Hollywood Sinners

66

New York



Lester Fallon unlocked his apartment door and stepped inside. It was dark except for a naked bulb above the dirt-caked stove, casting a bald yellow light across the room.

Tonight had been his last at Club 44. Some of the guys had stayed to have a drink with him when his shift was done–he didn’t like any of them, they were weak and blind; they had no drive, no fire. Not like him. He was about to become a multi-millionaire, richer beyond his wildest dreams.

The time had come. Vegas was calling. Laura had been waiting long enough.

Lester opened the fridge and surveyed its contents. A chunk of greyish meat on a cracked plate; a bit of cheese hardened on one side; a sticky jar of jelly and three cans of beer. He reached in for one, popped it open and closed the door. On its front was a calendar with thick red crosses slashed through the days. Sixty to go until the movie premiere–that was all.

He was getting close, closer than he’d ever been. So close he could smell her fear.

In the bedroom he pulled out a canvas bag and began packing for the first leg of his journey. He wasn’t particular about it; there would be no need for order where he was going. Efficiency, that was all. Combat pants, a couple of sweaters, a pair of gloves.

He showered, dried with a cloth that stank of milk, then ran a fine-toothed comb through his thin, wet hair, beneath which it was possible to see the pale pink of his scalp. His decision to catch an overnight coach was a deliberate one. It was easier to move under cover of darkness. He’d learned that a long time ago.

Lester dressed in brown slacks and a corduroy jacket. He tied his shoelaces tightly. Sinking to his knees, he bent to retrieve a box from under the bed. Inside was a camel-coloured envelope containing a stack of fifties he had been saving. He tucked half the stash in the inside pocket of his jacket and the other half slotted down one side of his bag. Once he’d dealt with Lana and her murderer boyfriend he’d never have to worry about money again. He’d reveal their crime and their world would end … just like the voice had said.

He slid his hand into the box a final time, removed something cold and heavy, then secured the lid before replacing it, empty, under the bed.

The most important thing of all.

The gun.





67

Los Angeles



Every time Jimmy turned over, Chloe could feel his erection pressing into the small of her back. He seemed to be permanently ready to roll, even after the epic session they’d enjoyed last night. The size of it now, like a living thing jammed between them, made it impossible to ignore.

She decided to wake him, manoeuvring her naked body on to his sleeping form. Jimmy groaned and opened his eyes, sticky with sleep.

‘Hey, lover,’ she purred, sliding him in.

They f*cked frantically, Chloe riding him like there was no tomorrow. It was the first flush of an affair: they wanted it hard and fast, both with a fever to burn. She came quickly; he soon after.

‘You’re insatiable,’ she gasped, her head on his chest. His long fingers stroked her hair.

‘Only for you.’ He brought her face close and kissed her lips.

Chloe rolled over, stretching like a cat. ‘I’m free all morning,’ she said. ‘What do you want to do?’

Jimmy made a face. ‘We could stay in bed all day.’

She hit him. ‘Don’t be silly,’ she teased, sitting up. To be honest, he’d left her a little sore. It had been a crazy week–since the day of the nanny’s interruption they’d scarcely been out of each other’s beds.

Thank God it hadn’t been Kate. Chloe trembled at the thought. She had seen the panic in Jimmy’s eyes when the door had gone–he’d come too close too many times. They’d managed to dress, just about, before Su-Su had walked in. From their flushed faces and rumpled hair it had been obvious what was going on. Jimmy had assured her that the nanny was far too afraid of her employers to ever say anything to his wife; he’d be surprised if she could even articulate it in English. Chloe wasn’t entirely convinced, but figured that if Jimmy could relax in that knowledge then so could she.

‘A compromise.’ Jimmy pretended to mull it over. ‘We’ll stay in bed all morning.’ He grabbed her waist and pulled her down. She felt his renewed hardness push against her stomach.

‘Come on, Jimmy,’ she said, giving him a shove, ‘don’t you ever let up?’

‘Why should I?’

