The Cottage Page 7

  After he'd unpacked, he took a walk around the grounds. They were beautifully tended. He went out and bought groceries, and fixed himself lunch, and afterwards he went to lie beside the pool, to soak up some sun. He was in great spirits that afternoon when he called the children. It was the end of the day for them, on a snowy Saturday in New York. And both kids sounded bored. They were tired of being shut in. Jessica was going out with friends that night, but Jason said he had nothing to do. He missed his dad, and his house, and his friends, and his school. There was apparently nothing he liked about New York.

  “Hang in, sport, I'm coming to see you in two weeks. We'll find something to do. Have you played any soccer this week?” Mark chatted with him, and Jason continued to complain.

  “We can never play because of the snow.” Jason hated New York. He was a California kid, and had lived there since he was three. He didn't even remember living in New York before. All he wanted to do was go back to California, which still felt like home to him.

  They talked for a while longer, and then Mark finally got off. He checked out where things were in the kitchen, and put a video on that night, and he was amused to see that Cooper Winslow had a walk-on part in it. He was certainly a good-looking man, and Mark wondered when and if they'd meet. He had seen someone drive in behind him in a Rolls-Royce convertible that afternoon, but he was just far enough ahead that all he could see was a man with silver hair, presumably Coop, and a pretty girl next to him in the front seat. Mark realized Coop had a far more interesting life than he. After sixteen years being faithfully married, he couldn't even imagine what it would be like to start dating again, and had no desire to. He had too much on his mind, too many memories, too many regrets, and all he could think about were his kids. For the moment, there was no room for a woman in his life. Room maybe, but no heart. He was just grateful that when he went to bed that night, he slept like a baby, and woke up happy the next morning after dreaming that his children were living with him. That would in fact have made it a perfect life for him. But in the meantime, what he had was an improvement over his room at the hotel. And he'd be seeing them in two weeks. It was something to look forward to, and all he needed now.

  He went to cook himself breakfast, and was surprised to discover that the kitchen stove didn't work. He made a note to call the realtor about it, but he didn't really care. He was just as happy with orange juice and toast. He wasn't much of a cook, except when the kids were around, he would cook for them.

  And in the main part of the house, Coop was making similar discoveries. His cook had left earlier that week, after finding another job. Livermore was already gone. And both maids were off for the weekend, and leaving the following week. The houseman was already working for someone else. And Paloma didn't come in on weekends. Pamela was cooking breakfast for him, wearing bikini underwear and one of his shirts. She claimed to be a whiz in the kitchen, as witnessed by a mound of rock-hard scrambled eggs and burnt bacon she handed him on a plate in bed.

  “Aren't you a clever girl,” he said admiringly, with a look of concern as he glanced at the eggs. “I take it you couldn't find the trays?”

  “What trays, darlin'?” she asked in her Oklahoma drawl. She was very proud of herself, and had forgotten napkins and silverware. She went back to get them as Coop used a cautious finger to poke the eggs. They were not only hard, but cold. She'd been talking to a girlfriend on the phone while she cooked. Cooking had never been her strong suit, but what she did in bed with him was, and he was pleased. The only problem was, she couldn't talk. Except about her hair, and her makeup and her moisturizer, and the last photo shoot she'd been on. She was extremely limited, but it wasn't her conversation which fascinated him. He just liked being with her. There was something very invigorating about young girls. He had a marvelous way with women her age, he was debonair and fun and worldly-wise and sophisticated, and besides which, he took her shopping nearly every day. She had never had as much fun in her life as she was having with Coop. She didn't care how old he was. She had a whole new wardrobe, and he'd bought her diamond earrings and a diamond bracelet the week before. There was no question about it. Cooper Winslow knew how to live.

  He flushed the eggs down the toilet when she went back downstairs to get him a glass of orange juice, and she was proud to see that he had eaten everything. And as soon as she ate hers, he brought her back to bed with him, where they spent the afternoon. And that night, he took her to Le Dome for dinner. She loved going to Spago with him too. It was a real thrill for her to see everyone stare at them as they recognized him and wanted to see who he was with. Men looked at him enviously, and women raised an eyebrow as they looked at them, and Pamela liked that too.

