would you go for just the coffee?' Tom Goldman
asked gently.

Eleanor looked up, startled.

Tom walked towards her, carrying his normal paper

bag. He was wearing the same black suit he'd worn to their
meeting in New York, a gold Cartier watch and a Harvard
tie. He looked great.

'No doughnuts,' Goldman said, unpacking two polystyrene
cups of fdter coffee and handing one to her
carefully. He .gestured towards the uneaten bagel. 'But
then I see you're not hungry.'

Eleanor took the coffee without comment and put it
down-on her desk. 'What can I do for you?' she asked
coldly.

'Eleanor- '

She didn't want to hear it, didn't want to hear anything.
'Tom, like I said, what can I do for you? Because if it isn't
business it'll have to wait. I'm busy.'

Goldman looked at her for a long moment, his
ha.ndsome black eyes soft with tenderness and compassion.

Eleanor felt sadness and weakness and longing well up
inside herl Panicked, she felt a lump start to form at the
back of her throat. Oh no, please, not kindness. Not pity,
she thought. I can handle anything but that.

Almost of its own accord, her right hand fumbled to

open the small top drawer at the side of her desk.

'We have to talk, Eleanor,' Goldman said.

'We talk every day,' Eleanor answered, 'about this
studio.' Her fingers closed around the small velvet box
which he kept there, flicked open the lid. 'And other than
that we have nothing to discuss.'

'We can't pretend New York never happened,' Gold

man insisted. 'Eleanor, you must believe that it meant a
great deal to me - I know you're hurting, and I'm so sorry
you - '

'Tom!' It ricocheted out of her. How dare you pity me?

How dare you offer me comfort? 'As far as I'm concerned, nothing happened in New York. Certainly nothing that
meant anything to me.' She turned on him, her eyes bright
with fury. 'We both had too much to drink, and as far as
I'm concerned it was an embarrassing indiscretion we'd
both better forget.' Her tone was pure ice.

Tom shook his head. 'I don't believe you.'

'Believe me.' Her fingers were working behind the
desk, out of sight. 'In fact, I hope you will be able to offer
me some congratulations this time.'

He was confused. 'Congratulate you? Why?'

Eleanor Marshall brought her left hand out from behind
the desk and held it up to him, defiantly. On the fourth
finger Paul's ring sparkled brilliandy, rubies and emeralds
glittering ostentatiously in the morning sun.

'Paul pt;oposed to me this morning,' Eleanor said,
pronouncing every word clearly and deliberately, 'and I
accepted.' She looked hard at him, her whole body brittle
with the pure flame of her anger.

Tm getting married, Tom,' she said. 'And you know
something? I can't wait.'


David sauntered into the bedroom, spritzing Chanel's
L'Egoste under ,.his arms. He admired his magnificent
body for a few seconds in Megan's wall mirror, then picked
up a white towelling bathrobe and belted it around
hirnsel£.

'Did you finish packing yet?' he asked.

'Not quite.' Megan tried to drag hereyes from Tauber's
chest. She had to stop staring at him like that, and yet
somehow she couldn't stop looking, couldn't stop checking
to see if he was real. Naked, David was quite simply
superb, even more muscular than she had pictured him in
her fantasies. Standing there at the door to her bedroom,.
the white towelling throwing his golden-brown tan into


295

sharp relief, he looked like some guy offa schoolgirl's pinup
calendar.

David was gorgeous. And didn't he know it, Megan
thought, surprising herself with the sharp stab of disapproval
that ran through her at that idea.

Come on, now, she lectured herself. Women spend

hours in front of the mirror. Why shouldn't a man? You're
operating the double standard.

'We leave tomorrow morning,' David reminded her.

'Nine a.m. flight.'

Megan patted her tickets, laid out heady along with her
passport on the bedside table. 'Air Seychelles number 3156
to Victoria, Mahr. I'm not planning on missing it, don't
worry. I've got everything packed except for a couple of

' books.'

Her cases were stacked by the front door, ready to go;

no T-shirts, just one pair of jeans, and all the designer
outfits she'd bought last week, even the high heels. The
new Megan would wear those to dinner in the hotel, she
thought, loxanna Felix wouldn't leave her heels behind
just because she was heading for a tropical island, so neither
would Megan. And if she looked longingly at her floppy
Metallica T-shirt once or twice, she was just looking.

'Books? You're not gonna have time to read,' David said
scornfully. 'Look, Megan, I told you, it's really unusual that
you're the only writer on the project and really unusual
that you've been allowed so much control - '

'I know, you've been a great agent, David,' she said
hastily. Tm not going to let you down, I know I'll be
working most of the time -'

'You'll be working all the time when you're on the set.

Little things always need redoing. And if you're not
working that minute, you have to watch what's going on,
be ready to offer suggestions.., you've got to stay around
to be in control. Otherwise you turn into Sam Kendrick.'
He laughed at his own joke.

296

Megan smiled dutifully back, but she didn't think that
was so funny. David always seemed to be dissing Sam these
days, except for when he dropped in on rehearsals himself,
when David turned dutiful and respectful. Whenever Sam
Kendrick had spoken to her, he'd always been helpful and
kind, and Megan knew that Eleanor thought the world of
Sam. And Sam had given David Tauber his first break. It
wasn't pleasant to hear him getting at the guy the whole time.

Not to mention the way David was coming on strong to
Mary Holmes and lobert Finn, the two main co-stars and
both Sam Kendrick's personal clients, established stars for
many years. If David were with another agency, she'd have
said he was trying to poach them.

There was something about it she didn't like. That, and
the way David suddenly seemed to be in conference with
Jake Keller the whole time. Eleanor Marshall hadn't been
attending rehearsals, so maybe Jake was the logical exec to
be hanging around. Still...

Megan shook her head, swatting those thoughts aside.
She'd longed for David, and now she had him. That was
what was important.

'I brought you something,' he was saying. 'A going
away present.'

He walked over to the wall where his coat was hanging,
fished in the pockets and drew out a small package
wrapped in tissue paper.

'What is it?' Megan asked, delighted.

David threw it across to her. Open. it andsee.'

She unwrapped it, drawing out a tiny gold pendant on a
filigree chain, a delicate gold star with a cursive letter 'D'
set inside it.

'So you don't forget me,' Tauber said, giving her a
bone-melting smile.

'Oh, David, it's lovely,' Megan said breathlessly,
Nobody had ever given her anything romantic. And from

297


what she recalled of the guys back on Haight, none of them
were real big on gold necklaces.

'Here, let me put it on you.' Tauber was beside her,
pushing her cardigan back from her shoulders. Megan bent
her head, feeling his large hands skilfully undoing the clasp,
hanging it round her neck. The metal was cool against her
skin, and she reached up with one hand, touching the
slender little star.

'It's beautiful,' she said.

'You're beautiful,' Tauber murmured, passing a hand
through her newly shorn, chic platinum fringe. 'And
you're wearing too many clothes.'

Megan pressed up against him as he unbuttoned her
,cardigan and tailored slacks, slipping the fabric slowly and
smoothly away from her skin, stroking her lightly where
every piece of cloth had been, then undoing her bra in a
swift, practised movement, playing expertly with her
breasts so that Megan was too aroused to wait for him to
peel away her strawberry silk bries and ripped them off
herself, leaving her naked in his arms. David shrugged off
the robe and pushed her back on the bed, bending his
mouth to the newly flat surface of her belly, his dry lips and "
wet tongue trailing a line of fire across her skin.

Megan gasped with desire, feeling the blood in her
nipples throbbing with a new intensity as his fingers started
to tweak them, then cress them, rolling them around in a
firm circular motion, sometimes, leaving off so his hand could grab her whole breast and squeeze it.

'Yeah, that's right,' David said, his breath hot against the
downy hairs of her belly. 'Tell me how much you love it,
Megan. Tell me how much you want me.'

'Oh, God, you know I want you,' she groaned, feeling
his mouth poised right above her, and then he was doing it,
his lips on hers in the most intimate caress, his tongue
svcirLing around, knowing exactly what he was doing, and


298

she felt every objection, every reservation, evaporate into
nothingness under the blinding heat shooting through
her...

299


Chapter 24


'Magic,' Fred Florescu said.

They were sitting together on the terrace of the
M6ridien Hotel, watching the sun set over the Indian
Ocean. To the west, the sea past the Arise Polite beach was
lapping gently at the shore, its heart illuminated down the

' centre by a red carpet of light, constantly shattering and reforming,
as the waves reflected the dying rays of the sun.
On the fine powdery sand that would be picture-book
white at daybreak, several bonfires were burning, throwing
up sparks into the twilight, whilst around them the
laughter ofholidaymakers mixed with the shrieks of some
Sychellois children, giggling and yelling to each other in
the local Creole patois. To the east, the slopes of the
mountains, covered in palm trees, wild cinnamon and
thick vegetation, stretched up into the darkening sky
behind them. Megan saw a flock of shadowy shapes wing
up from the edge of one of the slopes and veer to the left in
a ragged flurry of movement; whether they were birds or
bats she had no idea.

'I think so,' she agreed.

'I hope you don't mind having a drink with me,' the
director said, reaching over to refill her glass with the local
speciality of crushed ice and lime, frosted with salt. The
tartness was delicious aer the sweetness of her evening
meal: octopus curried in coconut milk, slices of baked
breadfi'uit and a sorbet made of paw-paw and jamalac, a native pink-skinned fruit. David had insisted on .grilled


3o0

chicken and rice; as far as Megan could tell, his fitness
regimen never wavered. But she had rebelled against his
attempts to make her do the same; exotic travel might be
commonplace to him, but Megan had never left the States

before, and she refused to pretend she was still there.
'Of course not,' she said.

She was delighted to be drinking with Mr Florescu. Not
that she'd have had a choice about it: his word was law on
the set, and an invitation to drinks with him was like a
command to tea with the Queen of England. You just
didn't turn it down. But then who would want to? The
guy was king of this movie now and one of the best
directors in the world, and on the set everybody was
clamouring for a piece of his time: Mary Holmes, Jack
tLichards, 1Lobert Finn, Seth Weiss, and all the other
actors; Tom Lilley, the Artemis production executive, a
Jake Keller drone who slimed around the set taking notes
all the time; David, whose most burning desire seemed to
be to get close to him; Peter, Steven and RAck, his three
assistant directors or ADs, who were glorified flunkies who
slavishly worshipped their master's every utterance; and
most of all, tkoxana Felix, who had started acting like the
primadonna from hell the second the first camera rolled.

David had told Megan to keep away from Fred. She was
just the screenwriter, whifh put her only a few rungs above
the catering staff, he said. Until and unless she was needed,
she wasn't to bother Mr Florescu.

Megan resented his tone - she wasn't a child- but did as
David said. After all, he was her agent; he knew what was
best. And hanging around on the fringes of the set helped
her to avoid tkoxana Felix, who took every opportunity to
insult and snub her, and Zach Mason, who basically gave
her the odd contemptuous glance and apart from that
ignored her.

'I wanted to get to know you better,' Florescu said. 'I


3oi

never seem to see you around unless it's with David. Does

he have to chaperone you everywhere you go?'

Megan blushed. She had been thinking the exact same
thing, and now she felt horribly disloyal. After all, David
was the reason she was here, sipping iced lime on a tropical
island instead of serving greasy chicken wings to jerks.
lght?

'He's been very good to me,' she said defensively.
'He's very good to all his clients,' Florescu snorted. 'You
wrote a great script, plus you look great. All it would have
taken was for one agent to read your script, and you would
have been signed. It was his lucky break that he got to read
it first,.not yours. I hope you realize that.'

Covered in confusion, Megan managed, 'He's my

' boyfriend.'

'Sure he is,' Fred said, sounding unconvinced, and then,
seeing her flustered, added more kindly, 'David's a smart
guy. So long as you're happy.'

'Oh. Yes, of course,' Megan said.

The director nodded down the beach, towhrds the
sekled-offarea where they were filming. 'We rnight need
you there tomorrow. I'm gonna want some options for the
scene where Morgan confronts the drug lords, in case
loxana tries any more dumb moves and I want to shoot
around her.'

'OK, no problem,' Megan agreed immediately, her
mind running througl the dialogue he was talking about.
It would be tough to Change it without unbalancing other
scenes in the film, but she was glad to have something to do.

'loxana Felix,' Florescu commented absently, 'has one
major attitude problem. She's read too many magazines.
She thinks that being a lead actress means being a major
bitch and throwing tantrums all the time, and she really has
no idea of the work an actor does.'

Megan sipped her drink and said nothing, listening to


3O2

the ocean crashing on the shore. She didn't dare say what
she thought of the supermodel, tkoxana was David's client,
and if David found she'd been badmouthing her to the
director, he'd kill her.

'Your David doesn't seem to be having much effect,'
Florescu went on. 'I asked him to talk to her a few days ago,
and he said he did his best, but...' He spread his hands in a
frustrated gesture. 'If it was anybody else I'd fire her. I guess
I still may.'

Megan watched as his eyes glazed over, stating into
space as though seeing something in his head. 'Why don't
you?' she asked. 'Because she's a supermodel?'

Fred laughed, and Megan found herself warming to
him, liking his easy manner and his beard and his lack of
pretentiousness.

'I could get another supermodel like that.' He snapped
his fingers: 'Or even better, a pretty actress who'd know
what to do on a set already. Or Andie MacDowell - a
supermodel and an actress. Don't get caught up in thinking

loxana Felixis as special as she thinks she is, honey.'
Megan warmed to him even more.

'It's the way she is with Zach.' Florescu sighed, and
Megan suddenly felt a chill from the cooling evening
breezes. She didn't enjoy thinking about Zach, didn't like
remembering the offhand way he was-treating her now,
either with contempt or.ignoring her. So he obviously
hated her new look, so what? He was dating loxana Felix.

He was an asshole. And she had David, after all.
She'd always wanted David, not Zach.
Megan told herself she didn't care.

Tve never seen a sexual chemistry like it onscreen,'
Florescu went on. 'The tests, and the love scenes we've
shot so far- it just blew me away. I know I could get a
more professional actress, but if I can just get her to work a
little nobody else would be better for this movie.'

'You'd do anything for the movie,' Megan said slowly,


303

understanding him. 'Is that what you're saying? That if
1Loxana Felix is the best Morgan, you want her, no matter
what?'

'Exactly.' The young director leaned towards her.
'Megan, this is my movie now. Every directorfeels that
way, or they should. You wrote it and Zach's acting in it
and Joe Friedman lights it, but the way it looks on the
screen, the whole package together, the movie itself
that's mine. And it has to be as close to what I saw in my

head when I read your script as I can get it.'

'And Ikoxana will get you closest?'

Florescu nodded. 'She and Zach. They set the screen on
fire. People will walk out of the movie theatre and go
home and make love. And when you combine that with

' the rock 'n' roll backdrop and your CIA plot- it's going to
blow everybody away. Believe me. I know what I'm
talking about.'

He gazed out at the beach for a long moment. 'I don't
like having to deal with loxana, but if that's what it takes, I
have to.'

'Maybe you could call Sam,' Megan suggested.

'What?'

'Sam Kendrick. When we were having script conferences,
he used to come by. R.oxana dealt more with Sam
than with David, mostly, even though David was her agent.'

'P,.eally? Makes a change to have it that way around,'
Florescu said dryly. 'OK, OK, he's your boyfriend, I
know. Don't look like that, I was just kidding. So you
think Sam might have an effect? Thanks, Megan, that's exactly the kind of break I've been praying for. I'll call him,
get him out here.'

'Don't tell David I suggested it,' Megan said hastily. For
some reason she had a sudden premonition that her lover
might be none too pleased to see his boss on the set.

'OK. Don't worry, I'll keep quiet. Maybe I just wanted

to have my agent around for a change. But I'll owe you

304


one.' He grinned. 'You reckon Sam might hurt the palace
coup, huh? You could be right.'

'What?' asked Megan, shrinking back.

'Oh, come on, don't play it so innocent,' Florescu said
sharply, picking up a sliver of sugared papaya from the dish
in front of him. Megan Silver could date whoever she
wanted, but he didn't like seeing her with a class-A shark
like David Tauber. 'David tries to crawl up my ass every
day, hands out all these little hints about how he's out on
the set taking care of his clients when Sam's back in LA
sunning himself- like Sam doesn't have an agency to ran. I
should ask him why he isn't in Texas with Colleen
McCallum, but I guess McCallum's small fry when you
have Zach Mason. And he's all over Seth and Mary and
Jack and R.obert- bends over so far backwards for them he
must be double-jointed.'

'Don't tlk about David like that,' Megan said.

Fred stood up, smiling at her unrepentantly. 'Hey,
whatever. It's sweet that you're so loyal. None of my girls
ever are - gotta stop screwing actresses, that's a director's
major occupational hazard.' He winked at her. 'So I'll see
you on the set tomorrow, honey.' He turned to go, then
paused and added, 'lemember what I told you about the
script - anybody would have bought it. I would have. And
one other thing - do your boyfriend a favour and tell him
to keep away from Zach Mason.'

'But he's Zach's agent,' Megan protested.

Florescu shrugged. 'Zach doesn't like him. That's all I
know,' he told her, and then wandered back into the hotel.

Megan sat still for a few minutes, sipping her chilled lime
juice and watching the beach, the fires now bright gold
against the night, the last streaks of sunlight having sunk
down beneath the ocean. Behind the blazes and the cries of
the native children she could see the black silhouettes of
the mountains, looming up into the sky. In the darkness.
they somehow seemed menacing; not travel-brochure


305

phygrounds of palm trees and orchids, but a real jungle,

alive, impenetrable and dangerous.


Megan arrived on the set the next morning at eight o'clock
sharp, threading her way through the heavy cables of the
lights, cameras and reflector shields to where Fred Florescu
was sitting, .aviator shades and White Sox cap firmly in
phce, talking to Zach Mason. 1Loxana Felix stood a little
apart from them, in costume, but evidently not about to
step into a take. She was staring at the ground, her hair
blowing softly around her face in the tropical breeze, her
mouth set in a mutinous line.

Megan felt her heart sink. Just another great day at the
oflce.

'Hey, Megan! Got a copy of the script? Great,' Florescu
called. 'Come over here. We need to do something with
this scene.'

'Already?' Meg'an asked, trying not to look at Zach. The
less she had to deal with him the better. She wished that
David hadn't been so determined to get through his pushups
before he followed her out here; he said he'd be right
there, butshe wanted him with her now. When she had to
deal with Zach and loxana.

She tried to call on the memories of David's body
moving over hers, his tongue flicking lightly across her
clitoris until she'd been lost in a succession of gentle
climaxes, each one bumting across her like a stream of
rainbow bubbles, and then his cock ramming into her, his
rhythm steady and expert, until she'd finally exploded in a
hard, final spasm. Her groin was still warm from it; they'd
been in bed together less than twenty minutes ago, and her
quick shower hadn't completely wiped the. feeling iway.
Sex with David was always satisfying, always ended in at
least one orgasm, which was more than she could say for
lory, back in Frisco, or indeed any other guy she'd been
with. Not that there'd been many. But - maybe she was


3o6

just getting greedy - it still felt like there was something
missing. What exactly, Megan didn't know. Perhaps it was
just too smooth.., was there such a thing as being too good
in bed? Megan wondered, and then shook her head. No
way. Now she was getting seriously deranged.

Only it sometimes felt like her arousal was almost
involuntary, just a physiological response to well-practised
moves. Of course she knew David would have practised, he
wasn't a virgin. But why did it feel, after the slipperiness
and the heat had passed, as though she was just the latest in a
long line... Why do I snap out of it so quickly? Megan
wondered guiltily. I'm thinking about something else
almost the second after I've come! Isn't that what men are
supposed to do, the real jerks among them anyway, just
climax and then roll over and go right to sleep? I should be
thinking about David, not the script...

'I guess so.' The director's voice snapped her out of her
reverie. 'l,.oxana doesn't want her character to appear

weak.'
'Weak?' Megan asked, bewildered. 'How is she weak?
This is the scene where a bunch of cocaine smugglers are
threatening her with torture!'

'Oh, look. Our resident Shakespeare has finally showed
up for work,' loxana Felix remarked acidly, sauntering
across to Megan with a nasty smile. 'What's the matter,
honey, you missed an alarm? Or maybe college graduates
need more sleep than the rest of us non-intellectuals.' She
glanced across at Zach Mason, but he refused to meet her
eyes.

'I was here when I was supposed to be,' Megan
muttered, flushing a deep red.

'Don't talk back to me,' loxana said with casual
insolence. 'You're just the writer and don't you forget it. A
film set's not about work to rule.'

'Lay off,' Zach said, very quietly.

loxana glanced at him, but subsided.


3o7

'It would be nice if we could work at all,' Fred Florescu
sighed. 'Now Roxana, tell me why you think Morgan is
shown as weak here.'

'I don't think she would have been captured without a
fight.'

'Megan?' Fred asked.

She shrugged. They had been over this scene a thousand
times back in LA and Poxana had never objected to it
once.

'Morgan Meyer is a supermodel. This is towards the end
of the movie, and she's just been taken hostage by fifty
mercenary guerrillas armed with AK-47s. How is she
going to put up a fight?'

'She could kick-box,' loxana suggested.

'
	'Can you kick-box?' Zach Mason demanded. His tone

was sharp.

'We could use a stuntwoman.'

'I don't have a stuntwoman who kick-boxes,' Florescu
explained with exaggerated patience, 'because the script
doesn't call for one.'

"So fly one in from LA.' Poxana's almond-shaped eyes
were narrow with the blind fury of somebody used to
having her commands accepted without question.

'How would kick-boxing help her against fifty automatic
weapons?' Megan asked reasonably. 'It doesn't make
sense.'

toxana turned on, her, scarlet lips drawn back in an
almost feral snarl. 'Nobody asked your opinion, bitch. I'm the one who has to create this role, not you. And if I want
Morgan to fight, she'll fight.'

'You know what?' said Fred Florescu, looking from
loxana to a mortified Megan, seething with anger and
humiliation. His tone was measured, but there was a line of
steel underneath it none of them could mistake. 'I don't
think this is productive. We'll work something out for
Morgan in that scene, but we'll do it later. The light's real


308

good right now, too good to waste, so... we're gonna
shoot something else. The first approach scene to the
gangsters' base.'

That was an action scene. It involved only Zach, Seth
and tkobert.

'OK, sweetheart?' Fred asked easily. Tll talk to Megan
about that scene. You can relax for the morning.'

tLoxana stared at him for a long moment, then
pirouetted on her heel and stalked off in the direction of
her trailer.

'Jesus,' the director said.

David strode up to the group. 'Hey, people,' he said
pleasantly.

Zach stiffened. Megan noticed it, surprised; so Fred was right about that. But why wouldn't Zach like David? He'd
chosen David. Oh, they were all children, Megan thought
angrily, struggling to contain the tears of frustration that
rose in a lump in the back of her throat. She'd so wanted to
tell tkoxana to go to hell, but she couldn't, she had to sit
there and swallow every insult the bitch threw at her.

Because tkoxana was the star and she was just a writer. It
was true. And when she'd sold this script for two hundred
and fLfty thousand dollars, Megan realized, she'd thrown in

her self-respect as part of the deal.

She wonderd flit was worth it.

'David, good to see you. Will you do something for
me?' Florescu asked him.

'Name it,' said Tauber, smiling engagingly.

'Go back to the hotel and call SKI. I've been thinking
about what you said about Sam, and maybe you're right,
he should be here. So call him and ask him if he'll come

OUt.'

'You want Sam Kendrick here?' David asked, paling
slightly.

'I really think I do,' Florescu said amiably.

Megan stared at the ground.

3o9


For a split second Tauber hesitated, then he said, 'light.
Great idea,' and turned back to the hotel.

Florescu motioned to his lighting director and the
technicians scuffled around the sand, moving the heavy
lights into place for the new scene.

Zach walked slowly over to Megan. 'Thanks for asking
her to get offmy back,' she muttered.

Mason ignored her. 'WhatifI tell you I want this scene
rewritten, Megan? Would you do it? I bet you'd jump.'

'If the director agreed with you,' she replied, staring up
into his breathtaking grey eyes, hating him for the derision
she saw.there. 'I'm the screenwriter, I'm out here to ftx
problems as they arise.'

'Nice speech.' He reached out and touched the delicate
gold star nestling in the hollow of her neck, fingering it.
'D. What's that for?'

'David gave it to me,' she said defiantly.

Mason raised an eyebrow, his gaze narrowing. 'He gave
you a pendant and he put his own initial inside it? But I
guess that figures. It's a badge of ownership.'

'Fuck you,' said Megan, before she could stop hersel£.
Zach smiled into her eyes. 'What's the matter, lost a little
control there? Well, that's still more balls than David
Tauber would ever display for you. Of course, I could have
you fired for that. Unlike loxana Felix, I am indispensable.'
He leaned forward. 'And you know what would
really be amusing? When David gets back here, I could tell
him to give you the news. In public. And he'd do it,
Megan.'

'No he wouldn't,' Megan said.

'Oh yes he would.' Mason looked down at her, intently.
'And you know it.'

She did know it, Megan realized with a sinking feeling.

It was true. David would do that if Zach ordered him to.
And he probably wouldn't even think twice abou it.

Suddenly she felt very cold, despite the blazing sun;
cold, and totally isolated.

'Am I fired?' she asked.

'No,' Mason said. He shrugged. 'I like the way you
write.'

'Zach, get over here!' Florescu roared. 'Are we making a
fucking movie, or what?'

'OK, I'm coming,' Zach Mason said, and he strode off
towards the Klieg lights, leaving Megan Silver standing on
the beach, watching them, alone.

31I


Chapter 25


'Everything's ready,' Paul said.

Yes, Eleanor thought. I guess everything is.

The house alone was decorated to the tune of eight
thousand dollars; wreaths of orange blossom trailing over
every balustrade, white satin ribbons looped over all the
'doorways, turtledoves and nightingales in silver cages
piping away merrily in every room. The reception room
and the dining room had been cleared of all furniture that
morning in order to make room for their guests, except for
the various mahogany table which the wedding designer
had draped in ivory chiffon before weighing them down with silver dishes of sweetmeats and savoury titbits and
hundreds of champagne flutes in Baccarat crystal.

Of course, the main luncheon would be served outside,
on the wrought-iron tables they'd had shipped in for the
event, each one covered in watered silk and bearing more
vintage champagnes, a Tattinger Ros and a superlative
Cristal, nestling in individual ice buckets beside the
centrepieces of rare white and pink orchids. Huge oak
tresde tables were lined up for the buffet, which was as
sumptuous as the most expensive caterer in Beverly Hills
could come up with: pheasant, grouse, wild boar, venison,
pat a la foie gras; smoked salmon, caviar, oysters, rainbow
trout; fresh truffles, wild strawberries, asparagus; anything
and everything a jaded palate might possibly aspire to, with
special sections for vegetarians, vegans, dieters, and anyone
who might wish to keep it kosher. The puddings had a


312

table to themselves, and they deserved it: apples formed
out of delicate spun sugar; freshly made ice cream and
sorbets in eighteen different flavours; hot pears in a mulled
wine sauce; a warm pecan pie that had made Eleanor's
stomach growl just looking at it; a chilled chocolate parfait
rippled with the bitter, milk and white varieties; some light
concoction made of honey and burnt almonds; an exotic
fruit salad; a quivering raspberry pavlova. . There seemed
to be no end to them. And next to the desserts, a bar, with
everything from freshly pressed strawberry juice to a very
English bowl of ready-mixed Pimms, complete with
floating slices of apple and cucumber. After the meal, their
guests would have their choice often different flavours of
filter coffee, six different flavours of decaff, espresso,
cappuccino or herb tea, not to mention the twelve vintage
liqueurs Paul's wine merchants had recommended. At this
very molent forty waiters and waitresses were hovering
among the crowd, replenishing every empty glass, endlessly
circulating with tray after tray of delicious hors
d'oeuvres.

And that was merely a small part of it. The actual area set
for the wedding was a masterpiece of floral design: each
gold-backed chair for the guests had its legs and backs
wreathed in lilies, roped seamlessly to the wood with
invisible threads; the canopy overhead was one solid sheet
of flowers, a gorgeous scented mass of pink dog roses and
white orchids, irises, clematis, jasmine and freesias, strategically
designed to pert'nit just enough space for the
sunlight to filter through; and the arch under which
Eleanor and Paul would stand was a single, contrasting
blaze of colour, a curving loop of eight hundred red roses.
And as for the cake...

'Thanks, Paul,' she said brightly. 'Maybe you could ask
everybody to take their places now? I'll be down in just a
second.'

'You got it,' he agreed. In the mirror in front of her


313

Eleanor could see him pause, look her up and down, that
familiar, satisfied smile creeping across his face. It had been
there a lot recently. No more fights; he couldn't agree fast
enough to everything she wanted, couldn't have been
more solicitous or supportive.

I have to hand it to Paul, Eleanor told herself, he's a
gracious winner.

'That dress is stunning,' Paul said.

'Thank you, sweetheart. You look wonderful too,' she
replied, sounding as enthusiastic as she possibly could. And
he did look handsome: all that toned muscle and distinguished
salt-and-pepper hair packed nearly into a bespoke
Savile 1Low suit of the finest dark wool. They would look
,great in all the trades and society magazines and gossip

columns; the hotshot banker and the studio president, Los
Angeles's latest power couple.

Oh, come on, Eleanor. This is your wedding, not your funeral.
Remember?

'OK, I'll see you later. Give me about ten minutes.'

All right,' Eleanor said.

If she had her time again, she would happily have given

him ten years.

'It's so beautiful,' Linda Orenstein sighed, fussing with

her train. Linda was an old friend from Yale, and one of her
matrons of honour. The other one was her cousin
Philippa, a happily married Boston mother of two. Eleanor
had seen neither of them for years, but that somehow
seemed more appropriate. To any of the women producers
or agents that were her real fi-iends, her true feelings might
have shown, and that was something she just couldn't risk.
And anyway, she didn't have a single female friend close
enough to have confided in about Tom. That was another
problem; for many years now, Tom Goldman had been her
closest friend. She had never bothered to maintain a tight
network of girlfriends; maybe she'd let herself be put off
by the social mountaineering of the Tennis Club trophy

wives, all scrambling for position in the court of Queen

Isabelle and her new protfgfe, Crown Princess Jordan.
Too late, Eleanor realized that had been a mistake.

'It's beautiful, Eleanor, really! And the bouquet is simply divine,' Philippa gushed, adding enviously, 'Oh, the whole
thing is so glamorous. And Paul looks so handsome in that
tux, doesn't he, Linda?'

'He does,' Linda agreed, pulling the train straight.
'There. You're perfect.'

They all looked at their reflections: Linda and Philippa
in subdued, grown-up gowns of dusty pink organza shot
through with gold thread, the skirts falling to their feet
where matching heels in rose silk peeped from under the
hem. Their bouquets were laid to one side: small bunches
of the purest white roses and lilies, gathered round with a
ribbon of snowy velvet.

Eleanor Marshall stood between them, gowned, veiled
and crowned like a queen. She knew she looked magnificent;
the mirror told her so. There was the dress, full
skirted in a crinoline style, antique lace sweeping down
over rich folds of ivory satin, her white silk slippers beneath
them embroidered with silver thread. The bodice was a
tight whalebone corset, which she had laced into easily
enough, that pushed her breasts together and lied them
up, enhancing her already impressive cleavage and encasing
it in creamy silk and lace, the front of the dress studded
with seed pearls and opals that glinted in the mid-morning
sun. Her ice-blonde hair was swept upwards and backwards
in the Edwardian style, giving height to her
forehead, and her veil of the sheerest white chiffon was
pinned at the crown, ready to be thrown forward as they
left the room. Behind that, ftxed firmly but invisibly in
place by her extremely expensive hairdresser, her train of
white Prussian lace cascaded down, twelve magnificent
feet of it. The whole headpiece was finished off with a
startling coronet; her wedding designer had worked

35


carefully in collaboration with the florist and the contents
of Eleanor's jewel box to weave strands of pearls and
diamonds in with the white roses, lilies and orchids, so that
she seemed to be wearing a blossoming, sparkling crown,
the diamonds glittering among the petals, catching the
light with her least movement.

The make-up artist had spent two hours on Eleanor's
face, and now her blue eyes glistened, her lashes were long
and full, her cheekbones subtly accented with a healthy,
romantic-looking glow to the skin, and her lips, lined with
a natural pencil and glossed over in th.e smoothest apricot,
seemed full and soft. Of the pallor her client had shown
earlier, that morning, nothing remained.

Eleanor looked beautiful. No, more than that. Breath'
taking.

'Shall we go?' she said.


Jake Keller, navy-blue morning suit contrasting rather
unhappily with his ginger hair and sallow skin, sipped
purposefully at a crystal flute of ros champagne, his
pkactised eyes glancing backwards and forwards over the
well-dressed throng. He wasn't totally pleased at what he
saw. Every player in LA seemed to have turned out for the
bitch - there was Sherry Laming, head of Paramount and
the only woman in town with power equal to Eleanor's,
elegant in a tailored Armani pantsuit, chatting amiably to
Steven Spielberg; David Geffen was talking toJeffKatzen
berg and Barry Diller in a corner; there was Mike Ovitz
and Nora Ephron; Dawn Steel with Jeff Berg . .. Jake
sidestepped to avoid a curious white peacock, one of
several wandering around the lawns. The place was like a
goddamn Hollywood Who's Who. Well, at least there was one face missing, Keller comforted himself. Sam Kendrick
couldn't make it - he had an appointment on the set of a
95-million-dollar movie, only two weeks into ftlming and
already running into problems.


316

Jake smirked. He'd never liked that pushy little fuck
Florescu. It would be interesting watching his reaction to
the events that would start to unfold in - what? A week or
so from now? And once that all got going...

He hoped Eleanor Marshall took a long, hard look at her
Hollywood A-list crowd, because it would be a long time
before she saw them again.

'Jake, would you look at that?' Melinda .whispered
loudly. His short, dumpy blonde wife dug him in the ribs,
pointing to the wedding cake, standing six feet tall under
an orange-blossom canopy of its own, its myriad tiers
adorned with every kind of delicacy and ornament. 'Isn't
that amazing?'

'Yeah, very nice,' he said shortly. Melinda had been
trying all day to work out what this wedding had cost. It
was bugging him. All this conspicuous consumption...
what, did Eleanor Marshall want her picture in the
dictionary next to 'traditional' now? He could have sworn
she was depressed about Tom's baby. But this display of
wealth and power - not exactly hiding her light under a
bushel, was she?

Keller scanned the garden, looking for Tom Goldman.
With any luck, he'd get to mb it in a little more about
R.oxana Felix. David Tauber's information was that things
were still terrible, the arrival of Sam Kendrick notwithstanding.
And Eleanor Marshall had been the one who'd
insisted on casting the lovely lady...

'Jordan! Jordan, over here!' Melinda was simpering.
Jake turned round in time to see Goldman and his
gorgeous babe of a wife bearing down on them. His
chairman was wearing a dark suit and looking pensive.
Maybe he was worrying about See the Lights - he should
be. Jordan Goldman, sorry, Cabot Goldman, Keller corrected
himself sarcastically, was somewhat overdone in a
skintight cream silk mini-dress with a plunging neckline,
revealing acres of glorious, firm young breasts and miles of


317

shapely calves, tapering down to the thinnest, sexiest
Manolo Blahnik strappy heels in silver leather.

