'Fine. I was thinking we should try a few practice runs.'

'Very well. Schedule it. I'll be there.'

And even though she was filled with sadness, she managed to carry on.

Still in a drunken, stoned haze, Linc was having a fine time. Now that Shelby was no longer on his case, he could do whatever he wanted, which involved a lot of cocaine and plenty of heavy drinking. No more behaving like a man with no balls.

Over the weekend he called up a few buddies from his single days and hung out with them. It was just like old times. The poker game in his suite, several pretty girls hanging around, plenty of booze, plenty of food, plenty of anything he wanted.

Why had he thought marriage was so great? This was the life.

Monday morning he awoke with a massive hangover. Christ! The jackhammers were back, pounding his head to shit. Fuck! He had to get sober for work.

Where was Shelby when he needed her? He was still mad at her, but that didn't mean he couldn't miss her.

How come she hadn't walked off her movie for him? Bitch! She was probably screwing Pete, and that was why she'd run back to L.A. so swiftly.

He was determined that he was not going to be the one to give in. She would have to come begging for his forgiveness.

Knowing Shelby as well as he did, he was sure he'd hear from her soon.

'I hear you went to New York,' Nick said, blowing smoke rings into her face.

'Who told you that?' Cat asked, waving the smoke away.

'Word gets around,' he said, giving her a lazy stare. 'I might've gone with you if you'd asked.'

'Didn't need company, thank you,' she said curtly. 'Besides, I wouldn't dream of dragging you away from your overactive love-life.'

'Love-life?' he said, raising an eyebrow. 'Listen, I'm into casual fucking - anything wrong with that?'

'You're so crude.'

'What's crude about casual sex?' he said, genuinely perplexed. 'You should try it some time - you might even get into it.'

'Not with you I wouldn't,' she answered quickly.

'Why's that?' he asked, shooting her a quizzical look.

"Cause you're probably riddled with the clap or some other unspeakable disease.'

'Charming,' he said, the perennial cigarette dangling from his lips. 'Aren't you a lady?'

'Right back at you.'

Entertainment Tonight were visiting the set that afternoon with a full crew. The handsome and personable Mark Steines was conducting the interviews. Shelby had already done her turn, and now it was up to Nick. 'Watch your language in front of the cameras,' Cat warned him.

'Jeez!' he complained. 'You're nineteen, for fuck's sake. You sound like you're forty-three.'

'It would be nice if they could use your interview,' she retorted. 'If every other word is "fuck", it'll be a wrap.'

'No way. They'll bleep me out like they do on The Osbournes.'

'Excuse me, Cat,' Jonas said, appearing out of nowhere and shooting Nick an unfriendly look. 'When you've got a moment, Mr Zandack wants you to call him.'

Man! What was that about? Had Merrill found out about her trip to New York?

'I'll call him later.'

'He's still in New York and he's anxious.'

'Okay. Soon,' she said impatiently.

'What about you, Cat?' Mark Steines asked, strolling over. 'Can we get you in front of a camera?'

'I don't do interviews,' she said, grimacing. 'Besides, I'm too busy.'

'How about a few sound bites?'

'You know me,' she said awkwardly. 'I prefer the other side of the camera.'

'Sometimes we actually even interview directors,' Mark said, smiling.

'Especially beautiful ones.'

'I'll wait until the movie comes out. You don't mind, do you?'

'As long as ET gets first shot.'

'It's a promise.'

She stayed behind the TV camera, watching Nick as he sat for his interview. He had a peculiar charm that worked on both men and women, and he only said 'fuck'

three times.

She shook her head. Nick Logan was quite a character.

Hmm... character or not, she had no intention of getting to know him any better.

As she kept on reminding herself, Nick Logan was one vice she didn't need.

Chapter Thirty-Two.

A week later, when Selma still hadn't regained consciousness, Lola realized they were in deep trouble. She'd spent every day by her sister's bedside, holding Selma's hand and praying. Several years earlier, much to her family's dismay, she'd abandoned the Catholic Church. This had happened after her second abortion. Abortion and keeping the faith did not seem to go hand in hand.

Now she wondered if giving up her religion had created bad karma. Was Selma in a coma because of her? Suddenly she rediscovered her faith with a vengeance. If praying would help bring Selma back, she was there.

Mama and Isabelle had flown to New York together. The two of them were inconsolable. They kept up a vigil at Selma's bedside, pale and consumed with worry.

Lola was suffused with guilt. She knew they blamed her. And in turn, she blamed Tony. If he had not taken it upon himself to have Tyrell White beaten up, then Tyrell White's people would never have come back with guns. She was sure that was the way it had gone down. A vendetta. Two macho men with shit for brains.

It was an ongoing nightmare. Over the last few days she'd spent several long hours at the police station with her New York lawyer, being questioned about what had taken place.

'I didn't see anything,' she'd said.

'Did Mr Alvarez shoot back?'

'He doesn't have a gun.'

'His bodyguards were armed. They returned the fire, didn't they?'

'I know nothing about that,' she'd said.

Faye was in full I-told-you-so mode. The publicity was insane. Lola had never thought the day would come when she didn't want to be on the front pages. That day was definitely here.

Elliott Finerman had come through for her: he'd rearranged the schedule on New Tork State of Mind, allowing her a week off. The delay on the movie was costing a fortune, but Elliott didn't complain. She had not expected him to display so much compassion. It was quite touching.

