The apartment Cat had rented in L.A. was light and spacious, located in a high-rise building overlooking the city. Sparsely furnished, it was all she needed for a six-month stay in L.A. The moment she arrived she missed the New York loft she shared with Jump, and she especially missed all her stuff. She felt secure having her possessions around her - books, manuscripts, CDs, DVDs and favourite paintings she'd picked up at street markets. A bare apartment with nothing personal was not going to work for her.

She was putting on a brave face, although on the inside she was breaking up.

Life without Jump would be a challenge. He'd saved her from herself, got her off drugs and straightened her out. Since that time they'd done everything together, and now she was alone. There was no way she cared to drift back into her bad old ways simply because she was by herself. Going through her L.A. phone book she was dismayed to realize that most of her friends who resided in the City of Angels were pals from her drug days. Reconnecting with them could turn out to be fatal. Not that she was contemplating returning to her old ways: she was wise enough to realize that temptation was always dangerous.

Nobody to call. Nothing to do. Hire a freaking lawyer, that's what she should do.

She called the Zandack office and asked for Merrill. He was still in London.

Then she requested Jonas. He was in London with the boss. Naturally.

It was all too depressing, alone in L.A. with nothing to do and no one to call.

She sent out for pizza, switched on the small TV, and fell asleep watching a mindless reality show about ten pathetic women vying for the love of some stupid, preening jerk.

Getting dragged into the drama of Petra Flynn's upcoming divorce was inevitable.

Once Isabelle was on the case there was no stopping her. After befriending Serena, she went after Petra big-time. Now here they were - a cosy quartet. Soon Petra, Serena, Isabelle and Lola were taking every meal together, setting out on long hikes and monopolizing the jazzercize class.

Lola wasn't sure how it had happened, although she had to admit that she was enjoying herself. Since she'd become a star, girlfriends were a thing of the past. She was too busy, and the women she came in contact with lived in another reality. Now, here were these two famous women she could relate to. And they were fun to be around - even though Serena was moping about her lost lover, and Petra was livid about her abusive soon-to-be ex.

On their last night at the spa, after a couple of bottles of red wine - smuggled in by one of Petra's handlers - Lola finally let loose and revealed all. 'Guess what?' she announced. 'While I'm here, I had my lawyer tell my husband to get out.'

'Get out of what?' Isabelle asked, still an innocent in the ways of movie stars - even after three days of concentrated boot camp.

'You did?' Petra said, getting it immediately. She was an impossibly doll-like twenty-five year old, with amazing implants, scads of white-blonde curls and a pouty face. She ruled late-night TV with her sexy hit series where she played a female billionaire who fought crime - usually undercover in the skimpiest of outfits.

'Yup,' Lola said. 'Just like that. It was easy. My lawyer took care of it.'

'Who's your lawyer?' Serena enquired.

'Is he cute?' Petra asked. 'I only like dealing with cute lawyers since I seem to spend half my time with them.'

Lola would hardly describe Otto as cute, although his bald, polished head was quite intriguing.

'Take care of what? Isabelle asked, still not getting it.

'She's divorcing him, silly,' said Petra, pouring herself another glass of wine.

'Yes,' Serena said. 'And apparently she's doing it the easy way.'

'You're divorcing Matt?' Isabelle said, totally shocked. 'Why?

'It was inevitable,' Lola said. 'He's boring!' And then she dissolved into a fit of wine-induced'giggles.

'Boring's not good,' Serena said, wrinkling her cute girl-next-door freckled nose.

'Boring sucks!' Petra agreed, her huge implants almost bursting out of her skimpy white tank top. 'I can take anything but boring.'

'Richard wasn't boring.' Serena sighed, naming her English bad-boy lover who'd dumped her.

'Nor was Andy,' Petra said, naming her violent, soon-to-be ex, football-star husband.

'And neither was Tony,' Lola said, naming her cocaine-addicted ex-lover. 'So I've made a decision - I'm getting him back.'

'Lucia!' Isabelle exclaimed. 'Are you crazy?

'No, dear sis, I'm finally sane, and I want my Tony back.'

'Tony Alvarez is a hottie,' Serena remarked.

'Tony Alvarez? Petra said. 'The director guy?'

'That's him,' Lola said proudly.

'Baby, go for it!' Petra encouraged her. 'That man is gorgeous. Why'd you ever leave him?

'Don't you read the tabloids?' Isabelle snapped.

'Only about myself,' Petra retorted.

'Tony Alvarez is a drug addict,' Isabelle said flatly.

'Who isn't?' Petra responded. 'I can't get through the day without a couple of Vicodin and a shot of vodka.'

'God! Lucia!' Isabelle cried, rapidly sobering up. 'What will Mama say?'

'It's my deal,' Lola answered boldly, full of smooth red wine. 'Nobody's business but mine.'

'I bet Tony's a wild man in the sack,' Petra said, eyes gleaming.

'Richard was a wild man,' Serena said wistfully. 'I've never experienced anyone like him.'

'Big dick?' Petra asked matter-of-factly.

Serena blushed. 'I can't tell you that.'

'Why not, honey?' Petra said, admiring her gold fake nails. 'They talk about us.'

'He went back to his girlfriend in England,' Serena said miserably. 'I hate him!

He used me.'

'You can get him back if you really want him,' Lola offered. 'Men are easy.'

'For you,' Serena said.

'For any woman with half a brain and great boobs,' Petra said, fluffing out her white-blonde curls.

'I don't have great boobs,' Serena wailed.

