Impossibly Tongue-Tied Page 9

  “What exactly have you heard?” Already the word was out on Nathan’s audition tape, eh?

  “Heard? Heck, I saw it. That tape is priceless. If the Academy had seen it, she would have that Oscar already, hands down. To hell with having to bulk up thirty pounds, or wearing some damn prosthesis. Gee, it’s too bad they don’t give an Oscar for soft porn.”

  Not good, thought Sam.

  “Where did you see it?”

  “Kat requested a DVD of it…for her own personal viewing pleasure. I was at her place, going over her media calendar for the coming week, when it arrived by messenger, from Hugo’s studio. She couldn’t wait to show me. She is really smitten with this kid.”

  “Great. Just great. Damn! If Nathan dumps Nina for Kat before he’s even launched, that might kill his career, not make it.” Sam turned to his speakerphone. “Riley?”

  “Yeah, boss?” Sam’s assistant always listened in to his conferences and took notes. Even disemboweled through the intercom, Riley’s voice had a Zen quality to it. Just hearing it made the tension go out of Sam’s shoulders.

  “Get Hugo on the phone.”

  “Will do.”

  A few moments later, Sam heard Hugo’s greeting: “I know why you’re calling, Sam. Believe me I do, and—”

  “Oh yeah?” Sam took a deep breath. “What the hell happened over there, Hugo?”

  “Things got—well, they got a little out of hand. But I’m way ahead of you, guy. Trust me, I personally burned the film. I swear.”

  “That’s good. Otherwise, this project goes up in smoke.”

  “Got it. Hey, by the way, Lucinda and I are celebrating my birthday Wednesday night, over at Ago. Care to join us?”

  “Sure, I’ll be there. But I’m warning you, Hugo, if some of that X-rated footage you shot of my boy ends up on Entertainment Tonight, I will personally wring your neck. You won’t live to see another birthday.”

  Sam hung up before Hugo could say anything else. He was pissed at Hugo, who, of all people, should have known better than to let Kat have her way with Nathan. On DVD no less.

  Damn, maybe I should see this clip…

  “So, just what is the situation with the wife?” Fiona’s question brought him back down to planet Earth.

  “She’s a saint. Pure as driven snow. Definitely an asset to him.”

  “Then again, if he dumps her—St. Nina becomes a liability that needs damage control.”

  “Which is why you’ve got to make sure that this little fall from grace stays under wraps.”

  Fiona hesitated for a moment. “Look, Sam, if it does get out—well, personally, I’m not all that sure that it’s necessarily a…a bad thing.”

  “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “No, now just hear me out: If Nathan and Kat do become an item, it might just help his career. I mean, Federline was unknown before Britney, and he dumped the mother of his child, and she had another kid on the way. Hooking up with Brit put him in the limelight, am I right? And when Marc Anthony dumped Dayanara for Jennifer, not even a year after their second kid was born, no one batted an eyelash.”

  “Yeah, well, Anthony already had an established fan base. And a prior divorce. And at the time, Federline didn’t have a career to speak of. Then again, Nathan won’t, either, if his gets killed from the get-go, just because he’s viewed only as Kat’s new boy toy. He’s got to be able to stand on his own rep. Otherwise—”

  Otherwise, what?

  Otherwise Kat gets her wish earlier than she anticipated, and Nathan’s marriage breaks up earlier than expected?

  Otherwise the release of the audition video boosts interest in the movie?

  Otherwise Nina, heartbroken, is dumped…and Sam can pick up the pieces?

  But I don’t want it to happen that way.

  Well then, how is it supposed to happen?

  That was a very good question. But at that moment, Fiona’s question took precedence: “…until then. Whattaya think of that?”

  Focus…Focus…“Huh? Sorry, I missed what you said.”

  “I was suggesting that we play down the family angle for now, and play up his talent. I know that Kat was instrumental in choosing Nathan to play opposite her, but despite that, the script calls for a strong male lead, and I got the distinct impression that Hugo has no doubts that Nathan will be brilliant in it. Why don’t we just lead with that, and feed the press periodic snippets of footage that bears this out?”