Pushing him again, she slid out of bed. ‘Because I need to do some exercise. Too much time lying around in bed.’ She unhooked a flannel robe off the back of the door and slipped it round her shoulders.

‘Don’t do that,’ said Jimmy.

‘Do what?’

‘It’s Kate’s.’ He leaned back on one elbow. ‘Just a bit weird, that’s all.’

‘Sorry,’ she said, but she didn’t take it off. Jimmy was a cheat, a cocksman–if he hadn’t any qualms about taking strange women into his marital bed then he couldn’t get arsy about his wife’s dressing gown. Instead Chloe padded into the bathroom and turned the shower on.

‘Besides, you’ve been getting enough exercise,’ called Jimmy, with a wicked grin.

‘You know what I mean.’

‘Not really. Don’t know about you, love, but I’m knackered.’

‘You’re never knackered, Jimmy,’ she said, letting the robe drop tantalisingly to the floor. She stepped in, the glass around her steaming up.

‘Try me!’ he yelled as the pounding water took over.

In the silver rack was a selection of shampoo bottles, obviously Kate’s, and Chloe took pleasure in using the products. It was curious to be the other woman, but not altogether alien–it felt too much like retribution for that. She knew what it was like to be on the other side, and she’d earned her right to try it a different way.

In the end, they spent the morning by the infinity pool. Sweet-scented palms sweltered beneath an azure sky, the sugary smell of coconut tanning lotion thick in the air. Chloe swam fifty lengths with ruthless efficiency, Jimmy watching avidly from a sun lounger, a thin joint hanging out the side of his mouth.

She pulled herself on to the side, wrung out her long dark hair and arranged a pink towel beneath her. Relaxing back, she showed her tits to the sun–and to Jimmy, who, predictably, came to sit down next to her.

He passed her the joint, running a thumb lazily over her left nipple. ‘We should get married,’ he mused.

Chloe’s eyes flew open. ‘Are you serious?’

‘I’m a comic. What do you think?’

She reached for her Ray-Bans and put them on. ‘I think you’re a nob,’ she said, tilting her head back. Though it had been an intense week–for the first time in her life Chloe understood why people might get married on impulse, just like that after a few days, because when you were having sex like she and Jimmy were having sex, the rest of the world and all its rules, like other people and time and the usual order of things, went out the window. She had always thought that the relationships that worked were built on steady, solid years together before any kind of commitment. Obviously that hadn’t worked for Kate and Jimmy, or her and Nate—or her parents, for that matter. So what difference did it make?

Jimmy lay down in her lap, trailing one hand in the crystal water.

‘D’you know Cole Steel?’ she asked suddenly.

‘Vaguely,’ Jimmy said, taking back the smoke.

‘Brock’s got me auditioning for his new movie. Do me a favour and put in a word?’

His voice was tight. ‘Come on, Chloe, don’t go there.’

‘Where?’

‘You know where. This hasn’t got anything to do with either one of our careers.’

‘I know that,’ she said quickly. ‘I was only asking.’

‘Well, don’t. I’ve been put in that position too many times.’

‘You mean you’ve slept with too many actresses,’ she shot back.

Jimmy didn’t say anything.

‘Forget it,’ she muttered.

‘I will.’

Chloe looked down at her lover. He really was rather thin, she thought critically, taking in his stringy body and knobby knees.

Despite herself she thought fleetingly of Nate, so physically different from Jimmy. The Hides’ new album was getting excellent reviews on both sides of the Atlantic, but she couldn’t feel happy for him, not after how shittily he had treated her. After the break-up she had flown straight back to LA. Melissa Darling had called her from London the following week with news that Nate was badmouthing her to anyone who would listen, including the press. Fortunately there were enough other accounts of that night and it was perfectly obvious who had suffered in the relationship. Oddly it didn’t seem to be doing either of them any harm–Nate had reinforced his wannabe bad-boy image and she had come out as the wronged, innocent party.

‘It might not feel like it now,’ Melissa had said, ‘but in time you’ll see it’s better this way. You’re the girl who got caught in the wrong crowd. Better than the heartbreaker, Chloe.’

