Hollywood Husbands Read Free Page A

years) which enabled him to grin from here to eternity without any trouble at all. ‘What are y’all eating?’
    ‘Eggs,’ replied Jack, stating the obvious.
    ‘Looks like a couple of fried tits to me,’ laughed Mannon.
    ‘Everything looks like tits to you,’ Jack replied. ‘You should see a shrink, you’ve got big problems.’
    Mannon roared. ‘The only big problem I’ve got is my dick. You should have such problems.’ He signalled to the waiter and proceeded to order an enormous breakfast.
    Jack stared at Mannon and Howard. Sometimes he wondered why the three of them remained friends. They were all so different now. And yet, whenever he got to thinking about it, he knew why. The truth was that they were brothers under the skin, sharing their pasts. They had made it to the top together, and nobody could split them up – although many a wife and girlfriend had tried.
    Howard had gone through three wives, and was currently on his fourth, the curvaceous Poppy. He had children everywhere. Mannon was still carrying a torch for his first wife, Whitney, and the new one, Melanie-Shanna, had not yet killed the flame. Jack had Clarissa, although deep down he knew she wasn’t the right woman for him – a knowledge he refused to admit.
    ‘I’ve got a great idea,’ Mannon said suddenly. ‘Why don’t we fly down to Vegas next month? Just the three of us. We never get to see each other anymore. We could play the tables, raise hell, cause some trouble, just like old times. Whaddya say?’
    ‘Without the wives?’ Howard asked hopefully.
    ‘You bet your cojones without the wives,’ Mannon said quickly. ‘We’ll drop ’em off at Neiman’s – they’ll never even notice we’re gone.’
    Mugging excitedly, Howard said, ‘I like the idea,’ forgetting that Poppy would singe his balls if he tried to go away without her. This one was a clinger, as opposed to the other three before her, who were strictly takers.
    ‘How about it, Jack?’ Mannon looked at his friend expectantly.
    Jack had promised Clarissa a week in New York. Long walks through the Village. Off-Broadway theatre. Never-ending dinners with her strange, broke friends. Guess who would pick up the bill?
    He hated walking, only liked movies, and her so-called friends were a pain in the ass.
    ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Set it up. Work permitting, you can definitely include me in.’

Chapter Two
    Jade Johnson was totally addicted to Bruce Springsteen. She had no desire to meet him, just lust from afar like a mildly randy fourteen-year-old. She put Born in the U.S.A. on her stereo and danced around her new apartment.
    Jade Johnson was twenty-nine years old. She had shoulder-length shaggy copper hair, gold-flecked widely spaced brown eyes, a full and luscious mouth, and a strong square jaw which saved her from being merely beautiful, and made her face challenging and alert.
    She was five feet ten inches tall, one hundred and thirty pounds, with very long legs, a lithe, supple body, broad shoulders, and an incredible swan-like neck.
    Apart from being kind-hearted and a good friend when the need arose, she had an acerbic wit and a wild sense of humour. She was also smart, independent, and one of the highest-paid photographic and commercial models in the world.
    The doorbell rang and she rushed to answer it, clad in blue jeans and an oversized sweatshirt.
    It was the foreman of the delivery crew who had just stacked fifteen large packing cases in her hallway. ‘That’s it, lady,’ he said, handing her a slip to sign. ‘All present an’ correct. I hope you’re satisfied.’
    Signing, she slipped him a fifty-dollar bill. ‘Buy a beer for you and the guys.’
    Pocketing the money appreciatively, the man thought about what a knockout broad this one was. Not only good-looking in her skin-tight jeans and sweatshirt, but generous too.
    ‘Thanks,’ he said, and added with a smirk, ‘that commercial you got runnin’ on TV sure is blistering!’
    She grinned,