Not for the first time, Keller envied his boss. Jesus, it
must be fun to be able to afford a cute toy like that.

'Hello, Melinda, hello, Jacob,' Jordan twittered.
'Melinda, what a lovely suit...'

'Tom, good to see you,' Jake said enthusiastically.
Goldman nodded at him absently.

'Did you speak to Sam Kendrick this morning?' Keller
pressed him.

'Should I have? It's Saturday.'

Get with the programme, buddy, Keller thought angrily.
Listen to me, and stop staring offinto the middle distance
like a dope fiend.

'I thought he might be sending daily reports about the
R.oxana situation. It's getting worse, Tom. Thursday she
disrupted an entire moming's filming and .so far none of
the rushes Florescu's sent me have featured her.'

'Maybe we can replace her,' Goldman said vaguely.
Jake pounced. 'Nearly a month into fdming? I hardly
think so. She's got a pay-or-play cause in that contract,
Dave Tauber insisted on it. Smart kid, Tauber. Although
we may have to anyway, the way things are going. Of
course, that's Eleanor's call. After all, it was Eleanor who
was so insistent on casting Poxana- I tried to dissuade her,
but she wouldn't listen, and now '

Dragging his gaze down toJake's, Tom Goldman gave
him a hard stare. 'Shut it, Keller," he said. 'This is Eleanor
Marshall's wedding day and you're here as herguest. iF i hear
another' word from you this morning, so help me, I'll
fucking fire you.'

Keller flushed and threw up his hands. 'OK, OK,' he
said hastily. 'Point taken. Incredible catering, huh? She's
worked wonders with this garden.'

Tom gave him a contemptuous glance and walked off.
'Tom, baby, wait!' Jordan squealed, running after him.


318

Jake Keller seethed with anger and humiliation.

All right, you kike son of a bitch. Don't think I' m gonna foget
that. I'll finish with Madam President first- but then I'm coming
for you, Tommy boy.


'Eleanor, they've struck up the music!' Linda begged, her
round face creased with anxiety. 'We have to go! Can't
you do that later?'

Philippa shrugged and rearranged the shimmering folds
of her skirts. Eleanor had always been weird, even as a child .. if She wanted to read faxes ten minutes before her
wedding ceremony, well, that wasn't totally surprising.
She thanked the good Lord that her Aunt Berengaria had
died before she could see the wa her daughter was
behaving...

leluctantly, Eleanor put down the sheaf of papers Sam
Kendrick°had just sent through. She'd insisted on having
her bedroom fax machine switched on all morning, and
today, like every day, she'd been reading the reports on See
the Lights It was in trouble, loxana Felix was playing the
world-class primadonna, but other things were going
wrong too: lights were failing, individual scene locations
had proved unworkable, the crew had unwittingly violated
local government rules on working practice and
shoots had been forced to shut down early.., all minor
problems, so far, but they were mounting up. And as the
ranking executive on the project, Eleanor was responsible.
Personally.

Still, she admitted to herself as she picked up her
bouquet, a heavy, gorgeous mass of the palest pink roses
entwined with trailing jasmine and honeysuckle, with a
pair of golden tiger lilies threaded through its heart, there
was nothing she could do today anyway. It was a Saturday.
And she was getting married in a few moments' time. A
psychiatrist would have a field day with her.

Working, right up until the last minute, Eleanor


319

thought. As if that's gonna help, as if that's gonna buy me
any more time...

This could not be delayed any longer. The strains of the
string quartet were floating up to them from the packed
garden, crammed full of movie business royalty. They
were all waiting for her, all waiting to see her finally adopt
the correct LA social procedure: a husband, children.
She'd be part of a couple, which was the only thing to be in
the nineties, when monogamy ruled and a baby was the
chicest lifestyle accessory you could have. And chic or not
chic, Eleanor had longed for a child for years, but...

At least she was doing it in style. That, nobody could
deny. This would go down as the most lavish wedding
,party since her friend John had married Gina Christiansen
in the medieval Greek Orthodox chapel that had been the
traditional wedding site in his family for generations ...
which was nice but unspectacular, until you realized that
the chapel was situated right next to Dracula's castle in the
Tramylvanian Alps. She and two hundred Angeleno guests
ha.d all flown out for five days of intense celebrations
crowned with a reception in the ex-dictator Ceaucescu's
summer palace. Probably not something she could have
topped, but today they'd come close. Eleanor hoped Gina
and John Were having a good time out there. Certainly
from the windows it looked as though everybody else was..
And that was the idea ... grace under pressure! She,
Eleanor Marshall, was not about to lie down and die like a
beaten dog. If Tom was happy fathering children on his little bimbo, her heart might be ripped asunder, but not
one of he circling vultures was going to realize it. That
much she had sworn. And she would have her child, even
if its father was not the one her body longed for.- Once it
arrived, once she held it in her arms, Eleanor knew she
would love it, because even if Paul and not Tom had
begotten it, she would be its mother. And once she got
married, here, now, with enough pomp and circumstance


320

for a European princess, she would never again have to
endure Isabelle Kendrick's sly whispers,Jordan Goldman's
public possessiveness, Jake Keller's subde digs about Tom.
Nobody would ever pity her in that way again. On the
contrary,, everybody who heard about this little shebang
would assume that Eleanor was the happiest woman in the
world, and that was exactly the way she wanted it.

A final glance in the mirror reassured her about her
looks. Superb. Sensational. Stunning. Well, God knew she
had paid enough to guarantee it. She wanted to be sure that
Jordan Goldman looked at her today with envy, and not
pity. She wanted to be sure that Tom Goldman was blown
away; she wanted him to see what he had lost; she wanted
him to think that she took Paul Halfin's ring with a joyful
heart; she wanted him to hurt.

But it was kind of sick. She had spent sixty thousand
dollars on'this wedding, and not one cent of that had been
used to impress her bridegroom. No, this was all about
business; all about pride; and all about Tom.

'OK, ladies,' Eleanor Marshall said. 'Do you want to get
the train? Let's go.'

Her matrons of honour fussed happily around behind
her, picked up the long, beautiful sweep of antique lace,
and followed Eleanor down the stairs and out into the
garden, emerging into the bright sunlight just as the
musicians' melody seguedinto the first familiar notes of the
wedding march.

The guests on their seats all turned round, as one, and
Eleanor, through the faint haze of her chiffon veil, was
rewarded with the sight of shocked faes and gasps at her
beauty. Her gaze fastened on Tom Goldman's Instantly; he was staring at her, looking directly into her eyes with an
expression she couldn't read.

Immediately, coldly, Eleanor slid her eyes away and
turned them to Paul Halfin, her fiance, handsome,.
distinguished, powerful, waiting for her at the altar.


321

he d made her choice, and now she would have to live
with it.

322


Chapter 26


R.oxana Felix strolled barefoot along the shore, feeling the
fine-grained sand sinking soft and dry between her toes,
enjoying the cool breeze of the night air. In front of her,
the inky-black sea crashed and subsided, crashed and
subsided, its endless sighing providing her with the perfect
soundtrack to her thoughts.

The beach was deserted, cast in the silvery light of a
tropical n'ioon, hanging low and full on the horizon, and
the stars were scattered like so many icy diamonds across
the jet-black backdrop of the sky. She had not seen a sky
like it since she was a child; the neon boards of Manhattan
and blazing night-lights of LA, Chicago, London and Paris
had not left much room for real stars.

Poxana glanced up at the arc of the heavens.

They're shining and beautiful and untouchable and
distant, and they wheel in their orbit miles above
everybody who looks up to them, she thought. I guess it's a

good metaphor for everything I'm working for.

They're also cold and dead. Just like you.

She shook her head sharply/refusing to listen to the
carping voice of her demons. She never listened to them.
Never let them through. They could not be pemfitted so
much as a second of her time, a moment of her thoughts;
lkoxana knew that. Because if she succumbed to her
memories, they would break her.

No. It was far better to look up towards the clearing ir
the mountainside, where they were shooting, and think


323

about that. They were almost two months into filming, and
everything was going according to plan - according to her
plan, that was. For everybody else it had been a disaster the
wrong equipment arriving from the studio; location
shoots set up, and then having to be dismantledat the last
minute because of Seychelles government regulations; her
own disruptiveness, which had been imaginatively
handled, loxana congratulated herself, smiling. After the
first week, she'd alternated between superbitch and
remorseful, modest actress, pretending to listen to Sam
Kendrick when he arrived. That meant that she had not
been fired; loxana was a world-class expert in judging just
how fir she could push it. And as a result they now had two

, months' worth of footage featuring loxana Felix as
Morgan- footage which it would be financially impossible
to reshoot. She had made herself indispensable, and now
the fun had really started.

Superbitch was back, and this time she had the whip
hand.

loxana smiled as she ticked off all the other problems
on her long, manicured fingers. Union. Equipment.
Location. Support cast - and that was too easy, reading a
line oddly to throw offMary, feeding a poorly timed cue to
Jack, or simply shifting her body before Seth or l:kobert so
they got aroused. Subtle tricks she'd employed a million
times before with fellow models on shoots across the
globe, in those long-gone days. when loxana had done shoots with other models. Throw in David's imidious
sabotage of their creature comforts - Mary's contact lens
solution, unobtainable on the islands, getting delayed for
three weeks, or Sam Kendrick's soothing faxes full of logic
and reason never reaching Jack, for example - and
compound it with the daily battle to get anything right
logistically, and the co-stars' performance had taken a
dramatic dive. Fred had already had to reshoot three scenes

with Mary Holmes, because when he reviewed the rushes
he wasn't satisfied.

They were several weeks behind schedule. Already the
budget was looking hopelessly optimistic.

See the Lights was in big trouble. And that meant so was
Eleanor Marshall, and so was Sam Kendrick. Eleanor's
studio-saving flick was turning into a creative and commercial
disaster. And Sam Kendrick's big SKI package deal
was less of a big deal every day.

Of course, that was the beauty of the thing, tkoxana
thought to herself, the way all the blame would fall exactly
where she had intended it to. Eleanor Marshall and Sam
Kendrick would learn not to mess with her the hard way;
they had both insulted her, and now they were both
clutching a one-way ticket out of their precious industry,
at which she, tkoxana, had apparently been such an
insignifictnt novice. She smiled, her lips curving coolly. As
far as she was concerned, there were certain lessons in life
which you could apply anywhere. As Ms Marshall and Mr
Kendrick would fred out. And at the end of it all, she,
loxana Felix, would be established as a great movie star, a
real powerhouse, famous for herself rather than her picture - accepted, and loved.

See the Lights would see the end of all her enemies, but
the movie itself was not dead. Just a little bit sick. And
when the time was right to administer the medicine, her
chosen acolytes, Jake Keller and David Tauber, would be
right there to play doctor, rescue the picture and put it
smoothly back on track to smash success.

tkoxana breathed in deeply, drawing the fragrant
tropical air into her lungs. She might head back to the hotel
now, see if Sam was around to offer her a little more
physicalrelease. There was something so amusing in
watching him sink deeper and deeper under her spell, and
after all, he did offer her body incredible pleasures. He was.
good enough even to drive out the memory of her

325


unaccountable failure with Zach. And surely there was no
danger of her starting to feel anything for him, was there?

The supermodel checked her feelings as she strode back
across the deserted reaches of sand, watching herself,
observing her own emotions as though she were an
unbiased, outside witness. That was the only way to
survive, that had always been her way; to keep the core of
your soul distant and unwatchable, so that nothing could
crack it, nothing could violate it. She had suffered once
before, and she would never do so again.

loxanna knew that she despised men like Keller and
Tauber - they were jackals, unprincipled, greedy scav
engers, with giant egos and a combination of cold
ruthlessness andlow cunning that had bought each of them
every gain they had. Sam, her Sam, was not like that. He
had principles. He was ambitious and tough, but not
ruthless. And he was strong and bold, he played with a
Straight deck. You could trust him. She did not despise
him. But she did dislike him, she did want revenge.., he
had insulted her in public, beaten a submission from her.
Well, Poxana hoped he had enjoyed his momentary thrill
of domination. Because it was going to cost Sam Kendrick
very, very dear.

No, she reflected, as she walked into the orchard
scented gardens of the hotel. Her heart remained a fortress.
Sam Kendrick would find no mercy there.


'There's an explanation, Tom, there has to be.'

'Not good enough!'

Goldman's fist pounded down on his desk, his angry
face flushed red with fury. 'You authorized those budget
projections, Eleanor. You signed off on three location
choices which have proved unworkable. And you had
ultimate authority over casting choices which have gone
badly wrong. We developed this project from scratch, and
that means you took on the role as producer.'


3:6

'Thank you for the recap,' Eleanor Marshall replied
coldly. She stood in front of her boss's desk, poised and
immaculate as ever in a navy Georges P,.ech pantsuit, a
platinum wedding ring glinting on the fourth finger of her
left hand.

'See the Lights was going to be our comeback movie, and
now it's going to hell in a handbasket! Our pitch to New York to save this goddamn studio was based on the
movie - '

'My pitch.'

'Oh, yeah. Your pitch, that's right. And your movie,
your casting decisions, and your mistakes!'

'Casting ]R.oxana Felix was not my decision, Tom, if
you remember.'

'I remember that your signature is at the bottom of the
memo colfirming her casting.'

Eleanor took a step backwards, her expression darkening.
'You would deny responsibility for that, Tom? Is that
what you're saying?'

Goldman paused, took a deep breath. 'Look, Eleanor.
The board know about our problems on the set. Don't
look at me like that, I know it's supposed to be top-level
privileged. But Howard Thorn has heard about it and he's
on my back...

Eleanor felt a tendril of fear coil its way round her heart.
Holy Lord Jesus, why was it Howard Thorn, out of all of
them? Thorn was the one who owned stock, a fifteen per cent stake, to be precise. The director who would be most
inclined to scream for blood if it all" went wrong. And
whose blood? Not Tom Goldman's, evidently. She had
seen this kind of thing before. Greedy as he would have
been to take the glory for a smash, Tom was pedalling away
from a budgetary disaster just as fast as he could. And if that
meant passing the buck on tkoxana Felix, so be it.

The moment she had dreaded had come to pass. Tom


327

Goldman would be responsible for firing her or sparing

her, and his own job was probably on the line too.

Maybe all Hollywood friendships end this way, when

you get right down to it, she thought. Torn apart in the
scramble to survive. Was that what their fifteen years of
companionship meant to Goldman? Kill or be killed?

'Are you saying,' she repeated slowly, 'that you would

lie about the part you played in casting tkoxana Felix?'

Tom Goldman stared hard at her. 'What I'm saying,

lady, is that if you want to stay president of this studio you
had better find a way to fux this mess, and you'd better do it
fast.'

Eleanor turned on her heel and walked out of his office
without another word.

Tom Goldman watched her go. When she had disappeared
into the corridor, he slumped back in his Eames
leather armchair, despair racking him. He was. being hard
on Eleanor, as hard as he could.

It was the only way he stood a chance of disguising his
fe.elings for her, and disguise them he must. Because she
belonged to Paul Halfin. Because he had sired a child on a
woman he now realized he didn't love, maybe didn't even like, but who would be the mother of a baby that he was responsible for.

It had taken that night in New York to show him what

true love was, what real passion was. It was difficult even to
get aroused with Jordan now. He pretended it was her
pregnancy, but he wasn't sure she was buying that.., and
meanwhile the studio and his great white hope of a movie
were falling apart.

It was all turning to dust, his whole life, crumbling into

ashes in front of him. Made worse because for a few shining

hours he had seen it all clearly, he had had everything.

Too late, Tom. You're just too late.


'Fire her.' Fred Florescu's exasperated voice broke into

328


Sam Kendrick's self-absorption. 'You've got the seniority,
Sam, for God's sake. Call Eleanor Marshall and have her do
it.'

'It would cost far too much money at this stage,'
Kendrick said, his eyes still fixed at the projection room
screen. He had seen the rushes now, all of them, and he

knew this movie was salvageable just.

/fnothing else went wrong.

/fhe could persuade tkoxana to do her job.

/fthe support cast pulled themselves together.

A lot of ifs, Kendrick knew. But he just could not,
would not accept the alternative. She was a drug, and he
was becoming addicted.

'Maybe we should consider firing Mary or Seth, or
both,' the agent suggested. 'I know they're my clients, but
these are 19usy performances. What you've got of Poxana
is actually terrific.'

'Yeah, what we've got of her,' Florescu ranted, passing
his hand across his forehead. 'But that's not fucking
enough! First I'm ready to replace the bitch, then she does a
little work, and now, when we're getting too far in for
changes, she starts screwing around again.'

'Mary and Seth are doing their best,' Zach Mason
chimed in quietly from a corner. 'She's putting them off
deliberately. Sabotaging their performances. I see it time
and again on the set.'

'Sabotaging them? Don't you think that's maybe a little
melodramatic, kid?' Sam said. 'This is a movie, not
Kennedy in Dallas.'

Mason shrugged. 'That's what I see, Sam.'

Tll ask David to talk to her again,' Kendrick said finally,
standing up, 'and I'll speak to Seth and Mary and Jack.
They're all my clients, so maybe I can put the fear of God
into them - do something about the personnel problem.'

But even as he rolled out the soothing words, Kendrick

329

winced inwardly at the lie. The personnel problem was
sleeping with him, and he knew it.


Bewitched.

The word floated through his mind, settling on the
surface level of his consciousness, above the deep levels of
happiness and sensual nirvana that had practically hypnotized
him. Sam Kendrick lay on top of the double bed in
loxana's hotel suite, feeling sexually sated in a way he
hadn't done in years. He had started to make love to her,
slowly at first, getting more and more aroused by the way
she would slide that silken skin against him, trail the
feathery ends of her glossy, coal-black hair over his cock,

mb her erect nipples across his dry, burning lips, cup his
' balls in her warm hands and massage them with the lightest,

most exquisitely teasing touch, until he was massively
erect, his cock aching and throbbing with need, and then
she had slid away from him onto those slender knees and
taken him in her mouth, perfect red lips sliding up and
down him in a heavenly rhythm, then breaking offto lick
him seconds before the pleasure got too acute, flicking her
tongue across the sensitive, straining tip of his penis, then
all the way down the length of him to the base, her fingers
trailing lightly over his balls until he thought he might go
mad, and finally, seeing her pretty face curving into a secret
smile, he had roared with amused frustration, grabbed the
little minx by her underarms and hauled her onto her
stomach across the bed, sliding in her inch by inch,
delighted at finding her soaking wet for him, and had
started to tease her, his cock pounding into her, his fingers
slipping into the slick down between her legs, brushing
over her clitoris, bringing her up to the brink and back
several times, until she was weeping, kissing weakly at his
forearm, begging him to do it to her, begging for release,
and with an incredible sense of masculine power pumping
through his veins Kendrick had agreed and slammed


330

himself deeper and deeper into her velvet body, taking
them both across the final barrier into an immense orgasm,
one that was torn from him as though he were a boy of
seventeen, one that he had felt rock his lover's slim body as
her belly convulsed in spasms beneath him. Now she was
curled in his arms, naked and catlike, her small, incredibly
perfect body resting against his, her head nestling in the
crook of his elbow, and he was almost breathless from the
adoration and protectiveness that gripped him every time
he glanced at her.

'I think Isabelle must be the luckiest woman alive,'
tkoxana murmured.

Sam laughed. 'Isabelle and I haven't slept together for years.'

'Oh, come on. You're just saying that, to please me.'
She snuggled against him.

'I swea! You know she isn't interested in that kind of thing. Isabelle loves giving parties, she loves the social
thing.' Kendrick shrugged. 'It works out OK; we just
never confront anything. I think a lot of good marriages
survive that way.'

'It doesn't sound so good, Sam. It sounds lonely.'

Her words were an icy dagger plunged right into the
most vulnerable places of his heart. Until he had started to
see tkoxana he hadn't cared- he hadn't known - there was
anything missing from his life. He'd been consumed with
getting to the top and staying there, and there'd been
exclusive whores to provide the sex which Isabelle
withheld, and Isabelle to procide the social backdrop
which she did not withhold. And lov?Well, he loved his
kids, both in their teens and away at English boarding
schools. The best, apparently, and Isabelle had insisted on
it. The other kind of love, the feelings he.had once had for
Isabel/e, that had died of malnutrition, and had wasted
away so silendy he neither realized when it died nor missed
it when it was gone.


33I

'Are you ever lonely?'

The words came out before he could stop himsel£. He
didn't want her to know how strongly he had started to feel
for her, didn't want to scare her off. How many men
would a supermodel have cast off? How many lovers would this icy beauty have broken in two? Sam didn't
want to think about it. But he also didn't want to let her go.

'I'm lonely all the time. I'm lonely on this movie,'
P,.oxana told him, her voice a whisper. 'It's hard, Sam, it's
really hard. They're all blaming me.' Her words trailed
away, filled with pain. 'Don't bother to deny it, I know it's
tree... Seth and Mary and Jack, they're all acting so well,
and I know my scenes probably aren't great on tape...'

	'Your performance is fine, sweetheart.'

' She squeezed his arm gratefully. 'You're too soft with
me, baby. But they make up for it. Ever'since I told Zach
Mason I didn't want a relationship with him, be's just made
it impossible, and Fred won't cut me any slack.., but it's
mostly Megan Silver.'

	'Megan?'

"She keeps rewriting all the scenes and changing my
part! I try to act it, Sam, but sometimes I just can't... I've
asked David to speak to her, as she's his client, but he's tried
and I really don't know what the hell else to do - Fred just
loves her.'

'V¢hy is she rewriting scenes now?' Sam asked, bewildered
and angry. The hurt in toxana's voice tore at his
heartstrings.

'Oh, she has to, I guess. Because of all that stuff that
keeps going wrong, you know? It has to be changed for the
new locations and stuff, but she's using it as an excuse to rip

up my character, and nobody's stopping her 	'

	'She's history,' Sam said bleakly.

'Oh, no, Sam. She was really sweet a couple of months
ago, in LA. But she" got that makeover and the bleached
hair and the expensive clothes...'


332


	'She did change,' Sam said, recalling the last time he'd
seen Megan Silver, when she seemed a good kid, maybe a
little naive, kind of cute with her brown hair and her jeans.
The stylish, sexy creature he'd encountered over here,
writing furiously at all hours of the day, was someone else
a little brittle, very self-possessed. And, apparently, a new
addition in the swollen ranks ofbackstabbing Hollywood
bitches.

'She's history, Poxana. Forget about it. Just do the best
you can,' he repeated, kissing the top of her head.

'I will, Sam,' P,.oxana promised. A small, secret smile
curved across her ruby lips. 'Don't you worry. I will.'

333


Chapter 27


'I want you to go to the doctor,' Paul repeated.

Eleanor stared at him miserably. Her husband's lips were

set in a tight grey line, his face white with anger and
frustration.

'It's a bad time for me at work,' she said, willing him to

, understand. He had to be supportive, to be there for herin
her hour of need. Otherwise, what did they have together?
A new respectability for the dinner parties she didn't have
time to throw, a joint bank account, and rigid, monotonous
sex, prescribed by Dr Haydn, designed solely for
the purpose of getting her pregnant. She was due for her
first check-up at the fertility clinic in a month, and every
night she prayed they'd find out she had conceived.
Because what with the wall charts and stupid positions and
thermometers, Eleanor wasn't sure she could take much
more of it.

They had the first major fight of their marriage on their
wedding night. Eleano/r, striving to beat back the sense of
claustrophobia, the feeling of being trapped, had come to
her bridgegroom's bed in the sexiest piece of lingerie she
possessed - a beautifully cut black satin teddy by Janet
Ikeger - and without her diaphragm. Trying hard for a
little humour and camaraderie, she had sliced it in two with
a pair of kitchen scissors, placed the remains in a small
cardboard box, wrapped up like a present in red ribbons,
and placed it on Paul's pillow.

He'd opened it, laughed, and then handed her a small


334

bottle of pills. 'Sorry I didn't wrap them in ribbons,' he
said.

'What's this?' Eleanor asked, smiling. 'An aphrodisiac?'
'Not exactly,' Paul told her, his handsome face suddenly
serious. 'This is a new fertility drag, the latest thing.' Only
just cleared by the FDA. It won't work right away, but the

quicker we get you on a course of treatment, the better.'
'A fertility drug?' Eleanor repeated, stunned.

'That's right.' Paul nodded proudly. 'The best available.'

Eleanor remembered that she'd had to take a second to
compose herself, before managing to say, quite quietly,
'And you don't think we should allow my body to try and
conceive naturally first, before you unilaterally decide I
need to be pumped full of hormones and chemicals?'

It hadn't been a good evening. And lately things had
been get[ing worse.

In perfect harmony with the rest of my life, Eleanor told
herself.

'It's a bad time for everybody at work,' Paul replied,
shrugging. 'You're not the only one that has troubles in the
office, you know. And it isn't fair to me to use that as an
excuse to shirk your spousal duties.'

'My what? My spousal duties?' Eleanor shot back. 'And
what are those, exactly, Paul? Being ready to have sex the
second I get home, in case we miss the optimum daffy
window for conception? Accepting that you won't make
love to me at any other time in case you waste a few
precious sperm? I don't have "toubles in the office", Paul,
I have a huge crisis that's threatening to consume my
career. I'm about to lose everything I've worked for all my
life. And you expect me to come home, every night, and be
ready for sex, every night, whether I feel like it or not! Im
not your goddamned brood mare!'

'We can discuss that another time,' Halfin said, his eyes
cold. 'Right now I want you to get this recurrent nausea


335

seen to. If you've got some kind of allergy or wires, it could

be affecting everything we're trying to do.'

'OK, OK,' Eleanor told him wearily.

His words seemed to have knocked all the fight right out

of her. She should see a doctor for her sickness - not
because a virus might be causing her harm, but because it
might upset her darling husband's grand conception
design!

He doesn't care about me at all. He cares about his wife,

the soon to be mother of his children, Eleanor thought. No
wonder he was so furious when I insisted on keeping my
own name. It took a little lustre off his carefully designed
family -picture. But Eleanor Halfin? Eleanor Marshall
Halfm? Over my dead body...

' She reached for her Herm4s purse and slung it over the
shoulder of her smart Kifat Ozbek suit in dark green
cashmere, picking up her briefcase in the other hand.
Suddenly she just didn't care any more, all she wanted was
to get into her office and spend another hellish day trying
to save her job.

deserve this, she told herselE. Maybe Paul doesn't love

me, but who said he had to? I hardly accepted him in a
heady rush of romantic passion.

I wanted a husband to save me from everybody's pity.

He wanted a wife to complete his New Model Lifestyle.
And after Charles and Diana, does anyone believe in the
fairytale any more? Werre alike - two cynical people in a
partnership of convenience. Maybe, in the end, everything
comes down to that: whether you're swapping wealth and
power for youth and beauty, sexual skills for a Green Card,
or social approval for an available womb in a suitable body,
maybe all marriages are really just trades.

I was a fool to believe it could be any other way.

'I'm out of here. I'll have my assistant schedule me an
appointment with Dr Haydn this morning,' she promised.

Her husband nodded curdy, pleased. 'Thank you.' He


336

spread his hands. 'Who knows, maybe it's morning
sickness. Maybe you're pregnant already, and we just
didn't realize it.'

'Who knows?' Eleanor agreed, walking out.

She pressed a button on her remote and unlocked the
Lotus, sinking thankfully into the soft leather of the driver's
seat, her mind already turning to See the Lights, trying to
figure out ways around the latest budgeting disaster.

After all, what was she going to tell her husband? That
her sickness predated all their fertility contortions? As far as
she was concerned, it hadn't been brought on by any
allergy or virus. It had been caused by the stress of a broken
heart.


Megan Silver leaned forward over the PowerBook
Eleanor Marshall's office had sent out to her, typing away
furiously. The scorching midday sun was beating down on
the back of her neck, heat hitting her from all sides,
reflected up against her face from the powdery white sand.
Her skin felt sticky and uncomfortable from all the lotions
and gels she was having to rub into it just to survive- factor
15 sun lotion, antiperspirant, deodorant, insect repellent,
and coconut butter oil as an emergency moisturizer, and
despite everything small beads of sweat kept dewing her
forehead and legs. Her hands were getting cramps from

overuse and her head throbbed with a crunching migraine.
Not the best way to concentrate

Not the best way to write an inspirational script.

But that was what she had o do, or this movie was
history. All the delays, equipment failure, location problems
and reshooting of scenes had sent them overbudget
and behind schedule. The only things that held it patchily
together were Florescu, who screamed at everybody,
worked like a maniac and shot and reshot until he had
something he could use, and Megan herself, who found
herself doing emergency rewrites all day, every day, as they


337

were forced to change this scene or that one, bringing the mountain to Mohammed over and over again. Florescu
had told her he was relying on her, and Megan, desperate
to impress the one person on this goddamn movie she had

any respect for, was trying hard to rise to the challenge.
The pressure was intense.

'Megan, do you think you could put somethingin about
Peter?'

She looked up, shading her eyes with her hand, to see
Seth Weiss standing in front of her. The actor was looking
diffident; something she always liked about Seth, he was
too secure a star, at forty-five, to have any kind of an ego.
loxana Felix could take a few lessons from Mr Weiss,
Megan thought sarcastically. Although even if she won
three Oscars, like he had, it probably wouldn't be enough
to calm the bitch down.

'Where, in the escape sequence?'

Weiss nodded, his handsome eyes unfocused, and she
could see he was going over the scene in his head. Another
pl.us for the guy. He actually cared about acting.
'He was wounded when we were going to shoot in the
forest, right? And he's still wounded, but now we're on a
beach, and if the shot hit him in the foot, he'd get sand in
there...'

'And sand is excruciatingly painful in an open wound,'
Megan finished for him. 'Like salt. Of course, I should
have thought of that before, Seth, I'm an idiot.'

'You're a bona ride heroine, Megan,' Weiss told her,
grinning. 'Saving this movie single-handedly. Or at least
that's what Fred keeps telling us all.'

'Get out of here,' Megan said, but she flushed with
pleasure as she punched the code into her machine,
looking for Seth's character, Peter Cavazzo.

'Seth, Megan, how's it going?' David Tauber asked
amiably, striding over to them and giving Seth the benefit
of a full-wattage smile.

338


'It's going,' Megan said shortly.

Why did David only ever ask her that when Zach or one
of the co-stars was in her vicinity? The way he sucked up to
Sam's clients was truly disgusting, she thought. Kissing ass,
telling them how wonderful their performances were,
contradicting any honest advice Mr Kendrick might have
given them, pretending to apologize for little creature
comforts SKI had failed to provide, when what he was
really doing was drawing attention to the problem. And
yet in private he never bothered to compliment her work,
never gave her a shred of encouragement for the effort she
was making. On the contrary, he got pissed offifshe wasn't
always praising him, telling him how clever he was. And if
she felt too exhausted for sex, forget about it! He was
furious! What had he called her last night? Totally selfish,
wasn't that it?

Megan "felt resentment bubble up inside her. She was
starting to suspect that she'd fallen for a class A-jerk.

'We're putting in some new dialogue for Cavazzo,' Seth
explained. 'More agonized than sassy. Maybe I'll be able to
play agonized better.' He shook his head, a wry expression
on his face. 'Sam told me straight that the forest scene
didn't work well anyway. Said I looked angry, instead of
witty. I told him it's hard to be witty when the leading lady
keeps blowing your cue on purpose.'

Megan winked at him. Most people on the set had a
strong dislike oftkoxana Felix in common.

'Hey, I thought you were terrific,' David said smoothly.
'Maybe the scene needed work, but you were great.'

'Thanks, man,' the actor said, smiling as he walked
away.

Megan glanced up at David. 'That's not what you said
last night. You told me a cartoon would've been more
convincing.'

'Jesus, you want to keep it down!' Tauber hissed,
glancing over his shoulder to check that Weiss was out of

339


earshot. 'He's talent, Megan. You only ever encourage
talent.'

'I don't notice you encouraging mine much lately,'
Megan said, pushing her blonde hair out of her eyes.

'You're a writer, Megan. And you've got. me all the
time,' David said impatiently, checking his lolex. 'I have
to get back to the set.'

'Can't miss a chance to kiss up to Mary, huh?' Megan
asked, wondering where this was coming from. She'd
never dared to criticize David since the day he rescued her
from Mr Chicken. Maybe the heat was getting to her...
but somehow it didn't feel so terrifying, somehow it felt
pretty good.

What if Fred was right? a little voice in her head was
asking. What if David didn't rescue you? What if you rescued you?

'What?' David sputtered, glaring at her. What was this
bullshit? Was Megan going to start up on him now? Who
the hell did she think she was? Koxana?

'Mary and Seth are Sam's clients, David,' Megan said
stubbornly. Sam Kendrick had always treated her with
respect, she thought, which was more than she could say
for her own agent. 'You're undermining him. I don't
think it'sright.'

David Tauber leant forward towards her, menacingly,
his eyes narrowed.

'Listen up,' he said softly. 'It's none of your business.
And if you repeat what you just.said to anybody on this set - and I do mean anybody - you're going to regret it.'

Megan gazed at him coolly. 'Are you threatening me,
David?' she replied.

He straightened up. Didn't want to push the stupid kid
too far- who knew what she might do in this mood?
Megan with an attitude? That had to be nipped in the bud,
and fast. Except that right now he didn't have the time.

'We'll talk about this tonight. In private,' he said curtly.

340


Megan clicked offher computer and stood up, smoothing
down her skirt. 'I don't think so, David,' she said. 'I'll
be sleeping in another room tonight.'

'You don't mean that,' he said, unfazed, confident.
'Oh, yes, I do,' she said. 'I need a little time to myselE.'
'Right. You need time to yourself,' Tauber sneered, and
Megan found herself staring at his handsome, mocking
mouth with dismay. She tried to remind herself that David
Tauber was the guy she'.d been longing for, but it didn't
work. The polished veneer David assumed with everyone
else slipped a little further every time he was alone with
her, and right now he seemed less like an infallible
superagent and more like a spoilt brat every second. 'It's
always me, me, me with you. You're not the only one
putting in time on this project, Megan. What about my needs? What am I supposed to do tonight? After everything
I've "done for you!'

Megan felt desperately tired and unhappy. She ran one
sticky hand through the platinum-blonde mop she'd been
regretting ever since she had it done; yet again, she'd been
twisting herself into something she wasn't in the hope of
pleasing a guy, only to find it was all for nothing. That
short-skirted, blonde-haired designer bitch thing was a
mil/ion miles from the real Megan Silver, and suddenly she
felt a sharp pang of remorse. As soon as she got home it was
back to brown hair, cornfyjeans and Veruca Salt T-shirts.
Because, as she now realized, David Tauber wasn't worth
it.

She admitted to herself she didn't love him.

'David, please. I'm knocked out. I just need some sleep,
a little time to breathe.'

'No. No way, lady. You'll be in our room tonight as
usual.' David was bristling with anger. 'You wanted to be

with me so bad? Fine. But you play by my rules.'

She admitted to herself she didn't like lfim.

'It's over, David,' Megan said wearily. And it was; yet

34I


another brilliant Megan Silver waste of energy, romantic
dreams and hope. Because David Tauber, no matter how
hard she'd tried to kid herself, had never been any
substitute for.., for...