  She was right.

  Nathan Harte was a film publicist’s wet dream come true.

  And by the time Fiona got through with Nathan, he’d be granted his own digit on the cell phone speed dials of every important director in town.

  SAM: (Clearing his throat, then very businesslike) Hi, O. Sam here. Just, um, checking in on—you know, Wilbur.

  O: (With a sultry purr) My goodness, Sam, is that really you? Great to hear your voice! I’ve truly missed you, handsome.

  SAM: Yeah? I bet you say that to all the boys.

  O: (With a husky chuckle) You’re right, I do. I don’t always mean it, though.

  SAM: I’m happy to hear that I’m the exception to the rule.

  O: Without a doubt, lover. As for an update, I can honestly report that Wilbur hasn’t exactly been burning up my phone line lately. I guess he’s…preoccupied, as they say.

  SAM: Yeah, I sort of figured that. As you can imagine, I’m relieved to some extent…Oh, of course, I plan on honoring our deal for as long as Hu—Wilbur wants to keep in touch.

  O: That’s because you’re an honorable man, Sam. I’m sure your…girlfriend…appreciates that.

  SAM: At the moment, O, I’m footloose and fancy-free.

  O: You don’t say? In a total state of bachelor bliss, as it were?

  SAM: (He pauses before speaking) Well…I wouldn’t say that…I guess you could say that I’m admiring my ladylove from afar.

  O: Oh? And why is that?

  SAM: Well, if you must know…the woman of my dreams…she just so happens to be married.

  O: (With that tinkling laugh of hers) Isn’t that convenient…choosing some unattainable object of desire means no strings attached, doesn’t it?

  SAM: (Somewhat huffy) Believe me, I’d marry her in a second if she were available!

  O: Really? What, did you skip Psychology 101 that day? Come on, Sam, admit it: If she weren’t married, you’d run like hell in the opposite direction.

  SAM: I don’t know when I’ve ever given you that impression of me—that I’m some kind of confirmed bachelor, or something. I do want to get married…to the right woman. And I want to have kids, too. In fact, my…my ladylove already has a child…So, what do you say to that?

  O: (After a pause) Hmmm. I stand corrected. I guess I’ve thoroughly misjudged you. I’m impressed…In fact, if I were there with you, right now, I’d suck your toes.

  SAM: (Laughing heartily) And I’d let you, you nut! Damn, this is the first time I’ve laughed all day.

  O: That bad, huh?

  SAM: Yeah, boy. Everything’s going to hell in a hand basket. I’ve just signed this new client, and…and, uh, “she” lucked out, just like that. A big feature film…

  O: Way to go, girl!

  SAM: Yeah, good for her…except for one thing. The leading—the leading, uh, “man” is all over her.

  O: What, he wants her fired already?

  SAM: No, worse. He wants her to sleep with him.

  O: Bastard.

  SAM: Yeah, it’s—it’s making things rough for—for “her.” You see, she’s married—

  O: Not good.

  SAM: Exactly. And…they have…a kid…a…a “daughter.”

  O: (Sighs) Gee. It’s a shame this jerk is leaning on her so hard. Still, if she loves her husband, she’ll find a tactful way to say no…

  SAM: (With a harsh laugh) Babe, when you’ve got stars in your eyes, and the hottest star on the planet wants to jump your bones, somehow you seem to forget that little “I do”…Maybe that’s wh
y I’m so cynical about finding true love in this crazy town.

  O: Have some faith, Sam. Besides, it always takes two to tango. She’s got to want it, too.

  SAM: That’s the problem. I think she does.

  O: Well, then, there’s nothing you can do about it, agreed? When it comes right down to it, we all choose what we are willing to lose. Or, as George Eliot once said, ‘Our deeds still travel with us from afar, and what we have been makes us what we are.’

  SAM: (Softly) Aptly put. You’ve got a quote for every situation, don’t you, O?

  O: (Laughs heartily) Believe it or not, Sam, there’s more to this job than moaning and dirty talk. As for your ladylove, hey, look at the bright side: If what you say is right about love in LaLa Land, odds are you’ll end up with her after all. And then you’d have to put your heart where your mouth is, big boy.

