'No, Linc, I didn't,' she answered wearily. 'He told me he thought you were an underrated actor and I agreed with him.'

'Christ!' he muttered, heading for the mini-bar.

'The truth is you are underrated,' she said, following him. 'You should be doing different things.'

'I am,' he said, swigging from a bottle of Scotch, daring her with his eyes to stop him. 'I'm instructing my agent to accept Elliott Finerman's movie.'

'What movie is that?'

'I read the script on the plane. It's a romantic comedy with Lola Sanchez.'

'Lola Sanchez,' she exclaimed. 'Do you honestly think the two of you have chemistry? I mean, she takes over the screen, and the last thing you should do is play second fiddle.'

Immediately the words left her mouth she knew she'd made a mistake.

'You think I'd be second to Lola Sanchez, huh?' he said, glaring at her. 'How come you didn't put that in your fucking interview?'

'I'm sorry,' she said haltingly. 'I didn't mean-'

'I'll be in the gym,' he said, and stomped out of their suite.

Shelby realized that lately she couldn't say anything right. Linc's lacklustre reviews had set him off and the USA Today piece hadn't helped his black mood.

The interview wasn't that bad, but unfortunately it had given him something to vent his anger and frustration on.

Her immediate problem was that they were expected at her parents' for dinner that night, and how was she going to ask him not to drink? Whatever troubles they were experiencing, she did not want her parents to know.

Meanwhile, according to her agent, everyone was anxious to work with her. Word of her performance in Rapture had reached the States. The trades had given her glowing reviews, while Linc's were dismal. 'Your price is skyrocketing,' her agent told her over the phone. 'Word is that when the time comes you've got a good chance of being nominated. Congratulations, Shelby. You've done a great job.'

She was excited, yet she couldn't let Linc see it because she knew it would only upset him further.

What a dilemma! If only she could enjoy her amazing success and not have to worry about Linc all the time. Sometimes she felt as if she were treading on eggshells.

Later, when he returned from the gym, Linc flopped down on the bed and calmly announced that he wasn't going to her parents' for dinner.

'You can't do this to me,' she said, struggling to remain calm. 'They're expecting you. If you don't come with me it will look bad.'

'I'll give you a choice,' he said, activating the TV remote. 'You can go by yourself. Or if I come, I'm drinking, and I don't want you nagging me in front of them.'

Great, what kind of a choice was that?.

'Okay,' she said tightly. 'But you will behave, won't you?'

He threw her a filthy look. 'Y'know, Shelby, sometimes you talk to me like I'm a fucking kid, and I'm bored with it, okay? You've got a habit of boring the shit outta me.'

Obviously he'd had another drink or two at the bar.

She nodded miserably. Dealing with Linc was becoming more and more of an ordeal.

Cat managed to view several DVDs on her flight to Australia. She also had time to listen to some new CDs she'd picked up at the airport.

During the long flight she got talking to a friendly flight attendant who informed her she was the biggest Kris Phoenix fan in the world.

'I'll get you tickets,' Cat promised.

'Oh, my God! That would be incredible!'

'And a backstage pass,' Cat added. 'How about that?'

'Fantastic! And I'll give you a bag full of miniature bottles of booze.'

'Deal,' Cat said, grinning. 'I'm sure Jump won't object.' Although she had no doubt that there was no shortage of booze on the tour.

Not that Jump was a big drinker, he was into his weed and that was about it. In view of her insane drug past she was happy that he didn't indulge in anything else.

Jump had saved her from a total wild-child life, although if she hadn't been such a wild child, she would never have had the material to write her movie, so it had all worked out in the end.

A stern-faced Customs officer took one glance at her standing in line clad in her tightest frayed jeans, cropped top and studded earlobes, and decided she looked suspicious. He pulled her out of place and searched through her luggage piece by piece - checking everything.

Man, she was pissed! Now that she'd finally arrived in Australia, she couldn't wait to see Jump.

By the time she got out of Customs, hailed a cab and reached his hotel, it was past midnight. She marched up to the front desk, announced that she was Mrs Jagger and requested his room key.

The clerk gave it to her without any argument, which pissed her off, considering she could have been some crazed groupie trying to get to him. But at least she had access, and if he wasn't there she'd slide into bed and surprise him when he got back. It was no good looking around the city for him - he could be anywhere.

Riding up in the elevator her mind was racing. If he was in his room he wouldn't have the security chain on. Jump wasn't into security locks and things like that: his claim was that if somebody was out to get you they'd do it anyway, citing John Lennon as a prime example.

There was a do not disturb sign on the door of his room, which meant nothing because he always left it on. He had a phobia about maids and housekeepers coming in and rifling through his stuff.

She slipped the key into the lock. Ha! Just as she'd thought, no security chain in place.

His room looked like a bomb had hit it, clothes thrown all over the floor, half-empty beer bottles on every surface, lights blazing, TV blaring - another of his charming habits: he never slept without the TV at full blast.

All this and no Jump.

She was disappointed, yet at the same time kind of pleased. She had a mental vision of him opening the door, finding no TV making noise, no bright lights.

'What the bloody hell's goin' on?' he'd roar. 'The bloody maid's been in here.'

Then he'd discover her. Man, would he be shocked!

She grabbed a bottle of water from the mini-bar, drank it, then hurried into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

Soon they'd be enjoying a great reunion. It was certain to be an amazing night.

