Impossibly Tongue-Tied (19 page)

When he got home, he called O.

The phone rang for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, she answered. Her voice, husky with sleep, lacked its usual playful cadence. Instead, it was sweet and tender when she said his name.

He was glad for this, because he was in no mood to play games. Instead, he ranted, mostly about all the things he should have said to Nina, right then and there, when he'd had the chance: about how he'd always loved her from the moment he first saw her, how deeply he felt her pain, and how he'd always be there to love and protect her.

By the time the sun came up, he had no more to say.

The fact that O said nothing at all during his long-winded soliloquy spoke volumes.
She's hurt that I'm in love with someone else
, he thought.

When she finally did speak, all she said was, “She's a very lucky girl…Good-bye, Sam.”

They both knew he'd never call back again.

KAT 'N' NAT: IT'S OFFICIAL!!!

For all of you with insatiable appetites for Kat-nip, feast on this juicy tidbit: Our fave buxom babe has done it again! Yep, it's official! She's snagged yet another up-and-coming Hollywood hunk. Whattaya think: Does Kat 'n' Nat' have a cute ring to it? Those in the know insist this is THE REAL THING—and he'd better be, coz Kat's Nat has dumped a missus and a mini-me in order to play with this naughty kitty!

Baxter Quinn's Hollywood Exxxposé, 3/10

Nathan, Katerina, Hugo, and Fiona attended the powwow Sam had in his office the next day, concerning damage control related to the breakup. Riley was also there, since he was needed to take notes that were supposed to keep the others on task, as opposed to on top of each other—which, by the way she pawed Nathan the whole time, was all Kat seemed to want to do.

“The most important thing we have to keep in mind is that
we must, at all costs, protect the images of both Katerina and Nathan,” Sam said sternly, “and the integrity of Hugo's movie as well. This can't—I repeat,
can't
—become a tabloid free-for-all. Are we all in agreement on that?”

No one said a word. Not because they agreed with him, but because they
didn't
.

Hugo kept his mouth shut because, in his mind, any publicity—good or bad—helped his picture. Besides, what did it matter if Nathan's marriage was becoming an early casualty of his own success? Hell, in this town, when a star was on an upward trajectory, it was bound to happen sooner or later anyway. The fact that it was occurring now, and with Kat, was great for everyone: him, Nathan, Kat…even the ever-insatiable public, which ate up Hollywood romances as if they were prime rib platters at Sizzler's.

As for Kat, public empathy for the two lovebirds assured her that Nathan was hers for keeps. He'd be too caught up in the media frenzy to contemplate any second thoughts about the divorce—which was why her game plan was to ramp up the controversy, and the sooner, the better…

As a publicist, Fiona agreed with Kat's logic: a very public liaison between the two stars could only increase their box office standing—and their future fees, which was why Fiona couldn't understand Sam's sudden empathy with the soon-to-be ex. And she knew Kat well enough to realize that the star would ignore Sam's directive, and order her to do the same—which meant that Fiona's ability to answer to two masters was going to be sorely tested that week…another reason, when all the brouhaha was over, to book that long-overdue getaway to the Bacara Resort's spa.

Riley readily anticipated all their various agendas, which complemented his own: to force-feed gossip on the lovebirds to both Baxter and Serenity. Doing so would only endear him to the columnists
and
Kat. At the same time, it would undermine Sam—particularly if Sam kept stepping on Kat's stiletto-encased toes, as he had a tendency to do lately.

Only Nathan, who had the most to lose both personally and professionally, shared Sam's opinion: “I don't want it said that I raked Nina over the coals.”

“My sentiments exactly,” said Sam, maybe a bit too quickly. Suddenly all eyes were on him. He put on his best poker face. “We wouldn't want Katerina coming off as a home-wrecker, now would we?”

“Home-wrecker?
Moi?
” Kat fairly spat at him. “Don't be ridiculous! The public knows what a darling I am. Besides, everyone craves a good love story, and that's the hook we have here. Right, lover?” Her long fingers closed tightly around Nathan's wrist, like a shackle.

But for once, Nathan didn't kowtow. Slowly, he disentangled his arm from her clench. “Kat, I said I'm leaving her, and I am. But that doesn't mean I want to see her crushed. And darling, neither should you.”

Sam couldn't help but smile.
Finally, he's found his balls!

