Hollywood Wives

Chapter One:\ Elaine Conti awoke in her luxurious bed in her luxurious Beverly Hillsmansion, pressed a button to open the electrically controlled drapes, and wasconfronted by the sight of a young man clad in a white T-shirt and dirty jeanspissing a perfect arc into her mosaic-tiled swimming pool.\ She struggled to situp, buzzing for Lina, her Mexican maid, and at the sametime flinging on a marahou-trimmed silk robe and pressing her feet into dustypink mules.\ The young man completed his task, zipped up his jeans, and strolled casuallyout of view.\ "Lina!" Elaine screamed. "Where are you?"\ The maid appeared, inscrutable, calm, oblivious to her mistress's screams.\ "There's an intruder out by the pool," Elaine snapped excitedly. "Get Miguel.Call the police. And make sure all the doors are locked."\ Unperturbed, Lina began to collect the debris of clutter frorn Elaine's bedsidetable. Dirty Kleenex, a half-finished glass of wine, a rifled box ofchocolates.\ "Lina!" Elaine yelled.\ "No get excited, senora," the maid said stoically. "No intruder. Just boyMiguel sent to do pool. Miguel sick. No come this week."\ Elaine flushed angrily. "Why the hell didn't you tell me before?" She flungherself into her bathroom, slamming the door so hard that a framed print sprangoff the wall and crashed to the floor, the glass shattering. Stupid maid.Dumb-ass woman. It was impossible to get good help anymore. They came. Theywent. They did not give a damn if you were raped and ravaged in your ownhome.\ And this would have to happen while Ross was away on location. Miguelwould never have dared to pretend to be sick if Ross was in town.\ Elaine flung off her robe, slipped out of her nightgown, and stepped under theinvigorating sharpness of an ice-cold shower. She gritted her teeth. Cold waterwas best for the skin, tightened everything up. And, God knew, even with thegym and the yoga and the modern-dance class it still all needed tightening.\ Not that she was fat. No way. Not a surplus ounce of flesh on her entire body.Pretty good for thirty-nine years of age.\ When I was thirteen I was the fattest girl in school. Etta the Elephant theycalled me. And I deserved the nickname. Only how could a kid of thirteen knowabout nutrition and diet and exercise and all that stuff? How could a kid ofthirteen help it when Grandma Steinberg stuffed her with cakes and latkes, loxand bagels, strudel and chicken dumplings?\ Elaine smiled grimly. Etta the Elephant, late of the Bronx, had shown them all.Etta the Elephant, former secretary in New York City, was now slim and svelte.She was called Elaine Conti, and lived in a six-bedroomed, seven-bathroomed,goddam Beverly Hills palace. On the flats, too. Not stuck up in the hills orall the way over in Brentwood. On the flats. Prime real estate.\ Etta the Elephant no longer had a sharp nose, mousy hair, gapped teeth,wire-rimmed glasses, and flat tits.\ Over the years she had changed. The nose was now retrousse, cute. A perfectBrooke Shields, in fact. The mousy hair was a rich brown, cut short and tippedwith golden streaks. Her skin was alabaster white and smooth, thanks to regularfacials. Her teeth were capped. White and even. A credit to Charlie'sAngels. The unbecoming glasses had long been replaced with soft bluecontact lenses, without them her eyes were slate-gray and she had to squint toread. Not that she did a lot of reading. Magazines, of course. Vogue,People, Us.\ She skimmed the trades, Variety and The Hollywood Reporter,concentrating on Army Archerd and Hank Grant. She devoured Women's WearDaily and Beverly Hills People, but was not really into what shetermed hard news. The day Ronald Reagan was elected President was the only dayshe gave a passing thought to politics. If Ronald Reagan could do it, how aboutRoss?\ The tits, while nowhere near the Raquel Welch class, were a perfect 36B, thanksto the ministrations of her first husband, Dr. John Saltwood. They stuckdefiantly forward; no pull of gravity would ever harm them. And if itdid, well, back to good old Johnny. She had found him in New York, wastinghimself doing plastic surgery for a city hospital. They met at a party and sherecognized a plain lonely man not unlike herself. They married a month later,and she had her nose and tits fixed within the year. Then she talked him intogoing to Beverly Hills and setting up in private practice.