Chapter Fourteen.

Isabelle Sanchez was a Lola Sanchez wannabe. Older than her sister by five years, and thirty pounds heavier, with a mass of frizzed red hair, thick eyebrows and too much makeup, she still considered herself pretty hot stuff, even though she was married with two kids. 'I should've been the actress in the family,' she was fond of saying to whoever would listen. 'I would've kicked butt.'

Like I don't? Lola thought. Only she never said anything, because family was family and it was best to keep the peace.

Selma was her favourite sister, but Selma was busy with her job at the bank and couldn't get away, so Lola had had to settle for Isabelle, who couldn't wait to dump her two small boys at a cousin's and accompany her famous movie-star sister to a spa.

'We're gonna have ourselves a time!' Isabelle singsonged in the limo on their way to a luxury women-only spa in Palm Springs. 'Will we get to see any famous people?'

Lola shrugged. 'How would I know?'

'You could find out,' Isabelle insisted, wagging a finger in her sister's face.

'You're someone. They'll tell you.'

'No, they won't.'

'Yes, they will. You have to learn to work it, sis. You're supposed to be a star.'

Lola soon realized that she'd made a mistake. They'd only been in the car for ten minutes, and already Isabelle was driving her crazy. Plus her sister had doused herself with so much cheap perfume that Lola thought she was about to be asphyxiated.

'I love this!' Isabelle exclaimed, playing with the automatic tinted windows.

'Luxury living is so fine. I suppose you get to do it all the time.'

'Not all the time,' Lola replied, willing Isabelle to shut up.

'Yeah,' Isabelle continued, stroking the leather seats. 'An' I bet you get everything for free.'

'Sometimes.'

'Well,' Isabelle said knowingly, 'it's not as if you have to work for a living.

It's all handed to you on a silver plate.'

'Platter.'

'What?'

'Nothing.'

And so the journey progressed, with Isabelle in full nag about how tough it was raising two kids, holding down a job - which she was currently out of- and taking care of her husband, Armando, who was on sick leave from his job because of a minor injury to his foot.

'I'll tell you frankly,' Isabelle said, just before they pulled up at the spa.

'We're stone cold broke. We're gonna need help to get us outta trouble.'

Lola couldn't believe that they hadn't even arrived yet, and she was already getting hit up for money. The year before, she'd given her sister at least fifty thousand dollars because of an emergency with her house and delinquent car payments. Now she was after more.

It wasn't that Lola didn't have the money - she did. But she'd sooner give it as a gift than be asked. It galled her that they all expected something for nothing.

She'd left the house with Matt still firmly ensconced in front of the TV. He'd waved her off, completely unaware that he wouldn't be there when she returned.

Otto had promised to take care of things and he'd better deliver - otherwise she'd be looking for a new lawyer.

Tony had not returned her call. She wasn't worried. Tony wasn't going anywhere.

When she was ready, he'd be back in her arms exactly where he belonged. The sex was too hot for him to resist.

'More potatoes?' Martha Cheney asked her handsome son-in-law.

'No, thanks,' Linc said, shaking his head. 'But I gotta tell you, your cooking is delicious.'

Martha smiled modestly. She was fond of Linc, even though he was an American.

She and her husband had been quite disappointed when Shelby had first moved to America to pursue her career. They'd accepted it, because they knew that her acting was important to her, and she certainly had talent. But they still hadn't liked it. Then Shelby had met and married the very famous American movie star Linc Blackwood, and they knew they'd never get her back.

To Shelby's surprise, Linc seemed to be on his best behaviour. He'd had a sherry before they sat down for dinner, and during the course of the meal he'd only drunk one glass of wine. Maybe he wasn't going to embarrass her.

When her mother got up from the table to clear the dishes, Linc got up too, grabbing Martha around the waist. 'Martha, you're some wonderful woman,' he said enthusiastically. 'You and your daughter, you're both the greatest.'

'Why, thank you, Linc,' Martha said, flustered, as she attempted to escape from his powerful clutch.

'So,' Linc said, finally releasing her and turning to George, 'have you seen your little girl's new movie?'

'Not yet,' George said, lighting his pipe. 'However, I hear she gives an excellent performance.'

'Oh, yeah,' Linc said, shooting Shelby a spiteful look. 'She gives a performance all right. You're in for quite an eyeful.'

'Linc,' Shelby said sharply. She'd already warned him that she was not allowing her parents to see Rapture: it was not their kind of film. Besides, she refused to upset them, and viewing their daughter with her clothes off in an explicit sex scene would definitely upset them.

But Linc was set on making trouble and there was no stopping him now. 'You told them about your movie, sweetheart?' he asked, all loving and innocent.

Now it was her turn to shoot him a look. Sometimes he could be a mean sonofabitch. And this was obviously one of those times.

Cat slept fitfully, all the while waiting for Jump to return to his hotel room.

Finally she was awoken by a key in the door and a mumbled 'Fuck!' as he tripped over a shoe.

She held her breath. He'd say more than 'fuck' when he discovered her in his bed.

She could hear him fumbling for the switch, then suddenly the room was flooded with light.

'Surprise!' she exclaimed, sitting up in bed.

'Holy shit!' Jump yelled. 'Where the fuck did you come from?'