A PORTRAIT OF OLIVIA (8 page)

“Slow down, baby,” she murmured in his ear. “Let’s not rush things…” She disengaged herself from his embrace, took his hand and led him to the master bedroom. Luke again stared about him in awe at the sumptuousness of the vast room. Hell, he thought, you could fit his entire apartment complex into this one room. Olivia was tugging at his shirt and he gladly shucked it off, flexing his amazing muscles for her benefit. She cooed gently against his chest, her tongue teasing his nipple, while her hands worked at unbuckling the belt from around his slim waist. He let her take the lead, falling back onto the bed as she pulled off his jeans releasing his erection for her to admire. She stood looking down at him for a moment, a little smile playing around her lips. At first, he thought she was laughing at him and he bridled slightly—then she was upon him, devouring him, her mouth and hands seemingly everywhere at once.

Never had he experienced such a physical onslaught, and he gasped as her lips and tongue brought him to the brink of orgasm.

“W…wait,” he muttered, pulling her head away from his throbbing cock.

Jesus, he thought, she’s like a madwoman. He pulled her down on top of himself and held her fast in his arms, then he rolled her over onto her back. She gazed up at him, her eyes blazing with desire.

“Fuck me,” she said, her voice thick and sensual. “Fuck me, Luke. Make me feel whole again.” Her hand guided him in, her legs wound around his slim
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hips as they began their rhythmic ritual. “Ah yes,” she cried against his shoulder. “Take me, cowboy…fill me up…”

Afterward, as they lay spent in each other’s arms, Luke dozed off while Olivia lay gazing up at the bedroom ceiling. Not bad, she thought, not bad for a first time. He needs some refining. He’s no Brad Kingman, that’s for sure, but he’ll do—for a while. The corners of her mouth lifted in a lazy smile as she thought of just what she could teach him. Once she was through, he’d be doing things he never dreamed possible—never in his wildest imaginings.

Peter pulled his Corvette into the assigned guest parking outside Olivia’s building and, after a deep sigh of resignation, climbed out of the car. It had been two days since the debacle at Jeff ’s birthday party, and despite her apology, he was not looking forward to seeing Olivia again.

Still, at the moment he had no choice. Two more sittings were required for the portrait and then, the final shooting of the show. At least the camera crew would be there today, so he could avoid having to listen to any kind of deep confessions of contrition from Olivia—should she feel so inclined. Of course, Peter still felt that Olivia really didn’t give a rat’s ass about what had happened at the party, or for what she had called him. Somehow, he knew that just wasn’t really part of her character.

As he stood patiently waiting for the elevator, he became aware of a presence at his elbow. Looking round, he saw a sweet-faced older lady gazing at him, a little smile working at her lips.

“Hello,” Peter said, returning her smile.

She looked up at him, coyly. “You’re the artist, aren’t you? The one on
her
show.”

Peter nodded. “Peter Brandon.” He held out his hand, which she touched with tiny, gloved fingers.

“I’m Winifred Owen.” This was said as if Peter should immediately know the name. “I live below Miss Winters. We don’t speak though…She’s not what you’d call neighborly.”

Peter could quite believe that. The elevator door opened and he stepped aside to let Winifred precede him.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “Nice to meet a gentleman. So rare these days.” She winked at him. “I like your friend…Jeff, is it?”

“That’s right.” Peter grinned. “I like him too.”

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“I could tell. You both remind me of my brother and his friend…when they were alive. They were very close…” She paused as the elevator stopped at the second floor. “This is where I live. Would you like to come in for a moment? I’d like to show you their picture.”

Peter glanced at his watch. “I am a little early—so sure, just for a minute.”

“Oh good,” Winifred said, almost skipping out of the elevator. “I’m right here.” She indicated the door to the right, and handed him the key. He opened the door and she ushered him in, tugging lightly at his arm.

Inside, Peter looked in amazement at the myriad of framed photographs that covered every wall. “What an incredible collection,” he said, gazing around him. Some of the faces appeared familiar, some not.

“My friends,” Winifred said with pride. “All the years I was at Silver Screen Productions I got a photo from everyone I ever worked with—and some I didn’t,” she added, giggling. “See, there’s Rock and Tab and Bill Holden—so wonderful to work with—all of them—so much fun.” She pointed to a photograph of one of the many beautiful men and women. “That’s me there.”

