Текст книги "Hollywood Dirt"
Автор книги: Alessandra Torre
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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 26 страниц)
CHAPTER 78
“In Hollywood, brides keep the bouquets and throw away the groom.”
~ Groucho Marx
Nadia was, as always, flawless. Cole studied her face, the perfect lines of her makeup, and wondered, as he often had, why she bothered with the team that arrived every morning, equipped with makeup brushes and extensions, their home’s dressing room turned into a circus for a valuable hour in the morning that’d be better served sleeping. She didn’t need all of it; she was beautiful without it. And for a day like today, for her to know she’d be sitting across from him, her jilted husband, the extra effort seemed cruel. But that was Nadia. She’d always wanted everyone to want her, especially those who she rejected. She looked up from the document and met his eyes.
“You have beautiful eyes.” The first line after their first screw, which had happened minutes after he’d walked into his trailer and found her stretched out on his bed. She’d said the word shyly, her feet sliding to the edge of the bed and off, and he’d shrugged.
“Thank you.” That had been his unimaginative response. He hadn’t needed imagination.
“They distract from your nose.” She had wrinkled her own and raised to her tiptoes, the movement pushing out her bare breasts. From her new height she had peered at his nose, then dropped to her heels again. Her breasts had bounced back into place; he had stared. “I have a guy, if you want a referral. He did my roommate’s nose. Really great work.”
“My nose?” It had drawn his attention away from her breasts and to her eyes. “Are you joking?” Even then, he’d been a superstar, one Oscar already in the bag. And his nose, broken twice—once from a fight and once from a snowboarding injury—was one of his trademarks. It took the polish off his pretty boy features and made him rugged. Now, looking back, he could see how calculated she’d been. Playing the part of the cool girl who wasn’t impressed by the big star. She’d played him hot and cold, didn’t fuck him again until a third date, and had him tie her up on the fifth. She’d been a porn star in the bedroom and used every bit of his money, power, and name to fuel her own star. She’d been an unscripted extra on that first movie. On his second, she’d played a minor role with lines. Then graduated to supporting roles. Five days after their wedding—a gaudy affair that had made every magazine cover—she got her first big-budget, starring role. From nothing to famous in a year.
He hadn’t been stupid; he’d known her ambition. It had been one of the things that had attracted him to her. And he’d been happy to help. But now, glancing down at the agreement, red pen marks all over the page, he wondered if there had ever been any love between them at all. Had he just been a mark, perfectly played?
“Okay, so we’ve worked through all of the assets. Cole will get the boat, plane, and the Montana ranch; Nadia will get the California and Hawaii real estate. All bank accounts will go to their respective owners with the joint account split, leaving five hundred thousand for any outstanding items and attorneys’ fees. Attorneys’ fees will also be split. Nadia’s future earnings will be hers, as will Cole’s.” The mediator stopped and looked to DeLuca, a stumble in her voice before continuing, “Nadia has agreed to forfeit all ownership or claims on The Fortune Bottle in exchange for five percent of recurring royalties on Cole’s current backlist of movies and endorsement deals.” She took a deep breath. “Do we all agree on the basics of this agreement?”
Cole looked at Nadia, who nodded, her mouth tight. She was pissed; he could see it in the small wrinkles around her mouth, in the glower of her eyes. He should have been happy about that, but he wasn’t. He was sick—over the day’s worth of arguments, over the reduction of their relationship to insignificant line items and who gets the fucking Picassos. Thank God for DeLuca, who’d been worth his weight in gold, and the mediator, a beady-eyed woman who was actually competent.
“Cole?” the mediator pushed. “Do you agree on the basics of this agreement?”
“Yes.” He kept his eyes on hers. If she backed out now, if she dragged this into court and further, he would let DeLuca off his leash to do everything the man had been fighting to do since he was hired.
“Nadia?”
The gap in between the question and her reply lasted years. Cole held his breath, his eyes on hers, the defiance in them ending in the moment that they fell to the table. “Yes,” she said in a wounded fashion, like she wasn’t walking out of there rich. At least she wasn’t getting The Fortune Bottle. At least he had one untainted thing in his life.
Summer came to mind and then left, a page pushed in front of him for his signature. “This is legally binding,” the mediator reminded them. “It will let the court know of your decision and will stand in place until your attorneys can draw up all of the corresponding paperwork.”
Cole scrawled his name and wondered how long it would take for the messy signature to show up online, the details of their separation spread open for anyone with an internet connection. Nadia understood, same as he did, the damage that this could do to their reputations – the hidden skeletons that mud slinging would bring out. It was why they had stayed relatively cordial during this process. It was also the only reason that they’d managed to reach an agreement during mediation, both of them opposed to court.