She suppressed that idea as soon as it surfaced, tkeality
check, girl, he's way, way out of your league, and you
know it. No amount ofmakeovers are gonna turn you into
tkoxana Felix.

'You're just hysterical, you stupid little bitch!' Tauber's
smooth features were purple with fury. Megan thought she
could dump him! 'You don't know what you're saying!'

Megan picked up her laptop. 'Well, David, that's where
you're wrong,' she said calmly, and then she turned on her
heel and walked away, leaving him standing on the beach
' spluttering with rage and disbelief.


Tom Goldman sat perfectly still in the air-conditioned
comfort of his oce, wondering if there was any way out
of this situation. His normally resourceful mind would
once have known exactly how to handle it; it would have
p}esented.him with several options, it would have offered
him some kind of a get-out, some excuse not to do what
Jake Keller was suggesting. The trouble was that right now
he couldn't think of a single one.

Everything the vice-president said made perfect sense.
You couldn't argue with it; he had a 95-million-dollar
movie that was already a month behind schedule, nine
million over budget, and by all accounts turning out to be a
creative turkey.

See She Lights had been his big rescue package for
Artemis Studios. If it failed, Eleanor Marshall was history.
And since he had pushed for her appointment, he wod be
history.

'Eleanor Marshall took over the production on this
project,' Keller was saying, his nasty weasel face looking
smug. 'You heard her, Tom. She threatened to have me


342

barred from script meetings. And she forced me to draw up
all my objections to the ftlm in a long memo, sign it and
copy you on it.'

He fished about in the document wallet he was carrying
and placed a copy of the memo on Tom's desk. 'At the
time I was somewhat offended.' A beat, an unpleasant
smile. 'But on reflection, maybe the little lady was doing
me a favour. Once I finished this, I submitted a copy to Mr
Thorn, too. After all, he is the chairman of the board. I felt I
should have the courage of my convictions.'

Keller leaned back in his chair, enjoying the effect his
words were having. At the mention of Mr Thorn his boss
had gone pale.

Thanks for the tip, loxana, he thought.

'I see,' Goldman said.

'Do you, Tom?' Keller packed sarcasm into the words.
'I wonder. leanor has been responsible for buying a weak
script, using unnamed actors in a terrible miscasting, and
for a series of location and logistical errors that are sending
costs spiralling out of control. This studio doesn't
even know what's going on over there. As of last week,
Florescu has stopped sending me the dailies. And without
rushes how are we supposed to know if there's something
worth using coming out of this mess? You must admit that
what we've seen so far isn't encouraging. And word is out
amongst the industry, Tom.'

'Already?' Goldman asked, his expression stricken.
'Well... rumours are starting up. I have the publicity
department working flat out to-counter them, but...'
Keller shrugged. 'You know how it is.'

Yeah, Goldman thought. I know exactly how it is. If I
don't give you what you want, you're gonna put word on
the street yourself, and that could be fatal for us.

On the rumours of a smash with See the Lights, Artemis
stock had soared. They'd gone so long without a hit that it
had been cruising along at the bottom of its price range,

343


undervaluing the company when you considered its
software library and real estate assets. The Mason/Florescu
project had been seen as a sure-fire smash, and given
Eleanor's reputation for accuracy and tight budgeting,
nobody had figured it would do worse than break even.
The stock price had responded accordingly. But if news of
this fiasco got out...

My God, Goldman thought, experiencing a renewed
burst of panic. How many shares have I got? Preferred
stock options had been a big chunk of his salary package
over the last twenty years.

He did a quick calculation and felt ill. Forget about
losing his job. He could lose his house. Millions would be
wiped offthe value of his portfolio...

How would he explain that to Jordan? 'Oh gee, honey,
I'm sorry, but you won't be able to throw that Save the
Painforest bash after all. And I think we should talk about
selling one of the cars, to see the baby through college?'
Jesus H. Christ, he could see her face now. And it wasn't
e.xacdy wearing a supportive Stand by Your Man expression!

Eleanor would stand by me, Tom thought.

No! Screw Eleanor! She got us all into this mess!

'Jake, I hear what you're saying,' Goldman told him, reluctantly . He didn't want to have to cooperate with the little prick, but Jake had been right all along and he and
Eleanor conspicuously wrong. Who had a choice?

'Good,' Jake Keller smiled thinly. He had Goldman by
the balls, and they both knew it. 'So it's settled, then. I'll
bring my plan to save the movie and a revised budget along
to the big production meeting next week. I intend to
challenge Eleanor on every point in this memo.' He
tapped the document arrogandy. 'That way, if she's got a
defence or a better idea, she'll get a chance to counter. But
if she doesn't, you pat me in charge of the fdm, effective
right away.'


344

Goldman sighed. Such a move would be the same as
firing her. No president could accept a demotion like that
from the CEO; Eleanor would have to resign, right then

and there, in front of the entire management team.

'Do we have to do it so publicly?'

Keller smiled again. 'That's the only way I want to do it.
Out in the open. You know how I hate sneaking around
behind people's backs.'

He stood up to leave. 'Do we have a deal, Tom?'

Goldman took the limp hand thrust towards him and
shook it without enthusiasm. 'I guess so,' he said.


'Jesus,' Zach Mason muttered, looking around him.

'Impressive, don't you think?' Fred Florescu asked,
pleased by his star's awestruck reaction. 'I wanted you to
take a look at this place tonight, get a feel for it before we
start shooting tomorrow.'

The two men were standing on the side of a dusty
mountain road, at the entrance to a tourists' walking path
carved out of the vegetation by the Seychellois government.
Photographs of the mist forest were what had made
Florescu choose Mah6 for his jungle, and now he was
showing Zach Mason the real thing. As they climbed out
of their battered four-wheel truck, the emerald slopes of
Morne Blanc had looked pretty ordinary, just a dense,
impenetrable tangle of trees. But two steps into the pool of
green shadow and Mason's mouth hung open in astonishment.

They were standing on the edge of a mountain ridge,
the path dropping away downwards and to their left. The
woodland before them was a mass of open space, creepers
and small green plants growing under the verdant canopy,
shafts of bright sunlight piercing through here and there,
illuminating the mist and the tropical palms. Gnarled bwa
rouz trees dripping with damp red moss crowded the sides.
of the path, orchids curling round some of them. There


345

was a thick scent of wild cinnamon and albazia, vast ferns
were everywhere, and coco matron palms sprouted across the
slopes. Zach saw a small electric-blue bird swoop down
from some perch and flit through a sun-dappled glade. The
whole jungle was alive with movement and noise; insects
humming, frogs piping...

'It looks like something out of Raiders of the Lost Ark," he
said.

Florescu clapped him on the shoulder. 'Exactly, amigo.
Got it in one. This is the most atmospheric backdrop I ever
saw, I swear. Which is why I refuse to give up on this thing,

despite what David Tauber is telling me.'

Zach'glanced at him sharply. 'What?'

The director shrugged. 'He says that Artemis may be
about to pull the plug on the project.'

'Bullshit. Why would they do that?'

'According to your agent, because of the weather.'
Zach looked up at the dazzling blue sky behind them,
burning hot and clear without a single cloud. 'The weather
looks OK to me.'

"'It's the end of September. We should have wrapped
here by now. Which would matter a lot less except that the
rainy season apparently starts up round about now.'
Florescu shrugged. 'Tauber says Eleanor Marshall made a
huge miscalculation in picking the Seychelles; she didn't
take any delay into account, and the result is that the longer
we stay here the more likely we are to get caught by the

rains. And I ain't talking about a little drizzle, either.'
'You mean we'll be trying to fdm in a monsoon?'

'You ever seen a monsoon? We'd be packed up. It
would break my equipment like matches.'

Zach shook his head. 'I don't like it, man.'

The neither!' the director said, laughing. 'My movie is
turning into a fucking disaster area.'

'No. I mean I don't like all this stuffgoing wrong. I don't
buy it. Eleanor Marshall seemed like an intelligent woman


346

to me. Savvy. Not the type to authorize fdming in a
hurricane.'

'If we were on schedule, that wouldn't have happened.'

'She'd have factored in delays. All those corporate types

do stufflike that; always covering their asses.'

'Possibly.'

'And I've been watching David. He's been way too


'He's the smooth type,' Florescu said, but he was
watching his star closely, intently. He knew Zach Mason
now, and he sensed a picture crystallizing. Mason was
uneducated, but he had a keen intelligence buried under
all that ferocious sexuality. That was what made the screen
come alive; that was what ignited the footage they had
managed to shoot, what made it such compulsive viewing.
Zach Mason was a natural. He could sink so deep into his
character that when Florescu called 'Cut!' Zach would
sometimes just stand there, a little dazed, taking a few
seconds to snap back into the real world. Zach had been
Florescu's hero, and after months of filming together the
guy still overawed him; he had the soul of a poet and the
aggression of a Samurai, and those deep, savage eyes that
mesmerized everybody he gazed at.

God, Florescu thought, I have to show that on screen,
I've got to be the one to .do it. Nobody's blended beauty
and masculinity like that since Marlon Brando.

'He's more than smooth, he's calm,' Zach said. 'See the
Lights was the big break for hirri, right? He has P,.oxana,
Megan and me. He should be totally panicked to see it
slipping away, but he's not - he's just hanging around
Mary and Seth and Jack, always providing little solutions
for them.'

'Jesus,' Florescu said slowly. 'You're right. He's acting like somebody who doesn't need to worry '

'Because he knows everything is gonna be OK.'


347

'Jesus!' exclaimed the director. 'You think all this is
deliberate?'

'Why would the studio cancel the project? They must
have spent a ton of money already '

'You got that right,' Florescu agreed grimly.

'So they have to finish it. Maybe somewhere else, but they have to. We're nearly done filming, we've got under a
month to go. They'll need something to show to set off
their losses, right? They can't afford to kill us offnow.'
'How would Artemis know we're in trouble? I haven't
sent them any rushes for months. Unless loxana Felix is
phoning in.'

'Ioxana's with David,' Zach said. 'He's the only guy on
the set she never gives a hard time to.'

' 'It has to be something to do with Jake Keller,' Fred
butted in, excited. 'He hates Eleanor Marshall. He got
passed over for her job.'

'I've heard David call that guy from the production
oflfice a few times.'

They stared at each other.

'Speculation,' Florescu said finally. 'We're just guessing.
Pretty left-field stuff.'

'But we're right,' Zach countered. He brushed a strand
of long black hair out of his eyes. 'You know we are. You
can feel it.'

'So what do you want to do? Confront David? Confront

toxana? I don't see what good it would do. They won't
admit jack, trust me.'

'I'm. gonna confront Megan,' Zack said. 'She's weaker
than the other two. She'll talk.'

The director did a double-take. 'Megan Silver? Now I
know you've lost it, amigo. She's been working her butt
off, rewriting the script every day. She does what I tell her
and she does it fast. There's no way she wants this movie to
fail. The kid works harder than anybody on the set.'

Zach nodded. 'And that's something I don't understand.


348

But she's fucking David Tauber, she's been his girlfriend
for months. She thinks the sun shines out of his ass. She
must know what he's doing.'

Florescu noticed that his tone was suddenly sharp with
contempt.

'All right. When we climb up to the top of Mome
Seychellois to shoot the hideout sequence - that's for just
you, me, Jim and Keith with a high-eight camera - I'll ask
Megan along. That's scheduled for tomorrow afternoon;
you can talk to her then.'
'Good.' The singer stared into the tropical forest before
him, his handsome face dark with anger. 'She's gonna have
some serious explaining to do, and then we should know
what the fuck's going on. Because she's gonna tell me everything, Fred. Megan is the key.'

349


Chapter 28


'Where's Megan?' Zach Mason asked. 'I want to talk to
her.'

The crew were scuttling around on the beach like
tanned worker ants in a hurry, rushing to wheel cameras
into position, focus Klieg lights and mike up sound

' recorders as quickly as possible. Eight in the morning and
everybody was already in position; Florescu was standing
to one side going over the next scene with the cast,
huddled together for warmth against the early-morning
breeze. They were behind schedule, and every minute of
fdmable light was precious.

"Dunno, man, haven't seen her,' the cameraman
replied. 'Not like her to be late.'

'Seen Megan?' Zach asked Seth Weiss. 'She's always
here on time.'

Weiss shook his head. 'You could ask David or
P,.oxana,' he said, pointing to the two of them walking
towards the set together, over the sands.

Zach shaded his eyes to see better. The two of them
were walking arm in arm which confirmed one suspicion.
David Tauber seemed as confident and self-possessed as
ever, dressed for the heat in loose, unstructured Armani
slacks and expensive-looking shades from Cuder& Gross.
loxana was in costume, a deliberately tom and dusty
evening gown, slashed at the sides where her character had
torn it in an escape from the gun-runners. Miles of lean,
tanned legs were exposed, and there was another rip bating


350

her let shoulder. Her long glossy hair whipped round her
neck in the breeze.

What a beauty, he thought. And what a cold, selfish
bitch. He'd always admired her stunning looks and never
once wanted her; there had been too many beautiful girls
for Zach to be impressed, and too many ice maidens
melting underneath him for that trick to hold any novelty
any more. Tree, toxana hadn't tried to play Ice Goddess
with him. On the contrary, she had thrown herself at him,
but even so...

Zach Mason knew loxana Felix the way these others
could not. He had walked under the blazing spotlight of
fame for years, longer even than she had, and he could tell
what was part of the image and what was real. And while
most people were comfortable believing her bitchiness was
part of the package, Zach was sure it was not. loxana was
damaged. There was a fist of cold wrapped tight around
her heart, and When he looked at her, he saw somebody
frozen to the core. She would reach out and slash violently
at anybody who approached her. Her ruthlessness, her
silken savagery with underlings, was no surprise to Zach.
Like most wounded animals, she was dangerous.

'Zach,' David Tauber said expansively. 'Looks like it's
gonna be another hot morning.'

Yeah, you moron. Like it's gonna be twenty below in the
Seychelles.

'Where's Megan, David?' he demanded.

Jesus, I can't stand this asshole, Mason thought fiercely.
He's so fucking slick all the time, neve.r gets a hair out of
place. What the fuck was I on when I signed up with him?
What does a girl like Megan Silver see in him? But I forgot,
she's nothing special. Just another bleached LA blonde
with a designer closet.

Even to himself the words rang false. Megan was
working flat out for this movie. She was clever. She'd.
written a dynamite script. And if she wanted to be with


35I

David Tauber instead of him, so what? She could choose
who she liked.

Jesus, I'm turning into R.oxana, Zach thought wryly.
Like I got a divine right to any partner I should happen to

avour.

'Megan won't be with us,' David replied casually. 'She's

packing to go home.'

'She's doing what?'

'I fired her,' Koxana Felix said calmly.

'Excuse me, Koxana?' Zach repeated, stunned. 'You
did what? You can't fire Megan! What are you now, the
director? Does Fred know about this?'

'Hey, Zach, calm down,' David Tauber said soothingly.
'In actual fact, Artemis Studios terminated her contract.

'
	They're the ones that are paying for her stay here, as well as
authorizing her salary. Koxana felt she could no longer
work harmoniously with Megan, and Sam Kendrick, who
runs my agency '

'I know who Sam Kendrick is.'

'Of course. Well, Sam discussed the situation withJake
Keller over at Artemis, and it was felt that for the good of
the picture, Megan should start working on some other project.' David beamed at him reassuringly. 'You don't
need to worry about the script. I've told Kevin Scott to fly
out Gordon Walker this morning - Gordon's been
familiarizing himself with See the Lights and he'll be able to
carry out any further rewrites. You'll like him, Zach. He's
very competent, he's worked ori two Quentin Tarantino
films.'

'I see,' Zach said, ominously quietly. 'Isn't Megan Silver
your girlfriend, David?'

The agent shrugged. 'I can't let personal feelings get in
the way of business. That would be unprofessional. And
where my clients are concerned,' he added, flashing a warm
smile at Zach and loxana, Tm always professional. You
can take that to the bank.'

'And have you told Fred about the change of plan?'
'I was just about to,' David said.

1Zoxana Felix gazed at him triumphantly, the light of
victory shining in her eyes.

Mason took a deep breath. 'You know what, Tauber? I
wouldn't bother. I'd run along back to the hotel and tell
Megan you just reinstated her. Then you can call Mr Keller
and tell him that I wouldn't be able to work harmoniously
with any other screenwriter. OK?'

Paling, David Tauber took a step backwards. 'But what
about P,.oxana?' he protested. 'Her creativity as an

actress -- '

'P, oxana and I are going m have a little chat abotit that,'
Zach told him, his voice cold. He stared hard at the
supermodel. Tm sure that by the time you get back I'll

have persuaded her to see things from my point of view.'
'David, ;tay where you are,' l:koxana snapped.

'David, get your ass back to the hotel now,' Zach

repeated. 'Or you're fired as my agent.'

'David!' P,.oxana insisted.

'It's a tough break, isn't it, Tauber?' Zach said menacingly.
'Whatever you do now, you're either going to
annoy l:koxana or me. Because if you aren't gone in ten
seconds, it's going to get ugly between us.'

David Tauber hesitated, his eyes twitching from Zach to
P, oxana and back again.

'David, stay here,' 1Loxana warned him, her voice suffused with quiet fury.

'Ten,' Zach Mason said softie,. 'Nine. Eight. Seven.
Six '

With a small, agonized cry, David Tauber turned on his
heels and fled.


'It can't be true,' Eleanor Marshall said blankly. 'It can't be.
You've made a mistake.'

'No, my dear. No mistake, I assure you,' Dr Haydn


353

replied cheerfully. She gave Eleanor a conspiratorial smile.
'Tests these days are very accurate. Especially when you go
to the best hospitals, as we do.'

Eleanor clutched onto the armrest of her pale pink
leather chair, feeling dizzy. Thank' God she was sitting
down, she thought. If she'd heard this news standing up
she might have fainted.

'Eleanor, I swear you must be the most unobservant
patient I've ever had,' the old woman went on. 'Even if
you thought the nausea was related to something else,
didn't you realize you'd skipped a period?'

She shook her head. 'No, I - I didn't notice - it's been
chaos at work, I haven't had time to think about much else.

And to tell you the truth, I wouldn't have thought
' anything of it if I had. I skip periods occasionally, if I'm

stressed.'
'You work too hard altogether,' Dr Haydn said
severely. 'And you'll have to reduce as many stressful
activities as you can.'

I.e. none whatsoever, Eleanor thought wryly.

'But the charts, Doctor!' she said. 'All that lovemaking
in the right position and at the right time of day...'

'Evidently not needed,' Dr Haydn told her. 'Quite
amusing when you think about it, dear. You were
pregnant the whole time anyway.' She chuckled. 'At least

you didn't have to start with the fertility drugs.'

Tm two months pregnant?'

'You are. And quite soon we'll be able to scan for the sex
of your baby, if you like. Are you hoping for a boy or a

rl?' '

'I don't mind,' Eleanor said blankly. Her head was
spinning with all the implications of this, trying to accept it,
trying to make some decisions.

Tom's baby! I'm pregnant with Tom Goldman's child!

'You must have taken my advice on your last visit, and
started to make love to your fianc without a diaphragm.


354

And that was all it took!' the doctor said, with obvious
satisfaction. She leaned across the desk towards the patient.
'Your little one will arrive eight months after the wedding,
Eleanor, but that's hardly something to be concerned
about in this day and age. In my young day, it was very
different. I had to tell everybody that my eldest son was
premature!'

Eleanor smiled at the old lady as she laughed, warming
to her. She'd misjudged Dr Haydn; her joy in being able to
pass on good news was infectious.

'You're going to have a baby, Eleanor!' the doctor
exulted. 'Isn't it wonderful?'

And suddenly, with .that simple expression of delight,
Eleanor felt all her confusion crystallize into one gigantic
wave of happiness. Because come hell or high water, she
was going to have the baby of the only man she had ever
loved.

'Oh, Liz, it/s wonderful,' Eleanor Marshall said, her eyes
suddenly full of tears. 'It truly is.'


tLoxana Felix settled back against the dark blue leather sofa
in Howard Thorn's private jet, making herself comfortable.
She had called him that morning and told him to send
it to Mah6 immediately; if she was forced to leave the set
for a while, she was damn well going to do it in style.

'Can I get you anything, Ms Felix?' a stewardess
enquired, her eyes roaming enviously over tLoxana's
stunning Chanel suit in white cashmere. 'Champagne,
wine, mineral water, fruit juice?' "

'Bring me some fresh orange juice." Slice of lime. No
ice,' tLoxana snapped.

'Yes, ma'am.' The girl scurried away hastily.

ILoxana took several deep breaths and tried to control
her temper. This situation was going to require careful
handling, and disintegrating into white rage wouldn't help

her.


355

But it was so hard!

Who the hell did Zach Mason think he was? Taking her
aside like that after he'd crushed the fight out of David
Tauber, that spineless little worm, and threatening her?
The conversation ran through her mind, the words searing
into her memory: 'I want you to take a week off, tkoxana.
And back off Megan. She's the only reason Fred hasn't
given up on this movie.'

'And what if I don't?' l.oxana had spat back at him, her
chocolate eyes narrowed in venomous fury.

'Simple, babe,' Zach replied - God, she could see it
now, his gorgeous face set hard as rock against her, his grey,
thundercloud eyes so alive with menace that even she had
shrunk from it - 'If you don't, I'm going to walk offthe film today. P, ight now. And I'm going to fly straight back to
Los Angeles and call a press conference, where I'll tell the
entire world what a class-A bitch you are. In fact, I'll get
Florescu to sit alongside me. We'll both tell them how you
disrupted this movie, and if you say anything different, I'll
get statements from a hundred different people agreeing
with me.' He gestured sharply towards the set. 'Little
people, l.0xana. The ones you tread on every fucking day - the catering staff, the make-up girls, the lighting director.
That'll look good on Oprah, don't you think? "Working
with the Beauty Queen Bitch from Hell". A nice feature in Vogue, too. I could give them an exclusive. And I'll tell
them that you tried to ,have the screenwriter fired because
you were jealous of her relationship with me. I'll tell them
that all that coy posturing at your cosmestic deal and the
Electric City show was bullshit. I'll say you flung yourself
at me, but you're such a fucking snake that I'd rather fuck a
leper.'

'You wouldn't,' she'd managed.

Zach Mason shook his head. 'Don't let's play games
here, lady. You know I would. I don't need this movie;
whatever little web you're spinning, you can't trap me in


356

it. I'd do all that in a heartbeat. And what would that do to

your fat contract with Jackson cosmetics?'

That son of a bitch! 1Loxana thought.

She'd been offthe set, packed and waiting at the airport
in Victoria within the hour. What Mason had done to
David Tauber-she didn't know and couldn't care less
about. The little prick had zero cojones, not that she'd
expected better.

But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. This was just a
temporary annoyance; within days Jake Keller would
present his new plan to Artemis, Eleanor Marshall would
be fired and the movie would be back on track. Then she
could go back to the set, relocated to somewhere more
suitable, and-act her heart out. She'd be Meryl fucking
Streep, as far as the cast was concerned. And she'd be so
hard-working and so sweet to all the stupid little hired
hands that'Zach Mason's heart would melt.

1Loxana picked up a copy of Variety laid out for her on
the smoked-glass coffee table and idly flicked through it.

Maybe she had overdone the leading-lady routine a little , but so what? Everybody loves the return of the
prodigal son . . . or daughter. Once Zach had been won
over by the new-look, hard-working, polite and considerate
1Loxana Felix - that's when she could have the little
mouse bitch fired, Sam Kendrick was already eating out of
her hands, and Eleanor Marshall was history. She could wait for Megan. It was no big deal.

'Your juice, ma'am, the flight attendant said, handing
P,.oxana Felix a Baccarat crystal flute full. of freshly
squeezed juice and topped with a slic6 of lime, exactly as
she'd ordered it. The girl placed a mahogany tray in front
of her, laden with a plateful of lime wedges and a silver
pitcher of juice. 'May I get you some lunch? The chef
suggests melon and prosciutto, followed by caviar with
blinis, and then strawberry sorbet with a Cointreau sauce.'

R, oxana nodded. 'That will be fme.'


357

The familiar cocoon of respect and luxury was enveloping
her again, and it felt good. She began to look forward to
spending some time in LA. It would have definite fringe
benefits... Sam Kendrick, for one. Her body pulsed at the
thought of him, warm desire beginning to melt and poolin
her belly. He gave her pleasures she had never dreamed of,
and there was something comforting about his love, his
protectiveness towards her; she was enjoying the process of
enslaving this one, more so than any other man she'd yet
encountered.

You're enjoying it too much, warned a little voice in her
head. You're falling for Kendrick. You think about him all the
tim. .

No! Ioxana thought angrily. Not true! Kendrick was
just a puppet like the others. If she was amused by his body,
what did that signify? Nothing and less than nothing!

I know what I'll do, she thought with a sudden flash of
inspiration. I'll have lunch with that stupid bimbo Jordan
Cabot and tell her all about it.

Yes! That would be stage one in the progressive
destruction of Samuel Jacob Kendrick - putting word out
around town that he screwed his clients. Not to mention
having the pleasing side effect of snubbing that old witch
Isabelle. After all, what was the point of having the great
Sam Kendrick dangling on the end of her strings if she
couldn't boast about it a little? And Jordan would make an
admirable audience -' married to Tom, so it would be all '
over Artemis and therefore the rest of town in five
minutes.

tkoxana Felix laughed aloud. Great! What were old
schoolfriends for?

'Can I help you, ma'am?' a steward asked, rushing over
to see if she required anything.

'You know, I think you can,' she said. 'Get me a phone.:

I want to call Mrs Goldman.'


358

'Jesus Christ,' Fred Florescu swore softly. He wiped a palm
across his forehead, trying to clear away some of the beads
of sweat that were dewing it. 'How much longer?'

'Not far now, mon.' Their guide smiled at them
indulgently, pushing a huge tree fern out of the path. 'We
make the clearing very soon. Very beautiful view.'

'I hope so,' Zach said heavily. He plucked at the soaking
cotton of his once white shirt, now plastered transparently
across his chest.

Megan, panting from the exertion, looked at him and
thanked God she'd chosen black. Otherwise she'd have
been the top entry in a one-woman wet T-shirt contest by
the time they were ten minutes into this mountain climb.

'You guys got no problems,' Keith, the Texan cameraman,
butted in. He was stripped' to the waist and red-faced
with exertion. 'You don't have to carry equipment.'

'That's" why I picked you and Jim,' Florescu said,
nodding at his soundman. 'Southern boys. Real men.
You're used to heat like this.'

'Fuck you, Fred,'Jim Dollar said amiably. 'In Texas you breathe the air, you don't swim through it.'

He had a point. The atmosphere in the jungle was not
only swelteringly hot, it was humid too, the air muggy and
oppressive. Megan couldn't believe that Fred would insist
on climbing halfway up Morne Seychellois in weather like
this, just so he could shoot Zach's hideout scene with the
perfect view. Or maybe she could. Florescu was an absolute perfectionist " over the course of two hideous

months on location, that much had become clear. If
something wasn't perfect, they shot it again. And again.
And again, until it was absolutely right. It drove the cast
and crew crazy, but nobody else complained. That attitude
was what had made Light Falling into an artistic masterpiece
and a commercial smash. That attitude had won Peter's
Lieutenant five Oscars. And that attitude was going to make. See the Lights one of the most shining, exciting love stories


359

ever committed to celluloid - if the damn thing ever got
finished.

But why did they need me to tag along? Megan
wondered. Is he really going to want a rewrite on a scene
for one character?

' Vienz, sivoupl,' said their guide, grinning and lapsing

into Seychellois patois. 'Come, please. We continue. Not

much further.'

She followed Mason up the thin path, kicking aside

thorns and fungus that had crept across it here and there.
This was little more than a track, a derelict trail into the
heart of the mountains far from the tourist walkways, and
acc. essible only with an experienced local guide. That was
on account of the steep drops and sheer ridges that
'periodically curved away from the edges of the track, sheer
plunging walls of granite and creepers that an unwary hiker
might not have noticed.

Megan thought, Christ, I know/'d have noticed.

She kept her eyes firmly on the back ofZach Mason's

legs. One foot in front of the other, right? And don't look down.

'Fo take her mind off it, Megan went over that
morning's events yet again, trying to make sense of them.

What the hell's going on here? she wondered. First that

little asshole David comes into my new room and tells me
I'm fired. No arguing, just pack up and get out, and if you
make a fuss it'll go worse for you in the future. And then
runs back in thirty minates later, says he made a mistake, I
should get on the set, and clears clean out of my way before
I even get to call him on it! And on the set, nobody's seen
David, nobody knows where he is ... Everybody's on
drags, I swear.

' On arrive,' said their guide triumphandy. 'We here.'
Megan looked up and gasped. The clearing Florescu
had been so set on was worth every second of the climb;
forty foot wide, it was an outcrop of grey granite stone on
the edge of a vast precipice, backed up by the green, palm360


covered slope of Mome Seychellois and overlooking the
rest of the mountain range, the whole national park spread
out beneath. From here you could watch the mist drifting
across the jungle, look down on birds winging over the
tops of the trees below, see all the chasms and peaks, the
emerald valleys and lush flat plains of the undergrowth. She
could hear the screech of monkeys mingling with the low
calls of the bulbuls and the omnipresent hum of the insects.
The sea in the distance was sapphire blue, sparkling even
under the patchy clouds that had begun to drift across the
sky.

The scene was utterly deserted and primeval. She could
see not a single man-made structure in the whole
panorama.

'Oh, man,' Jim Dollar breathed. 'This is incredible.'
'It's going to make the best long shot in history,'
Florescu said, almost beside himsel£. 'All right, guys, set it
up. I don't want to waste any ofthilight.'

'Non, sivoupl3. No. You go back now,' the guide
insisted, shaking his head. 'Watch, then go back. Yes?' He
waved down the mountainside, pointing at the trail they
had just emerged from.

'No way, buddy,' Keith said, grinning. 'We just got
here. And I didn't lug that camera halfway up Mount
Everest just to take a couple of holiday snaps.'

'I go back. You come with me.' He shifted impatiently
from foot to foot, glaring at the Americans. 'Storm is

coming. Very dangerous to stay."

'A storm?' Florescu asked.

The guide nodded. 'Monsoon season. Winds, rain.' He
made a sweeping gesture with his arms. 'Very dangerous. I
go back. You come, or not?'

'No!' Florescu said. 'You have to be out of your mind.
There's not gonna be a storm, at least not today.'

'Wait,' said Megan uneasily. 'Fred, I think we should

listen to this guy. I mean, he's a native. How likely is he to
be wrong?'

'Come on, Megan,' Keith protested.

'Sweetheart, take a look at the sky,' Florescu said gently.

'I know it's the start of the rainy season, but just look at it!
Practically clear blue. If there's a monsoon on the horizon. I sure can't see one.'

Megan glanced up. He was right; apart from a couple of
white cotton-wool clouds the sky stretched clear and blue
out to the horizon.

Muttering angrily, their guide disappeared back into the
undergrowth.

'That's what happens when you pay in advance,'
Florescu said, shrugging. 'But we've done it once, we
should be OK for the trek back down. We'll take it real
slow.'

'You got that right,' said Jim, positioning the lights. 'Zach, are you ready?' the director said.
Zach nodded.

.'OK, people. Let's go.'


Two hours later, while Florescu and Keith set up the
equipment for a few panoramic shots before the light
failed, Zach Mason walked across to Megan, who was
sitting perched on a granite outcrop, scribbling ideas in the
margin of her script.

'Can I join you?' he,asked.

She glanced up at him, surprised. 'Sure. Pull up a
boulder; be my guest.'

'I want to talk to you about David Tauber,' Zach said,
propping himself against a rock. He stretched out his long
legs, hard and muscular under the costume caltkin pants.
Megan tried not to stare at his bare chest, muscular and
covered with a smattering of wiry black hair, That was
how Florescu wanted to show Zach's character while on
the run: animalistic and savage, the survival instinct taking


362

over. It was supposed to set up a mood of sensuality before
he was reunited with Morgan and they made love on the
beach, at night, while their pursuers could be heard all
around searching for them. And looking at Mason now,
Megan was pretty sure it would work.

'Don't waste your breath,' she said coldly. Tve got
nothing to say about him.'

'Yeah? Well, I do,' Mason insisted. 'You have to have
been aware of-'

'Zach, we have to get out of here,' Megan interrupted
him. 'Look at that!'

She pointed towards the western skyline. Zach could
see it: a huge mass of dark, heavy clouds had gathered and
were moving quickly towards them. The winds were
picking up, and the smaller white clouds in their part of the
sky were scuttling across the sun, casting swift-moving
shadows aross the mist forest below them.

'We'll be gone in half an hour,' Zach said impatiently.
'Don't change the subject. It's '

'No! We have to pack up now,' Megan said. 'It'll take us
at least ten minutes to dismantle everything. We're going
to get caught in a thunderstorm halfway up a mountain if
we don't.'

'You're being paranoid.'

'Am I, Zach? Look how fast those clouds are moving!'
He glanced at the sky, uncertainly. The clouds had
gotten quite a lot closer in the last few seconds, even if it
didn't look like they were raining.

'Fred,' he called. 'Check out those clouds. Looks like
our friend's little tempest might have "arrived. I think we
should pack up.'

'Yeah, OK. Just give me a minute,' the director called.
'They're making for great light over the jungle. I have to
get this.'

'Fred!' said Megan. 'You '

Her words were suddenly cut off by a violent gust or;


363

wind, slicing across the clearing and pushing her back
against the boulder. The mikes swayed backwards and
forwards on their stands.

'Shift' Jim Dollar said. 'Where the hell did that come
from?'

'Come on, Fred. Let's go,' Zach said, getting to his feet and strolling across to the director.

'Ten minutes,' Florescu said, not taking his eye off his
shot. 'That's all I ask. Then we'll have it in the can.'

Another gust of wind blasted them from the west, and
this time Megan found herself spattered with raindrops.
Manned, she spun round to see the sound equipment
toppling over. Her script was wrenched out of her loose
grip and went flying towards the brink of the clearing.

'
	Keith lunged for it, but too late. The white papers went
soaring off the edge of the cliff, snatched up by the wind
like a dead leaf, pages tearing away from it as it disintegrated
over the jungle.

'Man, we're going to be in trouble if we stay much
lo,nger,' Kei, th told Florescu anxiously. 'I don't like the
look of this.

'All right. Let's get. out of here,' the director said
reluctantly. 'Shut it down, guys. Zach, can you give us a
hand? Wemight as well leave as fast as '

Suddenly they were plunged into gloom as a bank of
black cloud swept across the sun. Almost simultaneously
rain started to fall all around them, and as the technicians
scurried to and fro, cursing and flicking offevery switch in
sight, there was a deafening thunderclap, and Meg'an
shrieked as a dazzling flash of sheet lightning blitzed across
the mountain behind them. She ran forward blindly, her
feet slipping on the small pebbles and chips of stone lying
loose on the outcrop of the granite. Zach Mason, his lean
frame silhouetted against the light, reached out for her as
the sky opened and the rain began hurling down .....
drenching everything in sight, the long lines of water


364

waving through the tropical gale that was ripping through
the forest, bending over young palm trees and sending
sticks and bushes bowling across the ridge. As Megan
reached Zach, Jim Dollar screamed in agony as his skin
connected with a tom wire, and Florescu, half blinded by
the rain, watched in horror as the thin blue light of an
electric shock crackled around his soundman. He tried to
take a step forward, pushing himself into the wind, but was
flung back by a fresh blast that half lifted him from his feet,
smacking him agaimt a jutting outcrop of granite. Pain and
horror surged through Florescu's body together as he
watched Zach and Megan, clutching each other, lose their
footing in the hurricane and bowl backwards, Megan
screaming in terror, and tip over the edge of the chasm in
front of them. On his hands and knees the director inched
across the clearing, battling against the storm, until he
reached te ledge and managed to peer over it, shouting
their names, trying to see if he could see where they had
fallen. There was no trace of them,just the thrashing jungle
canopy, flailing in the wind and dark green from the
driving downpour. It was the last thing he saw before he
passed out.