Peter took a closer look at the image of a young and pretty Winifred, wearing a one-piece bathing suit, her smile vivacious, her arm around the waist of a handsome young man.

“That’s Rob Francis,” she explained. “He was my favorite of them all—such a gentleman. He would have been a great actor if only he had lived.”

“What happened to him?”

“He died doing one of his own stunts. He loved to do the dangerous stuff himself…said it made him feel worthy, somehow. His luck just ran out on him that day, though.” Winifred looked at Peter, wiping a tear from her eye. “I still have a hard time realizing he’s not around. He was so vibrant, so alive.”

“You were close…?”

“Mmm…we were teamed by the studio to be seen out on dates. Rob was so good-looking, some of the bosses said he looked gay, so he needed to be seen with a girl on his arm.”

“
Was
he gay?”

“No. At least not with me.” She giggled again, her good humor returning.

“We were very naughty you see. When we were working together, I would spend a lot of time in his trailer.” Her eyes sparkled at the memory. “He was so wonderful…”

Peter realized he could spend a lot of time here, listening to Winifred remi-niscing, but Olivia would not take kindly to his being late. “Sorry, Miss Owen,”

he said. “I must be going…”

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“Oh, of course,” Winifred pouted. “Can’t keep the Dragon Lady waiting.”

Peter chuckled. “You were going to show me a picture of your brother…”

“Yes, he’s right here. He and Eduardo.” She handed him a gold metal-framed photograph of two young men smiling happily for the camera. Winifred had said he and Jeff reminded her of her brother and his friend, but apart from the fact that one was fair and the other dark haired, he could not see any resemblance.

Almost as if she had read his mind, Winifred said; “It’s not as though you and your friend look like them so much, it’s just that your obvious happiness reminded me of the good days when
we
were all so happy together.”

“Were they in movies too?”

“Eduardo was a stunt man and Chris, my brother, a sound technician. I was dating Eduardo and introduced them.” She took the picture from Peter’s hand and looked at it fondly. “I can still see the look on their faces as they shook hands. It was as if I had just disappeared. They had fallen in love right in front of me.”

“How did you feel about that? Didn’t you say you and Eduardo were dating?”

“Oh yes, but in those days lots of gay men dated women. Peer pressure and all that.” She gave a little laugh. “From what I read in the tabloids some of them still do…
Anyhoo
, that was the start of it, and they were together till the day they died.”

“What happened?”

“A skiing accident,” she replied, her voice suddenly bitter. “A stupid, stupid accident that should never have happened. But at least they had many good years together. I hope you and your friend are as happy as they were.”

“Thank you,” Peter murmured, touched by the woman’s sincerity. “Jeff and I are very happy.”

“I know.” She smiled up at him. “Now, I mustn’t keep you any longer, or that woman’s rage will be terrible.”

Peter laughed and gave her a gentle hug. “It’s been a pleasure, Miss Owen.

You’ve brightened my day considerably.”

“It’s Winifred…and you must visit me again. Please bring Jeff—I would love to meet him too.”

“I will,” Peter assured her as he left.

Olivia’s penthouse was a sea of activity when Joyce ushered him into the living room.

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“There you are!” Olivia stood in the center of the room, looking peeved. “I thought you had forgotten our appointment.”

“Of course I wouldn’t forget,” Peter said, with an engaging smile. “I’m only a few minutes late.”

She came forward and embraced him. “Was traffic awful?”

“Not too bad. I ran into a neighbor of yours, and we chatted for a few minutes.”

“Oh?” Olivia’s eyes narrowed. “Who would that be?”

“Winifred Owen. She had seen me and Jeff on your show and…”

“Oh…
her
.” Olivia’s mouth turned down with distaste. “That old bag is a pain in the butt.”

“She seemed very nice…”

“She’s typical of all the old has-beens that infest this town,” Olivia ranted.

“She had the nerve to think I could be bothered listening to her boring tales of when she was a star. Huh, some star. She made a few B-movies back in the fifties that aren’t even shown on late night television anymore, for God’s sake.

