Married Lovers (28 page)

F
or a variety of reasons everyone was looking forward to the upcoming weekend. Cameron–because she was anxious to see how it was, spending more time with Don, and also simply wanting to get away and take a break. To her delight,
Paradise
was all systems go: the place had been packed all week.

Ryan was preparing to meet with Anya, see what she had to say. Don had called him back and agreed that he could use his house. Of course, Don was thinking that Ryan was getting it on with a woman other than Mandy. “Go for it!” Don had encouraged. “It’s about time.”

Ryan was intrigued to find out exactly how Anya had met Hamilton, and why Hamilton had married her without eliciting a thorough background check. It seemed so unlikely that Hamilton–who was usually so anal about every little detail–wouldn’t do that.

Lucy was getting all set for her script launch party the following Saturday. She was excited about it. Phil wasn’t.

Mandy was happy to have the house to herself without screaming children running everywhere.

While Don couldn’t wait to spend a long weekend at his beach house with Cameron.

What could be better?

He hadn’t felt this way in a long time, and he was filled with anticipation of good things to come.

Saturday morning, Yoko and Lennon sensed something was up. They roamed around the house freshly bathed, ready for some beach action. Cameron swore they understood every word she said, and since she’d told them where they were going, excitement was in the air. She hoped her dogs got along with Don’s Labrador, Butch.

Wow!
she thought, smiling to herself as she packed a weekend bag.
It’s almost as if we’ve got kids and they’re all meeting for the first time! Will they get along? Will they like each other?

She’d had a couple of days to get over the shock of the tabloids and the trailing photographers. Dorian and Lynda were in heaven–they kept on popping out of the building to see how many cameramen lay in wait. Then they insisted on accompanying Cameron to her car, so that with any luck they’d be in the shot!

By Friday the photographers were gone. Don Verona had not put in an appearance at
Paradise
, so their interest had waned. Lynda and Dorian were disappointed. Cameron was delighted, since being the center of attention did not thrill her at all.

She hadn’t seen Don since their romantic night together, although they’d spoken on the phone every day. He wasn’t happy that she’d sent Reno to work him out.

“I want
you,
” he’d complained.

“Told you my motto,” she’d replied. “I never mix business with pleasure.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. So does that mean that right now I’m pleasure?”

“Kind of,” she’d allowed.

“Kind of?” he’d said. “You should be salivating for more.”

“Don’t push it.”

On Saturday he arrived to pick her up at noon wearing khaki chinos, a black T-shirt, and a white baseball cap. She had to admit that he looked pretty damn great.

The feeling was mutual. “Hey,” he said, giving her a quick hug. “Aren’t
you
looking gorgeous.”

“Would you like to see my TiVo?” she inquired, tongue-in-cheek.

“That’s not what I had in mind, but if you insist,” he joked. “Are you loving it?”

“I have no clue how to work the damn thing!”

“I’ll teach you.”

“Not now. Yoko and Lennon are driving me nuts. They know they’re in for a treat.”

“And how about you?” he said, moving closer and nuzzling her neck. “Are
you
in for a treat?”

“Ah, Mr Verona,” she said lightly. “I guess that’s up to you.”

He broke into a grin. She grinned back. Yes, it was definitely nice to see him.

“Let’s go,” he said, “before I get a ticket on this shitty street and somebody tries to dognap Butch. He’s waiting in the car.”

“Kindly do not call my street shitty,” she objected. “This is a nice friendly neighborhood street.”

“Yeah, where I got a nice friendly neighborhood ticket the other morning.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have stayed over.”

“Next time, we spend the night at
my
house,” he said confidently.

“What makes you think there’ll be a next time?” she shot back.

They bantered all the way out to the car, where Butch was sticking his head out the window of a large black SUV. As soon as Butch spotted them approaching he began to bark, hurling his body against the car window, livid to see Don in the company of two other dogs.

Yoko and Lennon retaliated, barking back like crazy.

“This might not be the greatest idea,” Cameron said unsurely. “Lennon gets protective around Yoko when there’s another male dog around.”