365


Chapter 29


They met at Chasen's for lunch. It was another blazing day,
but Isabelle Kendrick didn't notice; she picked through
her Caesar salad and sipped delicately at her chilled mineral
water, exactly as usual, nodding graciously now and then at
various courtiers who wandered up to their table to pay
aomage, but her heart wasn't in it. Under the tailored
elegance of her ice-blue Bill Blass suit, the blood in
Isabelle's aristocratic veins was running as cold as liquid
nitrogen.

'Peally? She said that, did she? Go on, dear. I'm simply
fasc.inated to hear the rest of it,' she said, leaning forward to
encourage her companion.

It was true; every word pierced Isabelle's heart like a
rapier wound, setting offscreaming, jangled alarms off'ear
and fury, but she was nonetheless fascinated. The more she
knew about her enemy, the greater her ammunition
against her. It was as though Isabelle herself was detached;
one part of her mind remained aloof from the storm of
emodons boiling within her, and merely watched the
scene calmly, a dispassionate observer, curious to know
just how far, just how deeply, loxana Felix had dug her
own grave.

'Oh, Isabelle, I can't,' Jordan replied hesitantly..'The
rest of it was just more of the same. You know- what Sam
used to say in bed, how he used to tell her he would protect
her, if anybody tried to hurt her they were dead in this
town. And she discussed, uh, his, uh -technique-' "


366

'Indeed?' Isabelle enquired. 'And did she say she found
my husband satisfactory?'

'Oh, yeah,' Jordan replied enthusiastically, caught off
guard. 'You should have heard her. She said he was the
hottest thing on two legs- said she was coming so often she
lost count, lave reviews. According to loxie, Sam's the
hottest fuck on the planet. He...' Jordan's voice trailed
away at the sight of the frozen expression that had settled
across Isabelle's face. 'He seemed to please her, anyway,'
she finished lamely, trying too late to recapture a little
decorum.

There was a long pause.

'How embarrassing for you, my dear,' Isabelle said
eventually. She fixed Jordan with a gimlet eye. 'To have
been forced to sit there and listen to such a pack of lies, and
from somebody you once knew at school, too. But we
must be haritable - perhaps the poor child is merely
delusional, instead of being a pathological liar.'

Jordan Cabot Goldman smoothed down the immaculate
rose silk of her Calvin Klein on-the-knees dress and
swallowed hard. This would have to be handled delicately.
At first she'd been ecstatic at the prospect of this lunch -
not only would she get to do Isabelle a major favour, thus
making them quits for her help with Tom, but she would
have the delicious pleasure of watching the old bitch
squirm as she recounted her disparagement. It wasn't
often, OK, it wasn't ever, that you got to see Isabelle
Kendrick humiliated, and Jordan had been phnning to
enjoy every second of it, geng .to play the loyal,
sympathetic friend whilst inside she was doubled over with
glee, and they both knew it. But things hadn't quite turned
out that way. Jordan had barely gotten five minutes into
her account of lunch with loxana when t,he expression on
Isabelle's face gave her pause. Her mentor had sat there
quite still, green eyes boring into her, her whole body
tense - but not with shock, rather tensed like a cobra,

367


coiled and ready to strike. And Isabelle's voice had
confirmed Jordan's wariness: those measured, dulcet tones
were somehow infinitely more menacing than any raging,
teary despair.

Jordan recognized the danger signals right away and
changed her approach. Out went the gory details, in came
as dry a reporting of the facts as she could manage. Isabelle
was watching her like a hawk, and Jordan knew instinctively
that if she showed the tiniest bit of satisfaction she
was a dead woman. That would mean the end of her spell
as Crown Princess. That would mean social war on a
massive scale. And she.wasn't ready to take Isabelle on - at
least not yet, Jordan thought defiantly.

Anyway, now she had received the official line, loud
'and clear. Poxana was lying. Isabelle was not prepared to
admit, even for one second, even to her closest acolyte,
that Sam had been unfaithful to her with somebody that
mattered - a supermodel he was seeing regularly, as
opposed to a faceless, and presumably discreet, whore.
Like most of the Beverly Hills ladies who lunched, Isabelle
paint no mind to those. On the contrary, Jordan thought,
she probably relies on them to relieve her of certain
'unpleasant' duties'. But Roxana was different, loxana
would mean a loss office. Andpossibly, ifJordan believed
everything she'd been told - which she did, implicitly - a
loss of everything else, too.Jordan tossed her blonde mane,
slightly annoyed. This meant Isabelle was setting herself
firmly above Jordan - after all, she had confessed her
anxieties about Eleanor Marshal/to the older woman. She had been prepared to expose herself, to admit weakness.
Apparently it was not going to go two ways. Isabelle

wished her to say that loxana was lying, when the whole
manner of Jordan's report up to now had strongly implied

that she believed her.

'Or don't you thilak so?' Isabelle asked calmly.

Jordan looked deep into her eyes and saw the" steel


368

behind them. It was a challenge. She had to make a
decision - was she with La Kendrick, or against her?
Evidently there was to be no middle ground.

'Oh, no, absolutely,' she said hastily. 'I expect she's
horribly insecure. They say all these model types live in a
fantasy world, don't they?'

Was it good enough? Jordan wondered. She'd have
made a terrible mistake if she'd crossed Isabelle on this
subject. You only have to take one look at the old hag to
see that she was in a dangerous mood. A very dangerous

mood.

'I expect that's quite right, dear,' Isabelle said, smiling
softly at her.

Jordan felt herself almost sag in her chair with relief. She
hurried to pin her colours even more firmly to her
mentor's standard. 'That was why I came to you, Isabelle.
When people like tkoxana start convincing themselves of
such ridiculous ideas, it's time to put a stop to things.' She
took a decisive sip of her mineral water. 'I mean, she may
be delusional, but we simply can't have her going around
and spouting such rubbish, can we? We have to put a stop
to it.'

Isabelle settled back into her chair, satisfied. 'Indeed we
do, dear. Indeed we do.' She speared a few glistening green
leaves with relish and popped them into her mouth,
savouring the tiny croutons and Parmesan and warm
hazelnut oil. Suddenly food tasted good again. Isabelle was
limbering up for a fight, and she found the experience
rather exciting.

It had been too easy for too 10ng, Isabelle mused.
Crushing the social pretensions of various would-be rival
Queen Bees. Throwing the most glamorous and spectacular
parties, year after year. Honing her guest lists to absolute
perfection, until she could achieve such an incredible
human potpourri at each dinner party that nobody ever
turned her down -just enough glamour, nobility and


369

sheer beauty to amuse the power players, just enough
power players to attract the more glittery crowd. For years
the whole town had known that more deals were done
over cognac at the Kendricks' than breakfast at the Polo
Lounge. Isabelle ruled LA's social set with a rod of designer
wrought iron. She had no rivals. Life had become, perhaps,
just a little dull.

l:oxana Felix would change all that. She was a worthy
rival. Isabelle acknowledged it without a qualm; she was
utterly unafraid. Let the world's most famous supermodel

compete with her for her husband.

Isabelle would crush her.

She. qcould crush her so completely that she never
recovered. She would crudfy the pretty tittle snake. Skewer

' her through and through without mercy. Los Angeles
would watch in amazement, because this was going to be a
complete massacre. And then nobody would ever challenge
her again.

'But it's so boring to discuss unpleasantness all day, don't
you think?' she continued smoothly. 'Tell me about your li, Jordan. Your little problem is taken care of, I gather?'

Jordan nodded smugly. 'She's on her way out.'

'That was my impression.' Isabelle sighed compassionately.
'Poor Eleanor. To have worked so hard for so many
years, and in the end, for what? But at least she's now
married.' A pause. 'To a banker,' Isabelle concluded
triumphantly. ,

Actually, it was rather annoying that Paul Halfin was so
suitable. A successful investment banker was not the
husband she would have picked for Eleanor - better a
'resting' actor, or a minor artist or something. But it would
have to do. A major agent and a studio chairman far
outranked any vanilla businessman.

'And what about you and Tom? Everything rosy?'

'Oh, of course,' said Jordan, uncertainly.

Isabelle shook her head. Without me, this girl's got no

future, she thought despairingly. She's the worst poker
player I ever saw.

'What's the matter now?' she asked patiently.

Jordan shifted uncomfortably. 'Nothing,' she lied.
'Tom just seems a little - uncommunicative. He's very
solicitous, but.., he doesn't seem to, uh, that is, he's kind
of... we don't make love as much as we used to,' she
finally blurted.

'I see. And is that because of the baby, dear?'

'He says so.' She pouted. 'But I've told him it's safe.'
Isabelle waved a bejewelled hand dismissively. 'Problems
at work, dear. He's a little stressed, I expect. Now,
more importantly, how are you progressing with the baby?

Are you enceinte?' she enquired delicately.

'No. Not yet.'

Isabelle frowned. 'You're going to have to hurry up,
dear.'

'How can I?' Jordan demanded, losing her cool. 'He
doesn't hardly ever want it any more. I don't know what
the fuck's the matter with him.' She ignored Isabelle's
glacial expression at her language and ploughed on. 'And anyway, Isabelle, I don't know that I want one - once
Eleanor's gone, what do I need it for?' Jordan's voice rose
to a petulant wail. 'It'll ruin my figure -Joanna Lowell did
that and she had horrible stretch marks and she put on ten
pounds and her breasts! Ugh!' Jordan shuddered in horror.
'They used to be so firm! And now Tom is saying he
doesn't want to get a nanny - it would cry all the time
and- '

'Jordan, Jordan, dear.' Isabelle's voice was firm. 'It's the

only way.'

'But- '

'But me no buts, dear. If you want to consolidate your
position it is the only way. You can always insist on a
nanny. I did. Now, the fact that you haven't conceived is
starting to get.problematic.' She paused, thinking. 'Once


37x

Eleanor has resigned, you must have a miscarriage. We can
discuss that later.'
'But I'm not pregnant yet.'

Isabelle sighed, exasperated, l:keally, sometimes the girl's
stupidity was just too much. 'I know that, Jordan. You
pretended to be pregnant, and now you will pretend to

lose the baby.'

'Oh.'

'You'll be devastated, of course. Tom will go out of his
way to comfort you. At that stage you can conceive for
real.' She signalled imperiously to the waiter. 'Check,
please. My dear, you can call me later this week and we'll
have a. little chat about it.'

'Thank you, Isabelle.' Jordan bit back her protests -

, there would be another time. She smiled engagingly.

'You've been most helpful.'

'As have you, dear,' said Isabelle, regarding her protg6e
thoughtfully. 'As have you.'


Eleanor replaced the receiver on its cradle and sat bolt
ulright. Outside their long sash windows the sky was still
pitch-dark; she glanced at the glowing red numbers on her
bedside dock radio. Four-thirty a.m.

'Who the hell was that?' Paul grunted sleepily. 'Do they
know what time it is?'

'It was an emergency,' Eleanor told him. 'Go back to
sleep.'

'Goddamn. Can't your office call during business hours
with their little crises?' he demanded. 'Your attitude to
work is. ridiculous. You -'

'It was a real emergency.' Eleanor cut him off she didn't
have time for Paul's whining now. 'And it's only halt'an
hour before our alarm is due anyway. Now go back to
sleep. I have to deal with this.'

Ignoring her husband's mumbling complaints, Eleanor
stood up, reaching for her robe, and walked into the

37:z


kitchen, flicking on the light switch. She blinked as her
eyes adjusted to the dazzling glare, then turned on the
coffee percolator. Though she would hardly need caffeine
to wake her up. Despite the fear and anxiety, Eleanor
Marshall had never felt more alert in her life. Adrenalin was
racing through her veins. Forget business - this was a real
crisis, a genuine catastrophe. Two young people might be
dead, and/fnot, they were depending on Eleanor for their
lives. And she was going to come through for them.

Four-thirty in LA. That was seven-thirty in New York. Eleanor picked up the kitchen extension and, from
memory, tapped in her personal attorney's home number.
If everything that Fred had just told her was true, she was
going to need his help. Because if she was going to fly out
to the Seychelles to coordinate a rescue mission, she
intended to have her job waiting for her when she came
back.

Maybe it was Zach and Megan's plight. Maybe it was
the sudden knowledge of Tom's baby. Or both together,
she thought: the threat of death and the promise of life. But
whatever the stimulus, as she sat in her kitchen holding the
phone, Eleanor felt a veil tear from her eyes.

She saw Jake Keller's betrayal clearly. Almost from the
second Fred had mentioned Jake's involvement with
David Tauber, Eleanor understood exactly how she had
been duped. She was angry with herself, but that wasn't
important. That was the past. It was her actions now which
would matter.

Eleanor's eyes focused on thewall .chart which Paul had
insisted on tacking to the freezer door, her most fertile
dates ringed in thick red marker, the days her period was
due cancelled out with equally thick red lines. Well, I guess
you won't have to worry about that any more, she thought
wryly. She was amazed to fred there was no longer any
anger inside her at the sight of it, just a mild wonderment a.t
herself for ever having let him bully her on this matter.


373

She'd let them all bully her. Tom, who'd married a bimbo
sex doll and then expected her either to sympathize or
tread on eggshells around the subject, depending on how
he felt about his wife that week. Paul, who demanded
marriage and demanded children, not out of love, but out
of some pathological desire to conform to society's latest
blueprint for the successful man. AndJake Keller, who had
always hated her, and whose jealousy of her career had
driven him to good old-fashioned sabotage, a sabotage
which she had actually assisted. Yes, Eleanor realized, that's exactly what she had done. Keller had found her in sickness
and torment, and without a qualm he had taken advantage
of her weakened state. And had laughed at her while he did
it, like every other bully since time immemorial.

, Well, they were going to be in for a suprise. Every damn
one of them. Because now, as she found herself confronting
a crisis situation, now, as she sensed the miracle of her
child inside her, Eleanor knew she was no longer afraid.
And that was going to make her strong.

The phone purred in Alex losen's apartment. Once,
twice, and he picked up. 'tkosen.'

Five thousand miles away, Eleanor thought, and he
sounds like he's in the next room.

'Alex, it's Eleanor Marshall. Did I wake you?'

'Of course not. Eleanor. I've been at my desk for an
hour already, you know me. But it must be somewhat early
in LA, right?'

'That's right,' Eleanor replied,, smiling. Alex was more
than a lavcyer; they'd been to Yale together and squabbled
bitterly over everything from feminism to Shakespeare for
four years. And been close friends ever since. It was good
to hear Alex's voice: gossipy, clever, confident, and at her
disposal. And Alex losen was one of the most prominent
corporate lawyers in the United States.

'Then I take it you have a little local trouble you'd like
me to help out with. A minor problem at work, perhaps?'


374

'A major problem, Alex. A big, fat, hairy problem that's
going to finish my career if I allow it to.'

'Oh, good.' Her friend's voice was a sigh of satisfaction.
'Those are the kind I like the best.'


Grant Booth leaned across the polished mahogany surface
of his desk, barely containing himsel£ It was all he could do
to keep from rubbing his hands with satisfaction, but he
managed to restrain himsel£. Such an attitude of unholy
glee would go fight against the sophisticated, reliable
image he was trying to project. And Booth, Warwick &
Yablans were very big on sophistication and reliability.
That was one reason their client was here.

Booth glanced round the air-conditioned comfort of his
offices, admiring them. The dark oak panelling. The
severe, masculine leather chairs in sombre shades of
burgundy'. The antique carriage clock placed atop the
equally antique bookcase. Yes, it was quiet, expensive
decor, and the finn could afford it because of clients like
this one.

'Let me get this straight, Mrs Kendrick,' he began, but
she held up one hand, cutting him short.

'No, Mr Booth. Allow me to repeat mysel£. I want you
to be quite clear about my instructions.'

It was a voice used to command, and Grant Booth
obeyed it. He sat back. in his chair, attention focused
compliantly on Isabelle Kendrick.

'I wish to find out everything about loxana Felix, the
model,' Isabelle said, calmly and clearly. 'And I do mean
everything. Her parents. Her childhood. Her teenage
year. Whom she is sleeping with. Whom she has slept
with. Any enemies that she might have made in her
modelling career, and the manner in which she made
them. In short - everything. You may use whatever
methods you wish, as long as you do not break the law.
You will keep these instructions, the fact that I am your


375

client, and any and all communications between your fm, n
and myself in absolute confidence. And you will give me a
legally binding written promise to that effect before I leave
this office. Money is no object.'

Booth smiled unctuously. 'I am happy to hear you say
so, ma'am.' He cleared his throat. 'You are aware that our
retainer is fifteen thousand dollars?'

Isabelle looked at him blandly. 'No, Mr Booth,' she
said. 'In my case your retainer will be fifty thousand dollars.
Plus expenses. And if the investigation is concluded to my
satisfaction, there will. be a further hundred thousand to
follow.' She gave him a wintry smile. 'Everything, Mr
Booth. I trust I am making myself clear?'

Grant Booth nodded eagerly. He had a very shrewd idea
' of what would constitute 'satisfaction' to this lady. She

wanted blood. And for a hundred and fifty thousand
dollars his firm would happily see that she got it.

'Oh, you are, madam,' he said. 'Very clear indeed.'

376


Chapter 30


It was the heat that woke Megan up. The burning,
sweltering feeling on the back of her neck was too
uncomfortable to let her lie unconscious, and she groaned
and blinked, opening her eyes, unsure of exactly what had
happened, where she was. The pain in her neck intensified
and Megan realized she was lying slumped over a fallen tree
trunk, her head rammed against a branch. All around her
were fes, uprooted bushes and glistening dark green
foliage, bracken and scrub, that had been drenched in the
downpour. Millions of insects buzzed and chirped through
the undergrowth, their low hum mingling with the
constant bubbling calls of the tree flogs. Startled, Megan
jerked away as a huge butterfly flew past her, brilliant
scarlet wings fluttering jerkily.

She moaned in horror as it all came back to her.

The last thing she remembered was the blanket terror of
her sheer fail, clutching onto Zach, then finally crashing
through leaves and branches and blacking out. She glanced
upwards at the emerald canopy of the mist forest; there was
a patch of clear blue sky visible-directly above her, in the
midst of the green tangle of palms and bwa rouz trees. The
sun had been beating down on her through that hole.

That must be where we fell, Megan thought. Zach!
Where's Zach?

She tried to jump to her feet and immediately fell
backwards with a piercing scream. Agony blazed through
her, knives of pain lancing into her flesh. Megan glanced


377

down and saw her left ankle, twisted and grotesquely
swollen, the flesh puffed up and darkly bruised, like a
purple plum.

'Megan[ Megan, are you OK?'

She looked behind her to see zach Mason, his shirt in
shreds and his chest bloodied, standing in the shade of a
towering palm tree. He looked shaken but otherwise all
right. Megan burst into tears with relief.

'Oh, Jesus, sweetheart,' Mason said, rushing over to her
and clasping her in his arms. 'You're in pain. You poor girl.
Have you broken something?'

'No,' she said, andthen burst into tears Tm all right. I'm
so glad to see you, I thought you might be dead.'

He shook his head, stroking her hair with one hand. It
, was ridiculous, but she found the movement comforting;
she wanted to nestle up against him and believe that this
nightmare wasn't happening, that everything was going to
be OK. She forced herself to control her tears and broke
away from him.

Zach Mason is hardly my father, Megan reminded
herself sternly. And anyway, my father wouldn't have
wasted his time stroking my hair. So less of the weak
damsel butlshit- we're in trouble here, and I have to think
clearly if I'.m gonna get out of this alive.

'Neither of us is dead, thank God. Let's see if we can
keep it that way,' Zach said. He looked her over, and
winced as he saw her ankle. 'Jesus, you poor kid. Is it
broken?'

'I don't know. I think it's just sprained,' Megan told
him. 'I can't stand on it.'

Infinitely gently, Zach reached out and touched the

bruised violet flesh. 'Does that hurt?'

She shook her head.

'Does that?' He gave it a soft push.

'No.'

'Well, at least that's something,' Zach said. 'Probably


378

means you haven't been infected yet.' He examined the
angle of her foot. 'It looks real nasty, though. Do you think
you might have dislocated it?'

'What am I, a nurse?' Megan snapped. 'How the hell
should I know?'

He glanced at her. 'Hey, I didn't mean '

'Oh, look, I'm sorry. All right? I shouldn't have bitten
your head off, I know you're trying to help. It's just that
I'm in pain here.' She shrugged, and Zach tried not to look
at her breasts, clearly outlined under the sodden black cloth
of her wet T-shirt. 'I don't think it's dislocated. I guess I'd
be lying here screaming if it were. What about you, are you
OK? What happened to your chest?'

He touched the dried blood on his skin, dismissing it.
'Just a few scratches from the fall. Thorns or something.'

'My God,' Megan said quietly, gazing around her. 'It's a
miracle we're alive.'

Zach hooked his arms under her shoulders and lifted her
up, slowly and carefully so that no weight pressed on her
hurt ankle, and helped her sit uptight on the trunk of the
tree. Megan noticed that her hundred and twenty pounds
was nothing to him; Zach's lean, hard body was evidently
pure muscle. Just as well, she thought dryly. We're going
to need all the muscle we can get.

Mason sat next to her, stating at their surroundings. The
jungle was alive with sound and movement; they could see
nameless small creatures scampering through the undergrowth
ahead of them, birds flitting and swooping through
the canopy. A brightly coloured pigeon, its.body electric
blue with a downy white chest and a crimson crest,
plunged through the forest directly in front of them.

'Pizon Olonde,' Megan said. 'The Dutch Pigeon. They

called it that because it uses the colours of the Dutch flag.'
'Yeah? Where did you learn that?' Zach asked her.

'The guidebook,' Megan said. 'I tried to get a little loc.al
colour when I wasn't on the set.'


379

'Did you read anything about the jungle?'

'Actually, yes,' Megan said. 'Three pages. So I can tell
you some plants you better not touch. And insects to
avoid.'

'Great,' Zach said, giving her a smile. 'Finally something
useful from you,'

'Get lost,' Megan said, grinning.

'I got some news for you, babe.' He waved at the green
shadows of the forest, pierced here and there by long, dusty
columns of light where shafts of sunlight had managed to
pierce through the treetops. 'We already are.'

'Apparently so,' Megan agreed, trying to keep her tone
light..

'Three pages between us and certain death from

poisonous berries,' Zach said, pushing his long black hair
out of his eyes. 'Well, that's reassuring. You want to give
me a run-through of those insects now?'

'Take your pick.' Megan looked at him, and despite
their joking she felt the fear start to return. 'Tarantulas,
crazy ants, yellow wasps, wolf spiders, scorpions. And the
jungles are home to some of the world's crack mosquito
squadrons.'

'What's' the good news?' Mason asked her.

' Good news? Uh, the snakes aren't poisonous.'
'Terrific,' Zach said.

'Plus, I have some insect repellent,' Megan added,
brightening. She fished around in the sodden pockets of
her jeans and produced a large tube. 'I thought I might
need it on the mountain.'

'Now you're talking,' Zach said. 'Any food?'

'No.' Megan fought to control the creeping.sense of

panic closing in on her. 'Zach, what are we going to do?
We're miles from anywhere. You can't even see the ledge
where we fell from hure. They'll have no idea if we're right.
beneath it, or crushed on the rocks, and even if they do,

380

how the hell are they going to find us? There's no paths
into here. We're totally stranded, and I can't walk '

Her voice began to tremble, and she bit her lip to keep
herself from crying.

I won'.t break down in front of Zach, Megan thought
fiercely. That's just what he'd expect me to do. The
damsel-in-distress rout/he. And I'm not about to give him
the satisfaction.

'Hey, I'm not going anywhere without you,' Mason
said. 'Who would tell me what flowers not to touch? I
wouldn't dare.'

'But you can't carry me.'

'Sure I can. I've been weight-training for years, since
before the first tour. You have to keep in shape if you're
gonna survive three years on the road. It's tough.'

'This is tough,' Megan said, staring into the dense forest.
'Agreed.' He fell silent for a few moments, thinking.
Then he said, 'OK, the way I see it we have two options.
One is to stay here, hope that we fell somewhere directly
beneath that ridge and that they'll know where to look for
us. If we do that, we have to try and figure out ways of
making it obvious where we are. It would be nice to light a
fire, but' - he patted the sodden log they were sitting on 'all
the wood is soaked through. Plus I don't have a lighter
or a magnifying, glass and I skipped boy-scout classes, the
kind where they teach .you that thing with the two dry
sticks.'

Megan laughed. The too.'

'Pity,' Mason said, giving her a warm look.

For a second Megan found herself jealous of P,.oxana
again. Zach's thundercloud-grey eyes, his predatory wolf
eyes, were suddenly softened, and she couldn't help

thinking how attractive he was. Get over it, girl. She looked away.

'So, the other option is to get out of here. We'd have 4o

pick one direction and keep going in a straight line, until
we hit a road or something.'

'That doesn't sound too scientific.'

'Look, the whole island is only five miles across.
Seventeen north to south. And the jungle's just one small
part of it. We'll get out soon enough.'

'Will we? I guess that's, the sixty-four-dollar question,'
Megan said, looking down at her twisted ankle.

'Come on, Megan. You're not giving up on me now,
are you?' Zach asked. 'Not after all that work on the script.
Think of the delay this is going to cause to the shoot. We
have to get back, remember? We're making a movie.'

She !ughed. 'Oh, sure. Except that I'm rephceable.'
Tm not,' Zach told her. He stood up and walked over
, to the nearest fallen branch, hefting it up and testing its

weight.

'Don't be too sure. It's incredible what they can do with
technology now,' she told him secretly admiring his hard
body as he moved, the muscles knotting in his back, the
wet cloth of his calkin pants moulded to the rocklike
tl-2ckness of his thighs. 'lLemember The Crow? Starred
Brandon Lee, Bruce Lee's son. Except that he was
accidentally shot dead halfway through filming.'

'No shit?' Zach asked, throwing one branch onto the
grbund. He took a careful look at Megan, then stepped
hard on the wood halfway down it, cracking it in two.

'True story. They finished it with computer morphing.
Virtual acting,' Megan told him. She laughed. 'Maybe we

could use that for lLoxana's part.'

'Good idea,' Zach said grimly.

'You shouldn't trash your girlfriend,' Megan teased
him.

Zach shot her a sharp look. 'She's not my girlfriend,
honey.'

'Yeah, right,' Mgan said, shrugging. She couldn't be
bothered to argue with him.


382

'She's not. Anyway, you should talk. David Tauber's
little puppy.'

'Fuck you!' Megan spat, nettled. Tm nobody's puppy.
And certainly not David's. We split up.'

'Oh, really?' Mason asked softly. He kicked the branch
to one side and walked across to her, standing over her.
Megan shrank back on the log, but Zach reached forward,
towards the neckline of her T-shirt, and pulled on the fine
gold chain glinting against her tanned skin, yanking it free
of the soaking cotton, twisting the small gold star with its
cursive 'D' between his fingers. 'You're still wearing his
dog-tag, I see.'

'I just forgot to take it off,' Megan snapped.
'Uh-huh.'

'God, you're so infuriating,' she said angrily, jerking the
pendant-out of his grasp. 'You think you're so smart. You
and loxana, you're two of a kind. Just because you're
famous you think the rest of the world should be
permanently on its knees in front of you. Well, fuck you.
You deserve each other. And let's see how many wild
animals in here are impressed because you used to sing in a
rock band.'

'I think I'm so smart? That's good, Megan, really.
Coming from the college graduate who was picking me up
on my French pronunciation the ft time we ever met.
Do you know how that made me feel? It was like being
back in grade school; I felt three feet high. And then you
were always so bitchy in reharsals, always putting me
down. I never expected anybody to kiss my ass, Megan,
everybody does it naturally. You get so sick of it all the
time. Or they're like you, putting me down because I
didn't spend years in a fucking classroom. Nobody is
natural with you, except other musicians, maybe. But
whatever. Any time you want to get on your knees in front
of me, that's fine, sweetheart.'


383

'In your dreams, you son of a bitch,' she snarled. 'I
wouldn't fuck you if you were the last man on earth.'

'Yeah? Because in your case, sugar, I just might be,'
Zach retorted.

Their eyes locked for a second in mutual hostility, then
Mason moved away from her.

'This won't help us,' he said finally, reaching for the
branch he'd tossed aside. 'Like it or not, we're stuck with
each other until we get out of this jungle. P, dght?'

'lLight,' Megan agreed, although her face was still
flushed red with fury.

'So let's have a truces Temporarily. We can take up with
the insults when we're back in the hotel.'

Megan looked away, biting her lip again, and just
hodded. His words stirred the dread that was constantly
with her. Jesus, who knew if they would ever get back to
the hotel? She wondered if anybody had ever longed to
walk through that lobby the way she did now.

'Check this out, another one,' Zach said, pleased,
ben.ding down to pick up a second branch with a forked
tip. He flung it next to the first and cracked it at the base,
smashing it cleanly with his foot.

'Zach, what are you doing?' Megan asked.

'We gotta get you mobile,' Mason said, holding up his
two branches triumphantly. He smiled. 'Crutches, courtesy
of Mother Nature.'

'You are out ofyou mind,' Megan told him, but she
gave them a hard look, and added; 'Probably.'

'Try them. You can't walk on that ankle, and it's better if I carry you only when I have to - I can save my strength
that way.' He came over and helped her hook her.arms
over the forks in the wood, then lifted her gently to her
feet. 'How are they?'

Td prefer to get around in a cab, but not bad,' Megan
said, testing her weight against the wood. It held fine. 'You
got my height exactly right,' she told him, surprised:


384

'I should do. I've watched you often enough,' Mason
said.

She glanced at him, but he'd turned aside.

'I think we should head southeast,' Megan suggested. 'I
remember watching the forest from the ridge - it was

thinnest to the southeast.'

'Got a compass?'

'We could use the sun. Rises in the east, sets in the west.'
'Right.' Zach smacked his forehead. 'Trust Dr Livingstone
here to forget something like that.' He walked across
the sunlit patch of ground, shading his eyes, and gazed up
into the sky.

Megan tried not to stare too obviously at Zach Mason's
sun-drenched body, the light lovingly accentuating every
taut muscle, the tangled, attractive mane of black hair that
fell halfway down his back, the distinct, promising bulge
between'his thighs ... She dropped her gaze, blushing,
before he spotted her lusting after him and gave her some
superior putdown.

And I'm not that interested anyway, Megan told herselE.
Maybe it's just because he looks like a savage in those
cal£skin leggings, with that hair.

'Hey, Hiawatha,' she called. 'Which way?'

'Over there, I guess.' He pointed. 'Why Hiawatha?'

'You look like a led Indian in those pants,' Megan said,
grinning.

Zach glanced down and laughed. 'I see what you mean.

But you kind of startled me; I'm quarter Cherokee.'
'No shit. leally?'

'My father's mother,' Zach said, nodding.

Megan shivered. That's where he gets those strange eyes.
Wolf eyes, predator's eyes.

'I never knew,' she said.

'Never read about it, you mean. That was one of my few
successes,' Mason told her, walking over. 'I tried to keep
my family out of it as much as I could. Besides, with the


385

Indian stuffthey'd never let it go. I had as much "New Jim
Morrison" as I could take.' He helped her over the log.
'Are you ready to go?'

'As ready as I'll ever be,' Megan said. She swung the
crotches, moved her right foot, then swung her left foot
after it.

'Aah,' she muttered, wincing from the renewed stabs of
pain.

'I'll carry you,' Zach said immediately, leaping forward.
Megan waved him back. 'No, it's OK. It's just a twinge.
Nothing I can't handle.' She tried again, took a step
forward, then another. 'See? No problem. Give me ten
minutes to practise, and I'll be sprinting.' She smiled at
him, making light of it, trying to distract him. If Zach
thinks I'm suffering, he'll insist on slinging me over his

shoulder. And then it'll take us three days to get out of
here, she thought. I can't let him know how much it hurts.

She wondered briefly what David Tauber would have
done if she'd been stranded with him instead. And felt a
chill run through her at the thought.

'You let me know if you need help, Megan,' Zach
insisted, watching her carefully.

Tm fine, really. Let's go find a nice restaurant, about
four miles due southeast.'

'I mean it.' He was hesitating.

'So do I,' Megan said firmly. She gave him a bright smile
and took three paces forward, walking slowly but surely in
the direction he'd pointed out. 'Now, what are we going
to talk about during this little stroll? How about Dark
Angel? You guys meant the world to me once, if you can
believe that.'

'You have to be kidding,' Zach said, but he followed

her.

'No. And since I'm stuck with you, you're going to
have to answer all my questions, Zach. Because I'm going
to need more than the pretty scenery to distract me'.'


386

'Will you answer all my questions? It has to go two
ways.'

'Sure. It's a better deal for me.'

'We'll see about that,' Zach said, giving her a lazy smile.

'But OK, Megan. You get the exclusive interview.'
'It'll be the longest one you ever give.'

'You know that's the truth,' he agreed, and they set off
together, slowly, walking into the green uncharted depths
of the jungle.

387


Chapter 31


Tom Goldman walked into his office with a heavy heart.
Not that anybody would have noticed: he was at his desk
by half-seven, as usual; he was smartly dressed, as usual, this
morning in a black bespoke suit by Anderson & Sheppard
of Savile tkow, a Tumbull & Asset pinstripe shirt and a
sober navy-blue tie; and none of the security guards or
secretaries noticed anything different about his manner,
because Goldman had been acting depressed and low-key
for months. It was going to be another blazing hot day on
the Artemis lot. Business as usual.

Except not for me, Goldman thought wearily as he
loged into his computer. The password had to be changed
every week and he did it without thinking. This morning
he found himself tapping in Victrix Hotel and smiled grimly.
Pretty Fretdian. There was no getting away from it: he just
couldn't stop thinking about Eleanor Marshall, about the
miraculous night he'd spent with her, and all the nights that
they could have had, and the time he'd wasted and the
dumb choices he'd made. Maybe to an outsider, Tom
thought; the irony of his situation would seem amusing or
elegant; but to him it was simply pain; bitter, crashing
waves of regret, and longing, and the hopeless sense of
certainty that it was now too late, and it would be too late
forever. Jordan, the sensational little sex bomb that he had
so foolishly married, thinking she would add a certain shiksa, Bostonian class to his life- what a joke- had turned
into a dead weight around his neck. It was impossible to


388

talk to her about his work, or art, or music, or sports, or
politics - in short, any of the subjects he was interested in.
The s01e topic of conversation that interested his wife was
social mountaineering, and her babble was conducted in
an arcane language that he couldn't understand and didn't
want to learn - 'Co-Chairman of the Junior League',
'Secretary to the Benefit's Social Subcommittee', 'Vice
President's Assistant for Membership'.

