Hollywood Sinners

As Tina hurried to prepare the soba noodle starter, she pretended not to notice Kate pulling open a cupboard and grabbing her trusty Xanax. She popped a couple, swallowed them with water, poured herself a large glass of Sancerre and headed out to mingle with her guests.

The terrace looked magical, a Mediterranean-style space with overhead grape vines, sweet-smelling lemon trees and fairy-lights strung up against the purple sky like stars. Kate, all smiles, weaved between her guests, stopping occasionally to chat and enquire after somebody’s husband/children/latest movie with a practised, easy charm.

Yes, thought Kate, satisfied as she looked around at the assembled company sipping on Krug and enjoying her practically homemade (she had chosen it from the menu) green olive tapenade, my parties matter. I matter.

‘Darling, you look divine.’ A fashion editor wearing sharply tailored Valentino drifted over, air-kissing Kate on both cheeks. ‘You’ve had a peel, I can tell.’

When Kate raised a hand to her face in a moment of self-consciousness, the fashionista crowed, ‘Don’t be embarrassed!’ and inadvertently exposed a stain of red lipstick on one of her front teeth. She leaned in closer. ‘We do all we can, Kate.’

Kate made a polite noise about needing to check on the table and moved away. Secretly she was mortified that a woman in her fifties–however glamorous she might be–had lumped her in the same camp. Kate was forty-three. Forty-three! It was hardly old–didn’t everyone go on about it being the new twenty? Somebody ought to tell the casting agents she’d had look down their noses at her in recent weeks. Despite having a wealth of experience to her name, the work had steadily trickled off: as soon as they sniffed out the F word it was game over. Nobody wanted to see a sad pair of tits.

Avoiding the fashion editor’s eye, Kate spotted her ex-husband and gave him a polite wave. Cole Steel. Charming, handsome, dripping with success. It was a different story for men, wasn’t it? If anything, Cole had become more promotable with each year that passed. And of course it was acceptable for him to take a wife twenty years his junior, no one batted an eyelid at that–though she knew from experience that Lana Falcon wouldn’t be getting any. An Eskimo had warmer balls than Cole Steel. Seven years with him had almost broken her, but she had survived to tell the tale. Or not, as the case may be.

Kate approached them with her tight smile firmly in place. Hollywood’s number one A-list couple. A power set-up she had once been part of.

Cole was wearing sunglasses on his head, even though it was nine o’clock at night. She grudgingly admitted that Lana Falcon looked good in a dark green that set off her eyes to staggering effect.

Cole placed a palm on the small of his wife’s back in a show of solidarity. Kate recognised it as the show of possession it was.

‘Hello, Cole,’ said Kate coolly, leaning in to kiss him on both cheeks.

‘Good to see you, Kate.’ Then he asked, ‘How are the kids?’ Kate and Jimmy had two children aged three and five, though they were raised almost exclusively by their nanny.

Kate seemed surprised by the question. ‘Very well, thank you.’ She patted her hair. ‘And, Lana, my darling, don’t you look …’ The compliment caught. ‘Charming,’ she finished.

Lana smiled warmly. ‘I love this space,’ she said, looking around. ‘Did you design it yourself?’

What a sickly sweet bitch, thought Kate, hating how lovely the other woman looked. Just the sort of thing that got her bastard husband going.

‘As a matter of fact I did,’ said Kate. She’d picked out the colours, which was basically the same thing. ‘Please excuse me while I go and check on the food.’ Then she added in a quite hysterical way, ‘You know how these caterers can be!’

Turning back to the house, Kate quickly scanned the crowd for Jimmy. He was still nowhere to be seen.

Her husband might be a comedian but he wasn’t making a joke of her. If he was sticking it up some tart she didn’t know what she would do.

Jimmy Hart rolled the girl over on to her front and parted her legs.

‘Watch out, baby,’ he breathed, ‘Daddy’s coming to town.’

The girl, an aspiring actress-slash-model, gasped as his cock slid into her, driving back and forth. Fuck, this was a monster. She still couldn’t believe she’d got him into bed–and so easily, too! Jimmy Hart was a movie star, a comedy genius–just this afternoon she had served him coffee downtown and in minutes he had invited himself back to her apartment. They’d already been at it for hours and he showed no signs of letting up.