  He drove her back to her apartment that night, after dinner. He'd had a fun weekend with her, but he had a busy week ahead. He was shooting a car commercial, which was a big deal, and they were paying him handsomely for it, and it was going to be Liz's last week.

  Coop was actually happy to climb into his bed alone that night. Pamela was a lot of fun, but after a while, she was just a kid. And he no longer was. He needed his beauty sleep. He went to bed at ten o'clock, and slept like a rock, until Paloma threw back the curtains and lifted the shades the next day. He woke up with a start, and sat up staring at her.

  “Why on earth are you doing that?” He couldn't imagine what she was doing in his room, and was relieved to note that he'd put on silk pajamas the night before. Otherwise he might have been sprawled naked across his bed. “What are you doing in here?” She was wearing a clean uniform, this time with rhinestone sunglasses, and bright red high-heeled shoes. She looked like a combination between a nurse in the white uniform, and a gypsy fortune-teller, and he wasn't amused.

  “Miss Liz said to wake ju up at eight o'clock,” she said, glaring at him. She had a powerful dislike for him and it showed. And Coop hated her too.

  “Couldn't you knock on the door?” he barked at her, falling back into his bed with his eyes closed. She had woken him from a sound sleep.

  “I try. Ju don' answer. So I come in. Now ju wake up. Miss Liz say ju gotta go to work.”

  “Thank you very much,” he said formally, his eyes still closed. “Would you mind making me breakfast?” There was no one else now who could. “I'll have scrambled eggs and rye toast. Orange juice. Black coffee. Thank you.”

  She was muttering to herself as she left the room, and Coop groaned. This was going to be a painful alliance, he realized with total clarity. Why in hell did she have to be the one they kept? Couldn't they have kept one of the others? No, of course not, he complained to himself… she was cheap. But he had to admit, twenty minutes later when he came out of the shower, and found his breakfast sitting on a tray on his bed, the eggs were good. Better than Pamela's. That was something at least, although she had made huevos rancheros instead of scrambled eggs. He would have complained about her not cooking what he'd asked for, but they were delicious and he devoured it all.

  Half an hour later, he was out the door, impeccably dressed, as usual, in a blazer, gray slacks and blue shirt, a navy blue Hermes tie, and his hair as beautifully groomed as it always was. He was a vision of elegance and sophistication as he slipped into his old Rolls, and drove off. And Mark followed him down the drive, on his way to work. He wondered where Coop was going at that hour, and couldn't imagine it. He was alone for once, which was unusual for him, but so was leaving the house at that hour.

  Liz passed them both on the way in, and waved at Coop. She still couldn't believe this was her last week.

  Chapter 6

  Liz's last days in Coop's employ had a bittersweet quality to them. He had never been as sweet to her, or as generous. He gave her a diamond ring that he said had been his mother's, which was one of those stories she was always skeptical of. But whosever ring it had been, it was beautiful and fit her perfectly, and she promised him she would always wear it and think of him.

  He took her to Spago on Friday night, and she had too much to
drink, and by the time he dropped her off at her house, she was crying about how miserable she was going to be without him. But he had resigned himself to her departure by then, reassured her that she was doing the right thing, left her at her place and drove home, where he had a new flame waiting for him. Pamela was on location for a magazine in Milan. And he had met Charlene while doing the car commercial he'd just done. She was a spectacular-looking woman, and at twenty-nine, she was old for him. But she had the most extraordinary body he'd ever seen, and he'd seen many of them. Hers was worthy of the Cooper Winslow Hall of Fame.

  Charlene had enormous breasts that she insisted were real, and a waist he could circle with both hands. She had long jet-black hair, and she had enormous catlike green eyes. She said her grandmother was Japanese. She was an amazing-looking girl, and she had been completely bowled over by him. She was more intelligent than Pamela, which was something of a relief. Charlene had lived in Paris for two years, modeling on the side, and going to the Sorbonne, and she had grown up in Brazil. She was a wonderful mélange of international flavors, and she had gone to bed with him by the second day of the shoot. Coop had had a very good week.

