The Cottage Page 9

  “Yeah,” Mark smiled at him, “and I bought a new coffee machine. I'm going to give that key back to Paloma in the morning. I'll never do that again.” The vision of Charlene in her thong still made him smile.

  “Would you have expected less of him?” Jimmy asked, referring to their landlord.

  “Probably not. I just didn't expect front-row seats to his sex life.”

  “I suspect that would keep you pretty busy.” Jimmy looked as amused as he did, and they were chatting quietly half an hour later, when they both heard a gate creak open and slam shut, and a moment later, there was a tall man with silver hair, smiling at them. He was wearing jeans and a perfectly pressed white shirt, no socks, and brown alligator loafers. He was a vision of perfection, and they both jumped like two kids who had been caught doing something they shouldn't. In fact, they had both been given access to the pool, and the only reason Coop had come out was to meet them. He had seen them from his terrace. Charlene was upstairs, in the shower, washing her hair.

  “Don't let me disturb you. I just thought I'd come down and say hello. As long as you're my guests, I wanted to meet you.” They both had the same feeling of amusement to be called his “guests.” For ten thousand a month, they were not his “guests,” but his tenants. “Hello, I'm Cooper Winslow,” he said with a stunning smile, as he shook hands first with Jimmy and then Mark. “Which of you lives where? Did you know each other before?” He was curious about them, as they were about him.

  “I'm Mark Friedman, I live in the guest wing. And no, we met yesterday while Jimmy was moving in.”

  “I'm Jimmy O'Connor,” he said easily, as he shook hands with the handsome man towering above him. They both had the feeling of being new boys at school meeting the headmaster for the first time. And both were aware that Coop had come honestly by his reputation for being charming. He looked easy and pleasant, and elegant, and impeccably tailored. Even the perfectly pressed jeans fit every inch of his well-toned body and seemingly endless legs. And if either of them had had to guess, they would never even have pegged him at sixty, he looked far younger. And it was inconceivable that he was seventy. It was no mystery why women adored him. Even in blue jeans, he exuded style and glamour. He was every inch the Hollywood legend, as he lowered himself into a chair and smiled at them.

  “I hope you're both comfortable in your respective houses.”

  “Very much so,” Mark was quick to answer, praying that Charlene hadn't told him about that morning. He was afraid she had and that was why Coop had come out to see them. “It's a remarkable place,” he said admiringly, trying not to think of the woman in the G-string who had served him coffee. And sensing that that was what he was thinking, Jimmy was grinning, with eyes full of mischief. It was a wonderful story.

  “I've always loved it here,” Coop said, referring to The Cottage. “You'll have to come up to the main house sometime. Maybe for dinner one night,” and then he remembered he no longer had a cook or a butler or anyone to serve properly. He was going to have to call caterers now if he wanted to invite people to dinner. There was no way he would have trusted Paloma to produce anything but pizza or tacos, no matter how good her English was now. With or without an accent, she was a rebel and frighteningly independent. If he asked her to serve dinner, there was no telling how she'd behave. “Where are you both from?”

  “I'm originally from Boston,” Jimmy answered. “I've been here for eight years, since graduate school. I love it.”

  “I've been here for ten,” Mark explained. “I came out from New York.” He was about to add “with my wife and children,” but he didn't. It sounded too pathetic, particularly if he had to explain why they were no longer with him.

  “You both made the right decision. I'm from the East too, I can't stand the weather there anymore, particularly the winters. It's a much better life here.”

  “Particularly on a property like this,” Jimmy said admiringly. He found himself fascinated by Cooper Winslow, as he sat and chatted with them. He seemed totally at ease in his own skin, and he was obviously used to attention and adulation. There was no question that he was entirely aware of how dazzling he was. He had made his living off it for half a century. They were impressive statistics, particularly given the way he looked, at his age.

  “Well, I hope you'll both be happy here. Let me know if you need anything.” Mark wasn't about to complain about the stove or the coffee machine. He had already decided to have them fixed himself and take the appropriate amount off his next rent check. He didn't want to open the conversation about his morning coffee, on the off chance that the woman with the huge breasts had told Coop, even though she'd promised she wouldn't. Mark was afraid to trust her.