‘Fuck me, big boy!’ the girl moaned, throwing her head from side to side, raising her hips to allow him deeper access.

As Jimmy thrust on, his cock burning hot, he grabbed a handful of white-blonde hair. It was cropped short–he remembered how it had framed the girl’s face in the coffee shop, her eyes big and blue. ‘How old are you?’ he rasped now. ‘Tell me again how old you are!’

‘Eighteen.’ She eased off and turned round, wrapping her legs around his neck and guiding him back in. Actually she was twenty-one but she looked young, and she guessed it was what he wanted to hear. ‘Take me straight to heaven and back, baby.’

Jimmy resumed the task with renewed vigour, plunging into her, grabbing for her tits as he reached the summit. She wasn’t a virgin but he couldn’t afford to be picky–she had the face of an angel and skin like a peach: it was good enough for him.

He climaxed loudly and rolled off her.

‘That was amazing,’ the girl murmured, leaning over to run a pink tongue over his nipple. He was too thin and tall for her usual taste, but he was famous, so whatever.

Jimmy knew she hadn’t come and thought he should probably offer to go down on her, but time was running away. He caught sight of the alarm clock on the side table. Shit! He was late. Kate would be furious. She’d been going on about this goddamn soiree for weeks.

The thought of his wife had an instant effect and his hard-on shrank back like a frightened animal.

‘I’m taking a shower,’ he told the girl, knowing he wouldn’t see her again.

The girl pulled the crisp white sheet up to cover her breasts. ‘Hey, Jimmy?’ She opened her eyes wide as he hauled himself up and the scale of him came into full view. ‘Do you think I could be in one of your movies?’

As the guests took their seats for dinner, Lana searched the table for a friendly face. She thought she had seen Katherine Heigl at the drinks but could have been mistaken. Instead it was the usual array of get-aheads, with Lana positioned between Cole and a singer with a drug addiction.

Kate surveyed all regally from the top of the table, not a platinum-blonde hair out of place. She was quaffing wine and wore a slightly worried look, though it was difficult to be sure since she’d obviously gone for another lift, so taut was the skin around her eyes. Lana felt like a bitch for noticing.

‘And so I turned to this guy, never directed a movie in his life, and I just said, “So make me!"’ Cole was cruising through the evening, enchanting the company with anecdotes from his extensive on-set back catalogue. He sat back and roared with laughter at his own joke, and naturally everybody else followed suit. Lana had to admit he was good. The best.

The starter came and went, with Cole still holding fort. Felix Bentley, a cocky London music producer with an affected trans-Atlantic accent, kept trying to interject, but it was a losing battle. Lana tried to make conversation with the singer next to her but the girl kept leaving to visit the bathroom. Though she couldn’t be sure, Lana suspected she was throwing up.

‘Cole, tell us again how you and Lana met,’ said Harriet Foley, editor of fashion giant In. She was a formidable woman with a severe black bob and tortoiseshell glasses.

Cole savoured the moment. ‘I gotta tell you, Harriet,’ he said, looking adoringly at his wife, ‘it was love at first—’

The dining-room door slammed open. A tall, lanky figure bustled through, somewhat dishevelled in a dark suit. His hair was messy and his tie skewed.

Jimmy Hart. Lana thought he looked like a child’s drawing.

‘Apologies, everyone,’ he said with an easy grin. ‘Kate redecorates so often I can forget which part of the house I’m in!’

It was a pathetic excuse. Nevertheless everyone laughed politely, the reason for his lateness quietly dissolved. Kate looked flustered as she allowed herself to be chastely kissed then quickly motioned her husband to sit down. Lana noticed the stony glare that followed his back as he came to take a seat opposite her.

‘So I was saying …’ resumed Cole, who didn’t like to be disturbed.

Jimmy pulled back his chair with a shriek. Lana felt, rather than saw, Cole grit his teeth.

‘Sorry, mate,’ said Jimmy, sloshing wine into his glass.

Lana hid a smile. Despite his shameless behaviour, she liked Jimmy. There was something so brazen about him, a kind of unapologetic mischief. Though she had never told Cole, just last year they had been at a similar gathering during which Jimmy had tried to get her to touch his hard-on under the table, while maintaining a conversation with his wife about the versatility of cannellini beans. Lana had been shocked–not just at the advance but at how suddenly Jimmy’s cock had swollen to frankly unreal proportions. She was surprised he hadn’t pulled the tablecloth off with it.

