Review
------
L.A. Today Unbearably susupenseful...Collins at her
racing best.
New York Post [A] sizzler....[An] expertly-crafted
page-turner....By the end of Thrill!, you'll be ready for two
things: a cold shower and the next Collins book.
Woman's Own [A] sexy new page-turner...fun, glamorous, and kinky.
Dayton News (OH) Rich and famous, sex and seduction...it's Jackie
all the way.
Publishers Weekly Dishy dirt abounds...spicy secrets surprise at
the end.
Read more ( javascript:void(0) )
About the Author
----------------
There have been many imitators, but only ever one
Jackie Collins.
The iconic British author has been called a “raunchy moralist” by
the director Louis Malle and “Hollywood’s own Marcel Proust” by
Vanity Fair.
With millions of her books sold in more than forty countries, and
with thirty-one New York Times bestsellers to her credit, she is
one of the world’s top-selling novelists.
From glamorous Beverly Hills bedrooms to Hollywood move studios;
from glittering rock concerts in London to the yachts of Russian
billionaires, Jackie Collins chronicled the scandalous lives of
the rich, famous, and infamous from the inside looking out.
“I write about real people in disguise,” she once said. “If
anything, my characters are toned down—the truth is much more
bizarre!”
Her first novel, The World is Full of Married Men, was published
in 1968 and established Collins as an author who dared to step
where no other female writers had gone before. She followed it
year after year with one successful title after another,
including Chances, the first installment of a sprawling nine-book
saga introducing the street-smart, sexy, and dynamic Lucky
Santangelo. The eighties saw Jackie hitting her stride with the
seminal blockbuster, Hollywood Wives, as well as Lucky, Hollywood
Husbands, and Rock Star. In recent years she kept fans
entertained with Poor Little Bitch Girl, The Power Trip, and her
final novel, The Santagelos, never wavering on her commitment to
take her readers on a “wild ride”!
Six of her novels have been adapted for film or TV and Universal
Pictures has recently optioned the Santangelo series with a view
to bringing Lucky to the big screen.
Jackie was awarded an OBE (Order of the British Empire) by the
Queen of England in 2013 for her services to literature and
charity. When accepting the honor she said to the Queen, “Not bad
for a school drop-out”—a revelation capturing her belief that
both passion and determination can lead to big dreams coming
true.
Jackie Collins lived in Beverly Hills where she had a front row
seat to the lives she so accurately captured in her compulsive
plotlines. She was a creative force, a trailblazer for women in
fiction and in her own words “A kick-ass writer!”
Read more ( javascript:void(0) )
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
--------------------------------------------------------
Chapter One
Lara Ivory stepped carefully toward the camera, managing to
appear cool and collected under the crushing weight of a heavy
crinolined gown, her slender waist cinched in to an impossible
seventeen inches, lush cleavage spilling forth above.
Lara's fellow actor in the , Harry Solitaire -- a young
Englishman with tousled hair and droopy bedroom eyes -- walked
beside her; delivering his lines with an enthusiasm that belied
the fact that this was their seventh take.
It was eighty-four degrees in the south of France garden setting,
and the entire crew stood silently on the sidelines, sweating, as
they waited impatiently for Richard Barry, the veteran director,
to call cut so they could break for lunch.
Lara Ivory was, at thirty-two, an incandescent beauty with
catlike green eyes, a small, straight nose, full, luscious lips,
cut glass cheeks and honey-blond hair -- right now curled to
within an inch of disaster. She had been a movie star at the top
of her profession for nine years, and miraculously the fame and
glory had never changed her. She was still as likeable and
sweetas the devastatingly pretty girl who'd arrived in Hollywood
at the age of twenty and been discovered by director Miles
Kieffer. She'd come in to audition for a minor role in his new
film. Miles took one look and decided she was theactress he had
to have to play the lead. Gorgeous and fresh, she'd portrayed a
naive hooker in a Pretty Woman-style movie -- beguiling everyone
fromthe critics to the public.
From that first film, Lara's star had risen fast. It only took
one specialmovie to grab the public's attention. The trick was
holding on to it.
Lara Ivory had managed it admirably.