Jimmy extinguished the smoke in the pool with a fizz. ‘You’re a million miles away.’

‘Am I? Just thinking.’

The phone rang from inside the house.

‘Shit, better get that,’ said Jimmy, leaping up. Moments later he emerged, looking exhausted.

‘What is it?’ she asked.

‘That was Kate. She’s coming back from London.’

Chloe was alarmed. ‘What? When?’

‘Keep your knickers on.’ Jimmy yawned. ‘Couple of days.’

‘Oh.’

‘Yeah.’

A pause.

‘I was getting used to this,’ he said, his smile crooked.

Chloe glanced up at him. Some small, old part of her thought, You’re a real arsehole.

Jimmy seemed to think about sitting down, then padded to the opposite end of the pool and shook out his muscles. He looked troubled.

‘What’s this, an attack of conscience?’ she taunted. ‘This is real life, Jimmy–you make your choice and you pay the price.’

He disappeared into the pool with barely a splash and swam the length underwater. When he emerged at her end he grabbed hold of her knees. ‘That’s what you think I want you for?’ he mocked. ‘Real life? This is just fantasy, Chloe, and you’re part of it.’

‘We’re not getting married then?’ she flirted, kicking gently and sending a glittering splash into his face.

He looked at her funnily. His eyes were kind, she thought. Once upon a time he’d probably have been the perfect husband. If such a thing existed.

‘Not yet,’ he said, his gaze holding hers as he fed a hand between her legs. ‘Not yet.’





68



Sureiny Vélez was having a bad day. She’d woken up with a headache, had the children refuse to eat their breakfast then on the way to kindergarten the car had got a flat. Eventually she had dropped them off, but not before sitting on the sweltering verge with two screaming under-sixes for half an hour while Kate’s cover turned up. By the time she got back to the mansion, she was not a happy woman.

Even less so when she saw Jimmy cavorting outside by the pool with his new lady friend. Chloe French was very pretty, Sureiny conceded, dropping her bags in the kitchen, even if she thought it acceptable to run around outside without her top on. She’d seen more than enough of the girl in the past few days, in all senses of the word.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s broken his blonde rule, she thought, patting her own dark hair. When Sureiny had first been employed by Kate diLaurentis four years ago, as a fresh-faced twenty-one-year-old, she had been shocked when Jimmy had propositioned her in the kitchen one night. Right here, in fact, she thought now, running her fingers over the hob. She remembered how he had approached her from behind, slipping his long fingers round her waist until the milk she had been warming had burned and frothed over … The next morning, it was as if nothing had happened. He’d had his piece and that was enough. Sureiny was left in no doubt as to who was the boss.

She slammed the fridge door shut. Every time Kate was away he did the same thing, bringing girls back to the house, installing them for a few days and having his piece of fun. Maybe this one had more backbone than the rest of them, wouldn’t go running and crying when he called it off. Just like she had.

Sanamagan!

She’d had enough. Jimmy Hart was a user, a liar, the worst kind of cheat. The time had come for quiet little Su-Su to speak up. His wife deserved to know exactly what was going on.

Turning away from the window, she lifted the phone and dialled.





69

London



Nate Reid belted out the final line of The Hides’ number-one single and the Apollo ruptured in applause. Chris’s drum roll wheeled on and Nate grabbed the mike stand, raising it aloft his head like a weightlifter, mouth open, roaring back at his fans. They clamoured for an encore, stamping their feet and chanting his name.

‘Nate! Nate! Nate!’

It was electrifying. Banners rippled in the audience, girls telling him that they loved him and they wanted to marry him. They craved him. Every single person here did.

Chris counted in the first song of their farewell set, a slower number that had people waving lighters and sending whistles into the air like balloons.

Nate looked out at his minions with pleasure. Since the release of Nowhere Town, The Hides had been the hottest band in British music. And, in a move that surprised everyone save Felix Bentley, they were now smashing the charts in America. The past few months had been a roller-coaster of wild parties, champagne and cocaine, drink, drugs and groupies; girls who did things they didn’t even know had been invented yet.