“
Now
she’s telling me,” Don said wryly.

“Sorry, didn’t think about it.”

“Butch is not a fighter,” Don said. “But introducing them in the car–not a plan.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Why don’t you take them back into your house, run ’em around the garden, then I’ll bring Butch out, and once they’ve done enough sniffing it’ll be fine.”

“Good thinking,” she said, handing him her overnight bag and heading back into her house with Yoko and Lennon close behind her.

Don glanced up and down the street. No paparazzi in sight. Thank God they hadn’t discovered where Cameron lived yet. She was pissed enough about them hanging around outside
Paradise
, she’d be really angry if they started camping outside her house. The last thing he wanted was to frighten her off right at the start of something that could turn into more than just another casual fling.

There was one guy hovering at the corner he’d noticed when he’d driven up, but the man was keeping his distance, and even better, he didn’t appear to have any cameras.

Over the years Don had been bothered by several death threats, and once a crazed female so-called fan had taken to sending him impassioned letters that had turned into hate mail when he’d failed to respond. She’d broken into his house twice, sent him an assortment of weird gifts, and one day she’d appeared at his office and stabbed his assistant with a letter-opener, fortunately not fatally. After that little incident he was super-careful, always aware of everything around him.

The second he opened the car door, Butch bounded out like
he had a rocket up his butt. New friends were on Butch’s agenda and the enthusiastic Labrador couldn’t wait!

Walking toward Cameron’s front door, Don decided it bothered him that she lived right on the street with no security gates and no protection. Plus nowhere to park his goddamn car as her tiny garage only had room for her prized Mustang.

Memo to self:
Buy the girl a decent car
.

Second memo to self:
Ask her permission first, she’s a difficult one
.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the man on the corner suddenly approaching.

Shit! Was the guy a journalist? Another nutty fan? A threat?

Before he could give it any further thought, the man came right up to him and said, “Excuse me, mate, mind if I ask you a question?”

Don automatically took a step back. He was tall, six foot one, but this guy was even taller and quite heavy-set, with sandy hair and a deeply weathered suntan. His accent sounded Australian, so maybe he was a tourist.

“Sure,” Don said, careful to keep a distance between himself and the stranger.

“I’m looking for Sunset Boulevard. Am I anywhere near?”

BINGO! Tourist! Don felt a slight rush of relief. He gave the man directions to Sunset and walked up the path to Cameron’s house.

“Scuse me for bein’ nosey,” the man called out to his back. “I heard tell the girls were pretty in L.A. but that one you were out here with earlier is a real beaut. She your girlfriend?”

Tourist? Or journalist digging for dirt?

Now Don wasn’t so sure. Where was Fanny when he needed her?

“Sister,” he said casually, his hand on the doorknob.

The stranger wasn’t giving up. “She married?” he yelled. “’Cause if not, I sure wouldn’t mind taking her out.”

Ignoring the anonymous stranger, Don made it through the front door, shutting it firmly behind him. What a freak! Some people had a lot of nerve.

Butch raced straight through the small house and into the tiny garden in back, where he immediately began paying too much attention to Yoko.

Lennon growled and made a move to warn Butch off.

Don forgot all about the journalist, tourist, whatever, and stood next to Cameron as they watched their dogs get acquainted.

Half an hour later they were on the road to Malibu.

“Where are you going?” Mandy asked.

To see the teenage hooker I saved and your daddy married.

“Over to Evie’s,” Ryan replied calmly. “I promised the boys I’d take ’em to lunch. Want to come?”

This threw her. “No thank you,” she said crisply. “I’ve had enough of those little monsters to last a lifetime.”

He wondered what kind of mother Mandy would have made if they had been lucky enough to have children of their own.

Probably not the greatest.

“Okay, don’t say I didn’t offer.”

“If it was the two of us on the patio at
Spago
, I’d be happy to join you,” she said, trying to make him feel guilty–one of her favorite things to do.