‘Excuse me,’ she said quietly, pushing back her seat.

Cole broke off, drawing unnecessary attention. ‘What is it?’ he said, a slight snap to his voice. Nobody else would notice, just her.

‘Excuse me while I visit the bathroom,’ she clarified.

Relieved to get away, Lana made her way through the hall.

After washing her hands and re-applying some lipstick, she stood for a while at the mirror, trying to recognise the person looking back.

She wanted to spend the weekend by the ocean. No cameras, no contracts, no obligations–just the ocean … and the man she loved.

But that man wasn’t Cole Steel, her husband. And it wasn’t Parker Troy, her lover. It was Robbie Lewis, the boy from her childhood, now a multi-billionaire and the most handsome man in the world. The man who had saved her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to blot out the memory of the trailer park in Belleville, of the childhood that had been stolen from her. That awful night. The raging fire. The escape. And the beautiful boy she had left behind.

Robbie Lewis, my Robbie …

Shaking her head, trying to clear it, Lana took a deep breath. She had to stop thinking about the past, playing it over and over. It was gone, dead, buried. Robbie Lewis was gone from her life and he wasn’t ever coming back. Why would he? She had ruined him. Her marriage to Cole might feel like a prison, but it was nothing compared with the real thing.

Forget him, Lana. He doesn’t exist any more. He’s in Vegas, baby. Get over it.

On the way back to the table Kate passed her in the corridor, careening on her heels. She stumbled into the wall, her full glass of wine slopping over the rim.

‘Lana Falcon,’ she slurred, adjusting her hair as it attempted escape from a tightly wound chignon. ‘America’s sweetheart.’

Lana forced herself to engage with the present. ‘Kate, I think—’

‘Don’t tell me what you think. Why would I want to know that? Get back to your fucking husband.’ Then she leaned in close so Lana could smell the alcohol on her breath. ‘But not to fucking your husband, isn’t that right?’ She laughed cruelly. ‘I know the score, and don’t you forget it. I’ve been there before you. Things aren’t quite as perfect as they seem, now, are they?’

Lana didn’t know what to say.

‘Tell me something, darling,’ Kate spat. ‘I’m dying to know. Can he get it up for you?’

Lowering her gaze, Lana tried to skim past her host before she could embarrass herself further. Kate would never know that Cole was the last man on her mind right now–for nothing and no one could chase the memories of Robbie away.

10

Belleville, Ohio, 1992

In the back of the station wagon, Laura Fallon sat quietly with her small hands held together in her lap. She looked out the window at the driving rain and tried not to be sad. Next week was her ninth birthday and she knew she should feel like a special little girl, just like Arlene, her foster mom, had told her. But instead she felt frightened.

‘Are we nearly there?’ she asked. The woman driving was wearing a brown skirt and jacket and had greasy hair. Earlier, when she had collected Laura from her foster family, she had ticked off lots of boxes on a piece of paper. Arlene had been trying not to cry, which didn’t make sense because Arlene had told her there was nothing to be sad about.

When they stopped at a red light the woman turned round and smiled. Laura saw that a tooth at the back of her grin was missing, a grotesque detail she hadn’t noticed before.

‘You’ve been waitin’ long enough, huh, cupcake. We’re finally takin’ you home.’

Home. That was the word Arlene had used as well. But she had already known two homes and now both of them had been taken away–what would make this one any different?

The first had been with her parents, before the accident. She squeezed her eyes tight shut when she thought of it. The policemen with their kind eyes and their smart uniforms, who had come to get her out of bed in the middle of the night and had sat her down and held her hand. One–he had a shiny head and a thick brown moustache that drooped at the edges–had told her in a quiet, gentle voice that her mommy and daddy had died. A truck had gone into their car as it waited to turn on to the freeway. He’d looked so sad.

Grown-ups didn’t get sad; they sorted things out, which was just what her big brother Lester would do. Lester was fifteen and brave and strong, the tallest boy in his class. He always promised that he would look after her, his best little sister. She idolised him.