\ Three years later he was the tit man, and she had divorced him andbecome Mrs. Ross Conti. Funny how things worked out.\ Ross Conti. Husband. Movie star. First-class shit.\ And she should know. After all, they had been married ten long years and ithadn't all been easy and it wasn't getting any easier and she knew things aboutRoss Conti that would curl the toes of the little old ladies who still lovedhim because after all he was hitting fifty and his fans were not exactlyteenagers and as each year crept by it was getting more and more difficult and,God knew, financially things were not as good as they had been and each filmcould be his last and . . .\ "Senora." Lina hammered on the bathroom door. "The boy, he go now. He wantpay."\ Elaine stepped out of the shower. She was outraged. He wanted paying — for what? Pissing in her pool?\ She wrapped herself in a fluffy terry-cloth robe and opened the bathroom door."Tell him," she said grandly, "to piss off. "\ Lina stared blankly. "Twenny dollar, Meesus Conti. He do it again in threeday."\ Ross Conti swore silently to himself. Jesus H. Christ. What was happening tohim? He couldn't remember his frigging lines. Eight takes and still he wasscrewing up.\ "Just take it easy, Ross," said the director calmly, placing a condescendinghand on his shoulder.\ Some frigging director. Twenty-three if he's a day. Hair hanging downhis back like a witch at Halloween. Levi's so tight the outline of his schlongis like a frigging beacon.\ Ross shook the offending hand off. "T'm taking it easy. It's the crowd — theykeep distracting me.\ "Sure," soothed Chip, signaling to the first assistant. "Calm them down forchrissakes, they're background — not auditioning for Chorus Line."\ The first assistant nodded, then made an announcement through hisloudspeaker.\ "Ready to go again?" asked Chip. Ross nodded, The director tunned to asuntanned blonde. "Again, Sharon. Sorry, babe."\ Ross burned. Sorry, babe. What the little prick really means is sorry, babe,but we gotta humor this old fart because he used to be the biggest thing inHollywood.\ Sharon smiled. "Right on, Chip."\ Sure. Right on Chip. We'll humor the old schmuck. My mother used to lovehim. She saw all his movies. Creamed her panties every time.\ "Makeup," Ross demanded, then added, his voice heavy with sarcasm, "That's ifnobody minds."\ "Of course not. Anything you want."\ Yeah. Anything I want. Because this so-called hotshot needs Ross Conti inhis film. Ross Conti means plenty at the box office. Who would line up to seeSharon Richman? Who has even heard of her except a couple million televisionfreaks who tune in to see some schlock program about girl water-skiinstructors? Glossy crap. Sharon Richman — a hank of hair and a mouthful ofteeth. I wouldn't even screw her if she crawled to my trailer on her hands andknees and begged for it. Well, maybe if she begged.\ The makeup girl attended to his needs. Now, she was all right. Sheknew who the star was on this picture. Busily she fussed around him,blotting out the shine of sweat around his nose with an outsize powder puff,touching up his eyebrows with a small comb.\ He gave her a perfunctory pinch on the ass. She smiled appreciatively. Cometo my trailer later, baby, and I'll show you how to give a star head.\ "Right," said Chip the creep. "Are we ready, Ross?"\ We are ready, asshole. He nodded.\ "Okay. Let's go, then."\ The scene began all right. It was a simple bit of business which involved Rosssaying three lines to Sharon's six, then strolling nonchalantly out of shot.The trouble was Sharon. She stared blankly, making him blow his second lineevery time. Bitch. She's doing it purposely. Trying to make me lookbad.\ "Jesus H. Christ!" Chip finally exploded. "It's not the fucking soliloquy fromHamlet."\ Right. That's it. Talking to me like some nothing bit player. Rossturned and stalked from the location without a backward glance.\ Chip grimaced at Sharon. "That's what happens when you're dealing with notalent."\ "My mommy used to love him," she simpered.\ "Then your mommy is an even bigger moron than her daughter."