DeLuca waited until Nadia signed, her signature neat and perfect, then spoke, “We’ll be in touch with initial drafts of our agreements next week.”
“In a hurry, aren’t we?” Nadia spoke from her seat at the table, her eyes on Cole. Interesting words from a woman who served him divorce papers so quickly. He didn’t respond, just stood, grabbing his sunglasses off the table and putting them on.
“Nadia?” He smiled when she turned, her hand tugging on the handle of her Hermes. “It’s been an absolute pleasure.”
She smiled brightly, and the sum of their entire relationship could be condensed into that exchange: two actors playing their parts to perfection.
Sad that it took so long for him to finally see that.
CHAPTER 79
Cocky was freaking adorable. Entitled and adorable. Cole, apparently, didn’t think that a chicken could spend the night outside. He’d set up the downstairs bathroom for him, and I could pretty much guarantee you that Cyndi Kirkland would castrate him herself when she saw the state of it. I stood in the door and eyed the floor (covered in newspaper), the walls (pecked to bits), and the chicken poo, which had managed to paint the toilet, sink, tissue holder, and windowsill. The troublemaker stood on the toilet seat and tilted his head at me.
I had received, from some organizational freak of nature named Justin, a detailed list of items concerning Cocky’s care. The list included such ridiculousness as:
#8 Cocky gets scared by loud noises (dogs barking and the dryer). Please sit with him in this event and do not run a load of clothes in the dryer.
As well as:
#17 Cocky is accustomed to being taken out once during the night. Please take him into the backyard between the hours of midnight and six AM and allow him fifteen minutes to roam the yard. Make SURE that the fence is locked and do not allow him to jump or fly over the fence.
How does someone keep a chicken inside a fence? I had closed my eyes at that one, picturing Cocky running off into the cotton fields, and me, standing at the edge of the fence, hollering the rooster’s name like a crazy woman.
Cole’s lucky that it’s me chicken-sitting. Anyone else and his reputation in this town would be ruined. The locals, especially the men, would crucify him over this. I closed the door. According to Justin’s directions, Cocky’s bedtime is at nine. The previous night, I was a wild and cool babysitter and let him run around the backyard until ten. This night, with Cole coming home, I had him in his bathroom early. I couldn’t think straight with his baby wattle jiggling at me. I shut the door to his squawk and flipped off the hall light, heading up the stairs and toward Cole’s bedroom.
This was so stupid. Sitting here, waiting for him to come back. I didn’t want to be at Cole Masten’s beck and call. He’d made that comment in the heat of phone sex passion. He probably didn’t mean it. He’d probably walk in the door and scoff at me to get out of his house. I stepped into his room and smoothed the edge of the bedspread. I’d made the bed; I couldn’t help myself. Made it and thought, with every tuck, smooth, and tug, about him messing it back up with my body.
My fingers itched for activity. If I’d been in my house, I’d have cooked. Made some chocolate chip cookies and bagged up the extras for the crew. Even though Mary said that isn’t done, her eyebrows rising in alarm when I brought a carrot cake in for the prop master’s birthday. Apparently there was some bullshit line drawn between ‘talent’ and ‘crew,’ and we’d all burst into flames if any cordiality existed between the two. I was supposed to treat them like hired help, and they were supposed to like it.
I didn’t want to cook in his house. I already felt like some fifties housewife. I walked to the window and looked out over the dark field and toward the airport. I should go outside. I’d be able to see his plane from there.
When I stepped outside I realized I forgot my shoes. I think they were by Cocky’s bathroom, where I had slipped them off. I considered going back, but stepped out onto the front porch and to the steps. I sat on the first big step, the wood damp from the afternoon rain, and wrapped my arms around my knees, my head lifted toward the sky. It was cloudy, the moon brightly illuminating the clouds and shadows, bright points of stars dotting the black canvas beneath. I read in a magazine once about light pollution. It is a real thing, our millions of artificial lights eating away at our world’s darkness and ruining our ability to see the galaxies beyond us. Like smog, but instead of eating clean air, our lights eat pitch black, and leave us all in a haze of dusk. I could see it when I looked south to Tallahassee. The entire horizon glowed in that direction; the city lights diluting the big city residents their chance at perfect star gazing.
I didn’t think we’d ever have that problem in Quincy. Even with the Pit’s kliegs that ran constantly, crews working until late setting up for each next day… our sky was still perfect, its stars clearly defined.
I wondered, not for the first time since cashing my movie paycheck, where I would go from here. With more money than I’d ever had, I had no excuse to stay. I could buy Mama a house and move along with my life. I could move anywhere, do anything. Go to college, take art lessons, buy a horse.
Anything.
A terrifying concept.
Above me, a plane approached.