It seemed that that was Jordan's world - throwing
expensive, thousand-dollar-a-plate benefit dinners for
causes she didn't give a damn about and fitting in with a
bunch of overdressed, bejewelled, bored Beverly Hi/Is
housewives who all hated each other anyway.

'But sweetheart, this stuffis so petty, don't you think?'
Tom had asked her last Friday, when Jordan was insisting
on dragging him out to some fancy-dress ball in aid of
saving th whales, or inner-city literacy, or whatever the
hell it was that week. He was tired, and he really wanted to
just stay home, climb in the hot tub and veg out, just stare at
the stars for a while.

'I don't understand,' Jordan had replied, giving that
litde-gid pout he'd come to dislike intensely.

Tom tried again. 'It's not important, Jordan.'

'How can you say that?' Jordan's face was a mask of
horror. 'Don't 'you know that Susie Metcalf is the
chairman? She's totally important, Tom!John only married
her last year and this is her first big evening! Of course it's

important, she expects me to be there!'

'And what happens if we skipit?

'Skip it? Don't be silly, Tom!' Jordan stamped her
Chanel pumps in fi'ustration. 'If we don't show, Susie and
all the other Metropolis Studios girls might not take tables
out for my drug-prevention slave auction in November.'

'Heaven forbid,' Goldman said with heavy sarcasm, and
went upstairs to change.

But it's my fault, Tom told himself. I married a doll, a

389


pretty blonde toy I thought I could never get tired of. I
thought I could get companionship from other friends, but
it's too lonely at the top to have that many real friends, and
too busy to spend much time with them. You need to be
able to talk to your wife, because she's the only one who's
there all the time. All Jordan and I ever had was sex, and

now . . .

Something had taken the bloom off that rose, too. He

had been trying not to admit it, but this morning his
feelings simply could not be brushed under the carpet. It
was that evening with Eleanor. No whips, no chains, no
baby oil and blue movies -just two people moving
together, and it had been the most incredible ,sexual
experience of his life. Like something you read about,

' where the climax was more than mere physical relief,
where he felt it crash around his heart and his mind, touch
his very soul. It had moved him almost to tears. And when
it was over, he'd had no desire to go straight to sleep, no
sense of slight embarrassment at whatever scene he'd just
acted out - he'd wanted to stay there, with Eleanor,
hlding her and caressing her and finally drifting to sleep in
her arms. It was a feeling of the sweetest, purest happiness.

It was total contentment.

It was love.

Goldman stood up abruptly and began to pace up and
down his oflace, distressed.

Why do I have to dwell on it now? he thought bitterly.

Why today, of all days? Today, "when I have to see her,
when I have to tell her she's fired?


The icy winds sliced through him, and Joey Duvall
shivered as he turned into the lobby of the elegant
brownstone on West 74th Street, clutching his camel-hair
overcoat more tightly around him. Another freezing fall
day in Manhattan, not ideal weather for trudging around
the Upper West Side. ButJoey wasn't complaining: So far,


39o

it had been a very profitable morning, and it was just about
to get a lot better.

'Mr Duvall?' the receptionist enquired. Joey nodded
curtly. 'Mrs Fransen is expecting you, sir. If you'd like to
take the elevator to the fourth floor, I'll ring up and let her
know you've arrived.'

Joey nodded again, picked up his burgundy leather
briefcase and stepped into one of the elevators. He pressed
the button and took a casual look around as the car hissed
smoothly upwards. All polished brass and marble detailing;
very nice. Mrs David Fransen had certainly risen in the
world, Joey thought. Like most of her old colleagues. One
in particular.

The elevator stopped on the fourth floor and Duvall
stepped out into a long corridor, carpeted in thick,
expensive-looking navy wool, its eggshell-blue walls hung
with various gloomy paintings of horses and fox-hunting
scenes. More English than Buckingham Palace. The
Fransens' door was one of only two on that level, marked
with a discreet brass nameplate for 'Mr and Mrs David
Fransen'. Joey was amused. What would Babette Delors
know from class? But apparently she had learned.

It was gonna be interesting to see how she handled this
blast from the past, Joey thought.

He pushed the'bell, listened to a few soft, musical notes
chiming inside the apartment.

The door opened immediately. A young woman, the
picture of a stylish New York wife, stood in front of him,
dressed in a smart dark green shit, with a thin string of
emeralds looped across the creamy skin of her throat. She
could not have been more than twenty-seven or twenty
eight, he guessed, and she was extremely attractive, thick
red hair cut in a geometric, Vidal Sassoor-type bob, bright
blue eyes and long, slender legs. Everything about her
screamed of-money and privilege, from the soft fabric of
the suit to the large dark blue sapphire of her engagement

39r


ring. But she was looking at him with hatred, and the sense
of fear emanating from her was so strong he could
practically smell it.

'Mademoiselle Delors?' he enquired blandly.

'My name is Barbara Fransen,' she hissed. 'What do you
want?'

Duvall hefted up his briefcase. 'Information, Mrs
Fransen. Nothing else. May I come in?'

Wordlessly she held open the door for him, and Duvall
walked into the lower reception room of a magnificent
duplex. Furnished in soft cream and butterscotch tones, it
had great views over the city, antique mahogany furniture,
what looked like a Ming vase on the mantelpiece, and a
top-of-the-range speaker system. His eye fell upon some
Baccarat crystal tumblers, one of which would have cost
him a month's wage a year or so back, when he was
schlepping overtime for the NYPD. Things were different
in private work, but then he'd fallen on his feet. He would
always be aware of the value of things, of the difference
m.oney could make in a person's life. You have to be a self
made person to really appreciate wealth, that's what he
reckoned. And to truly fear having it taken away from you.

That was why he was so good at his job. And that was

why Mrs David Fransen was about to open her beautifully
made-up mouth and sing like a canary. Because there was
no way on God's green earth, Duvall congratulated
himself, that this lady was ready to swap the Baccarat for the
back streets. She was standing inthe centre of her Persian
rug, twisting her hands nervously and not speaking.

'May I sit down, ma'am?' he asked, nodding towards the
high-backed ebony chairs ranged around one of the ornate
glass coffee tables.

'If you have to,' she said ungraciously, and then added, 'I
don't know what you want. If it's money, I can't take too
much out of David's account before he notices, and I only
have a little of my own'


392

'I'm sure,' Duvall interjected smoothly, cutting her off.
He didn't want the bitch getting hysterical and doing
anything dumb. 'Like I say, Mrs Fransen, this is not about
blackmail. We aren't interested in you, ma'am. Just what
you can tell us.'

He laid the briefcase flat on the shiny glass table top and
clicked open the lid. Inside, neatly ranged in order of
importance, were typed notes from every subject they'd
interviewed around the world. A Parisian hostess. A sheik's
favourite wife, safely ensconced in a luxury Cairo penthouse
for over ten years- a modem take on the harem, he
guessed. An impoverished policeman from Kansas City
who wasn't quite so impoverished any more. A retired
social worker, ditto. A court stenographer. Several ex
models, all of them current wives of wealthy, powerful
men. It was a bizarre collection, but a useful one - like the
oddly shaped pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, they made a very
clear picture when you slotted them all together. Joey
Duvall had been the operative responsible for finding three
of those pieces, more than any other agent. And Mile
Delors was going to make four.

He grinned as he fished out the clear black and white
photographs, chose the relevant pictures and handed them
across to her. This was going to mean more than a pat on
the back for him;. If he read the excitement at headquarters correctly, the bonus on.this baby would be the biggest
payday of his career.

'Do you recognize that woman?'

She glanced at him, then nodded. 'Yes.'

'And did you have dealings with he in Paris, eight years
ago?'

The answer was so low he could barely hear it.

'Yes.' The woman was biting her lip, tears forming in
the corners of her eyes.

'Don't upset yourself, Mrs Fransen, my firm is extremely discreet,' Duvall told her softly. 'I'm just gonna ask you for

393

a few details, and you're gonna answer me, and then I'm
gonna get out of your life and you'll never see or hear from
me again. Right?'

'Right,' she said, nervously, gratefully.

Duvall pulled out a silk handkerchief from his jacket
pocket and handed it to her, smiling. 'Everything's gonna
be just fine, Mrs Fransen. Ne vous inquidtez pas.'


Eight a.m. Tom Goldman spun in his chair, gripped with
misery and self-doubt.

Should I go into her? he wondered. Normally that's
what I do in the mornings. But for something like this, is
that wi "s? I should get her in here. But it's not formal- it's a
warning...

, Despairingly he passed a hand through his hair. I do not want to do this, he thought desperately. But he had to. It
was now or later, and later would be worse. He just could
not allow her to walk into the production meeting
unprepared, to face Jake Keller's point-by-point demolition
of her work on See the Lights in front of everyone else.
Eleanor had to be allowed time to write a good exit speech,
something that would let her leave with dignity. Keller
would hate him for doing it, but he could go screw himself.

I'm going to warn her, Goldman decided. I owe her that
much.

Reluctantly, he lifted his handset and punched in
Eleanor Marshall's extension.


Eleanor hit her office by six a.m., adrenalin still racing
through her veins. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in
the glass door of her secretary's office; despite the lack of
sleep, she looked better than she had done in years, her hair
newly dry and full-bodied, her make-up bold and confident
- God, when was the last time I bothered with
mascara? she wondered - and her eyes were bright, lively
and alert.


394
After the conversation I just had with Alex, they should
be, Eleanor told herself. She logged in to her computer,
pulled up a word-processing package and started to type
the list of points losen had dictated to her. Then she
turned on the printer, accessed her private back-up files for
the See the Lights memos and began to run off labelled,
dated copies.

Her fingers were flying over the keyboard, racing to get
everything done in time. Eleanor didn't bother with coffee, she was already totally wired. Next up, e-mail, she
told herself, punching in another set of codes and
commands. A list of memos and letters, scanned by date
and subject, appeared on the screen. Silently, Eleanor
blessed Bill Burton, Artemis's resident systems boffin, for
forcing her to take the computing proficiency course last
year. She'd wanted to refuse- who had the time? - but Bill
had steml told her that it was senior management's duty to
set an example to the other staff. So she'd allowed him to
lock her away for two days and show her the basics -
'There you go, princess, you'll never have to rely on your
assistant again,' Bill had told her proudly. Eleanor had
shaken her head - the techno kids lived in a world of their
own - but he'd insisted: 'You'll be kissing my ass for this
one day, Marshall, I'm telling you.'

God. I have to send that boy flowers, she thought
gratefully as she punched inJake Keller's codes and told his
machine to search for, and print out, discrepancies it found
against her own original memoranda.

I've got Keller's codes, but he doesn't have mine,
Eleanor exulted. Privilege of office! Read this and weep,
you son of a bitch. I'm still the president here. And
whatever you may have thought, it's gonna stay that way.

The phone on her desk shrilled. Eleanor picked it up
with her left hand, her right hand continuing to speed
across the keyboard, her eyes fixed on the screen.Jesus, this.
was unbelievable. Except for the fact that Jake Keller was

395


behind it ... except for the fact that the proof was
unfolding before her eyes and shooting out of her colour
printer at four pages a minute. Eleanor's lips tightened.
Maybe they should invent a new proverb - hell hath no
fury like a male executive scorned. Especially if it's in
favour of a woman.

'Marshall,' she said.

'Eleanor, this is Tom.'

'Hey, Tom. Can it wait? I'm in the middle of something
here.'

'No. I have to see you now.'

There was an urgent note in his voice that Eleanor did

not miss. 'OK. I'll be there in five minutes,' she told him,

and hung up. Then she took her small gold powder

' compact out of her purse and checked her make-up,
reapplying a dab of lipstick as the printer spat out the last of
her fdes. Once it was finished, she picked everything up
and shoved it in her briefcase, locking it shut. She grabbed
the neatly typed list of Alex losen's contractual points,
spritzed a little scent across her neck - Chanel No. 5,
Eleanor was in a classical mood this morning - and set off
briskly for Tom Goldman's office.

Isn't it ridiculous? Eleanor thought. I'm fighting for my
career and in a couple of hours I'll need to be on a plane to
the Seychelles. I ought to be worried sick, but I'm not.
Face it! I'm feeling terrific!

As she careered into Goldman's office, Eleanor felt a
minor twitch of guilt at the exhilaration surging through
her. After all, she was about to hangJake Keller out to dry.
His career was over once she did this, not just at Artemis
but anywhere else. And if Tom didn't like it, too bad. She
had him by the balls, and she knew it. Was it unfeminine to
feel such a thrill at the prospect of revenge? Eleanor
wondered. But screw that. It had never stopped Queen
Boadicea.

'Eleanor, come in,' Tom Goldman said, rising to meet

396


her. He shifted uneasily from foot to foot, obviously
uncomfortable. 'How's Paul?'

'Asleep,' she replied irreverently, wondering what the
hell had gotten into her. And what was the personal small
talk? Tom had never wasted time on polite preliminaries
before.

'You look great,' Goldman said truthfully, gesturing at
her crimson Donna Karan suit and bright red lipstick.
'Married life must be agreeing with you.'

Eleanor strolled over to Goldman's desk and took the
chair in front ofit,confident and relaxed. 'Not so far,' she
said levelly. 'But you can cut the banter, Tom. You said
you had to see me. What do you want to discuss?'

He sat down heavily. 'I don't want to discuss this,
Eleanor, believe me. But I have to. We - we've been
working together for a long time, long enough for me to
owe you a warning.' Goldman sighed heavily, hating what
he was forced to sdy next. 'Jake Keller is going to bring up
all the disastrous production decisions that you made about
locations, casting, unions or whatever on See the Lights, and contrast them with the objections he lodged in that memo
you made him write. We're facing a bath on this movie,
Eleanor, and if word gets out it could affect the stock. That
would be the end of the studio.' He glanced at her, then
looked away again. 'Keller says he has a detailed plan for
completing this film at a minimal further cost, but the price
he's demanded for giving it to me is that he replace you as
the executive in charge of the project, and that I announce
it publicly. He wants me to do it at the meeting this
afternoon.'

Goldman paused, took a breath. Why had he put it like
that? He'd meant to say, I'm going to do it at the meeting this
afternoon. I'm sorry... I have no choice. He'd meant to sit
here and break it to Eleanor Marshall as gently as he could;
he was sacking her.

It was his duty as CEO.


397

There was no other way.

It would be nothing personal. Right?

She gazed back at him, those sparkling eyes calm and
unfazed. Tom felt his heart contract with respect and love.
Eleanor was as brave now as she'd been when he first met
her fifteen years ago. He flashed back to those same eyes,
warm and brilliant, looking up at him in bed in New York,
ftlled with sweet love and hot desire.

Now he had to look into those same eyes, look at this
woman who'd been his friend and p:rtner for fifteen years,
and tell her she was fired.

'And are you going to, Tom?' Eleanor asked quietly.

For.a second she held her breath. So this was it. He was

about to break faith with her, for the sake of business, for
' the sake of his job. And even though she knew that Alex

Rosen could save her position, there would be no saving

her love for Tom Goldman. Not after this.

Once he said the words, it was all over.

Tom Goldman looked at Eleanor Marshall, and suddenly,
irrationally, felt a great weight lifting off b-is chest.
Fie couldn't do it. It was that simple.

'No,' he said. 'No, I'm not. I can't do it to you, kiddo.
Not that it'll help you any; the Artemis board will have you
out in a heartbeat. But I'm not gonna point you at the exit
sign. I'll resign first.' He shrugged. 'What the hell? We
came in together, we'll go out together.'

Eleanor stared at him, a thrill of exultant love rushing
through her. My God, she thought. If I'd waited one more
day to do this, it would have been too late.

Goldman misinterpreted her silence, and felt a surge of
pain and compassion. 'Look, I do know how hard this
must be for you. If there's anything I can do, anything at all,
just name it.'

Eleanor shook her head, smiling. 'Tom, I'm sorry. I was
thinking of something else.' She cleared her throat, held up
Alex Rosen's list in front of her and said coolly, 'Now, let


398

me tell you what's actually going to happen. My lawyer is
taking the first plane out of New York, and he should be
here by lunchtime, so he can go over it with you then. But
I thought I'd give you a little rundown first. Number one,
my contract as president of Artemis states that nobody can
be hired above me or below me without my approval,
unless the company is sold. I would regard Artemis placing
Jake Keller in charge of production on my movie as placing
him above me. And so would a court. They'd be in breach
of contract, Tom, and I'll fde a suit against the studio this

afternoon. And I'll announce it at a press conference.'
'Eleanor- '

She held up a hand. Tm not done. Furthermore, I
cannot be dismissed without three written warnings, none
of which I have received, and a review with the board in
New York. Again, if Artemis violates these conditions, I
will sue. And I- have the guaranteed right to see my first
green-lighted project through to completion and release.'
She smiled gently. 'If you recall, Tom, you advised me to
have that clause inserted in the deal, so they couldn't do to
me what they tried to do to Martin Webber. And Alex
tkosen, my lawyer, is very hot on this issue. He says if
Artemis tries to get out of it we'll sue for millions.
Moreover, this bin& any future owner of the studio. So
Howard and his buddies can't just ship me off to the Japs
and let them fire me, either.'

Eleanor tapped her long, elegant fingernails on top of
B.osen's list. 'We've got three major breaches right there,
Tom. And it will be a splashy trial. I'll turn it into a feminist cause cle'bre, and the nation can turn a spotlight on how
Hollywood treats women - all women, not just the
handful of us who make it to senior executive level.
Pemember when Dawn Steel was president of Production
at Paramount, and they ousted her while she was in labour
with her little girl? Nice, huh? Well, they can forget abou


399

trying that with me. Or I'm going to make every Artemis
stockholder rue the day they were born.'

Tom Goldman sat back, gazing at her in total shock. He
opened his mouth to say something, but no words came

out.

'What about Jake's phn for See the Lights?' he managed
eventually. 'We have to rescue that picture, Eleanor.
We're looking at a hundred-fieen-million-dolhr loss!
We can't survive it!'

'We couldn't survive a loss that size, true. But we aren't
going to take a loss. I spoke to Fred Florescu this morning,
and he tells me that they'll be all done in a month, and what
they finally have down is awesome. Now, let's talk about
Mr Keller.' She reached for her briefcase, unlocking it,
drew out the sheaves of memos and e-mail messages and
passed them across the desk to her boss.

'What are these?' Goldman asked, mystified.

'These are copies of my original memos, laying out all

the location sites and production details we had decided
on, after I took reports from my location scouts.' Tom
nodded. 'And these are copies from Jake Keller's computer,
showing where he altered them. The discrepancies
are highlighted in bold type. You'll see that most of the
changes are minor- one beach versus another, that kind of
thing - although the changes resulted in lost hours and
costly reshoots. Keller was switching locations to nature
reserves, protected or, dangerous areas, or beaches where
the t/de would come in too fast and cause a shoot to be
abandoned.'

'But' how could this have happened without you
noticing?'

She nodded. 'You're right. And that was my fauh; it
won't happen again. I was too trusting, it never occurred to
me that a senior executive at this studio would actually
stoop to sabotage. But Jake asked me to sign off on some
"minor changes", as he put it. The big one I missed was the

400


warning about the weather in the Seychelles. I advised the crew to switch to Hawaii if ftlming hadn't wrapped by a
certain date, to avoid the rainy season. And Jake deleted
that from my instructions.'

'I don't believe it,' Tom said, dumbfounded.

'Nor did I, but there's your proof. If you access his
computer now, before he arrives, you'll see the same thing
yoursel£. And there is one other matter - casting. Jake's
condemnation of me for picking P,.oxana, and then his
desire to enlarge her part.'

'We did have major trouble with loxana, Eleanor. We
still do,' Goldman said, feeling he should make some kind
of a rally on the studio's behal£. The documents he was
holding seemed to smoke in his hands. Jesus Christ? How
come I never thought to investigate, either? he asked
himself, utterly dismayed.

'Yes. Ahd perhaps these will explain some of that,'
Eleanor told him, passing across one final pile of papers. 'I
pulled them out of Jake Keller's private e-mail frle. They're
faxes sent to David Tauber at the Mridien Hotel, Anse
Polite, Seychelles, discussing R.oxana Felix's deliberate
disruption of the shoot, and when it would be best for her
to start working properly - after I had been fired.'

Tom Goldman took them and glanced through them,
his face darkening'.

'Cancel the production meeti.ng, Tom. You can
reschedule it a week from now. That'll give you time to
discuss Keller with our lawyers.'

'Very well,' he said quietly. 'What excuse should I give?'
'Unfortunately, you don't have to give them an excuse,'
Eleanor told him. 'The main reason Florescu rang me this
morning is that Zach Mason and Megan Silver are
missing.' She gave him a brief description of her phone call.
'You can tell them that I had to fly out to Mah6 this
morning to supervise a rescue effort. In my absence, you'll.
be taking over my responsibilities. P, fght?'


4oz

'RAght.' Goldman paused, leant towards her. 'Eleanor,

l--'

'Save it.' She gave him a quick smile. 'We can talk when
I get back.'

4o2


Chapter 32


'I hope you can appreciate, Mrs Kendrick, that we have
only been conducting the investigation for a matter of
days,' Grant Booth said nervously, as he watched Isabelle
sort through the foolscap document wallet, occasionally
holding up a photograph to the light, her face expressionless.
'I realize that there is a certain lack ofwimesses to the
findings we have come up with so far. We normally obtain
at least ten itnesses per incident or fact that we allege took
place.'

'Can you get me more wimesses to "this?' Isabelle
enquired.

Booth nodded hastily, flicking a finger across the navy
blue sleeve of his suit, a masterpiece of immaculate
tailoring by Tumball & Asset in London, as if removing an
imaginary piece of lint. It was so important to impress Mrs
Kndrick. Not only was she paying them more than
handsomely, she was a ocial power in the city. Her
recommendation to the wives and ex-wives of Hollywood
moguls could double the firm's, revenue in a year. He
would bend over backwards to please her. Indeed, he
would contort himself into any position the lady required.

'Certainly, madam, certainly. And we have various
employees doing just that as we speak. But since the story
that was emerging was so, uh, so surprising, we felt you
would want to have the basic skeleton of the matter right
away. An interim report, if you like.'


403

Isabelle closed the lid of the document wallet. 'Can I
keep these?' she asked.

'Please, be my guest.' Booth nodded reassuringly. 'We
hav9 several copies of everything.'

Isabelle nodded, pushed back her chair and stood up to
leave.

'Is - is everything satisfactory so far, Mrs Kenddck?' he
asked her anxiously.

For the first time that morning, Isabelle Kendrick
avoured him with a slight smile. 'I look forward to
receiving your ull report, Mr Booth, but I must say your
work so far has been excellent.' She glanced coolly down at
the document wallet, placed neatly inside her soft leather
Gucci tote bag. 'Absolutely excellent.'

Grant Booth's pudgy face beamed with relief as he
sprang forward to hold open his office door for her.


Isabelle parked her Bendey in front of the house, trying to
contain hersel£ It wouldn't do to let Sam see her in this
state. She was bubbling over with happiness, her mani
cored fingers tapping out old Sinatra tunes on the steering
wheel A long dine ago, when she'd been interested in
things like music, Sinatra and Tony Bennett had been her favourites, Kind of appropriate, really, Isabe]]e thought,
restraining an unseemly gn'in. She was about to do it Her
Way. But Sam mustn't know until it was too late;
according to these reports, Sam had actually developed feelings for the little slut. A blast of cold anger sliced through
her elation, but she suppressed it. Never mind what her
husband chose to do with his empty little heart. She had
lost that years ago. And it was hardly important. It was Sam
who was important - the man himself, and the status that
his thick platinum band on her left hand represented.
Isabelle had not come all this way to lose it to some twenty
four-year-old mannequin now.

But peace, peace, Isabelle soothed herself as she stepped


4o4

out of the car, smoothing her peach Bill Blass suit as she did
so. That was all taken care of- Mr Booth and his cohorts
had seen to that. Now the only thing that remained was for
her to pick a reporter to give this story to. She would
choose carefully, for it was the showbusiness scoop of the
decade, and whoever she handed that foolscap binder to
would owe Isabelle huge forever. She had to select
somebody with appropriate clout, somebody worth having
in her designer pocket. There was no point in rushing
things, Isabelle thought. She had to keep one eye on her
future. Unlike Ms Felix, who after today didn't have a future.

Isabelle practically bounded up the steps of the terrace,
nodded curdy at the maid who admitted her, and walked
through to her study right away. First things first. Because
she wanted so desperately to believe what Booth, Warwick
& Yablans were telling her, that didn't mean it was
tree. For her own peace of mind she wanted to check up
on a couple of details. She dialled Jordan Goldman's
number and waited, one foot tapping impatiently on her
antique Chinese rag.

'Goldman residence.'

'Isabelle Kendrick for Mrs Goldman,' Isabelle said impatiently . She wished dear Jordan wouldn't insist on
having the servants always answer the phone, l:keally, so
affected.

'Isabelle! I'm so glad you called.' Jordan was gushing.
Tve been wanting to speak to you about my slave auction
next month. Do you think I should make togas mandatory?'

'Oh, definitely not, dear,' Isabelle said, shuddering at
the thought of all that wrinkled male flesh exposed. 'But
we can talk about that in a second. I want to ask you a few
questions about loxana Felix.'

'Anything, Isabelle,' Jordan said obediently.

'You always said P,.oxana had been a schoolfriend of

405


dear, but how long was she actually at the Sacred


'Only one year. She was enrolled in senior year,' Jordan

said, surprised at the question. 'She was eighteen when she

arrived.'

Isabelle gave a sharp intake of breath. So it was all true.

'Are you OK, Isabelle?'

'I'm fine. Tell me, did you ever see her mother or her

father at the school? Did they ever come to pick her up, or

attend graduation?'

'No. As a matter of fact, they didn't come to graduation,'

Jordan mused thoughtfully, remembering it. 'We all
thought" that was weird, but P,.oxie said they were in
Europe on business and couldn't be there. But they never
came to pick her up, either; at the end of term, she always
left for the airport in a cab.'

'Thank you, dear. That's very useful,' Isabelle said, one

hand bailing into a fist of triumph at her side. 'I have to go

now. I've got a few calls to make.'

'But what about my togas?' Jordan whined.


	'I'll call you back,' Isabelle said firmly, hanging up.

She stood there for a few seconds, racing through the

possibilities, and finally settled on the ideal person. Marissa
Matthew.s, the most widely read gossip columnist in New
York, an old acquaintance, and syndicated all over Los
Angeles. Isabelle congratulated herselfi Marissa would kill
for a story like this. And she would be the perfect ally for an
entree into New York society. After , she had already
conquered Los Angeles, and one had to expand one's
horizons.

Smiling, she lifted the phone and punched in the

number.

'Marissa? Darling, it's Isabelle Kendrick. ihave a scoop

for you. P,.ather a big one, in fact. Do you have a decent fax
up there?... Oh, it can take photographs too, can it?
Splendid...'


4o6

Eleanor leaned back in the air-conditioned comfort of the
hotel's sedan, sent to collect her from Seychelles airport,
and gazed out of the windows. Physical fatigue was
beginning to hit her, but she forced herself to stay awake.
This was going to have been a big day for her, but it wasn't
over yet. Not by a long shot. First, she'd managed to save
her job, and that had been fun; Tom, looking gorgeous in
that sombre black suit, and sitting there with his mouth
hanging open in astonishment, was a sight she would never
forget. Blown away by the new, tough, improved Eleanor
Marshall. But that was the easy part; she just prayed she
could be tough enough for Megan and Zach. If there was
any Megan and Zach left to rescue. But somehow Eleanor
was sure they had survived. She could feel it in her bones.
They were alive, and stranded somewhere in that emerald
green jungle she'd stared at from the windows of her
plane. °

Fred Florescu, looking pale and anxious, was waiting for
her in the lobby when she arrived. 'Thanks for getting here
so quickly,' he said. 'It's the second day they've been
missing. I've notified all the authorities, and they've got a
search under way...' The young director shook his head.
'I don't know what else we can do. There's been no news.'

'OK. Here's what I've been thinking,' Eleanor said.
'First up, I'm going to hire every private helicopter
available on this island to fly over the national park, with

spotlights backwards and forwards all night.'

'That'll cost you,' Florescu said.

'That's my problem, Fred. Fin authorized to draw on
Artemis funds for this search. Next, I'm hiring locals to go
into the jungle and look for them.'

'The mist forest they're lost in is eleven miles square,'
Florescu told her, despairingly. 'You'd need hundreds of
people to make any impact.'

'And I'm prepared to hire hundreds. Thousands, if
necessary. We'll pay them five hundred dollars each to

407


look for Zach and Megan, and give the guy that finds them

a five-thousand-dollar reward.'

Florescu looked at her with a new respect. 'Jesus,
Eleanor. Studio execs are supposed to be tight-wadded
assholes. Where did you come from?'

She laughed. 'Hey, we are tight-wadded assholes. This is

just an investment, as far as I'm concerned. A dead Zach
Mason means a big loss for Artemis Studios, and Megan
Silver will make a lot of money for us, down the line. I've
got a lot of personal capital in See the Lights, Fred. I want to
see this movie released.'

'And you know what? You're going to be sitting on one

hell of a goddamned smash when it is,' Florescu told her.

'Good. Now, you get the rest of the cast together and

, start shooting.'

'Do what?'

'Start shooting,' Eleanor repeated. 'Film some scenes
without Zach or loxana in them. There have to be a few
left, right?'

'There are, but-'

"Forget but, Fred. You're no use to Zach and Megan
sitting here moping. None of you know the forest, and I'm
not risking any more of my people in there.' She gave him
a soft smile. 'I intend to get those kids out alive and well. I
want them to have a picture to go back to. Now, are we
making a movie here or not?'

'Yes, ma'am!' Fred llorescu replied, smiling broadly.


'It's getting dark,' Megan said.

She tried to keep the fear out of her voice. They had
already spent one night in the undergrowth, but then she'd
been unconscious, knocked cold by the fall. This evening
itwould be different. Megan doubted if she'd sleep at al/,
despite her exhaustion, every muscle seemed to shriek in
protest as she took another step forward with her right
foot, balanced her weight on the makeshift crutches and


408

swung her useless left foot forward to join it. She had gone
as fast as she could all day, refusing to stop for a rest despite
Zach's urging; Megan knew that if she sat down she'd
never have been able to get back up. Twice she'd stumbled
and fallen, screaming with pain as her swollen ankle jarred
against some hidden rock or branch, and Mason had
insisted on carrying her until her kicks and scratches finally
persuaded him to put her down. Megan refused to wear
Zach out: deep inside, although she was too scared to face
the possibility fight now, was the feeling that maybe Zach
was their only hope; maybe he'd have to leave her in the
jungle and run on ahead, gambling that he could get out of
the forest and that help would arrive quick enough to save
her. Although somehow she doubted that they'd find her
again; one patch of jungle looked much like another.

Well, Megan thought, gripped with gallows hurnour, at
least this s a pretty spot for a grave.

Beautiful but dead/y; that summed up the mist forest.
Gnarled northea and screwpine palms covered With damp
moss and creepers, bright sunlight penetrating into the
green gloom of the woodlands, primeval giant ferns
rearing up everywhere under the jade canopy overhead.
Brightly coloured birds swooped and plunged through the
trees. The scent of wild cinnamon, vanilla orchids and
passionflowers hung in the air, underlying everything
along with the buzz ofir, sects and the calls of the tree frogs
and the geckos. Never in her wildest dreams had Megan
imagined any place so strange and lovely. But it was
terrifying, too: twice Mason had'scooped herinto his arms,
trembling and frozen with fear, and carried her several
yards away from a scorpion; they had passed three huge
hanging nests of yellow wasps, a savage genus of the species
that could paralyse if they attacked in numbers; a thick
Seychelles wolf snake had slithered out of some leaves and
writhed right through Megan's crutches, and although she
knew they were harmless Megan had trouble suppressing

4o9


her natural dread of the giant palm spiders, each on*
size of a human hand, that hung from every other tre
thick white cobwebs. She was frightened of nightfall, she
couldn't help it. She kept thinking about tarantulas, and
the jungle would be swarming with bats. What she could
cope with in the green and gold of daylight would become
horrible, unbearable in the dark, the blackness crawling
and slithering with nameless terrors.

Thank God she wasn't alone. Zach had been with her

when she woke up and he had been by her side every step
of the way, carrying her, comforting her, protecting her.
Megan felt suffused with gratitude for the way the guy had
behaved: picking her up when she needed help, joking
around to distract her, forcing her to talk about herself

'incessantly, so that she could get through the day. He'd
never once complained over the way she was slowing
them down; he would wait for her, with total patience, for
as long as it took. And Megan knew she'd slowed them
down. Despite all the agonies she'd put herself through,
they couldn't have travelled more than two mils in the
wllole day.

Mason looked up at the patches of sky visible through

the treetops. Sunset was definitely falling, streaks of red and
gold blazing across the darkening blue heavens like so
many banners.

'Looks like it. We'd better stop,' he said, leading her

across to an overgrown mossy stump. 'You sit there while I
build a shelter. I'll do it right away, before the light fails.'
He gave her a warm smile. 'ILelax, you get to rest now
You did great.'

'Can I help?' Megan asked, watching him cracking
branches and stacking them against the bark of the nearest
large tree.

'No. This won't take me five minutes,' Zach told her,
jumping up to rip offa few large leaves for thatching. He
moved confidently, quickly, the muscles in his back sliding

4IO


around under his tanned skin, his back covered in a thin
sheen of sweat, the tattered shirt long since discarded in the
heat and tied around his waist. Megan couldn't help
noticing how firm his thighs looked under the calfikin
leggings, moulded round his body like a second skin. And
his biceps were pretty impressive too, large and rock-hard,
as though sculptured by a master craftsman.

David would kill to look like that, Megan thought, and
was suddenly overwhelmed with embarrassment at her
own stupidity. How could I ever have looked up to that
guy? she wondered, blushing a deep red. He's such a
weasel, such a peacock, such an ass-kisser! And I acted like
putty in his hands! I thought he was the talented one, even
when somebody like Fred Florescu told me different. I let
David dictate to me what I ate, what I wore - I let him
stand over me while I worked out[ How pathetic can you
get? And-just because I lost a little weight I convinced
myself that I should put my life in his hands. But I was
unhappy with how I looked anyway - I would have
slimmed down of my own accord, with him or without
him...

'There you go,' Zach said, standing back. He had
finished a small wigwam-style hut of branches, palm fronds
and leaves, backed up against the tree for security. 'Not

exactly the tkitzCarlton, but it'll have to do.'
'It's wonderful,' Megan told him.
Zach glanced at her. 'You're blushing.'

'I was thinking about David,' Megan said truthfully.

He turned away and started threading a few more leaves
into the thatch.

She took a deep breath. 'I was thinking what an idiot I
was ever to see anything in that guy. You were right, you
know. He's a complete jerk. We were fighting before we
finally split up - I told him I was moving out of the hotel
suite - and the next morning he came up to my room and
told me to pack, because I was fired. Then he cam

running back twentyminutes later to tell me I wasn't
But I did realize he was an asshole before. Now, I just,
understand why I ever thought any different.'

'Now?' Zach asked, his grey eyes watching her steadilyl
'Now I'm here with you,' Megan said, unthinkingly.
Mason gave her a slow smile.