\ She giggled. Chip's insults did not bother her. In bed she had him undercontrol, and that was where it really mattered.\ Elaine Conti drove her pale-blue Mercedes slowly down La Cienega Boulevard. Shedrove slowly so as not to spoil her nails, which she had just had done at asensational new nail clinic called the Nail Kiss of Life. Wonderful place, theyhad wrapped her broken thumbnail so well that even she couldn't tell.Elaine loved discovering new places; it gave her a tiny shot of power. Shepushed in a Streisand tape and wondered, as she bad wondered countless timesbefore, why dear Barbra had never had her nose fixed. In a town so dedicated tothe perfect face . . . and God knew she had the money. Still, it certainly hadnot harmed her career — nor her love life, for that matter.\ Elaine frowned and thought about her own love life. Ross hadn't ventured nearher in months. Bastard. Just because he didn't feel in the mood.\ Elaine had indulged in two affairs during the course of her marriage. Both ofthem unsatisfactory. She hated affairs, they were so time-consuming . The highsand the lows . The ups and the downs. Was it all worth it? She had decided no,but now she was beginning to wonder.\ The last one had laken place over two years ago. She blushed when she thoughtabout it. What absurd risks she had taken. And with a man who could do herabsolutely no good at all except fix her teeth, and they were already perfect.Milton Langley, her dentist — and probably everyone else's with money inBeverly Hills. How indiscreet of her to have picked him. But really he hadpicked her. He had sent his nurse scurrying off on an errand one day, climbedaboard the chair, and made fast and furious love to her. She remembered the daywell, because he had climaxed all over her new Sonia Rykiel skirt.\ Elaine giggled aloud at the thought, although she hadn't giggled at the time.Milton had poured mouthwash over the damaged garment, and, when his nursereturned, sent her over to Saks to purchase a replacement. After that they hadmet twice a week in some dreadful motel on Santa Monica for two hot months. Oneday Elaine had just decided not to go. End of that little episode.\ The other one wasn't even worth thinking about. An actor on one of Ross'sfilms. She had slept with him twice and regretted both times.\ Whenever she mentioned their lack of a sex life to Ross he flew into a rage."What the frig do you think I am? A machine? I'll get it up when I want to-notjust because you've read some crap sex magazine that says you should have tenorgasms a day."\ Ha! She was lucky if she got ten a year. If it hadn't been for her trustyvibrator she would have been climbing walls.\ Maybe his erection would return if the movie he was doing turned out to be ahit.\ Yes. That was what Ross needed — a massive shot of success would be good forboth of them. There was nothing like success for putting the hard-on back in aman's life.\ Carefully she made a left on Melrose. Lunch at Ma Maison was a must on Fridays.Anybody who was anybody and in town invariably showed up. Elaine had apermanent booking.\ Patrick Terrail, the owner of Ma Maison, greeted her at the entrance to thesmall outdoor restaurant. She accepted a kiss on each cheek and followed awaiter to her table, keeping an eagle eye out for anyone she shouldacknowledge.\ Maralee Gray, one of her closest friends, was already waiting. She nursed aspritzer and a sour expression. At thirty-seven Maralee maintained more than a shadow of her past prettiness. In her timeshe had been voted the most popular girl in high school and Miss Hot Rod1960. That was before she had met, married, and divorced Neil Gray, the filmdirector. Her father, now retired, owned Sanderson Studios. Money had neverbeen Maralee's problem. Only men.\ "Darling. I'm not late, am I?" Elaine asked anxiously, brushing cheeks with herfriend.\ "Not at all. I think I was early." They exchanged you-look-wonderfuls,admired each other's outfit, and cast their eyes around the restaurant.\ "And how's Ross making out on location?" Maralee asked, extracting a long blackcigarillo from a wafer-thin gold case.\ "You know Ross-he makes out wherever he is."\ They both laughed. Ross's reputation as a cocksman was an old Hollywoodjoke.