Hollywood Wives - the New Generation Read Free

Marc Anthony. She was very into
soul and Latin sounds and was currently planning her own CD which would
incorporate plenty of both. She was also working on a book, sitting
with a ghost writer whenever she had the time to produce a glossy
coffee-table book to be titled
A Week in the Life of Lissa
. .
.
    Like Madonna and Cher, she was known by one name.
    Apart from the CD and the book, there was also a movie she might do,
a remake of
Gentlemen Prefer Blondes
. Nothing signed yet, she
was waiting for the right script. And in her immediate future was a one
night stand in Vegas at the opening of an incredibly lavish new hotel,
the Desert Millennium Princess, which would pay her three million
dollars for the pleasure of her company for one night only. Quite an
achievement. And then there was her daughter's upcoming wedding, which
Nicci had assured her she could deal with herself.
    So Lissa was extremely busy, but not too busy to contemplate her
fourth divorce. Currently she was married to Gregg Lynch, a
ten-years-younger-than-her singer-songwriter. And thank God her lawyer
had insisted that he sign an ironclad prenuptial agreement, because
lately she'd begun to suspect that Gregg was composing his love songs
elsewhere. And not only that, but over the last six months he'd started
showering her with mental abuse.
    His constant nagging about things she supposedly did wrong were
beginning to get her down. There were times he would pick on the
smallest detail and yell at her endlessly. Other times he would berate
her for not recording
his
songs, accusing her manager and
agent of forming a vendetta against him. He'd tried to persuade her to
fire them both. 'Can't you see that they're stealing from you,' he'd
yell, 'and you're too dumb and stupid to notice?'
    He distrusted her business manager. Loathed her lawyer. Hated her
yoga teacher. Criticized her friends. In fact, anyone who worked for
her was on his shit list.
    She ignored his insults, because she knew that deep down he didn't
mean it. And whenever he indulged in one of his temper tantrums, he
always apologized later. She also understood
why
he was so
super-critical. He was furious that he'd never made it, and because of
that he was forced to take his frustration and anger out on
someone
,
and since she was the closest person to him, that someone was her.
    The big problem was that she was never quite sure who she was going
to wake up next to - the good or the bad Gregg. Unfortunately they now
seemed to exist side by side.
    She couldn't stand him when he was in one of his bad moods. Loved
him when he was mellow and caring and supportive - qualities that were
fast vanishing.
    Lissa was prepared to put up with a lot - she knew from past
experience that there was no such animal as the perfect man - but the
one thing she refused to stand for was infidelity. The moment she
suspected that might be happening, it was time to move on. No Hillary
Clinton was she, and lately she'd been recognizing the signs only too
well. All-night meetings, a renewed interest in his personal
appearance, taking one shower a day too many, and developing a paranoid
attachment to his cellphone.
    As soon as Gregg started exhibiting the symptoms, she'd called the
Robbins-Scorsinni Private Investigation Agency and requested
forty-eight-hour surveillance. She'd used the agency on other occasions
and they'd never failed her.
    It was so depressing that it had to come to this again. Why was it
that she had yet to marry a man who could keep it in his pants?
    Nelly Furtado crooned over the sound system. Lissa licked her
already glossy lips while Fabio fussed with her hair.
    'Will we be finished soon?' she asked Max, her publicist, who was
hovering on the sidelines with a group of people from the magazine.
    'Any time you want,' Max said, a short, cigar-smoking man who wore
flamboyant suits, and had a different bow-tie for every day of the
month.
    'One more roll,' the photographer begged. He was young, in awe, and
excellent