Infamous: Hollywood Husband, Contract Wife / Pure Princess, Bartered Bride

CHAPTER FIVE

ALEXANDRA’S FIRST thought on waking was that she needed to call Wolf immediately, before she lost her nerve.

“We need to talk,” she said crisply, her tone no-nonsense when he answered the phone. “You hired me to make things better, not worse, and it’s important we find a way to keep our public appearance positive.”

If she’d caught him off guard, he gave no indication. “I agree,” he said.

Alexandra couldn’t read his inflection. “I can’t help your image if we can’t even communicate,” she continued stiffly. “So I propose we work harder at creating clearer communication channels.”

“Communication channels, yes.”

She understood then that he was, without a doubt, mocking her. And Alexandra knew that she had a choice—she could call him on his attitude, thus detouring from the purpose of her call, or she could let his sarcasm slide. She chose to let his sarcasm slide. “Before we go out again,” she persisted, “and before we make another appearance, we need to choreograph the evening.”

Wolf cleared his throat. “Are we entering a dance competition, by chance?”

Alexandra chose to ignore this bit of sarcasm, too. “I need to know before we go places what you expect and how we’re both to behave. I can’t wing it anymore. I’m not an actress and I can’t improvise the way you can.”

There was silence on his end of the phone and the silence seemed to stretch endlessly.

Exasperated, she closed her eyes, counted to five. “Did you hear me?”

“What?” he asked innocently.

“This doesn’t have to be difficult,” she said through gritted teeth.

“You’re right.” And then his tone changed, his rough voice deepened. “So let me make this easier. We’ve a premiere Saturday afternoon. It’s a matinee since it’s a children’s film. I did the voice for one of the characters and I’ve promised to be there. You’ll attend and—” he broke off, hesitated as if searching for the right word “—pretend to enjoy me.”

Alexandra flushed hotly. “That’s not exactly the choreographed routine I was imagining. It sounds more like a set of military orders.”

“But at least you know my expectations.”

“And what about mine?” she flashed, furious that she was losing her temper yet again but unable to stop it. He had the most negative effect on her. From the beginning he’d annihilated her self-control.

“Well, you can expect to have your photograph taken, and expect to stand by my side and expect to be paid.” He paused. “Is there anything else?”

“No,” she choked out, hanging up.

The rest of the week passed too quickly for Alexandra’s taste, knowing that on Saturday she’d be with Wolf again, attending the premiere.

She’d only been seeing him a few days, but already she was exhausted, worn out trying to juggle work responsibilities during the day and appearances with him.

Fortunately she was looking forward to the film. Even though it was only a matinee for The Little Toy Solider, the newest Pixar animation, Alexandra was looking forward to seeing exactly what happened at premieres.

She’d read about them for years in People magazine, seen the photos of celebrities attending, and now she was finally going to one.

Even better, it was the premiere of an animated film—Alexandra’s secret favorite. Back before her brother Brock had been widowed, she used to go into Bozeman, Montana, with his late wife Amy and their kids to see all the Disney films. In her mind, Saturday afternoons were made for movies, and she was glad to be going, eager to see just what kind of cartoon toy soldier Wolf’d be.

A stylist arrived at Alexandra’s house early Saturday morning, bringing with her several wardrobe options. Jointly Alexandra and the stylist settled on the low-hipped sexy charcoal trousers cinched by a wide gray croc belt with an enormous round pewter studded buckle. On top she was wearing a burnout velvet tank in a color somewhere between lemon and mustard, topped by a fitted cropped coat of the same rich, saturated color.

She’d accessorized with sleek pewter heels and a chunky two-strand gray-and-white alabaster necklace. Her hair had been flatironed and it hung smooth and sleek past her shoulders. Makeup was even more subtle: pale foundation, lightly lined eyes in gray pencil, lots of mascara and a soft, neutral lip color called Naked for her mouth.

When Wolf arrived at one to pick her up, he was dressed casually elegant in jeans, a white dress shirt and a dark gray Armani jacket. He wasn’t behind the wheel today. Instead he had a driver and a limo, important for the red-carpet arrivals.

He was cool and distant during the ride, and Alexandra sat opposite him, savoring the last bit of privacy before they stepped onto the red carpet and into the flash of a hundred camera strobes.

“I almost forgot,” Wolf said, reaching into the limousine’s side console. He handed her a clear glass tube the size of a rolling pin filled with gold confetti and a single sheet of rolled parchment paper.

She tipped the cylinder to watch gold glitter emerge from the sheer strips of shimmering confetti. “Not another invitation.”