\ "Actually he hates everything," she confided. "The script, the director, thecrew, the food, the climate — the whole bug-ridden setup, as he so charminglyputs it. But Maralee, believe me" — she leaned confidentially toward herfriend — "he's going to be dynamite in this movie. The old RossConti-full-force."\ "I can believe it;" Maralee murmured. "I've never counted him out, you knowthat."\ Elaine nodded. Maralee was a true friend, and there weren't many of themaround. In Hollywood you were only as hot as your last hit — and it had been along time between hits.\ "I'm going to have my eyes done," Maralee announced dramatically. "I'm onlytelling you, and you mustn't mention it to a soul."\ "As if I would!" Elaine replied, quite affronted. "Who's doing it?"\ "The Palm Springs connection. I'll spend a couple of weeks there — after all,I have the house. Then I'll come back and nobody will know the difference.They'll just think I was vacationing."\ "Wonderful idea," Elaine said. Was Maralee stupid or what? Nobody took avacation in Palm Springs, even if they did have a house there. They eitherweekended or retired. "When?" she asked, her eyes flicking restlessly round therestaurant.\ "As soon as possible. Next week if he can fit me in."\ They both stopped talking to observe the entrance of Sylvester Stallone. Elainethrew him a perfunctory wave, but he did not appear to notice her. "Probablyneeds glasses," she sniffed.\ "I met him at a party only last week."\ Maralee produced a small gold compact and inspected her face. "He won't last,"she remarked dismissively, removing a smudge of lipstick from her teeth. "Let'sface it, Clark Gable he's not."\ "Oh yeah, that's it... don't stop... don't ever stop. Oh yeah, yeah. . . just keep on going, sweetheart, keep right on going."\ Ross Conti listened to the words pouring from his mouth and wondered how manytimes he had uttered them before. Plenty. That was for sure.\ On her knees, Stella, the makeup girl, worked diligently on his weak erection.She sucked him as if he were a water pump. Her technique could do with someimprovement. But then, in his time, Ross had had some of the best littlecocksuckers in the business. Starlets, whose very livelihood depended on doinga good job. Hookers, who specialized. Bored Beverly Hills housewives who hadelevated cocksucking to an art.\ He felt his erection begin to deflate, and he dug his fingers hard into thegirl's scalp. She yelped with pain and stopped what she was doing.\ He wasn't sorry. Ouick as a flash he tucked himself out of sight and firmlyzipped up. "That was great!"\ She stared at him in amazement. "But you didn't come."\ He could hardly lie. "Sometimes it's better this way," he mumbled mysteriously,reaching for a bottle of tequila on the side table in his hotel room.\ "It is?" She continued to stare.\ "Sure. Keeps all the juices inside. Keeps me buzzing. That's the way I like itwhen I'm working." If she believed that she'd believe anything.\ "I think I know what you mean," she began enthusiastically. "Sort of like aboxer before a fight — mustn't release that precious energy. You've got tomake it work for you."\ "Right! You got it!" He smiled, took a slug of tequila from the bottle, andwished she would go.\ "Would you like me to... do anything?" she asked expectantly, hoping that hewould want her to undress and stay.\ "There's a million things I'd like you to do," he replied. "But the star hasgot to get some sleep. You understand, don't you?"\ "Of course, Mr. Con — Ross."\ He hadn't said she could call him by his first name. Mr. Conti would do nicely.Women. Give them nine inches and they frigging moved in. "Goodnight,Sheila."\ "It's Stella."\ "Right."\ She finally left, and he switched on the television in time for The TonightShow. He knew that he should call Elaine in L.A., but he couldn't bebothered. She would be furious when she heard he had blown his lines and walkedoff the set. Elaine thought he was on the way out. She was always nagging himabout keeping up with what the public wanted. He had done his last movieagainst her advice, and it bombed at the box office. God, that bad pissed himoff. A fine love story with a veteran director and a New York stage actress ashis leading lady. "Old-fashioned garbage," Elaine had announced baldly. "Sex,violence, and comedy, that's what sells tickets today. And you've got to get inon the act, Ross, before it's too late."