“Well, sure, Scott cheated. He’s a man… they make mistakes. But you know, the Bible says that you should forgive them. Not bring the wrath of hell. That’s for God to do, not us. Our job is to forgive and forget.”
“Has your family forgiven Summer?
“Well, no. Some things are just unforgiveable, and what she did was one of them. If we all just forgave her, then she wouldn’t learn her lesson.”
CHAPTER 80
“Congrats man.” Justin walked from the back of the plane, his hand patting Cole’s shoulder as he passed. Taking the seat across from him, he popped the cap off a beer and held it out.
“I’m good.” Cole waved it off. “You sleep well?”
“I did ’til we hit that turbulence.” He shrugged. “It’ll be fine. My painkillers put me under, so I’ll pop a few of those when we get to your place.”
Cole shook his head. “No. You’re not staying with me.”
Justin’s beer stopped at his lips, his eyebrows raised. “I’m not?”
“No. Sorry. There’s a bed and breakfast in town. You can stay there.” Cole moved the curtain and glanced out the window.
Justin chuckled. “Anxious to get there?”
“I’m just tired of traveling. Plus, I can’t wait to see your reaction to Quincy.”
“It can’t be as bad as Bismarck. At least there’s no snow.”
Cole smiled. “It’s not Bismarck. Tomorrow, after filming, I’ll give you the tour.”
Justin glanced at his watch. “You’re really not letting me stay with you? I had my hopes set on seeing Casa Rooster.”
“Sorry.” Cole sat back in the seat. His fingers tapped against his leg, and he looked out, anxious for the small lights of Quincy.
He dropped Justin off at the Raine House and pulled off, the streets quiet, streetlights dim, the clock on the courthouse glowing in the dark. He hadn’t realized, with the time change, how late he would be getting back. Rubbing at an ache on the back of his neck, he contemplated calling Summer. It had been an inner debate that had lasted all day. He’d been holding back itchy fingers ever since she had hung up on him. Goodbye Cole. He shifted in his seat.
When he pulled down the drive, a light was on in the back of the house, the glow hitting a few rooms, and he sat in the truck for a minute, the engine off, and watched it. Was she in there? He hadn’t been thinking when he had said that—putting into words what he had wanted to do since the day she opened her front door.
The minute I get off that plane I will drive there, pin you down on my bed, and worship your pussy. I won’t stop until my mouth is imprinted on your mind and your taste is my fucking middle name.”
He winced at the memory. Maybe she didn’t hear it. Maybe she put up Cocky and was sitting at her own house, not even thinking about the possibility of a night full of fucking. He pushed on the front of his jeans, willing his cock to soften. Yeah, she was probably at home, doing her own thing, oblivious to the thoughts that Cole had been having all day.
He opened the door and got out, grabbing his leather duffel from the backseat and walking up the front stairs. When he opened the front door, he knew instantly that she wasn’t there.
CHAPTER 81
I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t wait there and be his sex toy, no matter how much I’d enjoy it. Cole Masten was dangerous to my heart, to my self-worth, to my future self.
I would film this movie with him.
I would cash my check.
And then I would get out of Quincy.
CHAPTER 82
The next morning, I studied my bagel with particular interest when Cole walked in. We were in one of the conference rooms, one of those random meetings scheduled for no clear purpose. I’d been dreading it since I woke up that morning, unsure how to interact with the man who I had just had phone sex with. I mean, I thought it was phone sex. I always thought phone sex would be more complex, detailed descriptions needed from both parties, more directions involved, the entire thing lasting longer than our quick encounter had been. But I came. And I thought he came. And we’d been on the phone. So… yeah. I was pretty sure that was what phone sex was all about.
My bagel was wheat. I hated wheat. Unless it had blueberries. But Mary said they didn’t have blueberry, even though two seats down, one of the ADs was going to town on one, and I could see the blue dots on it. She smeared strawberry cream cheese on the top in an attempt to make up for it, but I didn’t like flavored cream cheese, a preference that, if I pointed it out now, would only make me look difficult. So I was stuck with this bastard of a breakfast creation, her beady eyes glued to me, just waiting for me to take a bite so that she could cross one neatly-written item off her list: Feed Summer. I took a small bite. Yep. Nasty.
I could feel when he sat down in the seat next to mine, his long legs stretching out under the table, one bumping against me, and I shifted, pulling my feet under my chair, his shoulder coming into my peripheral vision as he leaned over. I ignored him, my study of the top of the bagel unwavering in its intensity.
“Morning.” His voice was rough, like he’d recently woken up and hadn’t yet spoken.