“Nope,” he said casually. “It’s just me and the boys.”

“Shame.”

“Yeah.”

And then he came up with a plan. Since he was finding it almost impossible to broach the subject of divorce, what if the two of them had a quiet
dinner
at
Spago?
That way they’d be in a public place, and it was unlikely Mandy would make a scene.

He couldn’t understand why he was finding it so difficult to tell her they were over. Mandy was a smart woman, surely she must know?

“How about we do dinner at
Spago
?” he said quickly, before he changed his mind. “Don’t invite anyone else.”

Once again Mandy was caught off-guard. She could not remember the last time she and Ryan had gone out to dinner alone. Was this a romantic gesture? Or did he plan on bringing up couples counseling again?

Hmmm…she was immediately suspicious, but she didn’t let on.

“That’s a lovely idea,” she said. “I’ll book a table.”

And already she was formulating a plan of defense. There was no way she was going to couples counseling.

No way at all.

It was purely by chance that Lucy walked in on Phil screwing his assistant, Suki, the very same assistant he’d assured her that he’d fired weeks ago.

Lucy never made the trek out to the tree house where Phil liked to lock himself away when he was writing. But today was Saturday, and she’d honestly thought he’d gone out.

She’d been thinking that the tree house might be the perfect place to stash the animals during their upcoming dinner party. Certainly the parrot and the dogs. The pot-bellied pig she wasn’t so sure about. Anyway, she wanted to see for herself how messy the tree house was, as Phil refused to allow the housekeepers in there to clean. The tree house was his domain, he’d designed it and had it built as his own private retreat. He claimed it was the only place where his creative juices could flow uninterrupted.

They were flowing today all right. They were flowing all over
Suki’s flat chest as Phil heaved and grunted, pulled out, and then came all over Suki’s non-existent tits.

Lucy stood in the doorway frozen like a statue, too shocked to move. Oh yes, she knew her husband played around on her–who didn’t know about Phil Standard and his sexual conquests? But she’d never expected to find him making out with another woman on their property.

“You cheating whore-mongering
bastard
!” she yelled.

She’d never used the phrase “whore-mongering bastard” before, except in one of her movies. It seemed to fit the occasion.

Startled, Phil’s hairy ass shot into the air as he leaped off Miss Suki with a roar of disapproval.

“What the hell are
you
doing here?” he yelled. “You know you’re not allowed in here. Nobody is.”

“Fuck you and the horse you rode in on,” Lucy spat, another line from one of her movies–or maybe it was a Clint Eastwood Western classic.

How dare he imagine he could get away with being mad at
her
. Reverse psychology. Phil’s way of dealing.

Suki sat up from the couch, Phil’s juices dripping down her chest. Lucy noticed that she might not have any tits, but she did have unappealing extended brown nipples.

“In case my
husband
forgot to tell you,” Lucy said in her best icy voice, “you’re fired.” And with that she turned on her heel and headed straight for her car–the new Mercedes Phil had bought her only last week.

She took off before anyone could stop her. Not that anyone was trying.

She was all alone with her fury, and right now that suited her just fine.

A
fter living with Seth for a few months and telling him constantly he was the most wonderful man in the world, Anya made sure he got a divorce. Several weeks later he took her to Niagara Falls where they were married.

Once she had the ring on her finger, things changed. She did not care for Seth, she never had. He was a man, wasn’t he, and all men were the enemy. They craved sex day and night. They were controlled by their penises and they were violent and ugly. Like the soldiers who’d raped her. Like Greedy Boris and Igor. Like all the men she had been forced to service since she was fourteen.

And most of all Joe. The pimp in Amsterdam who’d degraded her worse than anyone
.

Joe was the man of her nightmares. He always came to her in them with his pointed face, evil eyes and greasy hair
.

The things Joe had forced her to do were beyond shameful. The sex shows, the orgies, the animals, the perversions
…

Joe had crushed her will to live. Almost
.

Once again she’d survived, thanks to a stranger who had taken pity on her and given her a new start. A man. Yes. A man she didn’t know, so therefore she had no interest in him
.