Megan felt the blush deepen to a rich crimson. 'I didn't

mean it how it sounded. It's just that you - I meant, you've
been so good to me today, you've been really manly about
it. David would have left me -' Her voice trailed off in
confusion.

The Tarzan, you Jane,' Zach said, but his gaze was
travelling slowly up and down her body, and Megan
wasn't completely sure he was joking.

'Why did you go with David? I knew you were hanging

out together but I never saw you with him until the
Electric City show.'

Megan shrugged. 'He decided to make a move on me

then, though nothing much happened that night. Actually,
I was grateful.- I was kind of embarrassed, standing there
while you and Koxana were getting close.'

Zach glanced at her. 'I only did that because I saw you

with Tauber. After we'd been talking. I was jealous, I

ess.'

'You were jealous? I don't understand,' Megan said,
feeling a warm wash of desire flood through her groin.
Could he be saying wl3at it sounded like he was saying?
'You were with Koxana Felix. She told me so, in that little
booth on the stage, remember that? She was wearing the
laminate, you got her.' She tried to take the accusing note out of her voice and failed. 'When you dedicated that song
to me - this is going to sound really stupid, I know- I was
so pleased. It meant a lot to me - because you were my
hero, once. I grew up on Dark Angel.' Now she was really
abashed, blushing harder than ever. She looked down.
Was there any way to say somethinglike that and not come

ffas another dumb groupie? Megan wondered. Because if
there was, she surely hadn't found it.

'Why would you think that sounds stupid?'

'Because I sound like a fan.'

'Do you think I despise my fans?' Zach asked. 'I'm glad it meant something to you. That was the point. We didn't
write those songs so we could play them to ourselves in
Nate's garage. Even if we never expected what happened,
we wanted to be heard.'

'She told me that she and you had discussed it together.
That you thought the two of you had been a little harsh on
me, so you'd do that onstage to make me feel better. And
then I felt like a moron, because it wasn't your ideal It was

.O-,'3'S. '

Zach Mason stared at her for a long moment, and finally

shook his head, laughing.

'What?'

'Megan. It was my idea, of course it was. tLoxana had
nothing to do with it. The pass she was wearing, Sam
Kendrick got for her. loxana Felix was never, ever, my
girlfriend! She was sleeping with Sam. She still is. God, you
must be the only person on the set who never realized that.
She wanted to get together with me, but only for the
publicity, or so she could use me. I told her I was interested
in somebody else.'

'Oh,' Megan said blankly.

Somebody else? Did I miss something here? Who? I
haven't seen anyone else around - he can't mean Mary,
surely, she's way too old...

'I told her I was interested in you,'Zach said.

Megan sat very still on the tree stump, trying not to
breathe.

'But you hate my hair. You were always so rude to me.
You don't like me,' she stammered.

'I preferred you the way you were before, that's true:
But I figured you were doing that for David.'

o'I was doing it to get some attention,' Megan muttered.
Zach smiled at her, his eyes now full of desire. She felt

her nipples stiffening in response.

I don't care if this is happening because we're standing
together. I don't care if this is all lies, Megan thought
fiercely. I want him. I must have him.

Long-submerged waves of longing were beating up in

her, making the blood warm under her skin, need pulling

at her crotch.

'You always had my attention.'

'I was frightened of you, because of who you were,'
Megan admitted.

He nodded, dark hair cascading round his shoulders.
'And I was kind of frightened of you. Because you were so
,smart, so well educated, and I never even finished high

school.'

She stood up and walked carefully over to the hut.
'Let me take those for you.' Zach supported her as she
let go her crutches, one arm carefully encircling her waist,
then lowered her down onto the ground.

*You are one of the most intelligent men I've ever met,'
Megan told him, her brown eyes ftxed on his. She could
feel the warmth of his body, the tight, naked skin next to
her face, and fought back the urge to press her lips against
it. This had to be taken slow. 'You must be crazy. Don't
you understand that you were the voice, you were the
focus, for our whole gentration? What did you think made
them respond like that?'

'It was just lyrics,' he said, sitting next to her.

'Yeah? And who wrote them, Zach? Who wrote all
those songs? You did! And you said what we all believed.
You spoke for us. That's something you should be proud
of, Zach. You have a genius with music and lyricism that
thousands of kids would do anything for, and you've
proved to be an incredible actor. You don't need a little
paper certificate to tell you you're smart. And deep down

inside, you know that.' She paused. 'Why did you split the
band?'

'You really want to know?'

She nodded, and he settled next to her, pressing his body
up against hers. The touch of his skin was electrifying.

Zach closed his eyes briefly. 'I had always written
everything. And last Christmas, Nate came to me with two
songs he'd laid down, on kis own, when there was a break
from touting. I told him I couldn't use them. He said he
wanted to talk to the other guys. And I freaked. I said I was
always going to write all the songs.' He tapped one rough
hand on his knee. 'Dark Angel was my baby, Megan. It was
my vision, it had been from the beginning, from before our
first guitarist left and Nate joined. Maybe I was feeling
threatened. I don't know.'

'So what happened?' she asked gently.

'We hd a fight.' He shrugged. 'A lot ofshit got said that
couldn't be taken back. And then Yolanda Henry, our
manager, came in on Nate's side. She said they were good
songs, and we should use them. I was bitter, I was really
incensed. I fired Yolanda and split the band. And within
days there was David, pouring oil all over my wounded
ego, pushing the right buttom. He asked me if I'd like to
try acting, and it sounded good - a chance to show the
other guys that I had talent, I could make it without Dark
Angel. And that's it. Not very noble.'

'But you believed his songs would hurt your vision of
the band,' Megan said

'You know what? I wsh[ cotild te you that was true. I
wish I could say that I acted with integrity. But it's not, and
I didn't.' Mason glanced at Megan. 'They were great
songs, leally beautiful. And I got jealous, I got protective
.. I thought I was so cool, but when it came right down to
it I was just another bigshot with an ego. Yolanda wouldr't
bullshit me when I wanted her to. She had integrity. So, I
fired her.'

He fell silent.

'Go easy on yourself, Zach.'

'I can't. I split my band, for nothing.'

Megan grinned. 'So what? When we get out of here,

you fire David, call Nate Surer up, apologize, put the band
back together, reinstate Yolanda Henry and apologize to
her too. I think it's great. I get to be responsible for Dark
Angel getting back together. I'll be the biggest underground
heroine since Courtney Love.'

'Just like that, huh?'

'Yeah. Just like that. What's stopping you?'

'Are you serious?' ,Zach asked, turning to her. His
thundercloud eyes stared tight into hers, and Megan felt
her crotch tighten.

'I'm totally serious. Why not? I'm sure they're feeling

just as bad about it as you are.' Feeling hot, flustered at his

gaze, she reached into her pocket and drew out the tube of
insect repellent. 'Let me put some of this stuffon you. At
dusk we're going to need it.'

Zach said, 'Take offyour top.'

'What?'

'Take offyour top.' He patted the damp ground beneath

them and reached to his waist, untying his shirt. 'We have
to get some kind of solid coveting underneath us, so
nothing crawls out of the leaves while we're asleep. The
gel should keep the bugs away from our upper bodies.'

Megan did as he said,,spreading her shirt next to his on

the ground, trying to act naturally. This is a survival
situation, she told herself ftmaly. Right? Just like going to
the doctor. He won't think anything of it.

'My God, you're beautiful,' Zach exclaimed softly. He
reached out and stroked the so, creamy flesh of her left
breast with one finger, and Megan felt a liquid rush of
renewed wanting surge through her like molten lava, his
touch burning against her skin. Her nipples stiffened with pleasure, and they both saw it, the swollen buds pressing


416

through the thin chocolate lace of her bra. Half hypnotized,
Megan glanced down at Zach's crotch. He was
already erect, the hard outline of his cock, large and thick,
clearly visible as it strained inside the calfskin. Instantly, a
burst of. wetness exploded inside Megan's pussy in
response, making her mb her thighs against each other
with impatient need. She moaned.

'I want to make love to you,' Zach said urgently, his
voice rough with desire, and Megan reached out to caress
his chest, saying, 'Oh, yes, Zach, please, now,' and then his
hands were on her breasts, not softly this time, grabbing
them, cupping them, his thumbs brushing her taut nipples,
sending little shocks of sex through them, and Megan
leaned forward, her fingers shaking, and unknotted the
laces at the top of his crotch, pulling them halfway down
his thighs, so that he sprang free, and she took his thickness
in her hands and began to play with him, her fingertips
lightly brushing against the warm skin of his balls, her
fingers wrapping themselves round the stem of his cock,
until Zach groaned with pleasure and broke away from
her, ripping off his clothes as if he couldn't undress fast
enough. Megan, her heart hammering against her chest,
snapped open the buttons on her 5ots and started to yank
them down, then stopped, dismayed.

'What's the matter?' Zach asked her, seeing her sudden
distress.

Megan pointed to her injured ankle, bloated and
discoloured above the leather of her shoe. 'I can't take my
jeans off. I'll never get them over that,' she said, almost
choking on her disappointment.

Mason took her head in his hands and kissed her, a long,
luxurious kiss, his tongue meeting hers, teasing the inside
of her mouth, flicking under her top lip, then taking her
bottom lip in between his teeth and sucking it. Lust bathed
her entire body and she pressed against him, her breasts

swelling with need, her nipples now sharp as a razor blade
against his chest.

'You don't need to take them all the way down. They
go far enough,' Zach said, giving her a slow smile. Megan
gasped as his left hand snaked round behind her, cupping
the back of her neck, supporting her weight, and his tight
hand plunged between her thighs, coveting her mound,
his palm first barely touching the damp, silken down, then
pressing harder, sending a blaze of pleasure through her
crotch. Automatically she bucked underneath him, trying
to move her thighs, to twist away from the caress, but she
couldn't. Her jeans held her locked securely in place, her
crotch dxposed to him. Zach looked into her eyes and
laughed, a low, throaty laugh, of delight and desire.
, 'No way, baby. You're not going anywhere,' he said, and
then his fingers were inside her, two of them, stroking her gently , probing her heat and her wetness, and he began to
caress her, intimately, fmgertips sliding over the smooth
nub of her clitoris. Megan cried out, her back arching
involuntarily under him, and waves of pleasure began to
beat up in her, the ecstasy overtaking her, and she came in a
blind rush, spasms of bliss tippling across her belly.

'We're just warming up,' Zach Mason said, and he laid
her down on their flattened clothes with infinite gendeness,
taking care not to jar her ankle, and then Megan's
fingers tightened in his dark mane as he lowered his head to
her skin, his tongue flicking the erect buds of her nipples,
so that she moaned again, feeling a new warmth between
her thighs, and then shuddered with longing as he sucked
her breasts, licked down past her navel, holding her body
firmly in place with his hands as she moved under him, and
then finally, wonderfully, he reached her pussy and his
mouth was on her, licking her, sucking her, playing with
her, and Megan was transported into a new phce, a new
kind of passion, her universe contracting and shtinking
until she was aware of nothing except her own crotch, and


48

Zach's head, and her breath, coming in ragged gasps, and
the pleasure was so intense, it was 'so hot and unbearable
and incredible that she thought she might pass out, and
then, just as she was sure she was going to explode, Zach
took his mouth away and moved across her and she felt
him enter her, his cock thick and hard as stone, throbbing,
pulsing with need for her, and he was inside her, making
love to her, fucking her, deep and slow and rhythmic, the
strokes coming harder, faster, pushing into her, driving her
further up, so she couldn't breathe, couldn't think, had
never imagined sex could be like this, and then, deep
within her, his cock was thrusting against her g-spot, that
tender, sensitive little kiss of flesh, hidden so far inside her
that no man had ever reached it before, and she heard
herself cry out, as though far away, and suddenly the
pleasure exploded around her, dizzying her so that she
couldn't lee, her whole world dissolving around her, her
bones liquefying, her body melting into a sea of bliss,
absolute, complete nirvana, the spasms seeming to contract
her every muscle, groin, calves, forearms, back, and she
sensed his climax rushing up to meet her, and finally the
waves of rapture slowly receded, and Megan was letS,
sweating and sl-/aking, gazing into Zach's wolflike eyes,
and locked tight in her lover's embraces.

419


Chapter 3 3


toxana Felix was under siege. Literally. The reporters
were everywhere: massing the road outside the front of the
house, sneaking through the neighbouring grounds, even
flying past in helicopters to get a few aerial snaps of her
gardens. The discreet seclusion of her coffee and white
Moroccan-style villa was no match for the tabloid's rot
pack, every, one of them desperate for a photo or a
comment or, better still, a snippet of footage. Her tall
private hedges rustled with unauthorized movements
every few minutes, and all the available viewpoints on
nearby tall trees or mountain outcrops were being bitterly
fought over. She no longer dared even to sneak into a
bedroom to take a look outside, because the slightest
twitch of the curtains would set offa flurry of flashbulbs.
loxana F.elix had graduated into the hottest type of
celebrity around - the fallen angel, the Madonna exposed
as a whore. It was a perfect piece of white-trash culture the
story of the superm,odel everybody adored. America's
sweetheart, the bashful, modest heroine of a mil/ion
magazine puff-pieces uncovered as a teenage prostitute and
brothel-keeper. America and the world licked sleaze
hungry lips. Who didn't relish something like this? It was
the best story since the Michael Jackson thing broke.
Marissa Matthews had been first with her scoop, announcing
the grisly details to New York society over breakfast- a
special edition of Friday's People released on a Wednesday
and the rest of the pack had followed enviously in her wake


1.20

an hour later. Orders were dispatched and shuttles jumped
on in London, Paris, Madrid, Sydney. Bribes were offered
wholesale to anybody who would talk - old clients, old
hookers, old schoolfriends, anybody - and suddenly
acquaintances were pouring out of the woodwork faster
than the TV shows could line them up. Her hairdresser.
Her New York chauffeur. A secretary to her booker at
Unique. And with every passing minute another news
crew or freelance hack arrived at the 'secluded' villa tucked
away in the Hollywood Hills, now about as secluded as
Times Square on New Year's Eve.

P,.oxana sat on a chair she'd dragged into the bathroom
with her head in her hands, listening to the phone ring.
She'd chosen the bathroom because it was the only room
in the house without windows, the only room where she
could be sure that she wasn't seen. She wouldn't disconnect
the "phones or the fax machines; that was what they
would expect, but she would not do it. She was no coward.

So it had finally happened, loxana thought. After all
these years, they had found her. They knew almost
everything. And the fame, the conquest, the safety, the
adoration - her iron castle, the fortress she had built up,
over eleven long years, inch by painstaking inch - in a
matter of hours it had melted away, vanished like dew in
the morning sun.

The demons had come for her. She had always known
that some day they would.

loxana sat on the chair and rocked herself backwards
and forwards, singing gently, as though lulling a little child.


'Mr Goldman, I think you should see this.'

'Not now, Marcia. I have to call New York.'

Tom Goldman did not conceal his impatience. It was
one thing after another: first, Zach and Megan's disappearance;
next, deciding on the best way to handle Keller; and
now, the second he got into his office, he found piles of


4I

pink-slip telephone messages from various men

board. Jesus, Tom thought as he sank into his bit
	"

Eames chair, those sons of bitches better n.o,t be se,

company. Not now. Because,when what s happenet,

Zach Mason gets out, the press 11 be all over See the Lights

and then it's all over for the stock. Right now, if those

pencil-pushers decide to sell, they'll find Artemis Studios

trading for thirty cents and a can of Coke.

'Yes sir, I know,' his secretary said apologetically. 'But

you should really see this before you make any calls.'

Tom glanced at his assistant, cradling the morning

papers to her chest. Oh, God. 'Is this something to do with

Zach Mason, Marcia? I'd better have a look.'

'Not exactly, Mr Goldman,' she said cautiously, hand

,ing them across to him.

Goldman felt his jaw slacken in blank astonishment.

The New York Post had two pictures of Poxana Felix:

smiling, poised and confident as the forty-million-dollar

face of Jackson Cosmetics, and wafer-thin, over-made-up

and dressed in a miniskirt, spike heels and sequined top,

leaning against a wall in Paris, a teenage hooker in an

unmistakable pose. In bold black type the headline

screamed - MODEL MADAM! and underneath. The sensa

tional story of Roxana Felix -from streetwalker to supermodel!

How teenage tart turned from brothel-keeper to America's

Sweetheart!

Aghast, Goldman puled out the New York Times.

TIlE LADY IS A TRAMP. The Washington Post. rASmON

PRrCSS WAS FmNCr PIMP'. The Los Angeles Times. REAL

ROXAtA .ValVe^tED. They were all the same.

'Those are the late editions, sir,' Marcia said, adding

weakly, 'they couldn't fit it in the earlier ones.'

'Is this all over the radio and TV, too?' he asked,

although it was a form question.

'Yes, sir. I thought you might have heard it on your car

radio.'

422


Dazed, Goldman shook his head. He'd driven in silence
this morning, radio off, carphone switched off, so he could
have a little time with his thoughts. "

Just as well, Tom thought grimly. Because that's the last
peace and quiet I'll be getting for a while.

'No calls for ten minutes, Marcia, OK? I have to read
this story through. Tell them I'm on my way into the
oflSce.' She nodded, but Goldman was sudderdy struck
with a dreadful, clammy fear. The directors had been calling.
The board was worried...

'Wait! Marcia, get me Joel Steinbrenner on the phone,

right away.'

'OK.'

Goldman spun his chair round, his fingers drumming
nervously on his mahogany desk. Steinbrenner was on the
phone in seconds.

'Joel, i' Tom.'

His broker's voice was a screech of agony. 'Goldman,
where the luck have you been? I don't have power-of
attorney! You've been unreachable for the last hour, and I
can't sell jack for you without an instruction! You know
that!'

Tom nodded, pain crunching through his temples. The
carphone. It had been the fast time he'd switched it offfor
months. Christ, why today? Why had this happened
today?

'Yeah, I know that. What's the damage?'

'The stock's.going south, Tom. Nobody can dump it fast

enough. I'm telling you, it's in fucking free-fall!'

'What did we lose?'

Steinbrenner snorted with disgust. 'On paper? Your
holdings have lost about eighty per cent of their value. But
it might be more by the time I get to lose whatever I can.
Even the bottom-fishers don't want to touch it.'

Eighty per cent. The words echoed in Goldman's brain,
sending new shockwaves through his system. Eighty per

423


cent, possibly more, wiped off the value of his Artemis
holdings. Holy Lord God, Tom thought, I'm mined.

'So? Talk to me, Tom, goddamn it!' Steinbrenner
howled. 'Give me a sell order, for God's sake! Let's salvage

something from this mess!'

'No,' Goldman said.

'No? What the luck do you mean, no? We have to move

now!"

'No,JoeL Don't sell anything,' Tom said. 'This studio is

in trouble. I'm the chief executive, and I'm not going to
dump my stock in the company during a crisis.'

'Are you out of your fucking mind?.' Steinbrenner
screamed.

'When you think the stock has hit bottom, buy ten

thousand units.'

'Do what?'

'You heard me. You're my broker, right?'

'Yeah, but-'

'No buts, Joel. Carry out my order,' Tom said, and hung

up.

.He stared at the pink slips on his desk. Every one of them

had rang in: Conrad Miles, Howard Thorn, all of them.

Marcia buzzed him. 'Mr Goldman, should I get Mr
Thorn for .you now?'

'In a minute, Marcia,' Tom said calmly. It was strange;

he knew his world had just blown up in his face, the studio,
his personal fortune, all of it, and yet he suddenly felt as
clear-headed as he'd ever done in his life. Joel Steinbrenner
and everybody else would probably think he was insane,
but Tom Goldman had a responsibility to this studio and
he was going to carry it out. 'I'll call everybody back in a
minute. But first I want you to call the Mridien Hotel on
Mah6 in the Seychelles. I need to speak to Ms Marshall.'


Isabelle Kendrick sat in a soft oyster-white armchair in her
drawing room, composed and relaxed, and faced her


424

husband. On a small Regency table, by her side, the late
editions of the day's papers were neatly stacked. Next to
them rested Isabelle's half-drunk cup of cinnamon coffee
in a blue Svres cup, her normal morning refreshment. She
had not eaten breakfast for the last ten years, and as far as she
was concerned, this morning was just the same as .any
other. Possibly a little more enjoyable. Isabelle seemed just
as collected and unruffled as ever; she was wearing an
elegant caramel Georges lech pantsuit, her hair was neatly
coiffed, and a subtle seed-pearl necklace gleamed against
the slack skin of her throat. Totally unperturbed, Isabelle
glanced up at her husband as he paced back and forth,
passing his hand through his hair repeatedly, s blak eyes
burning with rage and pain.

'You never said anything. You never asked me,' he said,
glaring at her. 'How could you do it, Isabelle? Why would
you do it? You're a monster, do you know that?' .

'Don't be melodramatic, Samuel.' His wife's voice was
ice-cold, absolutely emotionless. 'I only told you it was me
as a courtesy. And so that you wouldn't indulge in any
similar foolishness in the future.'

Kendrick stopped moving and looked Isabelle directly
in the face. 'What are you saying to me? That you were
jealous?'

She shook her head, as if finding the suggestion
distasteful. 'Of course not. We don't have that kind of
marriage.'

'The real kind, you mean,' Kendrick said bitterly.
'Our marriage works very well, Sam.' Isabelle felt the
adrenalin start to flow again as she sp6ke, saying aloud the
things that had been taboo between them for so long. This
was her moment of victory; she was going to flex her
muscles, lay it out for him. He was not the only power in
this house, Isabele thought viciously. He owed her. Let
him see what she was capable of if he forgot that fact. She
would fry loxana and any other little toy that he got too

4z5


public with. Nobody threatened herposition, not loxana,
not Sam, not anybody. 'You know I've never objected to
your various liaisons, but this was different. This was
public. And you may do as you please, as long as it does not
reflect on me.'

'You don't care if I screw prostitutes?'

Isabelle waved a bejewelled hand. 'Not at all, dear.'

'You don't care if I see other women? iF i love another
woman?'

'Not as long as you're discreet.' Isabelle took a delicate

sip of her coffee. 'Good gracious, Sam, did you think I didn't know about your other girls? How many have there
been, eight or nine, is it? Aside from the hookers. I simply
hoped that you had the good sense to take precautions. All
these nasty diseases going around, and of course there's
always pregnancy to consider. That can get messy. But
beforehand, none of the girls came from our world.'

'You knew, and you said nothing,' Kendrick whispered.

The woman sitting in front of him was a stronger, a
machine. He couldn't believe that the change in Isabeile
ran so deep. She looked the same, but the blonde elegance
covered stone, pure rock. It was true they hadn't been
close for years, but somehow he hadn't realized, not
completely, that the women he lived with was such an
automaton. It terrified,him.

'Why should I care, dear? We're a highly successful
couple.'

He stared at her. She meant it.

'What about love, Isabelle?' Sam said. quietly. 'We loved
each other once.'

She gazed levelly at him. 'That was a long time ago.'
He made one last effort. 'You can't mean that, Isabelle.
You can't. There has to bemore to your life than giving'
parties and ruling all the wives. You can't be that shallow.


426

Tell me you hate me, or you were jealous of her, or you
want all the affairs to stop. Tell me you feel something.'

Deliberately, Isabelle reached into her bag and drew out
her silver Chanel compact. She snapped it open, regarded
herself in the mirror and dabbed a little powder onto the
end of her nose. When she had quite finished, she snapped
it shut, and finally turned to her husband.

'Why should I say that, Sam? It would be a lie.' She
nodded at the pile of papers next to her. 'lLoxana boasted
about you to Jordan Goldman. I can't have that, I won't be
humiliated. So if you keep your indiscretions quiet, I shan't
have to do this again.'

Kendrick shook his head. Then he turned on his heel
and walked towards the door.

'Where do you think you're going?' Isabelle demanded
angrily.

Tm going to see 1Loxana Felix,' Sam told her.

'You can't do that!' she hissed, enraged.

He turned towards his wife, a certain sadness clouding
his eyes.

'Yes, I can, Isabelle. I love her. I didn't realize how
much until this moment, but now I do. And when I find

her, I'm going to ask her to marry me.'

Isabelle Kendrick paled in shock.

'I can't live this charade any more,' Sam said quietly.
'Whether tLoxana accepts my proposal or not, I want a

divorce.'

And he walked out.


'Wake up.'

Megan stirred fitfully, restlessly, dragged out of an
exhuasted sleep by Zach Mason's warm, large hands gently
shaking her shoulders. As her senses struggled towards
consciousness, she felt overrhelmed by the sudden rush of
feeling, her mind and her body mingling pain and pleasure
in an extraordinary way. The wretched ache in her


427

muscles, the sharp pain of her left foot, the hunger now
raging in her empty stomach, were all balanced by the
recollection of last night. Just remembering it brought a
new softness to her groin, a joyful lightheadedness that had
nothing to do with being half-starved. Megan's first
conscious thought, embarrassingly enough, was that she
hoped she looked OK for Zach.

How's that for shallow, she chided herself as she opened
her eyes to look up at him.

'Hey, sweetheart,' Mason said gently. 'Sorry to do this
to you, but we really have to get going now.'

She groaned. 'I can't have had more than an hour's
sleep.'

Barly ten minutes after they'd finished making love,
the noisy roar of a helicopter, spotlight blazing through the
towering trees, had swept past their area of the forest and
continued to make passes throughout the night. Zach had
left the makeshift hut to try to attract attention, waving
clothing, whatever, but he just couldn't get seen. The thick
jade canopy of branches and leaves abovethem prevented
any real chance of the searchlights finding them. About
three Zach gave up and came back to take Megan in his
arms, holding her and kissing her until she blacked into
unconsciou.sness just before dawn.

Mason hadn't slept. One good thing about being a rock
star, he'd had plenty of practice at that. Once he was sure
Megan was finally or?t, he'd slipped away from her,
checking out their immediate surroundings and looking
for food and water. He reckoned they were gonna need
some fuel if they were ever going to make it out of here;
that boken ankle was looking bad. He wouldn't let her
continue to drag it around. Zach thought Megan was in
more pain than she was making out.

He'd looked at her tenderly when he got back, curled
up .where he'd left her, blonde fringe curling incongruously over that cute forehead with its thick dark brows, her


428

soft lips half-open in sleep, her muscled arm flung
awkwardly over the heavy, beautiful breasts that had
responded so superbly to him last night. Zach felt such a
surge of protectiveness he was short of breath. He
marvelled at himself. He, Zach Mason, the rock icon
who'd fucked-a million groupies and turned down ten
million more, who'd had his pick of starlets and models for
the last five years, he'd finally fallen. Pole-axed by this
embarrassed, clever, gauche, determined, idealistic little
bunch of contradictions. Pretty, but no more than that.
Feisty. Naive. Brave. His Megan.

Great time to pick out your true love, Mason, he told
himself. Starving and stranded in the middle of the fucking
jungle.

'You had at least an hour and a quarter,' he teased her.
'Stop whinging and get your ass in gear. I reckon we'll be
out ofhe by sundown.'

Megan lifted a cynical eyebrow. 'Right!'

'At least we know they're looking for us.'

'That's true.' She levered herself up, reaching for her
shirt where they'd left it on the floor of the hut. 'What do
you have there?'

't<oom service,' Mason said cheerfully, tipping his
findings onto a palm leaf in front of her. He'd managed to
find one wild pineapple, growing in a crack in the granite
glacis boulders that thrust through the forest floor all
around them, a couple of leaves that his nose told him were
cinnamon, and an armful of small pinkish-white fruits, the

size of apples, that covered a grove of bushes to their left.
They looked at his harvest doubtfully.

'Call yourself a hunter-gatherer? Pathetic,' Megan
grinned.

'I blame women's rights. I've been robbed of my natural
instincts,' Zach said, carefully peeling the pineapple. He
tossed Megan a white sphere. 'So is this poisonous?'

'Only one way to find out,' she said, and before Zah

429


could stop her, took a large bite. The flesh tasted like damp
cotton wool. She devoured it.

'Coco plum,' Megan told him. 'Tasteless but harmless.'
They ate in silence for a few minutes, Megan trying to
slip most of her share towards Zach and Zach refusing to
allow it. The fruit sugars weren't much, but on their empty
stomachs they provided a surge of energy, and as soon as
Mason had swallowed the last fragment of coco plum core
he lifted Megan to her feet and ducked under her legs.

'What the hell are you doing?' Megan shrieked,
clutching his shoulders. 'I've got my crutches, Zach! Put
me down!'

'No,"he told her firmly, getting a restraining grip on her calves." 'I'm not letting you walk. Shut up, this is non

, negotiable, OK?'

'But I'll slow you down,' Megan protested. She tried to

be nonchalant, but her eyes were brimming up with tears.
She dashed a hand quickly across her face. 'I'm serious.
Only one of us has to... I mean, it'd be better if you went
for help and left me, came back for me...'

.'Get this straight,' Zach said, taking a deep breath and
squaring his shoulders under her weight. Tm not leaving
you. Not ever. We're in this together, live or die, for
better, for worse. All that stuff. Anyway, you're as light as a
feather. Consider it an extended piggyback ride. You can
navigate.'

'I love you,' Megan ,whispered.

His hands tightened on her legs. 'Let's get out of here,
OK? You can go all mushy on me later,' Zach said firmly,
but as he strode carefully forward, his heart was singing.


It took Sam over an hour to make it to 1Loxana's front
door, ploughing the Maserati first through the rabid pack
of journalists, camera crews, photographers and gawking
sightseers that crowded the road leading up to her villa, and
then past the LAPD roadblocks that by this time hy seven

430


layers thick. Eventually he managed to convince the
sergeant in charge that he was Sam Kendrick of SKI by
calling up Troy Savage, the guy's favourite soap star and a
SKI client, on his carphone, and having him verify it.
Thank God for starstruck cops, Sam thought, as he swung
the silver car into tkoxana's drive, got out and locked it. He
glanced up at the villa. Every shutter was lowered, every
curtain closed. Yeah, well. That didn't surprise him.

Kendrick felt compassion overwhelm him as he walked
past the uniformed men on the door and pressed the buzzer
on her entryphone. His poor baby. What she must be
feeling today he could only begin to guess at. He'd seen
clients go through scandals, but never anything as bad as
this. Only Jackson and Madonna had it as bad as this. And
neither of them had been exposed as a teenage madam,
running the most exclusive call-girl service in Paris at the
age of sfxteen. He still couldn't believe it. There were so
many pieces of the puzzle that didn't make sense: an
American girl, hooking in France at fourteen years old,
graduates to brothel-keeper at sixteen and makes enough
money by eighteen to buy herself a whole new identity
and a new life - then enrols at a Catholic convent school in
San Francisco. Hits the model agencies the day she
graduates and the rest is history. But why France? How had
she done this? And why? His loxana, his shy and fragile
girl? Was it possible? But it had happened. He'd seen the
pictures, watched the news. He knew it was true.

I didn't know Isabelle and I didn't know R.oxana,
either, Sam thought, bewildered, as he stood there. All the
time I was such a mogul, such a player, and I thought I read
everybody like a book. But the people closest to me were
the ones I couldn't see. And Florescu tells me David
Tauber was working behind my back all the time ...
Tauber, who I thought wasso smart, such a killer. I guess I
was right. He'd have killed me, if he could.

The anger rose in him, thick and blood-red, and it was

431


almost a relief. At least one emotion was dear. Once the
little prick got back to LA Sam was going to smash him.

It was my own fault for not noticing, Sam berated
himself. But I'd have seen it eventually. On the set I
was distracted, couldn't think about anything except
tkoxana...

'Who is it?'

Her voice on the speaker was cautious and muted.
'R.oxana, baby. Let me in. It's Sam,' he said.

There was a long pause. He could hear the crackle of
static through the metal grille.

'It's Sam Kendrick, sweetheart. Let me in,' he repeated.
Finally he heard a click as she released the lock. Sam
pushed the door open and walked into the house, shutting

it carefully behind him.

'loxana?' he called.

She was nowhere to be seen. He could hear the constant
sound of phones ringing and the babble of different voices,
angry voices, as four separate answering machines took
messages. Through the door to the home oce Kendrick
saw the lights of her fax machines glowing red as sheets of
paper inched slowly out of the tops of the machines and
crashed onto the floor.

T m in the bathroom,' loxana called. Her voice was flat
and strained, hoarse, as if she'd been crying. Sam raced
upstairs to the bathroom, that sanctuary of polished wood
and brass and cool marble, a place where he'd made love to
her so many times he'd lost count. She was sitting on the
floor, wrapped in a voluminous white towelling robe, her
legs crossed, her eyes glazed, seemingly staring into space.

'loxana,' he murmured, and then she looked up at him,
her liquid brown eyes narrowed with such vicious hatred
that he took a step backwards.

'You took everything,' she said bleakly. 'Everything. Bob Alton was so pleased to be able to tell me I was fired.
Unique won't represent me. Elite and Ford and Models

One wouldn't take my call. Jackson Cosmetics cancelled
the contract - forty million dollars, Sam. And no other
house will use me. I can't work. My Vogue cover for next
month is going to Christy now.' She took a breath, and
continued. 'Jordan won't talk to me. She wouldn't accept a
call. Neither would Susie Metcalf or any of those society
bitches. I'm dead, Sam. You took everything.'

'It wasn't me, sweetheart,' he said, inwardly recoiling at
the poison in her gaze. 'It was Isabelle. And I told her I
wanted a divorce, I wanted to marry you.'

'It was your w. It was because of you,' tkoxana hissed,
her gaze st/J.l fdled with venom "She did this, she led them
to me. But you don't know what it was like, none of you! None of you!'

Her voice rose to a banshee wail, and she started to
weep, hot blinding tears coursing down her cheeks. Sam
took a step towards her but loxana lashed out at him,
wildly, like a madwoman, her long fingernails slicing
through the cloth of his pants.

'Get the fuck away from me! Don't touch me!' she
screamed, and then, as he watched in horror, she started to
tear at her hair, tipping strands of it from her head, rocking
backwards and forwards in a violent fit ofgrie£ Kendrick
lunged forward and caught her wrists, trapping them,
forcing her to be still.

'Roxana! Poxana!' he said, and was shocked to hear the
tears choking his own voice, so distressed was he at the
sight of her anguish. 'Whatever it is, you can tell me. You
can trust me. I love you, whatever .you did. I don't care what you did. I love you, don't you understand that?'

She froze, stating at him, her eyes suddenly calmer,
flatter. It was as if the hatred had vanished, to be replaced
by... what? What is she feeling? Sam wondered uneasily
He didn't understand the strange look on her face. She
seemed to be...



	.. laughing at me...


433

'You are so fucking dumb, you know that?' tkoxana
said, her voice suddenly subdued, filled with scorn,
mocking him. 'I was using you, Sam. For the picture, so
that you wouldn't stop me wrecking the shoot. So that you
would help me fire Megan Silver. For whatever you could
do for me. And because of the way you spoke to me at
Isabelle's party, I was going to break your heart as soon as it
was over. Why do you think I told Jordan? I wanted her to
tell everybody else. I wanted to show the world the great
Sam Kendrick was just another puppet dancing on my
strings.'

Dazed, Sam released her wrists, stumbling backwards,
numb from the malice of her tone.

'Your wife did this. You mean nothing to me. Nothing.' loxana's brown eyes held only contempt. 'I despise you,
Sam. Get the fuck out of my house.'