But some time that night, in the darkest hours, the Lester she knew and loved had disappeared. For months he cried like he was filling up an ocean, and at night when Laura slept fitfully she dreamed she was swimming in its black waters, reaching for him, trying to keep hold of his hand. When she woke up she was bathed in sweat.

For the first few months with their foster family, Lester stayed in his bedroom. Sometimes he didn’t come out for days and days, and when he did, it was only after dark. He’d disappear until the next morning, when he’d slip into the house unnoticed and lock himself away.

One day Laura woke up and he was gone, just like that. Arlene explained that he was so sad it had made him sick, and he’d been taken to a special hospital to get better. She could still go see him any time she liked. But Laura didn’t want to see him. He scared her. He was a different Lester now, not the happy boy she used to know.

‘Please take me home,’ she said now. ‘I want to go back to Arlene.’

‘Sorry, kid,’ said the woman. She was chewing gum loudly–Arlene would have told her off for that. ‘Blame the system, not me. ‘

They had told her he was well again. And he was eighteen now, could look after her. They should be together, a family–brother and sister reunited, that was how it was meant to be.

He was living in a trailer park outside a town called Belleville. It was somewhere with a school where Laura would make new friends and finally be able to settle. That was why they shuffled their pieces of paper, why they smiled at Arlene and shook her hand and said that everything had worked out for the best. That was what they said, but Laura knew it wouldn’t be like that. She hadn’t seen her brother in two years. As far as she was concerned, Lester Fallon was a stranger.

The car turned off the freeway and the woman driver wound down the window, holding the steering wheel steady with her knee while she lit a cigarette. When she flicked the ash some of it blew into the back seat.

‘Almost there, honey,’ she said, scanning Laura in the rear-view mirror. Poor freakin’ kid. Those huge green eyes were enough to break your heart.

Soon after they came to a cluster of houses. Some were tall, with shuttered windows and pretty white fences, the kind Laura dreamed about living in. Two boys, a little older than she was, played out front with their bikes. One of them had messy brown hair and as he looked up, he caught her eye. He had very dark eyes. She smiled at him.

Laura knew her brother lived in a trailer but so long as it was near this town she thought she might not mind too much. But the car kept going and soon they were winding through a series of rundown, shabby-looking buildings with boarded-up windows. Beyond that a grassy space opened up, but the grass was yellowish instead of green, with bald patches here and there like scars.

She squinted, looking ahead through the windshield, and recognised her brother straight away. He was standing outside one of the trailers and was wearing a grey shirt. He hadn’t changed, she could tell, even though he was dressed better and had a tidy haircut. It was still the same Lester, the one who had run out on her.

He was waving now, and as the station wagon pulled up he said in a childish voice, like she was simple, ‘Hi, Laura! Hey, little sis!’

Laura was wary. The woman came round and let her out of the car, smiling as she brandished her papers and clipboard. Lester tried for a hug and she felt the hard lines of his ribs as he folded over her, but she stayed closed. She didn’t say anything.

‘It’s the shock, is all,’ said the woman, sympathetic and efficient at the same time. ‘Let’s go inside.’

The trailer was small, the kitchen just a plastic counter with a square refrigerator tucked underneath and two chairs with broken backs. Laura’s bedroom was tiny, a single mattress and feeble-looking closet, next to which hung a cracked oval mirror. The door didn’t close properly.

At the rear was a bathroom, but while the woman and Lester went to inspect it, Laura stayed where she was. She didn’t like it. The flowers were fake and when she lifted a framed photograph of her mom and dad from the side, she saw the board wasn’t on properly, like he’d done it in a hurry. He had drawn the curtains back with a rubber band.

When the woman returned she was furiously ticking her boxes again.

‘Perfect,’ she said, glad to have tied up this particular loose end. The kid would soon get used to it and realise this was as much of a happy ending as anyone could hope for. A family, such as it was, together again.

The woman went to leave, but even though Laura didn’t particularly like her, she didn’t want her to go. She didn’t want to be left alone with Lester. The darkness was still there. She could see it in his eyes and she didn’t even have to look that hard.

The door slammed and they were alone.

Lester watched her. ‘Looks like it’s just you and me now, kid.’