Seth professed to love her. She didn’t believe him. How could he love her?

What he loved was how she made him feel when he was inside her and she began moving her pelvis in a way he’d never experienced before
.

He loved the way she put him in her mouth and sucked him until he came with a ferocity he had not believed possible
.

He loved her because she allowed him to put his hard cock anywhere he wanted, while she sighed and cried out his name and professed to enjoy it
.

That’s
why he loved her. No other reason
.

As soon as his divorce was final, Anya set about alienating him from his wife and child. It was easy. Once you knew the key to a man’s sexual desires, anything was possible. Velma had taught her that. The same Velma who’d run out on her and left her in the care of Joe.

Or
had
Velma run
?

In Anya’s dreams Velma sometimes came to her naked, soaking wet and distressed, her long hair matted and tangled across her muddy, broken face, smashed teeth protruding from her mouth.

“He drowned me!” Velma would scream, her eyes popping out of her head. “Joe drowned me!”

Anya dreaded those dreams because they were so real.

After a while it began to occur to her that the vivid dreams were merely reflecting the truth. Joe
had
murdered Velma
.

It made sense because she’d never truly believed that Velma would abandon her. They’d been so close, shared so much. Besides, Velma had left her clothes and other possessions behind, which Joe had quickly disposed of
.

The more Seth fawned over her, the more Anya turned to ice. She stopped telling him how wonderful he was. She stopped granting him sexual favors whenever he wanted. She took whatever money she could get out of him and began her precious shoe collection
.

The colder she became, the more he wanted her, making her realize that men were interested in two things as far as women were concerned–wild unfettered sex, and the chase.

A year into their marriage Seth got a promotion at the law firm where he worked. Shortly after that he was invited to a formal event hosted by the chief partner at his firm.

He gave Anya money to go out and buy a dressy outfit suitable for such an important occasion.

She came home with a black leather bustier and an extremely short skirt, which she paired with six-inch Jimmy Choos.

Seth was horrified. His delicate exquisite wife looked like a hooker in such a get-up.

He tried to make her change. She refused.

When they arrived at the event all eyes were on Anya. She resembled a young girl masquerading in someone else’s clothes. Most of the men were transfixed by her slutty child-like appearance. The women hated her.

Seth was embarrassed. How could she do this to him?

Anya soothed him with whispered promises of the sexual favors she would bestow on him when they got home
.

Later she asked him to point out his boss. He did so, and without hesitation she set off in the man’s direction
.

His boss, Elliot Von Morton, was caught off-guard when Anya marched up to him and introduced herself as one of his junior associate’s wives. But, after his initial surprise, Elliot sat up and took notice, for in spite of her flashy outfit and excess of makeup, beneath it all he could see that Anya was a true beauty
.

“And what can I do for you, Mrs Carpenter?” Elliot–a tall thin man with drooping eyelids and a sparse moustache–asked
.

“I was thinking,” Anya replied, fingering the soft leather rim of her bustier, her pale blue eyes fixed firmly on him, “if there is anything I can do for
you?”

Elliot glanced around to see where his wife was located. Mrs Von Morton was busy talking to friends across the room.

This girl was coming on to him, he was sure of it.

Where was her husband?

Fast approaching.

“Call me at the office,” Elliot said to Anya, boldly slipping her his card. “I’m certain I can think of something.”

A mortified Seth, red in the face, rushed up to them. “Uh, excuse me, Mr Von Morton,” he said, stumbling over his words. “Anya is new to these events. I hope she isn’t…uh…bothering you.”

“Not at all,” Elliot replied with a crocodile smile. “Your wife is charming,” he added, his eyes raking over every inch of Anya’s tight black leather cleavage, while he imagined this girl with the face of an angel standing over him armed with a leather whip, beating the crap out of him. “Quite charming.”

Six weeks later Anya left Seth, Elliot split from his wife, and Anya moved into Elliot’s Park Avenue penthouse.

Her journey was gaining ground.