From the uncomfortable coughs emitted from the others, that very thought had crossed their minds, too.

Kat zeroed in on Nathan, like a cat on a mouse. “Quit treating her as if she's your wife,” she hissed. “She's now the enemy, remember?”

“No, she's
not
our enemy. And, by the way, she
is
still my wife, until the divorce is worked out. So, if we truly want this
to
happen
”—she, like everyone else in the room, caught the emphasis there—“then we've got to make sure that she isn't hurt in the process.”

“With that in mind”—Sam jumped in—“we should show her as much goodwill as possible. Nina looks up to me, sort of like a big brother, since I helped launched Nathan's career. Nathan, if you don't mind, I'd like to assist her in finding suitable legal counsel. That way it doesn't come off as if she's been steamrolled in this whole event.”

“You'd do that, for me? For Nina? Sure, Sam, I think she'd appreciate that.” A kaleidoscope of emotions crossed Nathan's face as he thought about Sam's offer: relief, gratitude, regret…and, for just a nanosecond, suspicion. The one that won out was relief.

None of this was lost on Sam—or Riley, for that matter.

“That's a
great
idea!” Kat simpered. Like fans watching a tennis match, all heads bobbed her way, intrigued at this latest volley. “Sure, go ahead, Sam, play Mr. Nice Guy for what it's worth. That way, we'll know exactly what her moves will be, and we can counter them.”

Her smile sent chills down his spine.

“Oh, but one thing: Don't get her
too
good of a lawyer, okay? Because if she wins,
you lose
.”

 

Sam's first call was to Lavinia Hannigan, one of the town's premiere celebrity divorce attorneys, renowned for her barracuda tactics on behalf of her star-studded clientele.

“Why the wife? Why not Nathan and Kat?” Lavinia sniffed.

Jeez, another egomaniac. Okay, let's see if this will assuage the
pain
…“Hell, Lavinia, no one doubts that you're the best in the game. And that's all the more reason Nathan feels you should be representing his wife. He's one of those do-gooder types, and he never wants it to be said that he took advantage of her. Of course, Kat's totally upset about that. Says that you should be swinging for our team. But since you
are
the best game in town for these things, Nathan insists that the soon-to-be ex should get first shot at you. Hell, with all the negative press they've drummed up over this affair, a decent settlement should be a slam-dunk for you, right?”

Lavinia grunted, still not convinced. “So, who's going to represent Kat—I mean, Nathan?” she asked warily.

“Howard Cross.” He winced as he said the name. The dude was known to be a pig—albeit a pig who had a proven track record for securing the best divorce settlements for his clients—or better yet, ruining their ex's opportunities for one.

He also happened to be Lavinia's biggest courtroom nemesis.

“Humph! Well, now, isn't that just dandy. He gets to stand next to Kat when the cameras are rolling, while I huddle with the homely ex? I dunno, Sam. I've gotta think about that one. Besides, I don't think you'd be doing Mrs. Harte any favor having me on her team. I'm also representing Howard Cross's wife in her divorce proceedings against him. For that reason alone, he's sure to come out swinging. So, good luck in finding someone who won't get on his bad side—if there is such a person.” She hung up abruptly.

Sam sighed. If anyone could beat Howard, it was Lavinia. But he'd have to make it worth her while, sweeten the pot. No prob. He'd call one of his network buddies at CNN and see if he could land her a regular spot as a legal expert. Everyone
wanted to be a star. Okay, sure, if she'd consider taking Nina's case, he'd make her one, too.

 

“Face, it Bertrand, chartreuse just isn't your color. And frankly, for that matter, the thought of you stuffing that sausage of yours into a size 6 thong isn't doing it for me.”

O was cranky, and it showed. Usually her weekly conversations with Bertrand the Cross-dresser were hour-long gabfests in which he minutely described his latest purchases from Victoria's Secret and some of the raunchier exotic lingerie catalogs, while she oohed and ahhed jealously. Then O was expected to describe (also in minute detail) how she would bite these satin and lace trifles off his supposedly hot bod before voraciously devouring what was underneath. Tonight, however, she was in no mood for his little fantasy, which was why she gave him a brutally honest opinion on how that touchy shade of green would fare against his sallow complexion.

The four-minute silence at the other end of the line was proof positive, at least in her mind, that most people couldn't handle the truth.