  Coop smiled winningly at both of them again, chatted for a few more minutes and then left them, as the two much younger men stared at each other once he was gone. They waited several minutes before speaking, to give him a chance to go back into his own house, so he wouldn't overhear them.

  “Holy shit,” Mark spoke first. “Do you believe what he looks like? I'm going to hang up my spurs forever. Who could ever compete with that?” He had never been so impressed by any man in his life. Cooper Winslow was the best-looking man he'd ever seen. But Jimmy looked less impressed when he answered pensively.

  “There's only one problem,” he said in a whisper. He didn't want Coop to hear him. “It's all about him. You can't help but wonder if there's a heart there, or if it's just charm and good looks and a great tailor.”

  “Maybe that's enough,” Mark said, thinking of Janet. She would never have left a man with the looks, wit, and charm of Cooper Winslow. Mark felt like a total geek beside him. All his insecurities had leapt to the surface the minute Coop appeared.

  “No, it isn't,” Jimmy said wisely. “The guy's a shell. Nothing he says means anything. It's all about beauty and bullshit. And look at the women he gets. Thirty years from now, do you want a bimbo in a thong serving you breakfast, or a real person you can talk to?”

  “Can I take a minute to think that over?” Mark said, and they both laughed.

  “Yeah, okay, it's probably fun for a while, but then what? It would drive me insane.” Maggie had been such a whole person. Smart, real, beautiful, fun, sexy. She had been everything he'd ever wanted. The last thing Jimmy wanted was a bimbo. And all Mark wanted was Janet. But on the surface, Cooper Winslow looked like he had all his bases covered. Even Jimmy had to admit he was impressive. “Actually, he can keep the woman with the tits. Given a choice, I want the loafers. They were terrific.”

  “You keep the loafers. I'll take the bimbo. Thank God, he didn't mention my encounter with her in his kitchen this morning,” Mark said with a look of relief.

  “I knew that was what you were thinking.” Jimmy laughed at him. He liked Mark. He was a nice guy, and he had decent values. Jimmy had enjoyed talking to him, and the prospect of their friendship. It was off to an interesting beginning, and he felt so sorry for him. He could easily relate to the trauma he'd been through, particularly missing his kids. “Well, now we've met him. He looks like a movie star, doesn't he?” Jimmy said, thinking back on the brief meeting. “I wonder who presses his clothes? Mine have been wrinkled since I left home. Mag wouldn't iron anything. She said it was against her religion.” She had been a staunch Roman Catholic, and a vehement feminist. The first time he'd asked her to do a load of laundry, she damn near hit him.

  “I've been taking everything including my underwear to the dry cleaner,” Mark admitted willingly. “I ran out of shirts last week, and had to buy six new ones. Housekeeping isn't my forte. I've been paying Paloma to do a little cleaning for me. Maybe if you ask her, she'd do it for you too.” She had been incredibly kind to him. And she seemed not only willing and capable, but intelligent and wise. He'd talked at length about his kids with her, and everything she'd said had been sympathetic and sensible. He respected her a great deal.

  “I'm okay,” Jimmy added with a smile. “I'm a real artist with a vacuum and a
bottle of Windex. Maggie didn't do that either.” Mark didn't want to ask what she did do. She'd obviously had enough virtues for Jimmy to be crazy about her. And later that afternoon, Jimmy told him they'd met at Harvard. She was obviously a very bright young woman.

  “Janet and I met in law school. But she never practiced. She got pregnant as soon as we got married, and she stayed home with the kids.”

  “That's why we hadn't had kids yet. Maggie was always torn between giving up her career, and staying home with children. She was very Irish that way. She thought mothers should stay home with their babies. I figured we'd work it out sooner or later.” What he hadn't figured on was what had happened instead.

  They went back to talking about Coop again after a while, and at six o'clock, Jimmy went back to the gatehouse. He had promised to meet friends for dinner. He invited Mark to come along, but Mark said he was going to shuffle some papers. He had more reading to do about new tax laws. But when they went their separate ways, they both decided it had been a good weekend. They had each made a new friend, and they were happy in their new homes. And they were both amused at having met Cooper Winslow. He hadn't disappointed either of them. Coop was everything he was said to be. The perfect Hollywood legend.

