display at every goddamn supermarket counter in the country. So why now?
What did she want?
What did everyone want? Money. Now that he was a big star, they all wanted money, directly or indirectly. Every guy who tried to become his pal wanted him to read a script or endorse a product or put in a word with whoever for a part. It was the same thing with all the broads. Hollywoodwas a plastic place. Everyone was on the make. Everyone used whoever they could sink their claws into.
He was on the top of every A party list there was. Turned down invitations left and right, only picking those parties that Melody insisted he go to, to advance himself with the right people. Even he had to play the fucking game. He hated it. And everyone knew it.
But it was play or never work.
Every woman he screwed wanted a piece of the pie.
Now she wanted a piece too.
Well, fuck her.
Jack looked at his watch, a gold Rolex. Eight thousand dollars. He had always wanted a Rolex, during all those years when all the people who now begged him to attend their parties and read their scripts and consider their roles had looked down their phony noses at him and told him to go flush himself down the toilet. He had always wanted a black Ferrari. Now he had both. Now he could look down his nose at most—but not all—of those pricks.
What did she want?
Why had she wanted to see him?
And he still hadn’t forgiven Melody for her betrayal, not in his heart, and he didn’t think he ever could. He would never forget that day. Even now, for the thousandth time, it was like the rerun of a favorite movie, the images crystal-clear.
“Don’t hate me,” Melody said from the doorway, taut with apprehension.
“I would never hate you. What’s wrong?”
She took a deep, deep breath. “I’m only doing what I think is best,” she said, looking as if she were going to break into tears. “Because I love you,” she added.
Jack had a horrible feeling. “Mel,” he began.
Melody was looking at the door. “Janet, come in.”
Jack’s mother walked in.
Jack stared, frozen in absolute disbelief.
She looked almost exactly the same. Dyed blond hair that showed dark roots. His perfectly oval face. His green, long-lashed eyes—but on her, made up with tons of darkshadow and mascara. The same overripe figure, clad in tight jeans that showed good legs, no matter how old she was, and a tank top that bared almost everything. She had to be in her early fifties. Her figure didn’t show it. Only her face did, because of the garish makeup.
She smiled. “Hello, Jack.”
Jack looked at Melody, a murderous expression coming into his eyes. “How could you?”
Melody stepped back. “I just thought …”
“You didn’t think!” Jack yelled. He turned to Janet. “Get out! Get the fuck out of here—out of my life!”
“Jack, you can’t talk to me that way,” Janet snapped back.
“Get her out of here,” Jack rasped to Melody, balling his fists. His hands were shaking badly.
“I think you should talk to her,” Melody said.
“Don’t turn your back on your mother,” Janet said angrily.
“You’re not my mother! All you are is a no-good whore!”
Janet stepped forward and slapped him.
Jack stepped back, his hand on his face, his eyes wide with shock. “Get her out of here,” he said again. His heart was palpitating wildly. He felt as if he were having an attack.
Melody was completely shaken. “Maybe we’d better go,” she said to Janet.
“No,” Janet said, staring at Jack. “Not until he hears me out.”
“There’s nothing you can say that I’ll listen to,” Jack snarled.
She stepped close to him. “I have cancer, Jack. I’m dying.”
Jack’s expression didn’t change. “Bullshit,” he said.
“It’s true.” Her eyes pierced his.
“Do you think I care?”
“Jack!” Melody gasped.
“I thought I’d make peace between us,” Janet said.
Jack laughed harshly. “You thought wrong, lady! You’re going straight to
What did she want?
What did everyone want? Money. Now that he was a big star, they all wanted money, directly or indirectly. Every guy who tried to become his pal wanted him to read a script or endorse a product or put in a word with whoever for a part. It was the same thing with all the broads. Hollywoodwas a plastic place. Everyone was on the make. Everyone used whoever they could sink their claws into.
He was on the top of every A party list there was. Turned down invitations left and right, only picking those parties that Melody insisted he go to, to advance himself with the right people. Even he had to play the fucking game. He hated it. And everyone knew it.
But it was play or never work.
Every woman he screwed wanted a piece of the pie.
Now she wanted a piece too.
Well, fuck her.
Jack looked at his watch, a gold Rolex. Eight thousand dollars. He had always wanted a Rolex, during all those years when all the people who now begged him to attend their parties and read their scripts and consider their roles had looked down their phony noses at him and told him to go flush himself down the toilet. He had always wanted a black Ferrari. Now he had both. Now he could look down his nose at most—but not all—of those pricks.
What did she want?
Why had she wanted to see him?
And he still hadn’t forgiven Melody for her betrayal, not in his heart, and he didn’t think he ever could. He would never forget that day. Even now, for the thousandth time, it was like the rerun of a favorite movie, the images crystal-clear.
“Don’t hate me,” Melody said from the doorway, taut with apprehension.
“I would never hate you. What’s wrong?”
She took a deep, deep breath. “I’m only doing what I think is best,” she said, looking as if she were going to break into tears. “Because I love you,” she added.
Jack had a horrible feeling. “Mel,” he began.
Melody was looking at the door. “Janet, come in.”
Jack’s mother walked in.
Jack stared, frozen in absolute disbelief.
She looked almost exactly the same. Dyed blond hair that showed dark roots. His perfectly oval face. His green, long-lashed eyes—but on her, made up with tons of darkshadow and mascara. The same overripe figure, clad in tight jeans that showed good legs, no matter how old she was, and a tank top that bared almost everything. She had to be in her early fifties. Her figure didn’t show it. Only her face did, because of the garish makeup.
She smiled. “Hello, Jack.”
Jack looked at Melody, a murderous expression coming into his eyes. “How could you?”
Melody stepped back. “I just thought …”
“You didn’t think!” Jack yelled. He turned to Janet. “Get out! Get the fuck out of here—out of my life!”
“Jack, you can’t talk to me that way,” Janet snapped back.
“Get her out of here,” Jack rasped to Melody, balling his fists. His hands were shaking badly.
“I think you should talk to her,” Melody said.
“Don’t turn your back on your mother,” Janet said angrily.
“You’re not my mother! All you are is a no-good whore!”
Janet stepped forward and slapped him.
Jack stepped back, his hand on his face, his eyes wide with shock. “Get her out of here,” he said again. His heart was palpitating wildly. He felt as if he were having an attack.
Melody was completely shaken. “Maybe we’d better go,” she said to Janet.
“No,” Janet said, staring at Jack. “Not until he hears me out.”
“There’s nothing you can say that I’ll listen to,” Jack snarled.
She stepped close to him. “I have cancer, Jack. I’m dying.”
Jack’s expression didn’t change. “Bullshit,” he said.
“It’s true.” Her eyes pierced his.
“Do you think I care?”
“Jack!” Melody gasped.
“I thought I’d make peace between us,” Janet said.
Jack laughed harshly. “You thought wrong, lady! You’re going straight to
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