“With me, of all people.”

She gave him a dark look and tipped the cylinder yet again but at a shallower angle, fascinated by the glitter clinging to the insides of the tube. “So what’s this an invitation to?”

“It’s for Matt Silverman’s fiftieth birthday party.”

“Ah.” Matt Silverman was the most innovative director and producer in the business today, and everything he did—whether it was a futuristic sci-fi or a historical drama—became a blockbuster, guaranteed to garner a half dozen Academy Award nominations, including the coveted Best Picture. “When is it?”

“Thursday.” Wolf glanced out the window. Traffic was slow through the 405 and 10 intersection. “It’ll be a big party. Black-tie, live band, sit-down dinner in his Bel Air estate’s garden. Nearly everyone in the business will be there.” He leaned back against the seat, smiled crookedly if not a bit wearily. “But we’ve got to get through today’s premiere and parties first.”

She nodded, noticing the shadows under his eyes. “Do you ever get tired of the parties and events?”

The creases deepened at his eyes. His expression turned wry. “All the time.”

“But …?”

“Every movie needs publicity, and publicity requires me being out there, doing the interviews, the talk shows, the premieres, the award shows, the parties and fund-raisers.”

“And that doesn’t even include making the films or the weeks on location,” she added.

“You’re right, it doesn’t.”

She’d never really thought about the life of a star like Wolf, imagining that fame, fortune and success made life easier, but she wasn’t so sure anymore. “No wonder you’re not in love with your career.”

He shrugged. “It’s a job, and I understand it’s a job.”

“You don’t make it look like a job. You’re incredibly talented.”

His expression almost gentled. “You don’t have to make points with me, Alexandra. I know how you really feel.”

She waved her hand, batting away his comment. “If you made one less film a year, that would be less PR, fewer interviews and press junkets and parties, right?”

“One would hope.”

“So do that. Make one less film. Or two. Find a way to have more time for yourself. I’m sure there are things you’d like to do.”

The corner of his mouth lifted, but his dark eyes were deep, intense. “You’re sounding an awful lot like you want to save me. But, love, I can’t be saved.”

“Yes, you can.”

“This isn’t a challenge, Alexandra.”

She pressed her lips together, held tight to her opinion—and her temper—realizing now wasn’t the time to debate him.

Instead she changed topics. “So what would you do if you had more free time? Would you pick up a hobby? Want to travel? Are there places you’re anxious to go? What’s top of your to-do list.”

His eyes narrowed. “Ending world hunger.”

Alexandra did a double take. Was he serious? She couldn’t be sure, but he wasn’t smiling, wasn’t making light of his lofty ambition.

“Erasing Third World debt,” he continued.

She simply stared at him.

“Stopping the spread of AIDS in Africa.” His hard features softened, his expression turning rueful. “Sorry you asked?”

There was something in his face she’d never seen before, something behind the slightly bored, rather cynical mask he usually wore. Something fierce and raw and real. Real. For the first time she saw a man, not an actor or star.

Alexandra felt a tug inside her chest, a twinge of muscle that was almost pain. “No.”

And then whatever fierce, raw emotion—passion—she’d seen disappeared, replaced by that public mask he wore to keep the world at bay.

With mask firmly in place, Wolf turned, glanced out the window and spotted the crowds lining the sidewalks. “We’re here.”

The morning after the premiere, Wolf flew to New York for a Monday-morning appearance on Good Morning America to promote The Little Toy Soldier and then an afternoon taping for the David Letterman show at the Ed Sullivan Theater on Broadway between Fifty-third and Fifty-fourth Streets. If things went well, he hoped to have dinner with friends Tuesday and then return to Los Angeles Wednesday morning.

He’d said maybe they’d have dinner Wednesday night—he’d let her know once he was back in town.

It was odd with Wolf out of town. Alexandra went to work Monday morning thinking she’d feel liberated, but instead she felt rather lost.

Wolf had been taking up so much time—physically and mentally—she didn’t quite know what to do with herself now that he was gone for the next three days.

Alexandra tuned in to Good Morning America at the studio, caught the tail end of Wolf’s interview—he looked so amazing on TV, it wasn’t fair at all—and then turned the TV off once the interview ended to get back to work.

Tuesday she wondered if he’d call.

Wednesday she wondered if he’d caught his morning flight and was heading back to L.A.

Instead flowers arrived for her Wednesday noon, four dozen white roses with a stiff white embossed card that read, Have been held up in NY, will pick you up tomorrow for party. Apologies. Wolf

Alexandra hid the card before anyone else could see.