  He had invited her to spend the weekend with him, and she had accepted with a squeal of delight. He was already thinking of going to the Hotel du Cap with her. She would look fabulous with her top off at the pool. She was in his bed when he got home after his dinner with Liz, and he joined her without ceremony. They spent a very interesting, somewhat acrobatic, night together, and on Saturday they drove to Santa Barbara for lunch, and came home in time for dinner at L'Orangerie. He was enjoying her company, and he was beginning to think it was time to kiss Pamela goodbye. Charlene had a lot more to offer, and she was a more sensible age for him.

  She was still there on Monday morning, when Paloma arrived for work. Coop asked her to bring trays for both of them, which she did with a sullen expression of disapproval. She glared at Coop, slammed the trays down on the bed, and stalked out of the room in bright pink high heels. The accessories she wore with her uniform always fascinated him.

  “She doesn't like me,” Charlene said, looking crestfallen. “I think she disapproves.”

  “Don't worry about it. She's madly in love with me. Don't be afraid if she makes a jealous scene,” he said sarcastically, as they dug into what appeared to be rubber eggs, covered with a thick layer of pepper which made Coop choke and Charlene sneeze. It was a far cry from the huevos rancheros she'd made him the week before. Paloma had won this round, but Coop was determined to have a word with her after Charlene left, and by then it was early afternoon.

  “That was an interesting breakfast you served this morning, Paloma.” Coop stood in the kitchen, looking coolly at her. “The pepper was a nice touch, but unnecessary. I needed a buzz saw to cut through the eggs. What did you make them with? Rubber cement, or just ordinary paper glue?”

  “I donnow what ju talkin' about,” she said cryptically, polishing a piece of silver that Livermore had told her had to be polished every week. She was wearing the rhinestone sunglasses again. They were obviously her favorites, and were becoming Coop's too. He was wondering if there was even a remote possibility of bringing her to heel. If not, he was going to have to replace her, no matter what Abe said. “Ju don' like my eggs?” she asked angelically, as he scowled at her.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Miss Pamela called from Italy this morning, at eight o'clock,” Paloma announced nonchalantly, and as she did, Coop stared. Her accent had suddenly disappeared.

  “What did you just say?” It wasn't so much what as how.

  “I said…” she looked up at him with an innocent grin, “Mees Pamela called ju at eight o'clock.” The dialect was back again. She was playing games with him.

  “That's not how you said it a minute ago, is it, Paloma? What's the point of all that?” He was visibly annoyed, and she looked a little sheepish, and then covered it with bravado and a shrug.

  “Isn't that what you expect? You called me Maria for the first two months I was here.” He could still hear the echo of San Salvador, but only faintly, and her English was almost as good as his.

  “We hadn't been properly introduced,” he excused himself. And although he wouldn't have admitted it to her, he was faintly amused. She had figured she would hide from him by pretending to be barely able to speak English. He suspected she was not only smart, but probably a damn good cook too. “What did you do in your country, Paloma?” He was suddenly intrigued by her. As irritating as she was, she was becoming a human being to him, and he wasn't sure he wanted to be burdened with that. But nonetheless, his curiosity got the best of him.

  “I was a nurse,” she said, still polishing the silver. It was a loathsome task, and she missed Livermore almost as much as Coop.

  “That's too bad,” Coop said with a grin, “I was hoping you were going to tell me you were a tailor or a dressmaker. At least then you could take proper care of my clothes. Fortunately, I am not in need of your nursing skills.”

  “I make more money here. And ju have too many clothes,” she said, donning the accent again, like a garment she put on and off at will. It was like playing peekaboo with him.

  “Thank you for that piece of editorial commentary. You have some interesting accessories yourself,” he said as he glanced down at the pink shoes. “Why didn't you tell me Pamela called, by the way?” He had already decided to make a switch in paramours. But he always remained friends with the previous ones. And he was generous enough that they always forgave him his vagaries and his sins. He was sure Pamela would.