Sam turned blindly round and walked down the stairs,
his heart so full of pain it felt like a thick stone in his chest.
He said nothing to the policemen standing around his car
who looked at him curiously as he came out. He couldn't
speak. For the first time since he was a boy, Sam Kendrick
was fighting back tears.

434


Chapter 34


Eleanor Marshall walked quickly up the sunlit steps of
Victoria Hospital, followed by Fred Florescu, her agitation
betraying her nerves. Zach Mason and Megan Silver had
been found alive, shorfly after sunrise, by a guide trekking
through the AnseJasmin estate in the northernmost part of
the jungle. He had fetched help and had the two
Americans taken to the nearest village, where somebody
called an ambulance. Beyond that she knew very little.

'Ms Marshall and Mr Florescu,' Heanor said to the
thickset woman statiing the reception desk. 'We've come
to see the two people that were found in the mist forest this
morning. Are they OK?'

The receptionist checked the names on a printed sheet
in front of her and nodded, giving them a warm smile.
'You want rooms twelve an' thirteen, jus' down the
corridor there.' She pointed straight ahead of her. 'The
gendeman told us to call Mr Florescu here. You with him?'

'Yes. Thanks,' Eleanor replied, striding down the
corridor the woman had showed them.

'Jesus, do you think they're all'right!' Florescu asked, his
face clouded.

'We know they're alive,' Eleanor said, checking the
door numbers.

'Yeah. But it was a long way to fall,' the director said.
They looked at each other, neither wanting to say it.
What if either of the kids had cracked their heads open, or
broken their necks? What if they were paralysed? Or if


435

they'd cut themselves open and the wound had become
gangrenous?

'Twelve,' Eleanor said, coming to a stop outside a dosed
blue door. There was no sound from inside the room. She
hesitated.

'We have to see them,' Fred Florescu told her softly.
Eleanor nodded, her heart crashing against her chest.
What if they are paralysed? she thought miserably. It was
my fault that they were fdming in a monsoon. I didn't
double-check my own location reports because I was so
wrapped up in Jordan Goldman's baby. If I'd have been
doing my job, Jake Keller would never have gotten away
with it. And this would never have happened.

Florescu glanced at Eleanor Marshall, standing there
twisting her hands, her face as white as chalk. He was
frightened too; Zach and Megan were such talented kids,
both of them, and so young, and who knew what the hell
had happened to them out there?


	He slowly twisted the handle and opened the door.
Zach Mason was sitting up in bed, an empty cereal bowl

stacked on the table behind him, sipping from a long, ta]l
glass of milk, fresh dressings wrapped round his bare chest.
Megan Silver, in a pair of green hospital pyjamas and a
dressing gown, was lounging in a spartan easy chair beside
him, eating a delicious-smelling croissant and looking at a
copy of the Herald Tribune, her right foot in a tartan slipper
and her left foot bandaged up in a splint. Both of them
looked up, smiling, aS Fred and Eleanor walked into the

room,

'Hey, gys, it's good to see you,' Zach Mason said.

'Are'you OK?' Horescu asked, hardly daring to believe
his eyes.

'We were a little hungry, but we're fine now,' Zach told
him, adding, 'I sure as hell hope those scenery shots were
worth it.'

Eleanor felt weak-kneed with relie£


4.36

'Eleanor! What are you doing here?' Megan asked her.
'Looking for you,' the older woman said.

'Oh yeah? We wondered if all those helicopters last
night were something to do with us,' Megan said. She held
up the paper she was reading. 'So what's the story with
tLoxana Felix?'


By the time the cab drew up to her house Eleanor was
feeling jet-lagged and exhausted. She tipped the guy a
twenty and carried her small Louis Vuitton case into the
porch, reaching into her purse for the keys. Her fingers
fumbled around for a minute before she found them and
managed to let herself in; she was so tired she tkied to
unlock the front entrance with the back door key.

I'll take a nap for a couple of hours before I head back to
the studio, Eleanor told hersel£. I'm no use to Tom or
anyone else in this state.

It had been a sleepless night, all coffee and doughnuts in
a suite at the M6ridien, supervising the air searches and
taking phone call aer phone call of reports - somebody
had found a strip of cloth from Mason's shirt, another man
said he'd seen footprints - but there'd been nothing of
substance, and despite her best efforts Eleanor had slumped
into unconsciousness towards dawn. When the phone
shrilled by her bedside to say they'd been found, she'd
been asleep for barely three hours. The relief at knowing
Zach and Megan were alive and almost completely
unharmed had carried her through the rest of the morning
as she paid off the Seychellois" involved in the search,
packed her handful of clothes and bdoked herself on the
first flight off the islands. But that euphoria couldn't last
forever, and when the jet had taxied off the runway and
soared into the clear blue skies above the Indian Ocean,
Eleanor Marshall had had to face the rest of her problems.

Tom Goldman's call had come through at eight p.m. the
night before - eight a.m. in Los Angeles. tLoxana Felix was


437

the newest front-runner in the worldwide bad-girl stakes
a prostitution scandal that had completely buried her career
in a matter of hours. And he wasn't exaggerating: a flick of
the remote control and CNN confirmed everything to
her, fight there and then in her hotel room.

'The markets think this will kill the movie,' Goldman
had told her, his voice terse and pressured. 'They know it
was a cosdy flick. They know we're in desperate need of a
hit.'

'What's happening to the stock?'

Goldman laughed caustically. 'Are you kidding? What
stock? It's going downhill faster than an avalanche! At this
rate the SEC's gonna suspend trading, before it hits zero.'

'Christ,' Eleanor muttered. Tve got about two million
dollars' worth of stock!'

'Well, now you have about forty thousand dollars'
worth. If it's any consolation, I've got a lot more than that.
Do you want me to call your broker and give him your
number there? Perhaps you could still off-load some of it.'

'No. No, thanks,' she replied. Two million dollars, up in
stnoke! 'I'm the president, I don't want to be seen to be
dumping stock in my own company.'

On the other side of the world, Tom Goldman smiled,
feeling a strong rush of affection for her. 'You know, I said exactly the same thing.'

'Great minds think alike,' Eleanor told him.

'And fools seldom differ.'

She chuckled. 'You've got me. Look,just hold on, OK?
The second I know what's happened to Zach and Megan
I'll be on my way home. We'll figure something out.'

'Will we?' Tom sounded sceptical. 'I called so you'd
know what was happening, Eleanor. I don't think I'll be
here when you get back. I have sixteen messages in front of
me from assorted board members, and I don't think they
want to chat to me about the weather.'

'No way, Tom. You're not going anywhere. They can't


438

fire you for something oxana Felix did, and if they try,
you just pull the same number on them I pulled on you
before. Ca]/your personal lawyer and check your contract.
Tell them you'll sue. I'm sure they won't want any more
scandal right now.'

A pause, then, 'You could be right.'

'You know I'm right. And you'd have thought of that
yourself given time,' Eleanor said. 'Tell them al/to hold
onto their stock. If it's plunged that low, there's no point in
selling now anyway, right?'

'That's true. Maybe we should look on the bright side -
we've got nowhere to go at this point except up.'

'That's my boy,' Eleanor said. She glanced down and
noticed that she had her hands on her stomach, covering
her womb. Somehow, without having even conscious/y
considered it, she knew she was going to tell Tom the truth about this'child when she got home. What would he say?
And should she tell Paul? What would be best for her baby?
All the anxieties pressed around her, crowding her,
crushing her. Eleanor felt as if she were being swept along
in the most fearsome current, swimming with all her might
against the flow, fighting not to give in, not to be felled by
each fresh disaster. It was her baby that gave her the
strength, the deep, new knowledge of what was really
important. They could take away her reputation, her
wealth and her job, but they couldn't t,4ke that. And she
was going to fight like hell before they took anything.

'And there's another silver lining you haven't thought
of,' sh added. 'Now the stock's dropped .through the
floor, Jake Keller has nothing left to threaten you with. So
you might as well sack him this morning.'

'Don't you want to wait until you get home?'

'No,' Eleanor told him. 'Sam Kendrick's already
recalled David Tauber. I think you should just sack him
now- no reference, no compensation. Make it as public as
you can. Humiliate the son of a bitch.'

,t39


'You got it,' Goldman told her, hanging up.

So now she was back, Heanor thought wearily. Back to

a company in crisis, a media frenzy, an exposed leading
lady, and...

'Where the hell have you been?'

Paul stood in the doorway of their bedroom, his arms
folded, glaring at her. He was wearing a dark blue suit and
smelt of too much aftershave. He had a brightly patterned
tie on, and his hair was meticulously parted. She hated this
side of him: the peacock, the dandy. It seemed too vain,
almost effeminate. Tom Goldman wouldn't be seen dead
in that outfit, Eleanor told herself.

'Y.ou know where I've been, Paul. I called and left
messages here and at your office.'

'You went halfway around the world to supervise some
pathetic little rescue attempt,' he said angrily. 'Who do you
think you are? lambo?'

'Don't be stupid, Paul. Two of our people were missing
and in danger.'

'So you had to go out there, I suppose.'

She was too tired for this. 'That's right, I did. Because it
wasn't the kind of job I like to delegate. Now if you'll
excuse me, I'm worn out and I need to get some sleep.'

Paul didn't move. 'Do you realize you missed days
thirteen, fourteen and fifteen of your menstrual cycle,
Eleanor?' he demanded furiously. 'You owed it to me to be
here.' ,

She bit her lip to stop herself from screaming out the
truth. If he had to know, it wasn't going to be like this, not
blurted out in the middle of a quarrel.

'Well, I owed it to Zach and Megan to try and save their
lives,' she said, as calmly as she could. 'Let's talk later, OK?
This isn't a good time. I'm really tired.'

'I'm tired!' Paul snapped petulantly. 'Tired of how
lightly you take this marriage! Have you heard about
Koxana Felix?'

440


'Yes, I - '

He wasn't listening. 'Do you realize how much crap I
had to take in the office? All the analysts sniggering behind
their desks. People going quiet when I walked past them.
Don't you do checks on people before you hire them?'

'She wasn't an employee. She was an actress,' Eleanor
said, trying to keep her temper in check. 'And Artemis is a motion picture studio, not the Federal Government. We
don't tend to call in the FBI.'

'Artemis was a modon picture studio, I think you mean.'
There was a curious note of satisfaction in her husband's
voice. 'The stock's plunged. It almost hit the one-day floor

for losses, Eleanor. You've lost millions.'

Eleanor took note of the 'you'.

'Well, at least I still have you to put bread on the table,'
she said srcastically.

'This is no time for jokes!' Paul Halfin almost screamed.
He was puce with indignation. 'While you were playing
around in some goddamn tropical island, your studio was
crumbling! And your stock became worthless! I'll bet you
didn't even manage to lose it in dine! Don't you
understand what this does to our reputation?'

'You mean, now I'm no longer the respectable studio

president you married?' Eleanor asked him very quietly.
'Yes!' Paul said. It was. a screech.
'Do you love me, Paul?'

He took a breath, backed down. 'Of course I love you.
But this behaviour can't contintie.'

Eleanor nodded. 'You're tight. I want a divorce.'
'You can't be serious.' He looked at her with disbelief. 'You want to divorce me? Don't you understand that you' re
history in this town? You've lost your job and you've lost
your money! What else do you have?'

'My pride,' Eleanor told him simply.

Then, as Paul stared after her in blank astonishment, she

441


picked up her case, walked into the guest bedroom and
bolted the door behind her.


Tom Goldman had looked better. His skin was sallow
from lack of sleep, his eyes had dark circles under them and
he hadn't had time to shave. He'd been under pressure
before in his life, but never had it been anything like this.
The phone was ringing off the hook: distributors angrily
demanding to know if the studio was bankrupt; directors,
producers and actors all frantic about their Artemis
projects; media hacks clever enough to fool his assistants
and get. through; agents hysterically claiming that their
client had 'senior debt' if the company went under; and
distraught stockholders who screamed abuse. His neck was
aching from the number of calls he had taken, and they
never seemed to stop, six, seven callers holding at a time.
Marcia had brought him in a pizza at lunchtirne but he
hadn't been able to stop talking long enough to eat it, and
by four p.m. it was still cooling on his desk.

Eleanor stood in the doorway to Goldman's oce,
watching her boss pronounce soothing reassurances into
his handset, his neck lolling at an exhausted angle against
the headrest of his chair, his eyes dosed as if in pain.

'I couldn't buzz him to tell him you were here, Ms
Marshall,' Marcia Hearn said tearfully. 'I couldn't get

	All his lines have calls holding on them.'

through.

'That's free, Marcia. Forget it,'. Eleanor said gently. The
secretary looked completely stressed-out and shaken up;
she was.twisting her hands compulsively and she looked as
though she might be about to burst out crying any second.
On her desk, behind them, four different phone lines were
ringing insistendy and the fax machine was pouring out
letters, old faxes spilling slowly over the edge of the
containment tray. and cascading onto the floor, mingling
with a white and grey pool of paper. Marcia was a


442

fanatically neat woman, and Eleanor realized with a start
that she hadn't even had time to pick up the faxes.

'OK. Here's what we're going to do,' she told her. 'You
switch all incoming calls to Mr Goldman's answering
machine. As of now, he'.s in a meeting and can't be
disturbed.'

Marcia looked doubtfully towards Tom, sitting at his
desk with his eyes dosed. 'But-'

'He's in a meeting with me,' Eleanor said firmly. 'Senior
management only. And you take the rest of the day off,
Marcia. That's an order.'

'Yes, Ms Marshall,' she said gratefitlly, and scurried back
to her desk.

Eleanor dosed Tom's door quietly, then tiptoed up to
his desk, grabbed the receiver out of his hands said, 'He'll
call you back,' and hung up.

'Eleanor!' Goldman said, not believing his eyes, 'What
are you doing here? I didn't expect you until tomorrow!'

'Gee, everybody seems so pleased to see me,' Eleanor
said dryly.

'I am pleased to see you. You have no idea how much,'

Goldman said, giving her a weak smile.

'Has it been bad?'

He raised an eyebrow. 'I'm not even going to bother
replying to that.'

'I told Marcia to take the phones offthe hook,' Eleanor
told him. 'We need to talk.'

'Want some cold, greasy pizza?' Tom asked her, ripping
offan unappetizing lice and stuffing it in his mouth.

'You tempt me, but no. Did you speak to the board?'
Goldman nodded. 'Yeah. Told them what you said.
They hated it, but they played ball. Present management
stays in place for the time being, and they'll do what they
can with the banks to shore up the stock. I guess they didn't
have a choice; it was that or lose their whole investment.'


443

Eleanor paced round the room, thinking fast. 'Good.
Have you spoken to l.oxana Felix?'

'Left a message. No reply. No surprises there,' Goldman

said, thinking how good Eleanor looked. Even in the
midst of complete and total disaster, she managed to appear
poised, calm and elegant. She was wearing the scarlet
Donna Karan suit she'd had on for her confrontation with
him a few days ago; bold, confident colour and meticulous
tailoring, it accentuated her slim figure and it looked
terrific.

She's got such style. Such grace under pressure, Gold

man thought, and tried not to dwell on the image of his
wife last night - weeping uncontrollably, shrieking with
fury that he wouldn't sell his stock, mascara running down
her heavily made-up face, throwing a tantrum like a spoilt
brat. How could you do this to me! As if he had ruined himself
and destroyed his career purposely to spite her. And all she
could think about was her stupid slave auction, screaming
at him that now nobody would come.

'What about Sam?'


	'Sam called to say SKI didn't represent her any more.'
'That's not like Sam, to run out on a chent.'

'He wouldn't discuss it with me. He sounded pretty
upset, actually,' Tom said. 'But maybe that's because he's

getting a divorce.'
'Sam too?'
'What?'

She shook her head. Tll tell you later. First, I want to tell

you what I want to do.'

Goldman leaned back, smiling. 'Go ahead. You're the

only person around here with any fight left in you,
Eleanor, I swear. I don't know what happened to you last
week, but I sure as hell wish it would happen to me.'

'I want to speak to P,.oxana Felix and persuade her to
come back and finish the movie.'

'You are certifiably insane,' Goldman said amiably.

'Hear me out, Tom. Zach and Megan are in good health
and the doctors told me he could be back on the set in a day
or so. I had Fred continually shooting while we were looking for them. I've seen some of the rough cuts, Tom. See the Lights is an incredible movie and production is
almost complete. They'd only need Koxana for a week or
so to finish up, and you know Florescu edits fast.' She held
up a hand. 'No, let .me finish, please. I know what you're
going to say: Roxana won't do it, and even if she does,

nobody will want to distribute.'

'light.'

'Wrong. I'm sure I can persuade loxana to come back
to the set. She has nothing to lose, and precisely because
she was such a class-A bitch she won't want the world to see
her running away with her tail between her legs. I want to
drive over there and speak with her tonight. And as for the
distributo'ts - once everybody's calmed down, people will
go crazy to book this £tlm. We're getting a billion dollars'
worth of free publicity right now.'

'Even if you're right about Roxana, I'm telling you,
Eleanor, the chains don't want to do business with a
bankrupt company. And if the stock crashes -'

She made an impatient movement with her hands. 'The
stock won't crash. In a day or two people will realize that
we have a certain bottom-line value for our library and our

real este.'

'True.'

'And the only way they can write us offis ffwe write off See the Lights. But I won't do that.' Eleanor walked towards
her old friend, her eyes bright with passion, and put her
hands on the front of his desk, leaning towards him. 'Tom,
look. We have nothing to lose. Everything has already gone
up in smoke - our careers, our bank balances, everything.
But I want something to come out of the time I was
president of a studio. I want to be able to point to this ftlm
and say, I helped to do that. I got into this business frfteen

445


years ago to make pictures, Tom. And See the Lights is a
truly wonderful picture. I believed in it when I first got the
script, and I still do. If it's a success, we win. If it isn't - we
have nothing left to lose. But I have to finish it. This is my
movie.'

Tom Goldman looked at Eleanor. There were tears in
her eyes. 'Go talk to l:koxana,' he said softly. Tll call my
lawyers again. We'll make your movie before we quit.'

'Thank you.' It was all she could say. 'Thank you, Tom.'
Goldman reached forward, dosing his hand over hers.
'We started together, and I guess we're gonna end
together. I'm just sorry it had to be this way.'

The too,' Eleanor whispered, briefly dosing her eyes.
Sh had to say it now, she knew that. Tom had a right to
know, and she had to tell him. If she waited for the right
moment, she'd wait forever. There was no good time. She
pulled her hands away. 'I have to tell you something else,
Tom. I'm getting a divorce. And I'm pregnant.'

He gazed at her, puzzled. 'You are? I don't understand.
What does Paul say about it?'

. 'I don't know how to tell you this,' she said. 'But I
always used a diaphragm with Paul. We didn't make love
without protection until after the wedding. And I'm two
and a half.months pregnant.'

'What are you saying?' Goldman whispered.
Eleanor gazed at him steadily.
'It's your baby, Tom,,' she said.

446


Chapter 3 5


P,.oxana Felix opened the door to Eleanor Marshall and
stared at her defiantly. It was four a.m., early enough for.
Eleanor's forest-green Lotus to crawl through the police
roadblocks without attracting too much attention, and the
elder woman had begged her for a meeting, leaving thirty
two messages in succession on the answer machine in
toxana's bedroom, until she'd finally picked up. There were no ecfiminations in Eleanor's voice, but loxana
wasn't fooled: dae bitch had come to rave and shout and
threaten. As if she cared. She had hit bottom, and there was
no further to fall.

'P,.oxana. Thank you for seeing me,' Eleanor said gently . 'May I come in?'

She stood aside. 'Be my guest. Come in, say what you
want to, and leave. I just want to get this over with.'

'Didn't you disconnect any of the phones?' Eleanor
asked, listening to the constant jangling echoing through
the house, loxana was dressed in a tailored Ralph Lauren
pantsuit in royal-blue Cotton, her long hair was swept into
a chignon, and she was fully mad-up, a soR berry gloss on
her beautifullips and a sweep of damson blusher accentuating
her razor-sharp cheekbones. She had even clipped on a
small pair of gold earrings. She was wearing a subtle,
sensuous perfume. She looked every inch as stunning as
the last time Eleanor had seen her, as if she had just stepped
blithely offanother catwalk.

I was fight about her, Eleanor thought. 1Loxana won't


447

show me any weakness, she'd die first. She wants me to tell
the world that she couldn't care less. She has her pride.

Yesterday's scene with Paul flashed back into her mind.
Maybe, in the end, pride was all any woman had to cling

to.

'What for? I'm taking messages,' Roxana said. 'People
can say whatever they like. I'm not running from them.'

'That's what I hoped you would say.' Eleanor walked
into the kitchen. 'Can I make us some coffee? I have a
proposal for you.'

'If you must,' loxana said ungraciously. 'I hope this
isn't going to take long, Eleanor. If it's about your stock
too bad. There's nothing I can do. I didn't plan this. And if
you want me to sign some statement saying that you had no
knowledge of my past when you cast me, have it
messengered over. I have no problem with that. I just want
you to leave me alone. And if you came here for more
information' - her lips tightened- 'you should ask Isabelle
Kendrick. She was the one who did this. You can blame
your company collapse on her.'

'None of the above,' Eleanor said, spooning French
Vanilla ground into the percolator. Isabelle Kendrick! Because loxana had been sleeping ... with Sam? 'Did
you know Sam Kendrick is getting divorced?' she asked

casually.

loxana shook her head. 'I think you'll find he decided
to stay with his wife,'

'No. I spoke to Sam earlier this morning,' Eleanor said.
'He's moved into the Bel-Air. He seems really upset.'

'Yeah? There's a lot of that going around,' loxana
replied, but Eleanor thought she detected a touch of
confusion beneath the flippancy.

'Ioxana. Listen to me,' Eleanor Marshall began. Her
heart was thumping against her chest; she had to convince
this girl, she just had to. It would require a huge act of
courage on Roxana's part, even a little selflessness, not


448

qualities most people would associate with her right now.
But Eleanor had to back her instincts, she knew that. She
had given everything she had fighting for this movie. She
wasn't about to give up now. 'I didn't come over here
today to shout at you, or demand information, or to get
you to sign something. What happened to our stock was
not your fault. Nobody said you had to confess your sins to
us before you got to act in our movie. But I am here to ask
for your help.'
1koxana leaned back against the door, watching her with
narrowed eyes.

She's learned to trust nobody, Eleanor thought. Why?
What happened to her, all those years ago?

'What do you want?' 1Koxana asked warily.

'I want you to go back to Mah6 and shoot the end of See
the Lights.'

She hell her breath. There, it was out. This was the
moment of truth; iflkoxana wanted to shriek, or yell, or

order her out of the house, it was all over.

There was a moment's silence.

'Why?' 1koxana asked, looking at her steadily.
'Because if we get this thing finished, it's going to be an
incredible movie. Fred Florescu showed me some of the
footage. When you were actually acting, 1koxana, and not
trying to screw up everybody else's performance, you were
brilliant. 1keally talented.. And in the love scenes with
Zach, you just set the screen on fire. I think if we ever get
this fdm out to the theatres, and people can see it, the world
will agree with me.'

'And why should I do this?'

'Do it for yourself,' Eleanor said. 'I could tell you to
do it for me, or Zach, or Fred, but I won't. You
should understand that I know about your cooperation
with David Tauber andJake Keller, and I really don't care.
That's all in the past. The only thing that matters to me is.
this movie, getting it completed and released, and for that I

449


know I need you. But what you get out of this is some self
respect. You told me when I arrived that you weren't
gonna run from anybody. So don't! Make this movie! You
wanted the world to see you as an actress, you came to LA,
you forced us to cast you - God knows what you did, but
you ended up cast -'

loxana gave her the briefest flicker of a smile.

' - and you made most of a great movie. They all expect
you to crawl away and die, loxana. Now, I'm not going
to stand here and tell you that what you did was OK. It
wasn't. And if that's what you have to hear, I'll get out of
your house right now, because I won't say it. But I will tell
you.that I know we don't know the whole story. You
were a fourteen-year-old American girl, so why were you
in Paris? And how does a teenage hooker get to run an
upmarket brothel in two years? It doesn't make seine. But
what I do get from your story is a fierce need for
independence - you came back to the States, you took
your final year of high school privately, you got a new
identity and a new career and then you climbed higher in
that field than anybody had done before. I'm not asking
you to tell me anything, R.oxana. I don't judge you,
because I don't know you. But what I am asking you is to
show them a little of that independence now. You

couldn't be broken before; don't let this break you now.'
loxana Felix burst into tears.

'Hey.' Eleanor mo,ved forward and took the sobbing girl

in her arms, stroking her hair, cradling her as she wept. 'It's

all right now, honey. It's going to be all right.'


It was night over Mah by the time they arrived, the stars
glittering above the Anse Polite beach, dancing rund a
huge harvest moon hanging low and orange in the dear
sky. The taxi drove straight past the hotel and pulled up
two miles further along the shore, at an anonymous
looking ocean-side diner which seemed to be closed.


450

Eleanor paid the driver and helped P,.oxana out of the cab,
checking the caf for a single light in the downstairs
window. It was on; that meant Florescu was waiting inside
with Zach, Megan, Seth, Mary, R.obert, Jack and the rest
of the cast.

'Are you sure you want to do this?' she asked. 'You
know you don't have to tell them anything. I can go up
there and simply announce that you have returned to
complete the film. Nobody will harass you. I can talk to Fred and make sure of that.'

P..oxana shook her head, her long black hair shining in
the moonlight. 'No. I don't want to hide this any more. iF i
can speak to those guys, maybe they'll understand the way

you did, and they'll forgive me for the way I was before.'
'You're a very brave woman,' Eleanor told her.
'So are you,' P,.oxana said simply.

Eleanor offered her her arm, and the two of them
walked into the tiny shack togethe;. The wooden door
opened into a warm, sweet-smelling room, lit by three oil
lamps. Fred and the others were sitting round a long tresde
table, eating something that smelt like spiced lobster, and
drinking long glasses of the local bacca sugar-cane liquor.
The conversation was loud and raucous, but as soon as they
walked into the room it went totally quiet. Eleanor felt
P,.oxana stiffen a little beside her; thirty pair of eyes were
staring at her in complete hock.

'Ladies and gentlemen,' Eleanor said. 'I asked Fred to
book this place for your meal tonight because I wanted
someplace private for P,.oxana to speak to you. i realize this
may come as a surprise, but P,.oxana has decided that she
wants to come back out here and finish offthis movie. You
will have read the recent stories about her in the press.
They are true, but P,.oxana has something to add to them.
It took great strength for her to decide to tell you the things.
she is about to say. I want you to listen to her quietly.'

45x


She squeezed the younger girl's hand, and then walked
across to the table and sat down next to Fred Florescu.

Poxana took a deep breath as she stood there in the soft
light of the lamps, looking at the actors she'd been
screwing over as they sat in front of her, watching her
curiously. There was no sympathy in their faces, just a
neutral interest.

But I'm not asking them for sympathy, she told herself.
Just understanding.

'My name is loxana Felix,' she said. 'Legally. I had it
changed by deed poll when I was nineteen years old. But I
was born Heather Piper in Kansas City, twenty-four years
ago. My father worked in construction and my mother had
a part-time job working in the local supermarket checkout.
We were poor, but I don't remember much about it. I
was four when they were killed in a car crash. They didn't
leave much, so I wound up in an orphanage, because my
momma had no relatives, and my father's brother didn't
want me.' Her voice was dry, emotiouless. 'I stayed in that
home until I was eleven. Then I was adopted, by a retired
jdge named Eli Woods and his wife. It's unusual for kids
to get adopted that late, you understand. Most couples
want babies. But I was real pretty by the time I was eleven,
and I sooh realized why the judge had chosen me. Two days before my twelfth birthday, Eli came into the
bathroom when I was drying myself. That night he came
into my bedroom and raped me'

She paused, swallowed hard, and then continued. 'He
raped me for two years, and he told me all the things they
all say- nobody will believe you, you led me on, it's your
fault. I told his wife, and she slipped me around the face
and called me a good-for-nothing welfare slut and a dirty
little liar. A year later, when I was thirteen, I walked into
town and spoke to a'police oglcer. He said he would file a
complaint. But that evening Eli came to my room. and he


45z

beat me until he drew blood. Then he broke my little
finger.'

The tears were coming now, she couldn't stop them;
they rolled out of her eyes and trickled down her cheeks,
so she couldn't even see the faces of her small audience,
staring at her, horrified. She ploughed on. 'As soon as it
was healed, I stole his credit cards and his wallet and his
wife's jewels, pawned the money and skipped town. I took
my passport and booked a one-way ticket to Paris; told
them Judge Woods was sending me on an educational trip.
I don't know why I picked Pads. It just seemed so far away,
and I was very good at French. He didn't speak French.
Maybe I thought he'd have trouble tracking me down. So I
got there, and I started hooking. I hated myself, but I was
good at sex and it seemed like the fastest way to make a lot
of money. Eli had power in that town because of his
money. And I didn't trust anybody, I wanted enough cash
of my own. I guess I was better-looking, more promiscuous
than the other girls, because I made a lot of money very
fast. I was offthe streets in two months, graduated.to a call
girl serving rich businessmen, discreedy, at fancy hotels.
That's where I met a couple of other girls doing the same
thing. One of them wanted to leave her pimp, because
he'd been hitting her. I told her she should come and work
for me, because I'd never hit her. I was only fifteen, but I
looked older. I was already cold, hard, ruthless- the person
you're used to. By the time I was sixteen I'd rented my
own small house for my girls on the Champs-Elys6es. We
were successful; a lot of the call girls working for me
became models, got new names, married out of the life. I
thought I could do that; I was eighteen years old, and I had
nearly a million dollars in savings and deposit bonds. A real
entrepreneur.'

She stifled a sob. 'So, I got a new passport, moved to
Califorma, picked the most conservative private school I
could find- a Catholic convent- and contacted the model'


453

agencies. A scout had already tried tn me in France,

	but I wanted to start fresh, back ho¢, where nobody

	knew me. I wanted to be the biggest, richest, most famous

	woman in the whole world. I was detemfined I'd never

	love anyone and never trust anyone, because .nobody had

	ever loved me. And you know the rest. So, I've been a

	bitch to you, and I realize it. I'm not asking you guys for
	'

	anything, I just want you to understand why, so we can

	finish this film. Because Eleanor persuaded me to do

	something with my life, so at least when all this is over I can

	walk away with my head held up.'

	P,.oxana sank onto the nearest chair and dashed her hand

	across hr eyes, trying to brush a few of the tears away.

	For a, moment or two there was a stunned silence, the

	only noise in the dim room loxana's soft weeping and the

'
	breaking waves on the beach outside. Finally Fred Florescu

	cleared his throat.

	'loxana, I can't pretend that we know what you went

	through. I don't think anybody who hasn't undergone the

	kind of horrors you endured could ever begin to imagine

	what that must have been like. But I know I speak for

	verybody in this room when I say that I totally admire

	your courage in being able to tell us what happened to you.

	However you behaved doesn't matter in the least. So you

	were a little cold, so what? I think you had every right to be

	mistrustful. But I hope you'll trust me now when I tell you
	that you are a truly fine actress, and you're somebody I'm

	proud to be making this movie with,' he said gently, and

	the whole cast began to applaud.


The sun was sinking over Beverly Hills when Tom
Goldman arrived home. He parked his car in the garage
and sat slumped in the front seat, his eyes stating into space,
wondering how in God's name he was going to explain
this to Jordan. The loss of most of his fortune would be the
first blow: he realized his wife had expensive tastes,.and he

454


	was about to tell her that they had .to cut back drastically.
Sell this house, for example, her favourite toy. But Lisa
Weintraub, his accountant, had been totally clear: he could
no longer afford to service the four-million-dollar mortgage
on his five-million-dollar house. So, goodbye Beverly
Hills, hello Laurel Canyon. He could live with that,
but the question was, could Jordan? And there would be
no more of those goddamned stupid parties she seemed to
live for, either. With his new net worth of a million and a
half, which had to cover a new house and a new baby,
there was no way he could go for the caviar dinners and the
Chanel suits any more. It was only after fitting down with
Lisa and going through the household accounts that Tom
realized just how much money Jordan had been spending
on clothes. An original Chanel couture suit cost $2o,ooo
dollars a pop. Twenty thousand dollars! And Jordan owned


Now he was going to have to go in there and tell her it
had to stop. Not only were the big spending days over
forever, she was going to have to sell most ofherjewellery.
He'd spent over three-quarters of a million on rocks for her since their marriage, and they needed the money. She was
going to hate that. She was going to hate everything about
this conversation.

Oh well, Goldman thought wearily. She has her baby
on the way. Once it arrives, maybe she won't be interested
in the social scene anymore-because we sure as hell aren't
gorma be hiring a nanny now.

The baby. Body-blow numbei two. He had to confess to
his wife that he'd cheated on her, and that he was having
another child by another woman.

Tom rubbed his fingers across his temple, feeling every
second of his forty-five years. How in God's name had he
screwed up his life this badly? he wondered helplessly. As
long as he lived, he would never forget the torrent of
emotions that had raged through him when Eleanor

455


dropped her bombshell. Astonishment. Exhilaration, for a
fraction of a second. And finally, the searing, overwhelming,
hopeless waves of regret.

Seeing Eleanor so decisive, so calm, so controlled under
pressure had underscored a truth he now realized he had
always known- he was in love with Eleanor Marshall, and
he probably always had been, from the day that bright,
gawky graduate crashed into him outside the studio
cafeteria fifteen years ago right up to that moment when
she told him she was carrying his child. If he was honest,
the appalling jealousy that had racked him at her wedding
was the first real signal he was in trouble - Christ, had she
ever looked so radiantly lovely as she did that day? Or was
it before that? In New York, when he had found such total
release in her arms, when he had sired the child that she had
carried ever since? Too late, Goldman understood everything:
the flame that Eleanor had borne for him in silence
for so long, and the pain she must have gone through when
Jordan turned up in the lobby of the Victrix; even at the
time, he had been embarrassed that Eleanor had to hear it
like that, but only now did he understand the full depths of
what she had gone through, It explained her weakness, her
loss of control at work when she returned to LA -
weakness thatJake Keller had exploited.

The same weakness that Goldman was feeling right

now.

What a tragedy that he had never seen what was right
under his eyes, all the time. She had been his best friend, his
protegee, his most trusted lieutenant. She had been the frrst
person he would run to with a new idea, his sounding
board, his best critic. He had tried to spend as much time as
he could with her in and out of the office. He'd never
confronted the root feelings behind his strong dislike of
Paul Halfin, not until yesterday, not until it was too late.

Three months ago, and he could simply have asked
Jordan for a divorce. But not now. His wife was an adult

456


of sorts- and though he might have hurt her, it would have
been better that way than trying to inch through a sham of
a marriage. But all that had changed in the lobby of the
Victrix. Because the child Jordan was bearing had to come
first, whatever he wanted to do. He had conceived that
baby in wedlock, and Tom Goldman knew he had a duty
to his kid. He had to stay with its mother until such time as
it was old enough to understand- at fifteen or sixteen, say.
He'd s.upport the other baby if Eleanor required it, but he
could have only one family. And he had married Jordan
first.

Goldman got slowly out of his car and walked towards
the house, thinking about his mother. Hannah Goldman
had been dead now for seven years, but he knew she would
tell him that this was. the only choice. He had to stay until
he had seen this child's bar or bat mitzvah.

