‘Do I pay you tens of thousands of dollars to misunderstand.?’ Kate felt her temper ignite and struggled to retain composure. Her guests were milling outside on the terrace, the hum of conversation drifting into the catering kitchen–it wouldn’t do to blow her load before the canapés had even been served.
Where the hell was her husband? Jimmy had been AWOL since she’d glimpsed him this morning, and even then they had barely uttered a hello.
He had better show up soon, she thought bitterly. Too many stories of Jimmy Hart’s exploits had been leaking in recent weeks. She knew he fucked around, she wasn’t an idiot, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t show the rest of the world a united front; a stable marriage that defied the Hollywood cliché. Didn’t he realise how crucial tonight was?
Kate laid down the tray of smoked salmon, closed her eyes and smoothed her Armani white linen trouser suit. She realised her fingers were trembling. Why could you never rely on anyone else to do a proper job?
‘Tina,’ she hissed, opening her eyes–she was much taller than the other woman and her height added to the general air of intimidation–’this is the last time I hire your company for one of my events. If you do not achieve perfection in every other aspect of this dinner party I will slam your business into the ground. Do you understand me?’
As Tina hurried to prepare the soba noodle starter, she pretended not to notice Kate pulling open a cupboard and grabbing her trusty Xanax. She popped a couple, swallowed them with water, poured herself a large glass of Sancerre and headed out to mingle with her guests.
The terrace looked magical, a Mediterranean-style space with overhead grape vines, sweet-smelling lemon trees and fairy-lights strung up against the purple sky like stars. Kate, all smiles, weaved between her guests, stopping occasionally to chat and enquire after somebody’s husband/children/latest movie with a practised, easy charm.
Yes, thought Kate, satisfied as she looked around at the assembled company sipping on Krug and enjoying her practically homemade (she had chosen it from the menu) green olive tapenade, my parties matter. I matter.
‘Darling, you look divine.’ A fashion editor wearing sharply tailored Valentino drifted over, air-kissing Kate on both cheeks. ‘You’ve had a peel, I can tell.’
When Kate raised a hand to her face in a moment of self-consciousness, the fashionista crowed, ‘Don’t be embarrassed!’ and inadvertently exposed a stain of red lipstick on one of her front teeth. She leaned in closer. ‘We do all we can, Kate.’
Kate made a polite noise about needing to check on the table and moved away. Secretly she was mortified that a woman in her fifties–however glamorous she might be–had lumped her in the same camp. Kate was forty-three. Forty-three! It was hardly old–didn’t everyone go on about it being the new twenty? Somebody ought to tell the casting agents she’d had look down their noses at her in recent weeks. Despite having a wealth of experience to her name, the work had steadily trickled off: as soon as they sniffed out the F word it was game over. Nobody wanted to see a sad pair of tits.
Avoiding the fashion editor’s eye, Kate spotted her ex-husband and gave him a polite wave. Cole Steel. Charming, handsome, dripping with success. It was a different story for men, wasn’t it? If anything, Cole had become more promotable with each year that passed. And of course it was acceptable for him to take a wife twenty years his junior, no one batted an eyelid at that–though she knew from experience that Lana Falcon wouldn’t be getting any. An Eskimo had warmer balls than Cole Steel. Seven years with him had almost broken her, but she had survived to tell the tale. Or not, as the case may be.
Kate approached them with her tight smile firmly in place. Hollywood’s number one A-list couple. A power set-up she had once been part of.
Cole was wearing sunglasses on his head, even though it was nine o’clock at night. She grudgingly admitted that Lana Falcon looked good in a dark green that set off her eyes to staggering effect.
Cole placed a palm on the small of his wife’s back in a show of solidarity. Kate recognised it as the show of possession it was.
‘Hello, Cole,’ said Kate coolly, leaning in to kiss him on both cheeks.
‘Good to see you, Kate.’ Then he asked, ‘How are the kids?’ Kate and Jimmy had two children aged three and five, though they were raised almost exclusively by their nanny.
Kate seemed surprised by the question. ‘Very well, thank you.’ She patted her hair. ‘And, Lana, my darling, don’t you look …’ The compliment caught. ‘Charming,’ she finished.
Lana smiled warmly. ‘I love this space,’ she said, looking around. ‘Did you design it yourself?’
What a sickly sweet bitch, thought Kate, hating how lovely the other woman looked. Just the sort of thing that got her bastard husband going.
‘As a matter of fact I did,’ said Kate. She’d picked out the colours, which was basically the same thing. ‘Please excuse me while I go and check on the food.’ Then she added in a quite hysterical way, ‘You know how these caterers can be!’
Turning back to the house, Kate quickly scanned the crowd for Jimmy. He was still nowhere to be seen.
Her husband might be a comedian but he wasn’t making a joke of her. If he was sticking it up some tart she didn’t know what she would do.
Jimmy Hart rolled the girl over on to her front and parted her legs.
‘Watch out, baby,’ he breathed, ‘Daddy’s coming to town.’
The girl, an aspiring actress-slash-model, gasped as his cock slid into her, driving back and forth. Fuck, this was a monster. She still couldn’t believe she’d got him into bed–and so easily, too! Jimmy Hart was a movie star, a comedy genius–just this afternoon she had served him coffee downtown and in minutes he had invited himself back to her apartment. They’d already been at it for hours and he showed no signs of letting up.
‘Fuck me, big boy!’ the girl moaned, throwing her head from side to side, raising her hips to allow him deeper access.
As Jimmy thrust on, his cock burning hot, he grabbed a handful of white-blonde hair. It was cropped short–he remembered how it had framed the girl’s face in the coffee shop, her eyes big and blue. ‘How old are you?’ he rasped now. ‘Tell me again how old you are!’
‘Eighteen.’ She eased off and turned round, wrapping her legs around his neck and guiding him back in. Actually she was twenty-one but she looked young, and she guessed it was what he wanted to hear. ‘Take me straight to heaven and back, baby.’
Jimmy resumed the task with renewed vigour, plunging into her, grabbing for her tits as he reached the summit. She wasn’t a virgin but he couldn’t afford to be picky–she had the face of an angel and skin like a peach: it was good enough for him.
He climaxed loudly and rolled off her.
‘That was amazing,’ the girl murmured, leaning over to run a pink tongue over his nipple. He was too thin and tall for her usual taste, but he was famous, so whatever.
Jimmy knew she hadn’t come and thought he should probably offer to go down on her, but time was running away. He caught sight of the alarm clock on the side table. Shit! He was late. Kate would be furious. She’d been going on about this goddamn soiree for weeks.
The thought of his wife had an instant effect and his hard-on shrank back like a frightened animal.
‘I’m taking a shower,’ he told the girl, knowing he wouldn’t see her again.
The girl pulled the crisp white sheet up to cover her breasts. ‘Hey, Jimmy?’ She opened her eyes wide as he hauled himself up and the scale of him came into full view. ‘Do you think I could be in one of your movies?’
As the guests took their seats for dinner, Lana searched the table for a friendly face. She