\ She was right, of course. He did have to get in on the act, because be was nolonger Mr. Box Office, not even in the frigging top ten. He was on the slide,and in Hollywood they could smell it.\ Johnny Carson was talking to Angie Dickinson. She was flirting, crossing longlegs and looking seductive.\ Abruptly Ross picked up the phone. "Get me the bell captain," he snapped.\ Chip had come groveling to his trailer after his walkout. "Nothing we can'tsort out, Ross. If you want to quit today, we can schedule to reshoot the scenefirst thing in the morning."\ He bad agreed. At least they knew they were dealing with a star now, and notsome nothing has-been.\ "Yes, Mr. Conti. This is the bell captain. How may I help you?"\ Ross balanced the phone under his chin and reached for the tequila bottle. "Canyou be discreet?"\ "Of course, sir. It's my job."\ "I want a broad."\ "Certainly, Mr. Conti. Blonde? Brunette? Redhead?"\ "Multicolored for all I care. Just make sure she's got big tits-and I meanbig ones.\ "Yes sir!"\ "Oh, and you can charge her to my account. Mark it down as room service." Whyshould he pay? Let the film company pick up the tab. He replaced thereceiver and walked to the mirror. Fifty. Soon he would be fifty. And it hurt.Badly.\ Ross Conti had lived in Hollywood for thirty years. And for twentyfive of those years he had been a star. Arriving in town in 1953, he wassoon discovered hauling boxes in a food market on Sunset Boulevard by an agingagent's young wife. She was entranced by his blond good looks, and set aboutpersuading her husband to handle him. In the meantime she was handling himherself — twice a day — and loving every minute.\ Her husband discovered their affair on the day Universal decided to sign hisyoung client. In a fit of fury the old agent negotiated the worst deal hepossibly could, waited until it was signed, then dropped Ross, and badmouthedhim as an untalented stud all over town.\ Ross didn't care. He had grown up in the Bronx, spent three years kickingaround New York grabbing bit parts here and there, and a Hollywood contractseemed just peifect to him, whatever the terms.\ Women adored him. For two years he worked his way through the studio,eventually picking on the pretty mistress of a studio executive, who promptlysaw to it that Ross's contract was dropped.\ Two years, and all he had done was a few small parts in a series ofbeach-party movies. Then suddenly — no contract, no prospects, no money.\ One day, lounging around Schwab's drugstore on the Strip, he got talking toa girl named Sadie La Salle, a hardworking secretary with the most enormousknockers he had ever seen. She was not a pretty girl. Overweight, suspicions ofa mustache, short of leg. But oh those magnificent tits! He surprised himselfby asking her for a date. She accepted readily, and they went to the Aware Inn,ate health burgers, and talked about him. He loved every minute of it. How manygirls were prepared to discuss him and only him for five solid hours?\ Sadie was very smart, a quality Ross had not encountered in a woman before.She refused to go to bed with him on their first date, slapped his hands awaywhen he went after the magic tits, gave him sound advice about his career, andon their second date cooked him the best meal he had ever had.\ For six months they had a platonic relationship, seeing each other a coupleof times a week, speaking on the phone daily. Ross loved talking to her; shehad an answer for every problem. And oh boy, did he ever have problems! He toldher about the girls he was screwing, the trouble he was having finding work.Going on interview after interview and getting nowhere was depressing, not tomention terrible for his ego. Sadie was a wonderful listener, plus she cookedhim two great meals a week and did his washing.\ One night he had a narrow escape while visiting a nubile girlfriend. Herout-of-town husband returned home sooner than expected, and Ross was forced todrop out her bedroom window desperately clutching his pants. He decided to paySadie an unexpected visit and tell her the story. sure she would loveit.