Those people get up my nose.”

Peter had become uncomfortably aware that several members of the camera crew had stopped their work and were staring at Olivia as she gave vent. What a shrew, he thought, turning away and walking over to his easel to prepare for the sitting. Boy, would he be glad when this was all over.

“So, what’s the deal here?” Olivia snapped at the technicians. “Let’s get this show on the road.” She sat down on the divan and glared around the room.

“Joyce, get me some water, pronto. You need anything, Peter?”

“No thanks.”

“Jeff couldn’t make it?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You said he’d come up next time so we could celebrate his birthday.”

“Oh that. Well, we figured as you had come to the party—that would be it.”

“So, he hasn’t forgiven me.”

“Nothing like that, Olivia. He and Nick are pretty busy right now. That’s all.”

One of the cameramen tapped him on the shoulder. “Uh…Peter, we’d like to get a close up of your brushwork as you apply the paint. It’ll mean you have to be really still. Is that OK?”

“Of course.” Peter smiled at him. “Just say when.”

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“I was thinking…” Olivia’s voice cut in. “When we come back down to Laguna for the final shoot, I’d like to have Emily there with you guys. You think the brother could make it too?”

“I really don’t know, Olivia.” Peter wasn’t about to commit either one of his friends without asking them first. “I’m seeing Emily tomorrow, as a matter of fact. I can ask her then.”

“Do that. I think they’d add something to the story.”

“They really don’t like talking about what happened,” Peter said. “They’ve tried to put all that behind them.”

“Yeah, yeah. But it’s the human tragedy aspect…people lap it up. ‘Specially when there’s a happy ending.” Her laugh was almost a cackle. “Everyone loves a fucking happy ending.”

“Okay, Peter…” The cameraman was at his shoulder. “Just hold it steady there for a moment, right there on her upper lip. Good, good…now continue the brush stroke…excellent. Thanks Peter.” He turned to the rest of the crew.

“Okay guys, we’re done. Let’s leave the artist in peace.” He nodded to Olivia who looked at him without expression.

“Those guys,” she sighed after the crew had packed up and left. “They think the world revolves around them.”

“Well, they do work in a pretty specialized field,” Peter said. “Without their expertise, where would you be?”

Olivia snorted. “Hell, you work at something long enough, you’re bound to get it right eventually.”

Peter worked in silence for a time, trying not to let Olivia’s petty attitude spoil his concentration. It was obvious she was not about to give credit where it was due. He wondered if she ever did. In true diva fashion, it seemed she thought only of herself—how she would look and sound out there—and, to a certain extent, Peter could understand some of it. After all, it was Olivia who had to maintain the illusion of the beautiful and vivacious woman who appeared before millions of people, five days a week. People who, for the most part, were not interested in those behind the camera. The years of training and working in a highly competitive field meant very little to the masses. Most understood only what they could see from the comfort of their barca-loungers.

“So, is Jeff still pissed at me?” Olivia was not about to let the subject drop.

“No Olivia, he’s not pissed at you,” Peter replied, somewhat absently as he concentrated on the portrait.

“But he didn’t want to come up with you.”

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Peter sighed and put down his brush. “Look Olivia, I told you he is very busy. He can’t just drop things and run around with me. I learned that a long time ago. Also, he is not one to harbor a grudge. You apologized; that’s enough for him.”

“Well, if you’re sure…” She paused as Luke walked into the room. “Hey baby,” she cooed. “You guys know each other, right?”

Peter stiffened with surprise at seeing Luke there. His eyes widened as the young man strolled over to where Olivia reclined, planted a kiss on her lips, then turned and grinned at Peter.

“Hey Pete…” He walked toward him with a cocky swagger and held out his hand for Peter to shake. “Nice seein’ you again.”

“Likewise,” Peter said, shaking the proffered hand. “What brings you up to LA?” he asked pointedly.

“I’m working for Olivia now,” Luke said, unable to hide the smugness in his voice.

“He’s my big and brave bodyguard,” Olivia said, rising from the divan.

“Brenda seemed to think I needed one, what with all the threatening letters I’ve been getting lately.”

“You’ve been threatened?” Peter asked with interest.