At last, Richard Barry called out the words everyone was waiting
to hear. "Cut!Print it! That's the one." Lara sighed with .
Richard had been a successful director for nearly thirty years.
He was a tall, well-built man in his late fifties; he had even
features, a well-trimmed beard, longish brown hair; flecked with
gray at the temples, and crinkly blue eyes. He also had dry humor
and a sardonic smile. Women found him extremely attractive.
"Phew!" Lara repeated her sigh, her smooth cheeks flushed.
"Someone get me outof this dress!"
"I'll do it!" Harry Solitaire volunteered with a lascivious leer,
flirting as usual.
"That's okay," Lara retorted, smiling because she liked Harry --
and if he wasn't married he might have been a contender. She
considered married men strictly off limits and refused to break
her rule for anyone -- even though she hadn't had a date in six
months, ever since she'd broken up with Lee Randolph, a
first-assistant director, who, after a year of togetherness, had
been unable to take the pressure of being with so famous a woman.
The sad truth was that for a star such as Lara, no relationships
were easy. What man enjoyed being background material? Relegated
to second place? Attacked by crazed stalkers and fans? Referred
to as Mr. Ivory by waiters and limo drivers?
It took an exceptionally strong man to cope with that kind of
life -- a man like Richard Barry, who'd handled it admirably for
the four years he and Lara had been married.
She and Richard had been divorced three years, but they were now
good friends -- all three of them, including Richard's new wife,
Nikki, a costume designer he'd met while shooting a movie in
Chicago.
Nikki was dark-haired, feisty and extremely pretty in a
gaminelike way. She also knew how to bring out the best in
Richard. Early on in their relationship, she discovered that,
like most men, he was a lot of work. Before she entered his life,
he'd been a smoker; a philanderer and a heavy drinker; plus he
expected to get his own way at all times, and when he didn't, he
sulked. Nikki had taken stock of his strengths and weaknesses and
decided he was worth the effort. Somehow she'd calmed him down,
fulfilled all his needs, and now his biggest vice appeared to be
work. He was a bankable director; much in demand, whose movies
always made money -- and in Hollywood that's all that counts.
Lara considered Nikki her closest girlfriend. Right now they were
all enjoying working together on French Summer, a beautifully
scripted period film that Richard had been passionate about
making. The three of them were sharing a rented villa on the
six-week location. Lara hadn't wanted to intrude, but Nikki had
insisted, which secretly relieved Lara, because she sometimes
found it hard to cope with the loneliness of being by herself.
"That last take was magical," Richard said, coming to her side
and squeezing her hand. "Definitely worth waiting for."
Lara frowned; she was her own sternest critic. "Do you think so?"
she asked, worrying that she could have done better.
"Sweetheart," Richard assured her; anticipating her concerns
because he knew her so well. "Seventh take perfect. Nothing to
improve."
"You're just being kind," she said, her frown deepening.
"Not kind -- truthful," he replied sincerely.
Her disarmingly honest green eyes met his. "Really?" she asked.
Richard regarded his exquisite ex-wife and found himself
wondering if her painful insecurity had contributed to the demise
of their marriage.
Maybe. Although catching the makeup girl giving him head in his
trailer had been the final nail in the coffin of his infidelities
-- that was one he hadn't been able to talk himself out of.
For a year after their public and somewhat acrimonious divorce,
they hadn't spoken. Then Richard met Nikki, and she had insisted
in her usual no-nonsense way that it was crazy they couldn't all
be friends. As usual, she was right. The three of them had gotten
together for dinner and never regretted it.
Nikki strode over; looking to Lara enviably cool in baggy linen
pants and a yellow cotton shirt knotted under her s,
exposing her well-toned midriff. She was in her early thirties,
shorter than Lara, with a lithe, worked-out body, cropped dark
hair worn with long bangs, direct hazel eyes and an overly ripe
mouth. Nobody would guess that she had a fifteen-year-old
daughter.
Richard enjoyed the fact that Nikki was smart and sassy, and most
of all that she wasn't an actress. After losing Lara, he had
considered never getting involved with a woman again, because
there'd never be another woman who could live up to her. Nikki
and her fresh upbeat ways had changed his mind.