  Jimmy and Mark promised to get together for dinner one night the following week. And as Jimmy walked up the path to the gatehouse, Mark walked into the guest wing, and smiled to himself again, thinking of his morning coffee, and the woman who had handed it to him. Lucky, lucky Cooper Winslow.

  Chapter 7

  Liz called Coop the morning after he had met Jimmy and Mark at the pool, and he was delighted to hear her. She had been married for a week, and was still on her honeymoon, but she was worried about him.

  “Where are you?” he asked, smiling at the sound of her voice. It still seemed strange not to see her face every morning.

  “In Hawaii,” she said proudly. She was using her married name every chance she got, and even though it felt strange, she loved it, and was sorry now she hadn't done it sooner. Being married to Ted was like a dream.

  “How plebeian,” Coop teased her. “I still think you should ditch him and come back. We can have the marriage annulled in a minute.”

  “Don't you dare! I like being a respectable, married woman.” Far more than she had ever thought she would.

  “Liz, I'm disappointed in you, I thought you had more character than that. You and I were the last holdouts. This leaves only me.”

  “Well, maybe you should get married too. It's really not that awful. There are even minor tax benefits, or so I'm told.” In truth, she loved it, and she had married the right man. Ted was wonderful to her. And Coop was happy for her, in spite of the inconvenience she had caused him.

  “That's what Abe says. That I should get married. He says I need to find a rich woman. He's so unspeakably crude.”

  “It's not a bad idea,” she teased him. She couldn't imagine Coop getting married. He had far too much fun playing the field. She couldn't see him settling down with one woman. He'd have to have a harem to keep him amused.

  “I haven't met a rich woman in ages, in any case. I don't know where they're hiding. Besides, I prefer their daughters.” Or in recent years, granddaughters, but neither of them said it. He had been involved with his share of heiresses, and a number of very wealthy women of more respectable ages over the years, but Coop had always preferred the young ones. There had even been an Indian princess, and a couple of very wealthy Saudis. But no matter who they were, or how wealthy, Coop always tired of them. There was always a more beautiful, more exciting one just around the corner. And he always turned just one more corner. Liz suspected he always would, and if he lived to be a hundred, he'd still be turning yet one more corner. He loved being free.

  “I just wanted to be sure you were behaving,” Liz said adoringly. She really did miss him. She had enormous affection for him. “How is Paloma doing?”

  “She's absolutely fabulous,” Coop said, sounding convincing. “She makes rubber eggs, puts pepper on my toast, she turned my cashmere socks into baby booties, and she has exquisite taste. I've actually come to love her rhinestone glasses. Not to mention the fuchsia pumps she wears with her uniform, when she isn't wearing the leopard sneakers. She's a gem, Liz. God only knows where you found her.” But the truth was, much as she irritated him, he was enjoying the animosity that had developed between them.

  “She's a nice woman, Coop. Teach her, she'll learn. She worked with the others for a month, some of it must have rubbed off.”

  “I think Livermore had her locked up in leg irons in the basement. I may have to try that. Oh and by the way, I met my houseguests yesterday.”

  “Houseguests?” Liz sounded startled. She didn't know about them.

  “The two men who are living respectively in the gatehouse and the guest wing.” His tenants.

  “Oh, those houseguests. How are they?”

  “They seemed respectable. One is a lawyer, and the other one is a social worker. The social worker looks like a kid, and went to Harvard. The lawyer looks a little nervous, but he was perfectly pleasant. They seem reasonable and well behaved, as long as they don't start throwing beer bottles into the pool, or adopt undesirable orphans. They don't look like heroin addicts, or criminals. I'd say we got lucky.”

  “Sounds like it. The realtor assured me they were nice people.”

  “She could be right. I'll reserve judgment till they've been here a little longer. But for the moment, I don't foresee any problems.” It was a great relief to her, she had been worried about it, which was also why she had called him. “Why are you calling me anyway? You should be making mad, passionate love on the beach with that plumber you married.”