“Well, little Miss Too-Cute-for-Words, if that's how you feel, then don't let me waste another minute of your precious time!” (
Click.
)

Ouch.

The next call she got was from Mrs. McGillicutty. “Hell's bells, O! Bertrand just asked for his money back! Is it that hard to tell the guy he looks sexy in a leather bustier and fishnets?” The dispatcher's Fiersteinesque croak made Nina wince. “You know, sweetie, I've already gotten several complaints about your attitude these last couple of days. You're blowing your
client retention rate to smithereens. What's happened to that sweet gal we all know and love?”

Nina gulped. She had no defense. “I'm sorry,” she murmured feebly.

“Yeah, well, so am I. But I'm still going to have to dock you my cut on his call. Sorry, kiddo.”

McGillicutty's reality check was the only reason she took one last call.

Just her luck:
Hugo
.

“Don't scold me, sweet thing, for staying away so long.” Of course, the truth was that he wanted to be scolded.

She sucked it up as best she could, under the circumstances. “Boohoo. I cried myself to sleep each night, just waiting by the phone in hopes that it was you.”

“Yeah, well, I know you better. Still, it's mighty sweet of you to say.” Obviously, her sarcasm went right over his head. “Seriously, I wish I could have called earlier, but I'm having a bitch of a time on this project of mine. I've got a diva witch prima donna and a scared shitless novice I have to coddle, and they're both driving me crazy.”

“Heck, how can
you
complain, with all the publicity you're getting? You know as well as I do that you're going to be laughing all the way to the bank with this one.”

“I'm not in it for the money. You know that.” He sighed heavily. “This is my art, and those two are quickly turning it into a piece of crap! They go at it at every break, like a couple of humping hyenas. How am I ever going to get this picture finished? They're killing me!”

“You're telling me,” she muttered. She wanted to scream at him, to tell him who she really was and what he and his damn
movie had done to her life so that he could put things in perspective; better yet, so he could feel sorry for her instead.

But she didn't.

Sorry?
Did she
really
want him to feel sorry for her? Hell no. She was doing a great job feeling sorry for
herself
.

And that was the problem. Now, at the worst time in her life, she needed to be the strongest she'd ever been…

And to keep her mouth shut about her own predicament. After all, whatever info he spilled on the diva witch prima donna and the scared shitless novice might come in handy, when the time was right.

So instead, she said all syrupy sweet. “Gee, Hugo, from what you're describing, you've got a porn set on your hands. Well, you know what they say: When life serves up lemons, maybe it's time to make lemonade…”

“Lemon—what?…
Huh
.” Her answer took him by surprise. “Jeez, that…that may not be such a bad idea…” With a few small changes in the script and some cinema verité sleight of hand, maybe, just
maybe
, he actually had some pretty tasty lemonade on his hands.

It would be a new kind of cinema: intelligent and erotic, all at once.

Cinephallia,
as it were.

The sex-starved film buffs who worshipped at his feet would just lap it up—no pun intended.

In fact, he'd coin the term—as if he'd thought it up right then and there, spur of the moment—in his upcoming interview with
Cineaste
. The reporter would
love
that.

“Look, gotta go. And, gee, O,
thanks
!” He hung up before she could answer him.

Crap, she thought. That was only, like, about a quarter of his usual call time!

Her candor was costing her too much money. Tomorrow she'd work on that.

 

An A-list actor's professional life was everything Nathan thought it would be, and more.

However, a superstar's personal life was a living hell, and that was certainly disappointing to discover.

Sure, he could very easily get used to the on-call limo and driver, the ever-underfoot personal assistant (make that plural in Kat's case, since Rain had two assistants of her own—essentially minimum wage fans with more time on their hands than brains in their heads—to whom to hand off the more mundane duties). And he had absolutely no problem with the team of pampering professionals (including a personal trainer, dietitian, stylist, hair designer, personal growth guru, and the lot) that seemed part and parcel with the life.

And certainly it was no stretch
at all
making himself right at home in Kat's palatial fourteen-million-dollar Bel-Air manse, what with its ten spacious bedroom suites, in-home gym, poolside cabana, twelve-seat home theater, and requisite downtown view, all on five lush security-patrolled acres, no less.

Still, what was missing, at least how Nathan saw it pertained to Kat, was the
means
to this rewarding end.