Unfortunately a week wasn't enough. She needed to be with Selma until she regained consciousness. The doctors were not sure that would ever happen. Lola refused to believe their words of doom. She sent Jenny out to buy every book she could find on comas, while Isabelle combed the Internet for information. Between them they decided the doctors were wrong. Selma could wake up tomorrow or in two years. It might be a miracle, but miracles did happen.

The people at the hospital were extremely caring and considerate. They gave her a private room next to Selma's, where she sat every day with her mother and Isabelle. They didn't say much, although sometimes they hugged each other and wept - it relieved the tension.

She had not seen Tony. She did not want to see Tony. She blamed him for everything, although she could not summon up the strength to tell him.

When he called, she was curt. 'I can't see you,' she said. 'I have to stay at the hospital.'

'Can I do anything?' he asked. 'You have to eat. Come over to my hotel and we'll eat together.'

Was he insane? Did he actually think she would go to his hotel and have sex with him while her sister was lying in hospital? He could forget it.

In spite of his injury, Big Jay was back at work, his arm in a sling. 'It's nothing,' he said. 'If I could find the shooters, I'd crush 'em like little bugs.'

She'd never heard Big Jay be quite so eloquent. He stayed at the hospital with her, hiring extra guards to sit outside Selma's room.

The paparazzi were everywhere. This was a major story for them - a story that contained every element: a shooting; a hot romance; a gorgeous movie star; a famous druggie film director; a girl in a coma.

God, how Lola hated them!

Staying in New York was a hardship for both Claudine and Isabelle, and although Lola did not want Selma taken away from a place where she could be with her, she knew her family had to leave, while she had to get back to work.

With Elliott Finerman's help, she conferred with the administrators at the hospital about organizing an air ambulance to fly Selma to a facility in L.A.

Eventually arrangements were made, and her mother and Isabelle left with Selma.

Lola went to the airport to say goodbye. They were all hugging and crying. It was a sad scene. 'I'll be back as soon as I finish my movie,' she assured her mother.

'I know you understand why this is best,' Claudine said, her face sombre. 'Your papa is alone, Isabelle has her children to care for, and Selma's children need their family close.'

'Anything I can do, Mama, anything at all, you know I'll be there.'

'Yes, Lucia, we all know that,' Claudine said, hugging her youngest daughter.

'This is God's will,' she added quietly. 'You cannot blame yourself.'

'But, Mama-' Lola said, her face streaked with tears.

'No, Lucia,' Claudine said sternly. 'Guilt is not good. Go to church, talk to the priest, he will help you. You must recover your faith, my daughter. You will see - things will be good again. Selma is going to recover. We'll all pray for her. Your strength will come from prayer.'

When they left, Lola was devastated. She returned to her hotel feeling empty and alone. Her entire world of money and fame and stardom had been turned upside down. She would give it all up for Selma to recover.

Was she being punished? .

For what?

She wasn't sure of anything any more.

The weekly tabloids made the New York papers look tame. Truth and Fact hit the stands with a headline that screamed, 'LOLA CAUGHT WITH MARRIED CO-STAR!' And next to it there was the infamous photo of Lola and Linc kissing outside the restaurant.

Inside the magazine there was a huge double page spread of pictures. And another headline. '1S RECENTLY SEPARATED LOLA SANCHEZ FALLING FOR HER MARRIED CO-STAR, LINC BLACKWOOD? AND WHERE IS MRS BLACKWOOD, THE BEAUTIFUL SHELBY CHENEY?'.

There were numerous pictures accompanying the story. Shelby didn't want to read it, but people kept on coming up to her on the set with a copy, saying, 'I know you don't want to see this, but maybe you should.'

Why would they do that? Why couldn't they ignore it? Or throw the damn magazines in the trash?

She refused to read it, but seeing the photos and the headlines upset her anyway. She was sure the story would make its way into the English papers. Her parents would be mortified.

Since walking out on Linc in New York she had not heard from him. She was surprised and hurt. She'd expected him to be on the phone as soon as he sobered up, begging her forgiveness as usual.

Maybe this thing with Lola Sanchez was true. Maybe he was having an affair with the Latina sex bomb, and that was why he'd been so bitter about her and Pete, because he wanted to make her the guilty party so that he didn't have to face up to his own guilt.

She was horribly conflicted. Earlier in the week she'd attended the premiere of Rapture - once again it was a triumph. The audience actually stood and applauded. All the reviews were fantastic, except for a snide comment in the Wall Street Journal.

She was ecstatic about her career, and deeply depressed about her marriage.

What did she really want? A fabulously successful career or Linc?

It seemed like she had no choice: Linc was not giving up his drinking, therefore he was not part of her future.

She spent many long hours with her therapist, who seemed to think the split was inevitable. 'Linc is a very damaged man,' Brenda repeated over and over. 'He is filled with guilt and shame about what happened in his childhood. Drinking helps him to forget. He feels safer when he's drunk. Marriage is turning out to be too big a responsibility for him to handle.'

Pete was around the set a lot. He went out of his way not to approach her unless it was to talk about the upcoming stunt.

Sometimes she found herself watching him from afar. He wasn't Linc, but he was certainly a handsome man in a rugged, outdoorsy way. She remembered the time they were dating. He'd treated her like a queen. And yet... she'd left him for a movie star, a man with charisma to spare. A man who obviously preferred alcohol to her.