  “He's not a plumber, he's a stockbroker. And he's playing golf with a client.”

  “He brought clients on your honeymoon? Liz, that's a very bad sign. Divorce him immediately.” Coop was laughing, and Liz was relieved to hear him sound happy.

  “He ran into the client here,” she said, laughing. “I'll be home in a week. I'll call you. Now, behave yourself, don't buy any diamond bracelets this week. You'll give Abe Braunstein an ulcer.”

  “He deserves one. He's the most humorless, tasteless man on the planet. I should send you a diamond bracelet, just to annoy him. At least you deserve it.”

  “I'm wearing the beautiful ring you gave me when I left,” she reminded him. She was always grateful to him. “I'll talk to you when I get back. Take care, Coop.”

  “I will, Liz. Thanks for calling.” He enjoyed talking to her, and hated to admit it, but he missed her. Terribly. He had felt adrift ever since she left. His house and his life were like a ship without a rudder. He still couldn't imagine what he would do without her.

  And when he checked his appointment book that morning, he saw her careful handwriting in it. He was expected at a dinner party at the Schwartzes' that night. They were the social stars of Hollywood, and had been for two decades. He was a major producer, and she had been an actress and great beauty in the fifties. Coop didn't want to go, but he knew they'd be upset if he didn't. He was far more interested in spending another night with Charlene, and he didn't want to take her with him. She was a little bit too racy for that circle. Charlene was the kind of girl he played with, not someone he wanted to be seen with at formal dinner parties. He had many categories of women. Charlene was an “at home” girl. The major movie stars he reserved for premieres and openings, where they would double their impact on the press by being seen together. And there were a whole flock of young actresses and models he enjoyed going out with. But he preferred going to the Schwartzes' parties alone.

  They always had a roomful of interesting people, and he never knew who he'd meet there. It was more effective to be alone, and they enjoyed having him as a bachelor. He was fond of both Arnold and Louise Schwartz, and he called Charlene and told her he couldn't see her that night, and she was a good sport about it. She said she needed a night off anyway, to wax her
legs and do her laundry. She needed her “beauty sleep,” she said, which was the one thing he knew she didn't need. She had no problem staying up all night, and looking ravishing in the morning. And he was always willing to ravish. But tonight belonged to the Schwartzes.

  He met with a producer at lunch, had a massage afterwards, and a manicure. He had a nap, and a glass of champagne, when he woke up, and at eight o'clock, he was wearing his dinner jacket as he stepped out the front door. The driver he hired when he went out was waiting in his Bentley, and Coop looked more handsome than ever in the well-cut tuxedo with his silvery hair.

  “Good evening, Mr. Winslow,” the driver said pleasantly. He had driven Coop for years, and he drove other stars as well. He made a good living doing freelance driving. It made more sense for Coop than having a full-time driver. Most of the time he preferred driving himself.

  When Coop got to the Schwartzes' enormous mansion on Brooklawn Drive, there were a hundred people already standing in the front hall, drinking champagne and paying homage to the Schwartzes. She looked stylish in a dark blue gown, and was wearing a fabulous collection of sapphires. And all around her, Coop saw the usual suspects, ex-presidents and first ladies, politicians, art dealers, producers, directors, internationally known lawyers, and the usual smattering of movie stars, some more current than Coop, but none as famous. He was instantly surrounded by a flock of adoring admirers of both sexes. And an hour later, they went in to dinner, as Coop followed the herd.

  He was seated at the same table as another well-known actor of a similar vintage, and there were two famous writers at their table, and an important Hollywood agent. The head of one of the major studios was also seated there, and Coop made a mental note to speak to him after dinner. He had heard they were making a feature that was perfect for him. He knew the woman on his right, she was one of the better-known Hollywood matrons, whose parties tried to rival Louise Schwartz's but didn't. And on his left was a young woman he had never met before. She had a delicate, aristocratic face, big brown eyes, ivory skin, and dark hair pulled back in a bun, like a Degas ballerina.