  SAM: That’s what I love about you the most, O: You’re always ready to put me in my place.

  O: It’s what most men pay me for…Now next time, don’t be such a stranger.

  SAM: Gotcha. You’ll be hearing from me soon.

  “He’s baaaaack…” hissed Tori, doing a super-bad imitation of the Poltergeist girl.

  Damn! thought Nina. Why him? Why now?

  Because it was Wednesday, that was why. And like clockwork, there he was: Mr. Baxter, Tommaso’s most ardent pescatarian.

  And worst yet, Mr. Baxter was a very picky, very finicky pescatarian, who thought nothing of tossing about adjectives such as “smelly,” “rancid,” and (heaven forefend!) “farmed” when perusing whatever catch of the day was proffered to him.

  “I know your tricks,” he’d sniff at the “fish consultant” on duty. “You put out all the best fish in the morning, for all the Guatemalan cooks and the Brentwood trophy wives to fight over, and leave this—this bacteria-ridden dreck for the rest of us!”

  Usually such proclamations left the guy behind the counter in tears. After the store had run through three fish consultants, Nina had asked Tori if she could handle the matter.

  After that, whenever Mr. Baxter showed up, Nina was there to greet him, smiling beatifically like the badge-winning Girl Scout cookie seller she once was as she accompanied him to the fish counter. Once there, in minute detail she gave him a play-byplay on the fish she insisted she had personally seen being filleted, including its vitamin and mineral content. Then, after he’d made his selection (the halibut steak today), she even went so far as to suggest side dishes and ingenious recipes (in this case, pineapple and mango salsa, couscous, and a Waldorf salad).

  This was why he adored her.

  And Mr. Baxter didn’t adore just anyone.

  In fact, he despised most everyone.

  Which was why he just loved his job as a syndicated Hollywood gossip columnist more than anything: It allowed him to play favorites, and to punish those who thought that their secrets were none of his business.

  “Mr. Baxter” was, after all, Baxter Quinn.

  Right now, his absolute favorite subject was Katerina McPherson, but only because she’d recently gotten herself on the wrong side of his rival and archenemy, Serenity Lancaster, for dropping Baxter a few very juicy and totally exclusive tips.

  Well, that was just too bad.

  In fact, right now he was onto some truly choice Kat clues, about some new boy toy: an up-and-coming actor by the name of Nathan Somebody-or-Other. But because the dude was married, Baxter’s lead on the story would have to be delicate. As always, he’d give his readers just so much—

  —then yank it away from them.

  In other words, he would keep them wondering about who, what, where…and most definitely how many times.

  In this case, four. Thus far.

  Thank gawd for lovers in high places with Machiavellian agendas, right?

  Like the executive suite at ICA.

  Like Riley McNaught.

  Or, “Naughty,” as Baxter so fondly called him.

  And tonight he was having Riley over for dinner, to pump him for more on this Kat/Nathan—Nat?—thing. Surely with these recipes this sweet gal at Tommaso’s had suggested, Riley was just going to love the halibut…

  …among some of the other things Baxter had in store for him.

  And by that, Baxter wasn’t referring to the couscous.

  Nina was getting headaches every night.

  Well, every night that Nathan informed her he’d be coming home late from the set.

  Ironically, that was turning out to be almost every night since the film had gone into production. Almost two full weeks now, to be exact.

  It wasn’t as if she could afford these headaches, either. Nighttime was when O had to put on her game face—or, in this case, game voice. She had hoped to quit PSO’ing by now, since Nathan’s career was on the launch pad. And while he was due to get his very first check from Hugo’s production company any day now, he’d only get part of his movie fee up front. The rest wouldn’t come in until the movie was completed and released, so she had to keep them afloat, at least until then.

  Besides, a lot of expenses had to come out of that first check. Like Sam’s 10 percent, and the publicist’s retainer, too. And all the new things Nathan needed to look the part of an up-and-coming Hollywood star. Not to mention his union dues, now that he qualified for his SAG card.