  “You were busy with the other one when she called. What's her name.” The accent was gone again.

  “Charlene,” he supplied, and Paloma looked vague. “Thank you, Paloma,” Coop said quietly and decided to quit while he was ahead, and left the room. She never wrote a single message down, and only told him about them when she thought of it, which worried him. But she seemed to know who the players were. So far, at least. And she was becoming a more interesting character herself day by day.

  Paloma had met Mark the previous week, and she had offered to do some laundry for him, when he told her the washing machine in the guest wing was out of order. And the stove still was too. She had told him that he could use the kitchen in the main house if he needed to. She said Coop never came down to the kitchen himself in the morning, and she gave him a key to the connecting door between the main house and the guest wing. The espresso machine in the guest wing was broken too. Mark had made a list of all of it, and the realtor had promised him it would all be repaired, but with Liz gone, there was no one to take care of it, except Coop himself, which wasn't likely to happen, they both knew. Mark was taking his clothes out to be laundered, and Paloma was doing sheets and towels for him, and with the use of Coop's espresso machine on the weekends, he had no other needs. He was using the microwave instead of the stove, and the only time he'd need the stove would be when he had the kids. He was sure it would be fixed by then, even if he had to take care of it himself, and he told the realtor he was willing to. She said she would see what she could do. But Coop never returned any of her calls, or his. And Coop was scheduled to do another commercial that week, for a brand of chewing gum. It was a ridiculous ad, but the pay was decent enough so his agent had talked him into it. He was working more than usual these days, although no features had surfaced yet. His agent had been beating the bushes for him to no avail. His reputation was too well known in Hollywood, and given the kind of parts he wanted to play, romantic leads, leading men, he was simply too old. He wasn't ready to play fathers or grandfathers yet. And there hadn't been any demand for aging playboys in years.

  Charlene stayed at The Cottage with him almost every night that week. She was trying to get work as an actress, but she got even less work than Coop. And the only work she had done so far since she'd come to Hollywood were two X-rated videos, one of which had been shown on TV at 4 A.M. And her agent had finally convinced her that n
either of them would look good on her C.V. She had already asked Coop if he could talk to anyone about getting work for her, and he'd said he would see what he could do. She had started out as a lingerie model on Seventh Avenue, after similar modeling in Paris, and she had a fabulous body for that, but he wasn't even sure if she could act, and seriously doubted it. She claimed to have modeled in Paris extensively, but she could never seem to find her book. Her real skills were in an area that was far more appealing to Coop, and had nothing to do with acting, modeling, or TV.

  He was enjoying her company immensely. And he was relieved when Pamela told him when she got back from Milan that she'd gotten involved with the photographer on the shoot. Those things had a way of working themselves out, particularly in Coop's world. It was all about bodies and temporary alliances and quick affairs. It was only when he went out with famous actresses that he encouraged the rumors about engagements and wedding bells. But he wanted none of that with Charlene. She was all about having a good time, and seeing that he had fun too. He'd already been on two major shopping sprees with her, which had eaten both checks his tenants had given him, but he thought she deserved it, as he explained to Abe when the accountant called and warned him he'd have to sell the house if he didn't behave.

  “You'd better give up starving models and actresses, Coop. You need to find a rich wife.” Coop laughed at him and said he'd give it some thought, but marriage had never appealed to Coop. All he wanted to do was play, and that's what he was going to do, or planned to anyway, until his dying day.

  The following weekend Mark went to New York to see his kids. He had told Paloma all about them by then. She had done a little cleaning for him, and he'd paid her handsomely. She would have done it for him anyway. She felt sorry for him when he told her his wife had left him for another man, and she started leaving fresh fruit in a bowl on his kitchen table, and some tortillas she'd made. She liked hearing about his kids. It was easy to see he was crazy about them. There were photographs of them all over the place, and others of him and his wife.