When Nate came away from the mike the whole auditorium took on the lyrics–he’d given this to them; he’d given them someone to love.

‘This girl’s the only one for me; tell her I love her, she just cannot see …’

It was a song he had written for Chloe, one of the many times he’d resolved to try keeping it in his pants. Focusing on the lyrics, he fought the rising surge of fury that accompanied her name. It had been three months since the night she’d castrated him–and she may as well have done for the lack of action he’d received in the ensuing weeks. Fortunately things had picked up again, in almost direct correlation with his growing status, but still her rejection stung like nothing he had experienced before.

‘This girl’s the only one for me; can’t she see I want her, can’t she see we’ll be …’

He almost stumbled over the words when he remembered how brutally Chloe had done it, the force of her character assassination and how public a humiliation it had been. Well, f*ck that. Things had been shit for a while but he’d managed to steer things back on track. He’d done a few interviews that had set the record straight: finally he had broken free from a stifling, claustrophobic relationship with clingy Chloe. Yeah, he was a ladies’ man, he was born that way. It complemented his image to a T. Possibly more than Chloe ever did.

Two harder numbers later, the lights went down and the cheers went up. Cameras flashed in the crowd like stars. By the time The Hides had left the stage, the noise was deafening. Nate clapped his bandmates on the back and they shared a sweaty, euphoric embrace. The band was rock royalty–and, f*ck it, he was the king.

The after party took place at 17 Village, a private club in Kensington favoured by the fashionable London set.

Nate settled in one of the booths and draped an arm across the shoulder of the blonde beauty either side of him. One of them placed a possessive hand on the inside of his leg; the other leaned in and sucked his earlobe.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ the plumper one purred. Bite-sized patches of flesh peeped through her netted dress, the straps digging in a bit, making her look like a Sunday joint prepped for roasting.

Nate knocked back the rest of his beer. Felix was partway through a DJ set and he had no intention of going anywhere. Besides, he could have the pick of any woman there.

Spencer ambled over with a clutch of vodka shots. ‘Check it out–Kate diLaurentis is at the bar. Random or what?’

Nate peered over his guitarist’s shoulder. He recalled meeting Kate at the Romans’ wedding last year. She was also an acquaintance of Felix–he must have invited her. Nate wondered if she’d seen The Hides perform.

Yes, it was her all right. Only she looked … different. She was dressed casually, in a loose-fitting trousersuit and boots, her platinum hair falling around her shoulders. It was a far cry from the uptight Hollywood wife he remembered–for a start, she looked ten years younger.

Kate was chatting to a balding British actor, a renowned Lothario, who had been doing Shakespeare in the West End. Something about her face had changed, too–it was more animated, kinder, more composed. Either she had a very good surgeon, he reckoned, or she was finally getting some: the cure, in Nate’s world, for most ailments.

Nate threw back a shot, then another one.

Spencer held his hands out. ‘Oi!’ Peeling off both blondes, Nate ambled over. Once he would have felt weird approaching a Hollywood legend like Kate, but not any more.

‘Kate.’ He treated her to his most charming smile. ‘Good to see you again.’

She looked him up and down. ‘I didn’t think we’d met.’

The Brit actor melted away–Nate couldn’t be sure if he’d been trying to pull her, though he doubted it. Kate was attractive in a predatory way. Any man who took her on would have to have balls–and you’d think twice about putting them anywhere near her mouth.

‘Actually, we have,’ he said, undeterred, and signalled for a bottle of Cristal–her poison of choice, he guessed. ‘Drink?’

She sighed then said with zero enthusiasm, ‘Go on, then.’

Cute. He liked when birds played hard to get.

They settled into a booth. Kate looked uncomfortable. He imagined she was there to get photographed, nothing else.

When she reached for her champagne he noticed her hands were big in contrast with the rest of her, quite masculine.

‘Did you catch the set?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’ She seemed in a bad mood.

‘Why don’t you go if you’re not having fun?’

