The A-List Collection. Victoria Fox
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father.’
His agent rambled on before Cole could object. ‘This must be a biological child–we’re wasting our time with adoption. Too messy, too passé, and, besides, the point is that everyone thinks the kid’s yours, fruit of your loins and all that.’
Cole grimaced. ‘And how do we go about that?’ he asked, tight-lipped.
A pause. ‘You ever heard of insemination?’
A cold draught passed across the back of Cole’s neck. He laughed in good humour. ‘OK, OK, very good, you got me.’
‘I’m serious.’
‘So am I.’ He lined up the black. ‘It’s preposterous. Lana will never agree to it.’
‘Not at first, but give her time. Let me talk to her–after all, it’ll be my kid she’s carrying.’
Cole straightened, incredulity contorting his features. ‘What did you just say?’
Marty gulped. ‘Well, I–I guessed we’d have to use my—’
‘Explain to me why the hell I wouldn’t do it?’
Marty looked flustered. ‘I just assumed—’
‘You assumed what?’
‘That you couldn’t …’ Marty’s eyes shot to the floor. ‘I didn’t think guys like you could … Look, buddy, I don’t know much about—’
‘You don’t know shit, Marty,’ Cole spat.
Marty nodded dutifully. ‘I don’t know shit.’
Cole spluttered a disgusted laugh. ‘To hell with this insemination plan–I bet you thought you could jump straight into bed with her. This is my wife, Marty. Christ, I haven’t even—’
‘It’s not like that,’ Marty simpered. ‘I just wanted to help. You know I’m the only person who’d do this for you—’
‘Spare me the crap.’ Cole gave his agent a long look. He took the shot. The black dropped neatly into the far pocket.
‘I can do it,’ he said quietly, rolling the cue between his fingers.
Marty waited. He cursed his own stupidity–any other day there’d be a price to pay, but fortunately his client was too preoccupied.
‘I’ve got it covered,’ Marty said eventually. ‘Hear me out.’
Cole sat down. ‘Astonish me.’
‘It’s all about you, Cole, OK? A hundred per cent. We use your …’ Marty looked about him ‘ … your little guys. Lana agrees with the right financial and career incentives. In a year’s time you’re all set: it’s happy families, good-fuckin’-night-John-Boy. You both sign a new contract–I’m the only one with the information, I sign a confidentiality clause. It’s as good as done.’
Cole sat very still, going through the possibilities.
Michael Benedict can rot in hell.
‘Even if I did consider it,’ he said, ‘even if I did, it’s way too risky. Lana’s never going to agree, not in a million years. Soon as I mention anything she’ll go running to Rita Clay.’
‘I wouldn’t be so sure,’ said Marty sagely. ‘Lana knows she’s on to a good thing as Mrs Cole Steel. Security in Hollywood isn’t an easy thing to come by, and that’s not even taking into account what it’ll mean for her moving forward.’ He held his hands up. ‘Just think about it.’
‘I need to think about it,’ echoed Cole, like he hadn’t heard.
‘It’s security for you, too, buddy,’ warned Marty. ‘That’s why I know it’s the perfect plan.’ He waited. ‘But, hey, you think about it all you want, take your time. When you’re ready, you know I’ll be here.’
Sam Lucas celebrated his sixtieth birthday at L’Etoile, an exclusive celebrity hotspot in West Hollywood.
Lana was stunning in a high-necked Valentino dress that showed off her legs and Marc Jacobs heels. The paparazzi were out in frenzy and no sooner had Cole’s security dropped her off than a circus of flashbulbs swooped in like vultures, popping and sparking close to her face. She fought the instinct to shield herself and walked dutifully into the fray, smiling and turning, a routine so familiar that she didn’t have to think about it at all.
L’Etoile was resplendent. The ultimate playground for the Hollywood elite, it was a festival of colour: sleek recliners and straight-backed couches bordered the gleaming wood-stain deck, more for show than comfort, all sewn up in a variety of elaborate, brilliant fabrics; an extravaganza of glass bottles, every kind of liquor you could imagine, lined the walls behind an L-shaped bar, lit from beneath by fluorescent spot bulbs.
Three huge Moulin Rouge-style birdcages hung suspended from the ceiling like pendants.
The place was heaving with Hollywood’s biggest names.
‘Where’s that gorgeous husband of yours tonight?’ asked Lana’s publicist over the noise.
Lana smiled, more with relief that Cole wasn’t there than at Katharine’s flattery. Katharine Elliot was in her forties with a mass of dark hair cut blunt at the chin. She was straight-talking, fast-acting and fiercely good at her job. She was also among the closed set that knew the marriage was contractual, but that was as far as it went: unlike Rita, she knew nothing of what really went on behind closed doors. As far as she was concerned, this sort of thing happened all the time. Lana had got a lucky break getting hitched to one of the best-looking in the business–she could have done a lot worse.
‘He’s in Boston.’
Katharine plucked a micro-burger from a passing tray. ‘You must wish he was here. Plenty of press opportunity tonight.’ She took a bite out of the burger even though it was small enough to eat in one.
‘We couldn’t make the timings work,’ explained Lana. Briefly she glimpsed Parker Troy out the corner of her eye.
As if reading her mind–though thankfully only a propos the film–Katharine went on, ‘We’ve got fabulous advance reviews coming in; they’re queuing up to talk to you.’ She sipped her cosmopolitan with a neat, cherry-lipsticked mouth.
Lana raised her own drink. ‘That’s good news.’
‘Oh—!’ Katharine spotted a publicist friend and waved keenly, the bangles jangling on her arm. She hugged Lana before being swallowed by a cacophony of exclamations.
Lana weaved through the crowd, nodding to familiar faces as she passed, and made a beeline for a tray of champagne. Throwing back a slug of fizz, she wondered how much it would take to deaden her to Robert St Louis once and for all. Since Vegas she had battled to put him from her mind, back to the dark, lonely place she had kept him all these years. Like having just woken from a bad dream, the outline clung on, refusing to fade.
She tried not to be bitter. How could she be mad at him? She’d wasted no time in getting married herself, and while of course she knew the truth of her pact with Cole, she could only imagine how it must have looked. Her heart ached when she thought of how much pain she’d put Robert through–it wasn’t enough that she’d disappeared without a word, a letter, a call, nothing, but then only a few years later she’d wed the biggest star in Hollywood. Coverage had been splashed across newspapers and gossip rags, on every TV channel and magazine cover. At the time her lack of contact had seemed like a necessary sacrifice. Now it seemed selfish and unkind.
Karma worked in mysterious ways. Robert had moved on and was happily engaged to the woman he loved. It wasn’t her. There would be no more wonderings; no more what-ifs.
‘Lana,