But dear God, it was a terrible price to pay for his
mistake.

He let himsdfin through the back door, punching their
security code into the entry system. A flashing red light
above the panel told him that Jordan was already home.

So what were you hoping for? Tom asked himself
wryly. That she was out shopping on Rodeo? You're
gonna have to do this eventually, so it might as well be

now.

'Jordan[' Goldman called. 'I'm home!'

'Oh, really.' His wife's Bostonian tones were dripping
with acid. 'Well, I'm in the drawing room. I hope you
don't expect me to come to you, Thomas.'

Here we go, Tom thought, walking through to their
lavish reception room. It was an ornate fantasy of William
Morris wallpaper and English Regency antiques; the
decorator had charged him a small fortune for them,
Goldman recalled. Well, possibly he'd get another quarter.
million from an auction of every goddamn antique in the

457


place. Nothing but functional twentieth-century Ameri

can for the Goldmans now.

Jordan was fitting bolt upright on one of their chintz
armchairs, her long blonde hair clipped behind her head in
a severe ponytail, wearing her pink Chanel. suit and her
long diamond drop earrings. He noticed she had also put
on her pearl and sapphire choker and the diamond and
ruby eternity ring he'd bought her to celebrate her
pregnancy. She was obviously making a point. And from
the way she was scowling at him, she was pretty mad
already, before he'd even started.

'I hope you're about to tell me that you've changed your
mind about that horrid stock,' Jordan snapped petulantly. 'It
was hell at the health club this morning, you know.
Everybody whispering and pointing.' She pulled a small
lace handkerchief out of her sleeve and dabbed at some
nonexistent tears. 'I can't take much more of this, Tom.
How could you do this to me?'

'I met with Lisa Weintraub today,' Goldman began.
The quicker he came out with it, the better. 'She' told me
that we've lost a lot of our money. Almost eight million
dollars.'

' Vat?" Jordan shrieked.

'We're going to have to sell the house, most of your
jewellery,and auction offa lot of our effects. Lisa knows a
good real estate broker who'll get us a discount on a new
place; we can get something compact in Laurel Canyon or
Pasadena for about halfa million..That'll leave us a million
in disposable capital, so we should be able to get by until I
find another job.'

'It's not true,' Jordan whispered, shaking her head.
'You're making this up to scare me.'

'Jesus, Jordan. Don't be so childish. This is. tough, but
we'll pull through it. We're a family; we've got each


The words rang hollow in his ears.

'I'm going to stay at my job until our currert movie is
released, then I'll resign. And I won't easily be able to get
another job in the industry, certainly not at the level I was
at before, so I'm afraid all the socializing is goin to have to
go. We don't have the money for expensive parties,
anyway - we're going to have to economize, honey. I'll
need to cancel most of your credit cards and arrange a small
allowance for you. And you realize that we certainly won't
be able to hire a nanny now, so it'll just be you, the and the
baby,' Tom concluded, trying to give her a snaile.

'No! I won't do it!' Jordan shrieked. 'You can't do this
to. me, Tom! I won't live like that!'

'We don't have a choice,' Goldman answered, suppressing
his anger. She was reactinglike a spoiled teerager, even
now, in the midst of this catastrophe, at the ne time a
husband might look to his wife for support.

But I don't have the right to be angry will her, Tom

reminded himself, considering what I have to tell her next.
'Jordan, listen to me. There's something worse.'
'Something worse?' Her angelic young face was pink
with fury. 'Something worse? You son of a bitch, what the
hell could be worse than that? Don't you. understand that
you've mined my life?'

'You remember when you flew up to the Victrix, in
New York, to tell me about the baby? Jordan, I have
something to confess to you.' He swallowed. 'I slept with
Eleanor Marshall the night before- it was the ft and only
time - and yesterday she told me that she coaceived that
night. She has decided to have the baby.'

Silently he waited for the storm. Over tlais, she had
every right.

'Is that it?' Jordan asked.

'Isn't that enough?'

'I thought you were going to tell me we were being
investigated by the IIS,' Jordan sniffed. 'You slept with Eleanor Marshall?. Tom, how could you? She's so old!'

459


Tom Goldman stared at his wife, but the words
wouldn't come. He wondered if he was hearing things.
Jordan went into utter hysterics at the thought of lowering
her lifestyle, but to his admission that another woman was
also bearing his child she acted as if it was a nfinor lapse of

taste. Could she really be that petty? Could anybody?

Maybe she'd misunderstood him.

'Jordan, I just told you that Eleanor is also pregnant. By

me. Don't you have anything to say?'

'Yes! Yes I do!' she screamed. Suddenly all the fury was

back, and it was almost a relief. But then she continued,
'How dare you humiliate me like that! Don't you realize
how everybody will laugh at me? They'll say you preferred

that wrinkled old woman to me!'

'Eleanor's thirty-eight '

'And I'm twenty-fou. And don't think everyone won't
point that out! She doesn't even work out. She's just a
bluestocking! How could you?'

He couldn't hide his disgust. 'Jordan, that's the most -' 'Iwant a divorce.P She was yelling at him, the veins on her
slender neck standing out like a whipcords. 'I want a divorce
right now!'

'But our baby,' Tom managed.

'What baby? I'm not pregnant, you stupid fool! There
never was any baby! Isabelle told me to say there was, so
you'd leave that old bitch alone!' She laughed hysterically.
'Do you think I'd get, pregnant with the baby of a stupid asshole like you? You just wantedme to ruin my figure! To
stay home all day with some screaming brat when I'm young!

You're just jealous of me because/know how to have fun!' Goldman's head was reeling. 'There's no baby?'

'No! Don't you understand English? I was going to tell

you I'd had a miscarriage. iF i was pregnant you'd have made me have a miscarriage!' Jordan was sobbing with rage. "You can live in Pasadena! I won't do it! I want a divorce!. And I


460

came to this marriage with two million dollars of my own
in savings, and you're not having any of it!'

'You never told me that,' Tom said quietly.

'You're not having any of it! It's mine!'

'I wouldn't touch a cent of your money,' Tom told her
with contempt. 'You're welcome to walk away with
everything you brought to this marriage. I'll have my
hwyers get in touch tomorrow.'

Tm keeping the diamonds!' Jordan screamed after his
retreating back.

Tom Goldman walked out of'his house and out of his
marriage. And by the time he hit the back door he was
smiling.

46


Chapter 3 6


'All right. OK,' Goldman said resignedly, looking across at
Eleanor and shaking his head. 'Two weeks. If that's the

best you can do... yeah, I know. Thanks, Janice.'

He hung up.

'What did we get in Seattle? Two weeks?' Eleanor
asked, disappointed. 'I was hoping for a little more time
than that. It's supposed to be the Generation X capital of
the universe. You'd think that Zach and Florescu alone
would be enough to guarantee some box-office down
the re.'

Tom shrugged. 'What can I tell you? Everybody's
fighting shy of the tLoxana thing, I guess.'

'No, it's not that. A scandallike that is just free publicity.

My guess is that it's Jake Keller and David Tauber.'

Tom Goldman and Eleanor Marshall were sitting
together in Tom's office at Artemis Studios, surrounded by
phones, piles of notes and the remains of a tray of coffee
and bagels. It was seven,p.m., and the sun was just starting to
sink in the rosy sky outside Goldman's huge windows, the
pollution in the atmosphere hanging over LA distorting
the light into wild streaks of scarlet and copper. That was
one thing you could say for the smog: it made for great
sunsets. But today neither of them had had much time to
notice the beauty of nature. They had spent the entire day
trying to persuade distributors to book See the Lights; this
morning it had looked as though the picture would get
shown in two art-house theatres in Minnesota and one


462

multiplex in Tucson and then die an ignominious,
straight-to-video death. Nobody wanted to touch it with a
disinfected ten-foot pole. Word was out that See the Lights was going to be Fred Florescu's Last Action Hero; even
Steven Spielberg had bombed with 1941, and now it was
about to be Florescu's turn. The Artemis marketing team
had gotten the same message over and over: this movie is a
total failure, absolutely unreleasable, how can you even ask
us to book a flick which is practically forcing your studio
into bankruptcy? It had taken Tom and Eleanor all day to
salvage a minimal opening distribution for the movie.
They'd exhausted a lot of stored goodwill and personal
credit in the process, cashing in fieen years of favours
owed, and even then the two of them had only been able
to get a skeleton release. But that was the most they could
squeeze out of the market. People just did not want to

know.

'Tauber and Keller? I guess it's possible,' Tom mused.
'You know I'm right. After Sam Kendrick finished
trashing David Tauber round this city no other agencies
would pick him up, and he wound up working for some
fly-by-night schmuck with one phone line and a PO box
number down in West Hollywood, casting pet food
commercials.' Tom grinned. 'And as for Keller, when you
put the word out, he was all washed up too, so he's -'

'Fulfilling his boyhood dream of becoming an indie
producer,' Goldman finished off, laughing.

'Exactly. So I think we can take it as read that neither
one is wishing this movie the best of luck. David Tauber
was out there on the set, andJake Keller has a lot of memos
detailing stuff that went wrong. All they had to do was
plant a few whispers - you know, Florescu wouldn't let
anybody see the rushes, Artemis was in despair over a
creative and commercial disaster, loxana Felix couldn't
act her way out of a paper bag... It's very simple to do,
and those two assholes want revenge.'

463


Tom nodded slowly. 'You have a point. Plus, we have
to remember that the industry knows we only get to stay in
our jobs for the release of See the Lights because we have
good lawyers. As soon as this movie is out, we're out.
Howard and Co are making that pretty clear. So nobody
cares if they offend us by blanking this picture. Why should
they? We're as good as gone.'

Eleanor gave Tom a soft smile, nodding at his T-shirt
and jeans. 'At least you don't have to dress up for work any
more.'

'If it's good enough for David Geffen, it's good enough
for me,' Goldman said unrepentanfly. 'I should have done
this years ago.' He reached across the desk and took
Eleanor's hand, stroking it softly. 'I should have done a lot
of things years ago.'

, Eleanor looked at him, his dark eyes ftxed so intently
upon her, and felt the familiar warmth of desire blossom
across her skin. But it was too soon. She had to be sure he
wasn't on the rebound from Jordan, that he meant what he
was telling her, that he wouldn't wait another couple of
rdonths and then trade her in for the latest trophy wife de your . The pain of losing him was too recent; she just
couldn't risk her heart again. Because if he smashed it this
time, Eleanor Marshall knew in her deepest soul that it
would be broken forever.

She pulled her hand free, gently but firmly. 'Maybe it'll
be a huge hit. Mayb we'll rescue the studio with this
picture. Fox was in trouble when they put out Star Wars, and nobody was expecting that movie to do anything
either.' '

Tom Goldman swallowed his disappointment. Eleanor
needed time to trust him, he realized that. But it was so
hard, to be near her, to know she was carrying their child,
and not to be able to hold her and caress her.

'Eleanor, you have to understand something here.
We've done what you said; we beat all the odds in forcing

464


the board to let us stay and finish the movie, persuading
l.oxana to go back to the set, and getting some kind of
basic release going. But this was a hundred-and-twentymillion-dollar
movie! Do you realize the kind of distribution,
marketing, or whatever that we'd need to earn our
money back? Star Wars cost seven million dollars. You've
done the right thing, creatively, for your project, but you
have to face facts. We're going to bomb, and we're going
to bomb huge.'

'It's possible that we could have a word-of-mouth hit.'
'A hundred-and-thirty-five-million-dollar word-of
mouth hit? You're asking for a miracle.'

Eleanor Marshall thought of Tom's baby, growing
inside her womb. 'I believe in miracles,' she said.

Tom shook his head. 'You just don't know when to
quit, Elemaor, do you?'

'Absolutely not,' she agreed. 'So are you coming out to
the wrap party on Saturday? I'm going to book my ticket
tonight.'

'Are you kidding?' Goldman replied. 'After everything
we've been through to see this goddamn movie finished, I
wouldn't miss it for twenty monsoons.'


See the Lights held its wrap party on the beach, under the
stars. Tom and Eleanor arrived to a hotel already in chaos as
hundreds of crew technicians lugged packed suitcases
down the main stairs or hogged the elevator, stacking all
their stuff in the hotel lobby in gre.at coloufful piles of
leather and plastic, ready to be ferried out to Seychelles
airport the next morning. The party atmosphere was in
evidence even before they got out to the beach, the
lighting director staggering past Tom with his hair covered
in sticky coconut milk and the chief grip passing out thick
pre-rolledjoints to everybody in sight. Relief was hanging
so thick in the air you could almost smell it. And once the

two of them stepped outside onto the soft, powdery sand,

it was insane.

'Is this a wrap party or Mardi Gras?' Tom asked Eleanor,
gazing at the scene on the shore. Four huge bonfires were
stacked along the beach, throwing up towers of flame
against the inky black sky, silhouetting the dancing figures
jumping crazily around them to the strains of some extra
loud rap music that was pumping from a beat-box
somewhere. Florescu had organized a trestle table piled
with food they could smell two hundred yards away:
Creole lobster, octopus curry, sharkmeat with ginger
sauce, p, arrotfish soup. As soon as they walked over,
somebody from the catering crew shoved a tall glass of
something tall and coloufful into their hands.

'What's this?' Goldman asked warily, putting an arm
round Eleanor's waist.

'La purde,' the girl said, laughing. 'Local speciality. Try

it!'

Tom took a gulp and gasped for air, the crushed fruit
brew searing the back of his throat. 'Jesus Christ! What/s
this?'

'Fermented fruit alcohol. It's pretty strong,' she said.
'No kidding,' Tom said, putting it down on the table.

'You have anything n0n-alcoholic?' Eleanor asked. 'I'm
pregnant.'

'Sure.' She handed her a plastic beaker ofcitronelle, the light Seychellois brew of mineral water, honey and
crushed lemon.

'I'll take one of those,' Tom said.

'Hey, you guys[ You're hte,' Fred Florescu said,

walking up to Tom and slapping him on the shoulder.
'It's good to see you too, Fred,' Tom said, smiling.

'Plane was delayed in Singapore,' Eleanor explained.
'How are you?'

'Pretty fucking pleased with this movie,' the director


466

told her. 'I gotta thank you guys for fighting so hard to let
us finish it. We've made an incredible film. It's gonna win
the Palme d'Or at Cannes next year, and it's gonna break
box-office records.'

'Really?' said Eleanor.

'Sure,' said Tom.

Florescu glared at him with mock severity. 'Oh ye of
little faith. You care to place a bet on that? A hundred
dollars says you make at least thirty million dollars' profit
on this thing.'

'Sold,' Goldman said, clasping the younger man's hand.
'God knows I could use the money.'

'We're out of a job after See the Lights is released,'
Eleanor told him.

'No you're not. You can come and work for me,' Sam
Kendricl said, emerging from behind a crackling bonfire.
'Artemis may be history, but we're not. Since the divorce
I've thrown myself into work. We wrapped a fat deal from
Troy Savage at Universal just this morning. I'm snowed
under, I could do with some help. You gamekeepers
should turn poachers. It'd make you more well-rounded
human beings.'

'By becoming an agent? You're on drugs, Sam,' Florescu
teased him. 'Kendrick's just a money-making machine
with a greedy, ruthless, one-track mind. Which is precisely
why I signed to him.'

'All directors are just kids whose bullying instinct never
found enough expression beaing UP small children in
grade school,' Sam rejoined amiably.

'What are you doing here, Sam? I thought you didn't

represent loxana Felix any more,' Eleanor said, curiously.
Kendrick's face darkened, and he looked away.

'I don't,' he said. 'But Fred, Zach and Megan are still my
clients, and so are all the co-stars. I was never about to miss
this.'

467


'Where is Roxana?' Eleanor asked. 'I'd like to see her.'

'You will. leal soon,' Florescu said. 'Zach and P,.oxana

are both about to make speeches. Have a seat.'

He waved them to a place at the trestle table, and they sat
down, aware of figures beginning to gather around and sit
cross-legged on the sand, crowding the benches. Suddenly
they exploded into cheers and wolf whistles as R.oxana
Felix, looking stunning in a sheer white silk dress, her long
hair braided in a sophisticated French pleat, climbed
nimbly on top of a pile of crates which somebody had
erected specially for the occasion.

'Wow, they really love her,' Tom Goldman muttered.
'Yeah, well. She turned from bitch queen of the
universe into Mother Theresa,' Florescu whispered back
loudly, 'Turned up early every morning, made coffee for
the wardrobe girls, asked if she could help packing up the
equipment - you name it, loxana was in there giving a
hand. Everybody on the crew was shellshocked. Now they
worship the ground she walks on.'

Eleanor cast a sideways glance at Sam Kendrick, but he
had lowered his eyes, refusing to look at loxana as she
started her speech.

'On behalf of the cast, I want to thank everybody in the

crew wh worked so hard to make this movie,' loxana
said, to loud applause from the supporting actors, who
banged the tables and whooped. 'It was you guys versus
spoilt models, Murphy's Law, studio politics and the forces
of nature - so naturally there was no contest.' There was a
lot of raucous laughter. 'I should also give special thanks to
Megan Silver, for writing us out of more dead ends than
anybody can count' - huge applause and whistles - 'and
Zach Mason, for kindly getting his ass back here alive, so I
didn't have to do love scenes with a cadaver. Although on
second thoughts, maybe that might have been preferable
... and lastly, let me say that I have always dreamed of


468

working with the most talented young director in America.'
A beat. 'So when I get home, I'm going to call Quentin
Tarantino right away and ask him to give me a test.'

The party exploded into laughter and cheering, and
tkoxana bowed and sat down, blowing a kiss towards
Florescu.

'Bitch,' he yelled, grinning.
tkoxana's place-was taken by the tall, musclebound
figure of Zach Mason, his long black hair blowing against
his bare shoulders, his broad chest silhouetted in the
firelight.

'Jesus, he looks terrific,' Eleanor said.

'The guy's been pumping iron like a madman ever since
he got out of hospital,' Fred explained. 'He says he's going
to get back on the road and he needs to be in shape. It's
either that or it's love. He's been inseparable from Megan
Silver siflce the moment they were found in the jungle.'

'Ahhh, how romantic,' Eleanor murmured, and Tom
tightened his grip around her waist, squeezing her softly.
She hesitated a moment, then settled back in against him. It
felt good to be out here with Tom, in the darkness, Eleanor
thought. If this was their final bow, it was right that they
were doing it together.

I won't pull back from him, Eleanor told herself. At
least, not this evening.

'They say a thing of beauty is a joy forever,' Zach Mason
began, 'although in tLoxana's case I think I speak for
everybody when I say that for most of the time a thing of
beauty was a pain in the ass.'

'Amen,' Florescu yelled, to more heers.

'Seriously,' Mason went on, holding up a hand for
silence, 'I have to thank Roxie, Seth, Mary, Jack, tkobert,
Fred and the whole cast and crew for letting me see what
it's like to make a movie. And when I next want to do
something a little less stressful, I'm going skydiving ov.er
the Grand Canyon without a parachute.' He waited for the

469


laughter to die down, and then held out his hand. 'Megan,

get up here.'

Eleanor watched quietly as Megan Silver, chic and
slender in a short Donna Karan dress and loose sandals, climbed up next to Zach and nestled against him, her small
hand clasped in his. She looked gorgeous, confident and
radiant with happiness.

'Is that Megan?' Tom whispered to Eleanor, staring at.

her disbelievingly. 'What happened to that dumpy little
mouse I met six months agoY

'She made this movie,' Eleanor replied, finding that she

had tears in her eyes. 'It changed all of us.'

Tve got a couple of announcements to make,' Zach

said. 'The first is that I'm really glad to have had the
opportunity of seeing what it was like to act, particularly in
such a great fn as this turned out to be, because I won't be
doing it again. I've talked to the guys in Dark Angel, and
we're getting back together. Movies are fun, but music is
my life.'

There was deafening applause.

, 'Thanks,' Zach said. 'And talking of my life, the second

thing I've got to tell you guys - saving the best for last' - he
looked tenderly down at Megan, smiling into her eyes - 'is
that this morning I asked Megan Silver if she'd agree to
marry me, and she said yes.'

Anything else he might have wanted to add was lost in
pandemonium, as the c, ast and crew burst into congratulations,
everybody yelling and whistling and stamping their
feet, and Megan and Zach were pulled down offthe crates
by people crowding around to shake their hands. Eleanor
saw R.oxana hugging Megan, and then Zach.

'Are you going to say something?' Tom asked Florescu.
'After that? Are you kidding? It would be the anticlimax
of the century,' Florescu said dryly. 'No. I spoke to the
crew when we did the final take of the £mal scene. That'll
have to do.' He swung his legs over the bench and stood


470

up. 'Excuse me for a second, OK? I have to go congratulate
them.'

The too,' Sam Kendrick added, following his client. 'I'll
see you two later.'

'Come on, Tom,' Eleanor said. 'Let's go.'

'In a second.' He moved closer to her on the bench and
grabbed her two hands, holding them tightly in the
shadows, looking at her in the flickering light of the
bonfires as people rushed past them towards Zach and
Megan, the party raging around them, ignoring them,
leaving the two of them alone at the end of the table.

'Not now,' Eleanor whispered. There was something
about the way Goldman was looking at her that made her
nervous. His liquid black eyes were fxed on her, scanning
her face as though he wanted to memorize it, as though he
would never tak his gaze offher.

'Yes, now,'-Tom insisted. 'Now. I have to say it,

Eleanor. I can't wait any longer.'

She was silent.

Tom reached out one hand and cupped her cheek,
softly, gently, rubbing his rough palm across the softness of
her skin.

'I love you,' he said. 'I've loved you since the day I met
you. Maybe you felt the same way, maybe it happened to
you a little later, but I know you feel something for me.
New York proved that to both of us.' He took a breath,
struggling to find the right words. 'I guess we were both
too timid, or too comfortable, or too.shy, but neither one
of us said anything until it proved to be too late. I hadn't
been with Jordan long when I realized what an idiot I'd
been. I thought about you every second of the day. I
thought about you when I was with her. I tried not to, but I
couldn't help it. And the night we had together was the
most perfect communion I ever had with another huma.n
being in my life.'

47


Eleanor Marshall sat listening to him, tears forming in

her eyes and rolling softly down her cheeks.

'The next day, when I thought Jordan was pregnant...

I was trapped. It was too late. And I realized the full depths
of what that meant when I saw you marrying Patti. So help
me, Eleanor, I wanted to kill him. I wanted to rush up
there and carry you away by force. And I couldn't do a
thing about it.' He touched his finger to one of the tears
rolling down her face and brushed it away. 'Eleanor, I
know I hurt you. I know you're frightened now. But I
swear, I love you with all my heart.' His voice was hoarse
with the intensity of what he was saying. 'Look at me. You
know I mean what I say. I love you and I love our child
with all of my heart. God gave us both a second chance,

Eleanor. Don't let's waste this half of our lives.'

'Oh, Tom,' she whispered.

He slipped from the bench and sank to his knees in front

of her, on the sand, holding her hands to his.

'I love you more than life,' he said. 'So help me, I don't
want to live without you. Eleanor, will you marry me?'

' She gazed at him for a long moment. Then she bent her

head and kissed him softly, passionately.

'I thought you'd never ask,' she said.


In the darkness, tkoxana Felix hung back from the crowd,
watching them all swarm around Megan and Zach,.
shouting congratulations and cracking jokes. She was truly
pleased for both of them. Since the night she had spoken to
the cast, neither of them could have been more compassionate
or friendly towards her. Zach in particular had
gone out of his way to be kind; tkoxana knew that he
realized, more than any of the others ever could, what it
was like living in the centre of the spotlight, where nobody
could be themselves with you and everybody already had
an opinion the first time they met you. He'd told her last
night that She'd gone from the most lonely kid in the world


472

to the most sought-after-woman alive, and added, 'May[
no,w you'll get a chance to be normal, P,.oxie. I really hoI

$O.

God, I hope so too, loxana thought fearfully, her ey,

fLxed on one figure breaking away.from the crowd.
Sam Kendrick.

He had arrived yesterday, and refused to see her, refuse
to speak to her, and hung up on her when she'd called
hotel room. She'd sent a note, asking for five minutes off
time, and received no reply. Sam didn't want to know, an
he was making it painfully obvious.

-loxana felt her heart crashing against her ribcage. St
was so nervous she half expected to look down and s
herselfhathed in a cold sweat. But she had to do this; si
had to speak to him.

Sam Kendrick was the only man who had ever been ab
to reach ier, whose caresses had actually aroused her,
only man whose touch she had ever truly desired. Oh, st
might have kidded herself that she wanted Zach, but Zac
Mason, to her, had only ever been another link in tt
masterplan. She had set out Wanting to use Sam KendriC

to be revenged on him for some minor insult, and then.
... and then she had fallen in love with him.

Sure, she'd tried to deny it to hersel£. The more st
thought about him, the more she told herself that s
loathed the guy, the more ferociously she tried to bre
him. As though she were proving something to herself.

And when that terrible phone call had woken her u
Isabelle's mocking voice bringirig her, ice fortress crashiJ
down all around her, Sam had been the only one to corr
and see her, the only one not to condemn her, the only oi
who would stand by her side and tell her he loved her. A
then, terrified by the feelings he was evokingin her, seei
them as pure weakness, in her desperation she had turn,
on him like a wounded beast, snarling, and hurt him
desperately and as deeply as she knew how.

4-73


Only when Eleanor had arrived, later, offering her a
second chance, had loxana managed to let everything go.
Weeping in the older woman's arms, too tired to fight the
world any longer, she had discovered that at least one other
person gave a damn about her. Then the cast had accepted
her back amongst themselves, with complete forgiveness
and acceptance, and working her butt offto finish See the
Lights had provided her with her own small redemption; a
chance to work with other people, and to be considered,
for once,just as an actress,just as herself. Aer Florescu had
yelled 'Cut! - and print!' to the cheers of the crew, he'd
come across to loxana and told her he'd like to work with
her again. Not such a big deal to most people, maybe, but
at that moment it seemed better than the most flowery
compliment she'd ever been paid.

And finishing the movie had given her a little space to
confront her feelings about Sam Kendrick; to acknowledge
that she'd fallen in love, to look at Megan Silver as she
walked around the set hand in hand with Zach, and know
that she wanted that for herself, that simple, profound
affection, that bond, the love that Sam had offered her. He
was angry, and he had every right to be. She knew that. But
she also knew, as she stood there and watched Kendrick
walking back towards the hotel, alone on the beach, that
she had to try to reach him. At least try. Or he'd be out of
her life forever. ,

This was her only chance.
tkoxana moved out of the shadows, running across the
beach, 'down to the water's edge, and touched Sam
Kendrick on the shoulder.

He spun round, smiling, but the smile died and froze on
his face when he saw who it was.

'What the hell do you want?' he demanded, his tone
sharp. 'Can't you just leave it alone, tkoxana? What more
do you want from me?'


474

'Sam, please,' she said. 'Give me a chance. I just wan

tell you I'm sorry. I truly am.'
His eyes were cold.

loxana tried again. Tve changed, Sam. I truly hl
Can't we make a fresh start?'

Kendrick stood there, watching her for a second,
slowly shook his head. 'I don't think so, Roxana. I'll ac
your apology, OK? Let's leave it at that.'

She took a step backwards in the damp sand. The fin
in his voice was terrible.

'I know it's too late,' loxana whispered. 'But for w
it's worth - I love you.'

For a moment she thought she saw a light flare in
eyes, but then Kendrick looked away, and the morn
passed.

'You're right,' he said. 'It is too late.'

And a loxana Felix stood there, watching him, S
Kendrick turned his back on her and walked away.


The crew flew back home the next morning, toge
with Sam Kendrick and most of the supporting cast. [
had arranged for Zach, Megan, Fred and loxana to t
Howard Thorn's private jet in the afternoon, along ,
himself and Eleanor.

'Privilege of office,' he explained as they soared into
dizzy blue skies above the Indian Ocean. 'And since th
the last time we're ever gonna get to enjoy them, we roA
as well make the most of it.'

'So do you think you guys will take up Sam's of
Florescu asked Eleanor, as she sat 'on the comfort;
leather sofa, curled up against Tom.

'And become an agent? No way,' Goldman said.

'Speak for yoursel£ I might give it a try,' Eleanor repl
digging Tom in the ribs.

He caught her hand and kissed it. 'Eleanor Man
Goldman. What do you think?'

47:5 "

'Sounds terrific. Apart from the "Goldman" part,'

Eleanor told him, laughing.

'You guys too?' Florescu asked in mock horror,

glancing at Zach and Megan. 'Jesus. I hope it isn't
catching.'

Zach laughed. 'Fred, you're too macho to be infected.'
'You got that right,' the director told him, winking at
P,.oxana. 'So where are you going to be when the movie
opens?'

'At the Bel-Air. We're renting a suite while we look for

a new house,' Eleanor told him. 'In fact, everybody should
give me a contact number, so I can let you all know how
we're doing.'

'Roxana, Paramount want me to do a remake of

Breakfast at Tiffany's,' Florescu told her. 'You interested?'
She nodded, delighted. 'Are you serious?'
'Absolutely..You're a great actress,' Florescu said,
adding mischievously, 'not to mention a world-class babe,
which never hurts.'

She threw a cushion at him.

Obsequious stewardesses busded round them, handing

out crystal glasses of champagne.

'I think we should toast the movie,' Florescu said, raising

his glass. 'Because after this, nothing is ever gonna seem

difficult again.'

The plane was fdled with laughter as they raised their

glasses.


On Saturday afternoon, Zach Mason and Megan Silver

were lying in bed together, wrapped in each other's arms.
'Stop looking at the phone,' Zach teased her. 'I
am not looking at the phone.'

'Yes you are. You've been waiting for the phone to ring

all day. When Yolanda called this morning, you jumped

three feet in the air.'


476

'I did not,' Megan said indignantly, then gave hir.
sheepish smile. 'It was only two feet.'

Mason laughed, cupping her breasts in his hands a
kissing the tips of her nipples.

'You have a one-track mind. Will you cut it out? We

done nothing but make love all day.'

'You have a better idea?'

'Maybe not,' she said, reaching down between his le
They kissed softly.

'Declan was totally blown away when you calle
Megan said. 'He thinks I'm Cinderella, running off
fairyland and winding up with the handsome Prince.'

'Well, you are,' Zach told her, stroking the back off
neck.

'Are you kidding? I wound up with the frog,':
giggled, squirming away from him. 'I can't believe ]
going to-spend the rest of my life in a tour bus.'

'Writing novels. Your choice, babe,' Zach remin

her.

'Stop changing the subject,' Megan teased.

The phone rang. They both jumped out of their ski

'You get it,' Megan said breathlessly. 'It's probably
you.'

He shook his head. 'No way, sugar. You wrote

fucking movie. You get it.'
'Get the phone.'
'You get it.'

'Get the goddamn .phone, Zach!' Megan squealed.
He snatched the receiver offits cradle.

'Zach Mason. Oh, hi, Tom. Yeah', she's here too..


Roxana Felix sat alone in her chic Century City ap;
ment, curled up on her favourite easy chair, read
Florescu's latest script and trying not to think about
movie. Since she'd given her press conference on l
return to the States, life had gotten a whole lot easier.


477

had forgotten nothing, but she'd also discovered one
fundamental truth: that demons turn to stone when
exposed to the light. The cosmetics people had all come
crawling back to her, even pathetic little Bob Alton had
tried to reingratiate himself, but she just didn't want to know. There was more to being a woman than physical
beauty, a lucky combination of genes and something that
had a sell-by date imprinted in every atom of her DNA.
Eleanor Marshall and Fred Florescu had shown her that she
had something worth nurturing; real talent that would
grow with her, that would blossom with her age and
experience, instead of fading away. That was something
she could truly be proud of. And she was trying to
concentrate on that, and not keep obsessing over See the
Lights and a phone that obstinately sat there, not ringing.

She was more mature than that.
The phone rang.
loxana leapt out of her armchair and pounced on it

before it had a chance to ring twice. 'Eleanor?' she asked.

'I'm afraid not,' came a low voice at the other end.

'Her heart stopped.

'This is Sam Kendrick.'

'Hi,' l:koxana managed.

'I'm sorry, I forgot. You'n be getting the opening
figures for the movie today. I should have thought.'

'Fuck the movie,' P,.oxana said elegandy. She could

hardly breathe.

Sam laughed. 'I was going to ask if you had a date for the
European premiere.'

'Oh, Sam,' Koxana said.

'I saw your press conference,' he said, and paused. 'I

nearly didn't call, because I figured you'd hang up on me.

I'm sorry I was so blind, Roxana.'

'That's OK,' she said, feeling her heart starting to pound
against her ribcage. Oh God, was there another chance for
her? Could there be?


478

She struggled to sound calm. 'I know I gave you every
reason to hate me.'

'You know that Isabelle and I, we're still getting
divorced.'

'Yes. I heard. I'm sorry,' she lied politely.

'I'm not,' Kendrick said grirnly.

There was a long pause, loxana found she was literally
holding her breath.

'Uh, look. I was wondering if we could have coffee, get
to know each other...'

'Start again?' loxana whispered.

'Something like that,' Sam admitted. She imagined his
smile as he cradled the receiver. 'We'll take it slow, just see
what happens.'

'Good idea,' she agreed coolly, then lost it and added in
a rush,, '.Are you free now.} I have a great coffee cake in the
oven.

'I'm on my way,' Sam said, and hung up.

R.oxana kissed the phone before she put it down on its
cradle, and danced around the room, skipping like a ten
year-old.

The phone rang again, and.she snatched it up.

'I love you, I love you, I love you!' tkoxana sang.
'Ioxana? Are you OK?' Eleanor Marshall asked her.


Tom Goldman had been sitting in his hotel suite reading a
novel when the call came in from Artemis; Eleanor lay on
the couch eating a bowl of strawberries. She sat bolt
upright, watching him as hE nodded expressionlessly,
scratching some figures on a piece of paper, saying 'Yeah,
OK,' and then 'I see.'

He put the phone back on its hook.

'Well.} Jesus, Tom, don't play poker-face games with
me now,' Eleanor said, twisting her fingers around. 'Say
something, for Christ's sake! Or I'm going to have a major
coronary!'


479

Goldman let her hang for a second longer, then gave her
a slow smile. 'Well,' he said. 'It looks like I owe that
Florescu kid a hundred dollars.'

She sank back onto the couch, holding her breath.
'There are queues around the block in every theatre
that's booked it,' Tom said. 'Box-office is totally sold out.
There were riots in New York when the tickets sold out.
They had to call the police.'

Eleanor Marshall stared at him, tears forming in her eyes.
'The studio's been inundated with requests to show this
movie,' Goldman went on, coming across to her. 'They're
telling me some theatre owners are going to court to get
another chance at it. CBS are going to run a news segment
tonight on the kids in Seattle who've taken sleeping bags to
camp out on the pavement so they get a chance to see it
tomorrow... Howard Thorn is desperate to get hold of
us, apparently. It would appear that they want to offer us

our jobs back.., the stock is going through the roof...'
'It's our miracle,' Eleanor whispered.

Tom Goldman shook his head. 'What miracle? I knew
thi would happen the second I read the script. I always had
complete and total faith,' he said.

'Faith in me?' Eleanor asked, kissing him.

'In the movie,' Tom replied, and they melted into each
other's arms, laughing.

480


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