\ When he arrived at her small apartment on Olive Drive he was shocked todiscover her entertaining a man, the two of them sitting at her candlelitdining table finishing off a delicious-smelling pot roast. There was wine onthe table, and fresh-cut flowers . Sadie was wearing a low-cut dress and seemedflustered to see him.\ It had never occurred to him that she had boyfriends, and he wasunreasonably pissed off.\ "I want you to meet Bernard Leftcovitz," she said primly, eyeing hiscrumpled clothes and mussed hair with distaste.\ He flung himself familiarly into a chair and threw a silent nod in BernardLeftcovitz's direction. "Get me a drink, hon," he said to Sadie, reaching outto slap her on the ass. "Scotch, plenty of ice."\ She glared, but did as he asked. Then he outsat Mr. Leftcovitz, who finallyleft an hour later.\ "Thanks a lot!" she exploded, as soon as the door shut behind him .\ Ross grinned. "Wassamatter?"\ "You know what's the matter. Walking in here like you own the place,treating me like one of your . . . your . . . goddam . . .women!" She was spluttering with rage. "I hate you. I really hate you! Youthink you're such a big deal. Well, let me tell you —"\ He grubbed her fast. Moved in for the kill — for he knew that's what it wouldbe — a killer scene, all thighs and heat and those amazing mountainous breastsenveloping him.\ She pushed him away. "Ross —" she began to object.\ He wasn't about to listen to any reasons why they shouldn't. Sadie La Sallewas going to be his and screw the Bernard Leftcovitzes of this world.\ She was a virgin. Twenty-four years old. A resident of Hollywood and avirgin.\ Ross could not believe it. He was delighted. Ten years of making out and shewas his first.\ The next day he packed up his things and moved in with her. He was twomonths overdue with his rent anyway, and money was becoming a big problem.Sadie loved having him in her life. She said goodhye to Bernie without a secondthought and devoted all her time to Ross. "We have to find you an agent," shefretted, because she knew his failure to land a part in a movie was upsettinghim more than he cared to admit. Unfortunately all the agents he visited seemedto have got the message — Ross Conti equaled bad news.\ One day she mode a major decision. "I'll be your agent," she saidquite seriously.\ "You'll what?" he roared.\ "I'll be your agent. It's a good idea. You'll see."\ The next week she gave up her job, withdrew her savings, and soon found atiny room in a run-down building on Hollywood Boulevard. She stuck a notice onthe door — Sadie La Salle, Agent to the Stars. Then she had a phone installed,and was in business.\ Ross found the whole thing hysterically funny. What the hell did Sadie knowabout being an agent?\ What she didn't know she soon found out. For six years she had worked as asecretary in a large lawfirm which specialized in show-business work. She hadthe legalities down pat, and the rest wasn't difficult. She had a product. RossConti. And when the women of America got a good look at him they were going towant to buy.\ "I have a great idea," she told him one day, "and I don't want your opinion of it, because it'll work. I know it's going to work."\ As it happened he loved her idea, although it was a little crazy, and veryexpensive. She borrowed the money she needed from her former boss, an uptightjerk named Jeremy Mead who Ross suspected wanted to ball her. Then she had Rossphotographed by the Pacific Ocean wearing faded Levi's cutoffs and a smile. Andshe had the picture blown up and placed on as many billboards as she couldafford all across America, with just the words: "WHO IS ROSS CONTI?"\ It was magic time. Within weeks everyone was asking, "Who is RossConti?" Johnny Carson began making cracks on his show. Letters started toarrive by the sackload, addressed to Ross Conti, Hollywood (Sadie had prudentlyinformed the post office where to forward them). Ross was stopped in thestreet, mobbed by adoring women, recognized wherever he went. The whole thingtook off just as she had predicted it would.\ At the peak of it all Sadie flew with her now famous client to New York,where he had been invited to do a guest appearance on The Tonight Show.They were both ecstatic. New York gave Ross the feel of what it would belike to be a star. Sadie was thrilled that it was she who had done it forhim.