He wasn’t coming back until tomorrow, until just before the party. And she didn’t mind, not really, not until Kristie in the office casually dropped a newspaper on her desk, opened to the Entertainment section with the celebrity gossip column.

The VIP Room

Wolf Kerrick was seen having a cozy dinner Tuesday night with former flame, actress Joy Hughes, at Manhattan’s celebrity favorite, Nobu. Are Wolf and Joy back together again?

Alexandra read the gossip item over and over again until her eyes began to burn and a lump formed in her throat. She felt almost … betrayed. Which was stupid since she and Wolf weren’t a real couple, but still, they’d been spending so much time together lately that in some ways she did feel as if she was part of Wolf’s life. Felt almost like Wolf’s woman.

Quickly, before anyone could see, Alexandra wiped away tears, stood up, trashed the paper and went to make her third coffee run of the day.

Wolf picked her up in the limo fifteen minutes after the party officially started, but even then they were among the first arriving at Matt Silverman’s fabulous Bel Air estate.

Although it was a private party and media hadn’t been invited, dozens of photographers had still set up their cameras on tripods across the street from the Silverman mansion.

Walking through the gardens next to Wolf, Alexandra recognized nearly half the people there. And the other half were probably the really important people—the producers, directors, power agents like Benjamin Foster.

“Did you get my flowers?” Wolf asked as they stopped near the pool to take in the hundreds of floating water lilies illuminated by just as many floating candles.

Alexandra’s stomach immediately knotted. “I did.”

He turned his head, looked at her. “I’m sorry I was held up—”

“No apologies or explanations required.”

She was trying to be poised, but the tartness of her answer gave her pain away.

“You saw the photograph of Joy and me at Nobu,” Wolf said.

Had there been a photograph in another paper? Her heart felt strange. Tender. Almost fearful. “No. I just read a little blurb about your dinner in the local paper.”

He was still looking at her. “There’s nothing between us, Alexandra.”

She nearly hung her head and then thought better of it. She was wearing vintage Armani tonight, an exquisite ivory pleated gown that the stylist had brought over yesterday. With the gold-heeled sandals on her feet and the gold band wrapped around her arm she felt beautiful, like an Egyptian priestess or maybe a princess, and she didn’t want anything to ruin that.

“It’s none of my business,” she answered calmly.

“But it is, at least until our contract ends.”

She managed a droll smile. “You’re too good an actor.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we both know the truth. I’m not the kind of woman you usually date. I’m serious, industrious. I like the quiet evenings in and you—” she broke off and smiled brighter “—are the bad-boy playboy, notorious for all-night parties.”

He swore under his breath, a short, sharp, profane curse that caught her by surprise.

Alexandra blinked at him. “I’ve never heard you curse before.”

He took her chin in his hand, lifted it up. “I wish everything was as simple as you make it out to be. I’d love for life to be so black-and-white, but it’s not. And you, sweetheart, don’t know me.” His dark eyes burned into her, promising, punishing. “You know nothing about who I really am, and maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe it’s better to let you remain sweet, inexperienced, naive.”

Alexandra didn’t have time to answer or defend herself. People were heading their way, flocking toward Wolf as though he were a beacon of light.

Concealing her chaotic emotions, Alexandra quietly stood next to him. Wolf appeared to have many industry friends. He’d been a Hollywood force for nearly ten years, but it was only in the last two years, since winning the Oscar for Boys in Belfast, that he’d become viewed as a serious talent.

Waiters passed glasses of specialty cocktails on gilded wood trays—cocktails like pomegranate martinis and Lemon Drop shooters—and the crowd around Wolf grew louder and more jovial as the drinks were consumed.

Alexandra tried not to wiggle while she stood for the first hour at Wolf’s side, but it was difficult not to feel self-conscious given the amount of skin her cream Armani gown exposed.

Fortunately Wolf didn’t forget her. Several times in that long hour he broke off his conversation to introduce her, point someone out or try to explain a reference, making sure he included her as much as he could. He even once reached out and touched her upper arm as he talked to yet another woman who’d come to congratulate him on his exceptional performance in his last film.

Two more young women were approaching Wolf now, both stunning, one very fair with straight waist-length blond hair and a figure that looked as though she could model for Victoria’s Secret, and the other a sexy, sultry brunette that reminded Alexandra of Wolf’s former flame, Joy Hughes.

As it turned out, the blonde was a model for Victoria’s Secret and she introduced her friend, a former Miss Venezuela who’d come to Los Angeles to pursue an acting career.