I smiled politely and took a bite of the bagel, my eyes moving to the left, away from Cole, looking for something, anything, to focus on. I hadn’t prepared for this, had hoped he would be as uninterested as I was in conversation. My eyes found Becky, one of the producers, the one who was leading this meeting, and willed her to begin. I shouldn’t have arrived early. I should have ducked in at the last minute, and would have, had Mary not been a freakin’ drill sergeant, her schedule worked down to the minute, any hope of my lagging disappearing with the first tap of her Timex.
“How late were you at the house last night?” Oh my word. He wasn’t letting this go.
“Shhh…” I hushed, glancing around, worried about who might hear. It was the wrong thing to do, him shuffling up in his seat and leaning closer, his head close to my ear.
“It’s an innocent question. How late were you there?”
I shrugged. “I’m not sure. You’re welcome, by the way. For watching Cocky.” I turned my head slightly to him, not too far to touch him, but enough that I saw the curve of his mouth when he grinned.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I took the last, painful bite of the bagel and pushed the rest aside. It was a calculated amount of nibbles. Enough not to offend, not too much for Mary to think I actually liked it.
“I wish you’d stayed.”
My heart lost a beat in those words. I tried to recover it, tried to breathe normally, to act normally. I wish you’d stayed. A simple grouping of four ordinary words. But they were like peanut butter cookies. Four simple ingredients: peanut butter, sugar, flour, and egg. Together, they created something most women loved.
I hated peanut butter cookies. And I hated that sentence out of his mouth.
Because no matter how much it would have complicated everything, no matter how much of a mistake it would have been—
I wish I’d stayed too.
Becky cleared her throat and began the meeting, and I, for a little longer, was saved.
CHAPTER 83
Summer was acting weird. Weird even for her. Jumpy. Skittish. Avoiding eye contact. Avoiding conversation at all costs. Cole stared at the wall in his trailer and tried to think of the last time they’d had a direct conversation with each other. In the conference room? Right after he’d returned from LA to an empty house. That had been it. And that hadn’t been much of a conversation at all. And that’d been a week ago.
He’d tried pissing her off, and she hadn’t bitten. He’d tried being friendly and she’d cut him off. He was running out of options, other than dragging her into his trailer and forcing her to talk.
“You there?”
He flinched at the voice and turned to Justin, who sat opposite him, script pages spread out between them. “What?”
“You zoned out. Did you hear anything I just said? About Tokyo?”
“No.”
“Rentho’s Tokyo premiere is next week. We need to shift your shooting schedule to accommodate it, so Don wants to know how many days you’ll be out.” He arched an eyebrow, pen in hand, twitching above a calendar. “Five?”
“The Japan premiere is now? I thought we were waiting.”
“They bumped it up, back in July.” Probably around the time of Justin’s accident.
Cole nodded. “I’m not going.”
“Why?”
“We’re getting stuff done here; this is more important. When are we filming thirty-eight?” Thirty-eight. The sex scene between Royce and Ida.
“We were going to push it ’til after the Japanese premiere. Don wants to give Summer some more time to—”
“No,” Cole interrupted. “We can’t wait.” He couldn’t wait. Not an extra minute, much less a week. The sex scene had been another add-on, one he’d pushed the writers for. One that Summer had fought tooth and nail. “We’ll do it next week, and I’ll skip the premiere. Send Charlize instead, she loves those things.”
“When are you just going to admit to yourself that you like her?” Justin put down the pen, and Cole looked away.
“I do like her. That’s not an issue. I like you, too; though I hate admitting that even more.” He grinned, but Justin didn’t grin back.
“Stop fucking around.”
Cole’s grin dropped, and his gaze hardened. “I’m not fucking around. She’s hot; I’m hot. There’s a flirtation there. If I want to fuck her, I’ll fuck her. If I want to like her, I’ll like her. If I want to hate her, I’ll do that too. The movie is most important, and everything that I’ve been doing with her is for that end game. The Fortune Bottle is killing it in those cuts. You know, you’ve seen it.”
“So that’s what this is? You’re playing the little Georgian’s heartstrings to get your movie a statuette?” Justin’s gaze never left Cole’s, the strength never left his shoulder, his voice didn’t back down, and Cole respected that. Even when he hated it.
“Nobody’s playing that girl’s heart. She won’t give me the time of day.”
Justin laughed, pushing away from the table, to standing, his hands resting on the glass top of it as he leaned forward. “She’s protecting herself, Cole. The best she can. Hell, if I had a snatch I’d put a steel trap on it before I stepped in the same room as you.”
“She’s not protecting herself,” Cole said, his head tilting up to look at Justin, his hands tightening on the edge of the chair arms. That wasn’t what Summer’s frostiness was all about. It was because she didn’t like Cole, despite the attraction between them.
But as he said the words, worked through the thought process, there was, in the back of his mind, doubt.
