Hollywood Wives - the New Generation by Jackie Collins Read Free Book Online Page A

the
weekend, so no harm.'
    Eric knew exactly how to deal with fags - after all, he'd been
incarcerated with a whole bunch of them for six long, miserable years.
He proceeded to get Danny good and drunk, then questioned him, finding
out everything he wanted to know.
    By the end of the evening he had his answer.
    Lissa Roman had a daughter, Nicci, who did not live with her.
Nicci
was the one he should be targeting. Nicci was the perfect victim.
    And from that moment on, Nicci had become his obsession.

Chapter Five
     
    'Can you meet me for lunch?' Nicci said on her cellphone, still
driving.
    'I'm not eating,' Saffron replied.
    'Why?'
    'Cause I'm fat.'
    'You're a size four,' Nicci pointed out.
    'I'm zeroing in on a size two.'
    'Get a life, girl.'
    'Have you
seen
Calista Flockhart and Lara Flynn Boyle?
That's my goal.'
    'Oh, to be white and skinny,' Nicci said scathingly, glancing at a
passing stud on a Harley, while almost back-ending an uptight face-lift
in a cream Bentley. 'Anyway, you
have
to meet me for lunch,
it's urgent.'
    'Does it concern a pre-nup?'
    'What pre-nup?'
    'The one he's gonna make you sign.'
    'Evan will
not
make me sign anything,' Nicci said
haughtily. 'I think you're forgetting we're in love.'
    'Ha!' Saffron exclaimed rudely. 'So were Sly Stallone and Michael
Douglas at one time, an' look what happened to
them
. Man, did
they
get a blast of the first-wife blues!' A beat. 'Evan's
lawyer will
never
let him marry you without a pre-nup. So get
ready.'
    Nicci realized there was no use arguing with Saffron when she was on
a roll. 'Meet me at Fred Segal's in half an hour,' she said. 'And try
not to be late.'
    'Only if you
promise
you'll let no food pass my lips.'
    'Deal.'
    'See ya.'
    Nicci had decided to hand over responsibility for the bridesmaids'
dresses to Saffron. She could handle it, she had nothing else to do.
    It did not occur to Nicci that she had nothing else to do either.
That wasn't the point.
    Reaching for a cigarette she zoomed off down Melrose.
    Taylor Singer parked on the street in Venice, reluctantly, because
she was a valet-parker addict and hated having to walk anywhere.
Locking her Jaguar, she headed down a narrow side-street that led
directly to the beach.
    Christ
! she thought.
If my car is stolen, how do I
explain what I'm doing in this seedy neighbourhood
?
    No explanations necessary. Larry trusted her. He loved her. He would
never
believe she would betray him.
    Yet that's exactly what she was doing. Betraying him big time. She
simply couldn't help herself.
    Her high heels clicked along the street until she reached the
entrance to a run-down apartment complex painted a particularly
sickening shade of orange. Producing a key from her Hermes Kelly bag,
she let herself in the side door, which led to an open overgrown
courtyard. There were four apartments in the complex, and she headed to
the furthest one. The door was open. Oliver was expecting her. Her skin
began tingling in anticipation.
    Oliver Rock. Twenty-two years old. A long-haired, skinny
screenwriter who'd yet to sell a script.
    Oliver Rock. Her first cheat.
    He'd been recommended to her by an agent who'd suggested her script
needed to appeal to a younger audience. 'Go see Oliver,' the agent had
said. 'He's gonna be big. Get in at the beginning.'
    She'd got in all right. She'd been getting in for three weeks and
she couldn't get enough of him.
    She entered the small, messy apartment. The living room smelled of
cat piss and pot, even though the windows, which overlooked the ocean,
were wide open. A word-processor stood on a rickety wooden table. Loud
rap played on the compact sound system.
    Taylor took a deep breath, shut the door behind her and locked it.
'Oliver?' she called.
    No answer.
    Shrugging off her jacket, she put down her bag and stepped out of
her shoes. Then she unzipped her skirt, unbuttoned her blouse, and
walked into the bedroom.
    Oliver was sprawled on a mattress on the floor, asleep. He didn't
believe in traditional