"Get me out of this dress!" Lara implored. "It's cutting me in
half. Worse torture than being married to Richard!"
"Nothing can be worse than that!" Nikki joked, rolling her
expressive eyes.
"Wasn't Lara great in that last take?" Richard interrupted,
putting an arm around his current wife, trailing his fingers up
and down her bare skin.
"He's just being kind," Lara said with one of her trademark deep
sighs.
"I know the feeling," Nikki responded crisply. "That's exactly
the sort of thing he says when he praises my cooking."
Lara widened her eyes. "Don't tell me you cook for him?" she
excled. "I never did."
Nikki pulled a face. "He forces me; you know how persuasive he
can be."
"Oh, yes," Lara agreed, as the two women laughed
conspiratorially.
Richard frowned, pretending to be annoyed. "It's really
irritating that you two are such good friends," he said. "I hate
it!" Truth was he loved having both women in his life.
"No you don't," Nikki retorted, looking at him with the kind of
expression a woman gets when she's totally sure of her man. "You
get off on it."
With an amused shake of his head, he walked away.
Nikki signaled one of her wardrobe assistants to follow them to
Lara's trailer. "For a grown man, Richard can be such a baby,"
she remarked.
"That's why our marriage didn't work," Lara said lightly. "Two
giant egos fighting for the best camera angle!"
"And one of them screwing around like Charlie Sheen on a bad
day."
"You've cured him of that."
"I hope so!" Nikki said forcefully. "The moment he points his
dick in another direction, I'm gone."
"You'd leave him?"
"Immediately," Nikki said without hesitation.
"I bet you would," Laura said, wishing she had the inner strength
her friend possessed.
"Hey, listen," Nikki said, wrinkling her freckled nose. "I'd
expect him to dump me if I screwed around, so why shouldn't the
same rule apply?"
Lara nodded. "You're absolutely right."
Why didn't I do it? she thought. Why didn't I tell him to take a
hike the first time l suspected he was being unfaithful?
Because you're a pushover.
No. I simply believe in second chances.
And third ones and fourth ones...Richard hadn't known when to
quit.
They'd met when he'd directed her in her third movie. Although by
that time she was a star; she was still impressed at meeting the
great Richard Barry -- a man with quite a reputation. He'd moved
in on her immediately. She was twenty-four and by Hollywood
standards a total innocent. He was forty-six and difficult. Their
wedding at her agent's house in Malibu made headline news, with
helicopters hovering overhead and paparazzi lurking in the trees.
It was a media circus, which pleased neither of them. The divorce
had been even worse.
"We're going to Tetou tonight," Nikki announced. "I hear the
bouillabaisse is to die for."
Lara shook her head. "I can't. l have lines to learn and to
get, otherwise I'll resemble an old hag in the morning."
Nikki raised a disbelieving eyebrow. The irritating thing was
that Lara acted as if she looked like any other mere mortal, even
though she was certainly the most beautiful woman Nikki had ever
seen. "You're coming," Nikki said determinedly. "I've already
checked -- you have a late call tomorrow. It's about time you
forgot about this damn movie and had some fun."
"Fun -- what's that?" Lara said innocently.
"Exactly how long is it since you've gotten laid?" Nikki asked,
cocking her head to one side.
"Too long," Lara muttered.
"It doesn't have to be a big deal, y'know," Nikki offered. "How
about a one-nighter? There's some hot-looking guys on the crew."
"Not my style," Lara said softly.
"You gotta have a man's mentality," Nikki said, with a knowing
wink. "Fuck and run. I used to -- before I married again."
Richard was Nikki's second husband. She'd wed her first --
Sheldon Weston -- when she was sixteen and he was thirty-eight.
"I was searching for a her figure," she often joked. "And I
got stuck with an uptight shrink." They had a fifteen-year-old
daughter, Summer, who lived in Chicago with her dad.
"You're different," Lara said. "You can do that and get away with
it. I can't. It has to be a committed relationship, or I'm not
interested.
"Whatever," Nikki replied vaguely, not understanding at all. "But
you're definitely coming tonight."
Copyright © 1998 by Chances, Inc.
Read more ( javascript:void(0) )