Kate looked at him. After a moment she said, ‘I want to get drunk.’

Nate shrugged, refilling her glass. ‘OK.’

‘Keep it coming,’ she instructed, chucking it back.

‘Any reason?’ he asked.

She shook her head briskly. ‘Not that I’m prepared to discuss with you.’

He held his hands up. ‘Suit yourself, lady.’ He pushed the bottle towards her. ‘Knock yourself out.’

Several drinks later and Nate had managed to find a weakness in Kate’s hard exterior–which, like a lot of hard things, was brittle.

‘My husband’s having another affair,’ she slurred. ‘He sickens me.’ Her mouth screwed up. ‘Of course you’re aware he can’t keep his dick to himself–everybody is.’

Nate thought it might not be the best time to extol the virtues of being a bachelor. ‘That sucks,’ he said instead.

‘It’s so f*cking predictable,’ she snapped bitterly. ‘He thinks he’s hiding it–ha! He couldn’t hide a peanut in his a*shole.’

Nate shrugged. ‘Maybe you should confront him?’ Not in front of half the city you live in, he wanted to add.

‘And lose the father of my children?’ Kate laughed hollowly. ‘No chance. I’ve got a better plan.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Oh, yes. Hit her where it hurts.’

‘You know who it is?’

Kate ran a finger round the rim of her glass. ‘Oh, I know all right. Nanny walked in on them–Jimmy thinks she’s too timid to speak up, but she knows exactly where her loyalties are.’ She laughed sharply. ‘Poor girl was crying, said he’d even tried to have his way with her!’ She raised her tumbler in a mock-toast and Nate refilled it. ‘Hardly a surprise, I should add. Introduce Jimmy to anything with two legs and a pair of breasts and it’s like feeding time at the zoo.’

‘My ex is like that,’ lied Nate, jumping at any opportunity to badmouth Chloe. ‘A real slag. In fact, all the time we were together—’

‘A lovely little home-wrecker, this one,’ Kate interrupted. ‘Saw it the first time I clapped eyes on her. And as we know, the public just loves one of those …’ Suddenly something seemed to dawn on her. She frowned. She regarded Nate carefully.

Nate was mesmerised. ‘Who is she?’

Kate didn’t say anything. She was eyeing him with such concentrated interest that after a while he began to feel uncomfortable. A slow smile was spreading across her face.

‘What?’

‘Now I remember,’ she said, looking like the cat who’d got the cream. ‘I have met you before. In Santa Barbara.’ She licked her lips. ‘You were with that darling Chloe French. Am I right?’

Nate grimaced. ‘Unfortunately.’

‘Oh?’

‘Things didn’t end well.’ His voice was sour.

Unexpectedly she took his arm. When she leaned in he could smell the alcohol on her breath. ‘That sounds very interesting,’ she purred. ‘Nate Reid, you and I have got a lot to talk about.’

Later, at Kate’s Mayfair hotel, she fixed them both a nightcap, performed a little dance that he suspected was more for her amusement than his, then wasted no time in removing her clothes. Nate couldn’t believe his luck.

‘Sit back,’ she commanded huskily, stepping out of her lacy blue underwear. ‘I’m going to show you a magic trick.’ She shoved him back on to the bed, pushed his knees apart and deftly whipped out his cock.

He’d never had a woman Kate’s age. Her body was long and fluid, muscular like a wild animal. She raised her arms above her head, continuing the dance, her toffee-coloured tits high and proud on her chest; a streak of honey fuzz between her legs. Nate watched, transfixed, happy to be following the leader. Like a beast unleashed, she prowled around the bed, touching herself, shaking her assets in his face. It was a bizarre display but a major turn-on. He wondered if her husband knew she was this kinky.

Jimmy Hart probably had enough else to think about.

Eventually she sank to her knees in a twist ‘n’ shout sort of manoeuvre–except she didn’t get up again. Ducking her head to meet his cock, she licked its tip like an ice cream cone and met his eye.

‘Relax, honey,’ she instructed. ‘The good stuff starts here.’