11

Las Vegas

Elisabeth Sabell watched as a dripping piece of steak disappeared into her father’s mouth. She heard him chew on it noisily. They were dining in a private booth at the Desert Jewel’s Oasis restaurant, a dreamscape of golden sands and lush palms.

‘She causin’ you trouble yet, Bellini?’ Bernstein chased the meat down with a hunk of bread. He signalled the waiter for another bottle of champagne.

‘Of course not,’ said Alberto Bellini smoothly, not taking his eyes from Elisabeth’s face.

‘She’s wasted playin’ goddamn beauty pageants.’ Bernstein gave Robert a look. ‘Soon as she’s married there’ll be more important things to think about.’

Elisabeth picked at her walnut salad. ‘I’m not having this conversation again.’

‘No need, puss,’ Bernstein said through a mouthful, ‘me and St Louis got plans—’

‘We have?’ Robert caught his fiancée’s eye across the table and briefly shook his head, dispelling her fears. ‘News to me, Bernstein.’

His authority brought out the wild side in her. Elisabeth extended a long, honey-coloured leg, found her lover and grazed a toe up towards his groin. In seconds he was hard.

‘All’s I’m sayin’ is you two got opportunities,’ said Bernstein, oblivious. He lowered his voice. ‘Chicago needs someone they can trust, not some all-singin’, all-dancin’ fairy fuckin’ cabaret act.’ Next to him his girlfriend, a voluptuous twenty-something showgirl named Christie Carmen, shot him a dirty look.

‘Charming,’ she hissed, adjusting her generously proportioned bust.

Elisabeth began trailing over Robert’s erection, slowly, teasing, in the way she knew he liked it. Miraculously his face was giving nothing away.

‘Why’d she have to get all the fucking attention?’ Jessica Bernstein pouted, a nasal whine creeping into her voice. She turned to her father with an accusing expression.

‘Be quiet, Jessica,’ said Elisabeth, wishing her younger sister could grow up a bit. Half-sister, she kept reminding herself. They couldn’t be less alike if they tried: where Elisabeth was sensible, stable and set on her own destiny, Jessica was impulsive, hedonistic and spoiled.

‘Fuck you,’ Jessica retorted.

‘Now, now,’ Bernstein interjected, giving the table a mock-exasperated look. His younger daughter, only twenty, was a firecracker, just like her mother had been. Sleeping with renowned casino hustler Trixie duChamp had been one of his bigger mistakes. The year Jessica had turned eleven Trixie had rolled up dead of a drug overdose. They’d found her naked in bed at the Parthenon with a silk scarf tied round her neck and a pair of dice up her ass.

‘Why’n’t you tell everyone about my little gift to the both of you?’ Bernstein said, steering the conversation back to Robert and Elisabeth. He drained his glass of Rémy and immediately poured another. ‘Call it a wedding present.’

Elisabeth frowned. ‘What gift?’ She applied a little more pressure to Robert, surprised that he felt different to normal … thinner. Alberto Bellini, seated next to her fiancé, raised a beautifully shaped eyebrow and made a gruff sound in his throat, adjusting himself. Mortified, she pulled away, her cheeks flushed.

‘Your father’s bringing Sam Lucas’s premiere to the Orient,’ Robert explained, carefully taking a drink. He put the glass down slowly and cleared his throat. ‘Next summer.’

‘He is?’ Elisabeth gritted her teeth. In her book gifts were given freely.

Jessica was examining her nails. ‘I know it, the one with Lana Falcon.’

Elisabeth noticed Robert tense. She threw him a questioning expression. He met her eye briefly then looked away.

‘It’s going to be magnificent,’ said Robert automatically. Still he didn’t look at her.

‘Damn right,’ said Bernstein. ‘An’ you two are gonna be headin’ up the whole thing.’

Elisabeth spluttered. ‘What about you? I’m sure you’ll be involved. Isn’t that what daddies are for?’

‘We all will,’ he said, loosening the neck on his shirt.

‘Ha!’ Jessica barked. ‘Don’t make me laugh. You wouldn’t want me getting in the way and messing things up.’ She hiccupped. ‘Because that’s all I’m good for, isn’t it?’

‘Now, now, Jessica,’ said Bernstein.

‘It’s true!’ she moaned. ‘It’s always Elisabeth this, Elisabeth that, the story of my fucking life. What’s so special about her?’