  And they couldn’t get SAG insurance without a SAG card, which meant that she couldn’t quit Tommaso’s yet, either until they were sure that Jake’s asthma was covered.

  Which was why her head was throbbing now.

  Not that she could say that to Potty Mouth.

  Mrs. McGillicutty had begged her to take the call. “I have to warn you, hon, he’s a total asshole. Heck, he’s already run through half my girls. Most of them end up in tears within the first five minutes. But he only calls once in a blue moon. And since you say you need the money…”

  Nina braced herself, then murmured, “I do, so go ahead and put him through.”

  All Potty Mouth wanted from her was a few choice words: truly raw profanities, to be exact. He’d order her to start off with things that best described him; or, to be more specific, his penis (tube steak, lust muscle, skin flute, throbber, pork sword, sex pistol, blue-veined junket pumper, whatever). Then he demanded that she move on to more colorful names for her own intimate place of pleasure. (For the life of her, she could never comprehend why nicknames like kitty, coochie, hole, trim, beaver, snatch, and muff were considered mood elevators for women…although cake might work…)

  The last fifteen minutes of their tête-à-tête was a command performance in which she was instructed to describe what she just knew would happen should these two body parts ever meet. In her mind, it would be something similar to the Bobbitt incident of ’93. But for a buck a minute, she sucked it up and kept in character, cooing acts of disgrace and degradation in a stimulating stream of (un) consciousness until Potty Mouth finally wrangled his purple-headed trouser snake and grunted in satisfaction, “Fair enough. So, uh, what’s your name, anyway? For the next time I call?”

  She winced, wondering what she could say to avoid any more calls from him, then muttered, “What say you take a guess, big boy?”

  The jerk guffawed at that. “Hell yeah, I got one for you: How about Cunt?”

  “Yeah, that works,” she muttered. His lack of originality was priceless. “But how about some tit for tat? Can I call you Potty Mouth?”

  “Sure, if you want to show me your titties, you can call me anything you want—Aw, damn! My wife is calling, gotta go.” He slammed down the phone.

  So much for the magic.

  The conversation (if you could call it that) left her exhausted, angry, nauseous, and ready to call it quits for good.

  But she couldn’t.

  At least not until the last half of Nathan’s film fee was safely in the bank.

  Instead, she called Mrs. McGillicutty and told her never to put Potty Mouth through to her again.

  Then she cursed the fact that
the only aspirin in the house was Baby Tylenol.

  And that bottle’s contents had expired.

  It was sometime after four in the morning that Nathan stumbled back home. Relieved that Nina was fast asleep, he headed for the shower.

  Otherwise, Nina would know that he’d been making love.

  To Kat.

  He hadn’t planned on that happening…or, for that matter, having real feelings for the film star, either.

  In fact, he never assumed he’d feel that way about any woman for the rest of his life…other than Nina, of course.

  That was not to say that he hadn’t been with other women. Of course he had, but before Nina. And in the six years since then, he had sorely been tempted many times over. Heck, he was just like any other hot-blooded twenty-four-year-old American male, right?

  Besides that, he had the kind of bedroom eyes and bad-boy smile that drove women crazy. And if L.A. city proper was anything, it was 1,430 square miles of unadulterated temptation, the most tantalizing of which could be found on that infamous mile and a half strip of Sunset on any given night, when no less than a thousand (about a third of the population of Joyous, mind you!) stiletto-heeled, Miracle-Bra’d, O-ringed, and V-stringed babes traipsed saucily between the House of Blues, Skybar, the Viper Room, the Lounge at the Standard, the Comedy Club, Whisky A Go Go…and back again.

  Oh yeah, for sure, he’d been sorely tempted.

  And to his dismay, he had slipped up, too…once.

  With Helene, his scene partner from Euphegenia’s master acting class.

  Helene had come over one night to rehearse her scenes for the next day’s class. Nina was working the evening shift at Tommaso’s, and wasn’t due home until ten o’clock that night. After Jake had finally nodded off to sleep and they could then get serious about their scene study, Helene got very serious about something else altogether:

  How far she was willing to go beyond their usual innocent flirtations.