Despite Alexandra’s presence, the women flirted outrageously with Wolf, touching him, laughing, leaning seductively toward him, showing cleavage Alexandra would never have. But once again Wolf put his hand on her arm, rubbed it as if to reassure her, and some of Alexandra’s tension eased. That was until Paige, the Victoria’s Secret model, tripped and sent her red pomegranate martini flying—all across Alexandra’s exquisite ivory Armani dress.

For a moment Alexandra just stood there, her bare shoulder wet and sticky, her breast and fitted bodice a splash of pale red, with little droplets of red staining the long straight skirt.

A seven-thousand-dollar vintage gown ruined.

She stared at Paige in shock, her gaze riveted to the model’s empty glass. Empty because the cocktail was now all over her gown.

For a moment she could think of absolutely nothing to say—at least nothing polite, because on the inside she was livid, fuming. How could a model that pranced down a runway in four-inch heels and enormous white angel wings trip over nothing? And not just spill her drink but dump the entire contents over Alexandra and only Alexandra?

“Are you okay?” Wolf asked, his arm encircling her, bringing her closer to his side.

“I’m fine,” she choked out. But she wasn’t fine. She was shaking, trembling in her heels. Her lovely dress was ruined and there would be no easy exit from the party, not with a stain like this.

Wolf flagged down a waiter and requested some soda water and a towel. “Soda water might help,” he said.

She nodded, forcing a tight smile. “I’m fine, it’s fine,” she repeated, but her voice had grown husky. It was humiliating being Wolf’s pretend girlfriend, humiliating playing a role and being ignored by everyone and pretending she didn’t notice their condescension when Wolf introduced her.

But she understood their snubs, understood why they didn’t care to meet her or remember her. Wolf had a reputation for dating and discarding young Hollywood starlets. And being young and reasonably pretty, people probably assumed that Alexandra—Wolf’s newest plaything—would soon be gone. These people weren’t going to try to impress someone or even be kind to someone who wasn’t important.

And she wasn’t important. Not to anyone here.

Shame filled her, shame at so many different levels. She shouldn’t have signed the contract. Shouldn’t have let her own ambition get before her morals. Shouldn’t have allowed herself to be used.

Just because she wasn’t an actress or a model or someone powerful in Hollywood didn’t mean she wasn’t valuable.

“I’m sorry.” She struggled to maintain her composure. “This is so embarrassing.”

“It’s not at all.” Wolf suddenly looked at Paige and Lulu and gave them such a dark, ferocious look that both women scuttled away. With Paige and Lulu gone, he drew her closer. “And you couldn’t embarrass me, so don’t say things like that.”

Blinking back tears, she glanced up, and the depth of his concern made her see yet again that he did wear a public mask, a coolly amused mask, as though he were always laughing at life. Laughing at himself. But she was just beginning to realize that underneath the mask he wasn’t laughing at all. “I should go before the entertainment reporters and photographers spot me looking like this.”

She took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders. “Now let me just slip out now so no one can get pictures of us together. You stay here and do what you have to do.”

“I’m not going to let you leave alone. If you want to go, we’ll go together.” Wolf reached inside his tuxedo for his mobile phone. “I’ll call for the car.”

She covered his hand with hers so he couldn’t make the call. “You have to stay. Aren’t you making one of the birthday toasts?”

He shrugged. “It’s more of a roast than a toast.”

“But still, you’re wanted here, needed here.”

He shook her hand off and punched in the number before putting the phone to his ear. “The speech is already typed up. I could have someone else do it.”

The waiter returned at that moment with a small bottle of soda water and two clean white kitchen towels. Wolf hung up, reached into his pocket for a twenty-dollar bill to tip the waiter.

“Thank you, Mr. Kerrick,” the waiter said, nodding appreciatively.

Alexandra took the soda water and towels from the waiter. “All right. I’ll make you a deal. You stay here, and I’ll go find a bathroom and see what I can do to salvage this dress. Okay?”

“Okay.”

She nodded and forced a light note into her voice. “I’ll be back soon.”

Alexandra was heading to the house to look for a bathroom when she crossed paths with Jason Kirkpatrick, a young director she’d met earlier in the year when he’d dropped by Paradise Pictures to discuss directing a film for the studio. In the end, he wasn’t hired, but Alexandra had enjoyed her brief conversation with him that morning and she smiled in recognition as he flagged her down.

“Alex! It’s Alex, isn’t it?” he said, hailing her.