'Then buy 'em,' Petra said. 'I did. And in case anyone's interested, my Andy is a solid eight and a half inches, and I'm walking away from that 'cause he's a no-good battering bastard, and I've had it.'

Both Lola and Serena applauded. Isabelle didn't. She was too shell-shocked by her sister's announcement and the direction this conversation was taking.

Isabelle considered herself a worldly woman, but discussing the size of a man's member was plain dirty. Although she couldn't help making a quick mental note to bring a ruler to bed. Armando would definitely be a winner!

Much to Shelby's surprise, Linc agreed to go into rehab. 'I don't need to,' he said resignedly, 'and the rags'll make a meal of it, but if that's what'll make you happy...'

Shelby was relieved. Since they got back to L.A. her cold and unforgiving attitude towards him had obviously had the required effect.

She called Brenda, who said, 'Yes, get him in there immediately.'

The next day she drove him to a discreet Malibu retreat where many of the big stars went when they needed help.

'You do know this is a big joke?' he said, as he got out of the car. 'I'm perfectly sober. Haven't had a drink in days. You know I don't need this.'

For a moment she weakened. He was right: no drinking had taken place since they'd arrived back from Europe. Unfortunately that didn't mean it was over.

Linc needed professional help.

Unbeknown to her, Linc had switched from booze to cocaine. He'd discovered that a quick snort got him through the day and was less detectable than a swig of Scotch. Shelby would never suspect drugs - she was too naive, which was one of the things he loved about her. Even though she was an actress, living and working in the thick of Hollywood, she'd managed to maintain her innocence when it came to the wilder things in life. The truth was he didn't want to lose her, and sometimes he knew he came perilously close. London had not been good. He'd blown a shitload of money at the casino, and later he'd ended up in some bimbo's apartment getting a mediocre blow-job.

Christ! Not smart. Thank God Shelby hadn't found out.

Upon entering the facility, a polite man at the front desk asked to go through his bag, then searched the clothes he had on.

Linc didn't care. It wasn't as if he was addicted or shit like that. Cocaine.

Booze. He could leave them both alone if he wanted to.

The problem was that he didn't want to.

Cat embarked on a major shopping spree - not for clothes: she was more interested in getting her apartment in shape. She took a trip to Melrose and discovered an interesting shop where she purchased several colourful rugs. Next she ordered two shabby-chic couches and an ornate Mexican mirror. Then she found a stately stone Buddha, and an old oil painting of jazz great Billie Holiday.

After that came the big splurge: she moved on to Robertson and purchased a highly expensive oversized bed, and tons of enormous, soft cushions. Then, finally, two flat-screen TVs, a DVD player, an Apple computer and an extremely extravagant Bose stereo system.

At last she felt at home. Now she could get back to work.

Chapter Seventeen.

Claudine Sanchez called a family conference. Lola was surprised it had taken so long since she'd been home from the spa for almost a week. She phoned Mama back, told her she was busy and couldn't make it.

'You will make it, Miss Movie Star,' Claudine retorted with gusto. 'And you will make it tonight.'

There was no arguing with Claudine Sanchez. Once her mind was set, everyone in the family had to jump - including Lola, although she still couldn't figure out why she had to comply. She was rich. She was famous. But the bottom Linc was that she was still Claudine's daughter.

On the business front things were good. She was pleased because Elliott had got Linc Blackwood to sign on for New York State of Mind. She'd already started costume fittings and getting her head in the right place. Every movie was different, and this one was bound to be more than interesting. It was pay-back time, and now she had the perfect opportunity.

Big Jay, her bodyguard driver, delivered her to her parents' house, where the entire family was gathered. Louis Sanchez, Isabelle, with a smug - I-had-to-tell-them look on her face, her other sister, Selma, and Louis Junior - like it was any of his business.

Lola marched into the living room. 'What? she demanded impatiently, throwing down her new Gucci bag. 'Why did I have to come here tonight? I'm about to start a movie. This is not good timing for me.'

'In this family,' Claudine said sternly, 'divorce is not good timing either.'

'What are you talking about?' she said irritably.

'I'm talking about the things your sister told me.'

'And what exactly did she tell you?' Lola said, shooting Isabelle a killer look.

Claudine gave a long-suffering sigh. 'It's no good trying to deny it, Lucia.

Isabelle says you're planning on divorcing Matt.'

'What if I am?' Lola said, exasperated. 'Is it anybody's business except mine?'

'I don't understand what's become of you,' Claudine said, shaking her head. 'I taught you to be good daughter. Now it seems that all this fame and stardom has gone to your head.'

'How's the house, Mama?' Lola said, standing her ground. 'Comfortable? Because all my fame and stardom is what bought it for you.'

'Don't sass me, girl,' Claudine said, her tone sharpening.

'I warned her not to marry Matt,' Louis said, joining in. 'The poor bastard's got no cojones. He's not a man. It was never a match.'

'Be quiet,' Claudine said, silencing her unfaithful husband with a steely glare.

'It's true, Mama,' Louis Junior said, slouching across the room.

'You stay out of this,' Lola snapped, turning on her brother. 'It's none of your business, do you get it?'

'No, I don't get anything,' Louis Junior whined. 'Mama and Papa get a house, my sisters get all kinda shit - an' I get nothin'.'

'What is it you expect from me?' Lola demanded.

'You're my sister,' he said sulkily. 'You should give me a job.'

'Why me? I'm not responsible for you. If you shifted your lazy ass you might manage to get a job on your own.'

'Who're you callin' lazy?' Louis Junior retaliated. 'If you-'

'Stop fighting,' Claudine ordered. 'Lucia - what do you have to say for yourself?'