\ He was marvelous on the show-funny, sexy, and magnetically attractive. Bythe time they got back to Hollywood the offers were piling up. Sadie siftedthrough them and finally negotiated an ace three-picture deal for him withParamount. He never looked back. Success as a movie star wasinstantaneous.\ Six months later he dumped her, signed with a big agency, and married WendyWarren, a rising young star with an impressive thirty-nine-inch bust. Theylived together in much-photographed luxury on top of Mulholland Drive, fiveminutes from MarIon Brando's retreat. Their marriage lasted only two years andwas childless. After that Ross became the Hollywood bachelor. Wildstories, wild pranks, wild parties. Everyone was delighted when in 1964 hemarried again, this time a Swedish starlet of seventeen with, of course,wonderful breasts. The marriage was stormy and only lasted six months. Shedivorced him, claiming mental cruelty and half his money. Ross shrugged thewhole thing off.\ At that time his star was at its peak. Every movie he appeared in was awinner. Until 1969, when he made two disastrous films in a row.\ A lot of people were not sorry to observe his fall from superstardom. SadieLa Salle, for one. After his defection from her loving care she had faded fromsight for a while, but then she had resurfaced and slowly but surely builtherself an empire.\ Ross met Elaine when he went for a consultation with her husband. Atthirty-nine he thought maybe he needed a little face work. He never got thesurgery, but he did get Elaine. She moved in on him without hesitation, and shewas exactly what he needed at that time in his life. He found her sympathetic,supportive, and an excellent listener. The tits were nothing to get excitedabout, but in bed she was accommodating and warm, and after the aggression ofthe usual Hollywood starlet he liked that. He decided marriage to Elaine wasjust what he needed. lt did not take a lot of persuasion for her to divorce herhusband. They married a week later in Mexico, and his career took a sharpupward swing. It stayed up for five years, then slowly, gradually, it began toslip. And so did their marriage.\ Forty-nine. Heading full-speed toward fifty. And he didn't look a day overforty-two. The blond boyish good looks had aged nicely, although he could dowithout the graying hair that had to be carefully dyed, and the deepindentations under his piercing blue eyes.\ Still, he was in terrific shape. The body was almost as good as new. He staredat his reflection, hardly hearing the discreet knock on the door.\ "Yes?" he called out, when the knock was repeated.\ "Room service," crooned a feminine voice.\ Room service was twenty-two and stacked. Ross made a mental note to tip thebell captain royally.\ Copyright © 1983 by Chances Inc.

\ From Barnes & NobleThe Barnes & Noble Review\ Jackie Collins turned Hollywood-style decadence into an art form with her bestselling novel Hollywood Wives. Now Collins offers a highly anticipated encore performance, treating readers to a whole new generation of Hollywood women -- women driven by fame, fortune, love, and lust in a culture that thrives on glitz, glamour, and greed. \ Singer and actress Lisse Roman seems to have it all -- beauty, brains, wealth, and success -- at least until her fourth marriage falls apart. Things get worse when Lisse’s 19-year-old daughter, Nicci -- about to marry a man she’s not sure she loves -- becomes the target of a ruthless kidnapper. Then there’s Taylor, a onetime actress who is married to Lawrence Singer, one of Hollywood’s most respected and influential producers. Yet despite being a power wife in Tinseltown, Taylor can’t get her own script produced. Nor can she seem to resist the charms of the young buck whose skills in the sack mirror his skills as a scriptwriter. Rounding out the players are a P.I. who has the hots for Lisse, twin brothers who are movie-producing geniuses and in competition for Nicci’s affections, and a host of ex-husbands, ex-lovers, and assorted sideline conspirators.\ Collins cheerfully explores the heights of success and the depths of depravity, ratcheting up the suspense with plenty of blind ambition, powermongering, scandalous sex, and scintillating schemes. Literary it’s not; but if you’re looking for a few hours of entertainment, this read is one heck of a lot of fun. (Beth Amos)\ \ \ \ \ \ Judy BassThe novel is crammed with beautiful people scheming to advance themselves. No detail of their designer clothes or Rolls- Royces has been omitted, but Miss Collins is at her raunchy best when describing the collisions between rivals at parties or in bedrooms. She also excels at pacing her narrative, which races forward, mirroring the frenetic lives chronicled here with wit. -- New York Times\ \ \ Gale ResearchAlthough many reviewers dismiss Collins's novels as tasteless and excessive, others, such as Leola Floren in the Detroit News, feel that the books do contain some valuable insights. Floren's review of Hollywood Wives states: "It would be easy to self-righteously label this book trashy and worthless--but it's not entirely either. Jackie Collins has a talent for titillation and a knack for wooing the most reluctant of readers into a plot that spends 15 percent of the time peeking at people in the sack and the other 85 percent daydreaming about it."\ \ \ \ \ Library JournalAlmost 20 years ago Collins wrote the best-selling Hollywood Wives, a racy look at Tinseltown's rich and famous that later became a miniseries starring Anthony Hopkins and Candice Bergen. Those wives, living in the shadows of their famous husbands, spent their days shopping on Rodeo Drive and lunching at the trendiest restaurants. While the new generation still indulges in the occasional shopping spree and lunch out, these wives now have careers of their own. Lissa Roman, an ber-famous, 40-year-old actress/singer, is getting ready to ditch her fourth cheating husband, while her 19-year-old daughter, Nicci, prepares for her upcoming wedding to a famous film producer. Lissa's best girlfriend, B-movie actress Taylor Singer, is married to Hollywood's top director but can't resist sleeping with a 22-year-old screenwriter. When Nicci is kidnapped and held for ransom, it's a good thing that Lissa is now sleeping with her bodyguard, a private detective and ex-cop. Narrator Michael Brandon offers a strong performance, trying to inject as much drama as possible into this typical Collins melodrama, but, unfortunately, he doesn't have much with which to work. Public libraries should purchase only to satisfy demand.-Beth Farrell, Portage Cty. Dist. Lib., OH Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information.\ \ \ \ \ Kirkus ReviewsThe usual mixed bag of vixens, sexy louts, and a hardworking star or two from Collins (Lethal Seduction), on familiar territory in la-la land once more. Lissa Roman, singer and movie actress, is still gorgeous at 40, but she has to work at it. Too bad her pesky offspring, Nicci, is now old enough to actually be engaged. What's next? Grandchildren? Perish the thought and get me my agent—who lands Lissa a fabulous gig opening a lavish new Las Vegas hotel. It's a welcome distraction from her restless fourth husband, Gregg, part-time philanderer and full-time bodybuilding egotist. He's so Hollywood—Lissa rues the day she married him. Well, perhaps her darling daughter will settle down with that hot young director, Evan Richter, and find happiness. Instead, Nicci finds she's wildly attracted to Evan's bad-boy twin, Brian. Will she stay faithful, or bed the naughty brother before her bachelorette party? And should she tell that weird guy in the stocking mask who just knocked on her door to go away? Decisions, decisions. Taylor Singer, a sometime actress married to a famous director who bores her in bed, has a few decisions of her own to make. Should she say yes to Montana, the bisexual woman director who wants her to play a leading role in a lesbian love story? Should she say no to Oliver Rock, the skanky but sexy young screenwriter who just sold his first opus for a million bucks? Getting back to the heroine: Lissa has the hots for Michael Scorsinni, the obligatory macho Italian cop and official Real Person in this hackneyed plot. Will he get the goods on cheating Gregg? And will Lissa let him out of bed long enough to save the life of her kidnapped daughter? Collinsresolves these and many other questions at breakneck pace, with her inimitable touch of crass evident throughout. Happiness awaits schlock connoisseurs and uncritical fans alike.\ \