Lethally Blonde. Nancy Bartholomew

      Two hours later, we arrive at Paradise Ranch and I get my first glimpse of what is to be my home for the next week or so. It takes my breath. I am expecting gray and brown desert or something, but instead the green is so lush and verdant that I am tempted to remove my pumps just to feel the cool grass between my toes. Instead I climb out of the limo and stand beside it, breathing in the fresh, salty air of the nearby Pacific Ocean and listening to its dull pounding against the rocky shore somewhere in the nearby distance.

      “It’s quite something, isn’t it?” Jeremy asks, appearing by my side. The ever-present smile is still in place, but in his eyes I see the need for my approval.

      “I thought you said this was a working ranch?” I say, remembering that he expects me to be a bitch and not wanting to disappoint him. “Doesn’t look like one to me. Where are the horses? Where’s the farm equipment? I don’t even see a cowboy.”

      But as I say this, the massive oak front door opens and two people emerge from the mansion, a reed-thin woman with long, curly red hair and, as if summoned by a genie, a genuine cowboy, with boots, hat, mustache—the whole package.

      I can’t take my eyes off of him and it must be obvious because Jeremy chuckles and says, “Good enough for you?”

      Oh, yes. This one is quite good enough, all right. He walks toward us, or should I say, saunters, with this half swagger. His hat is pushed low on his face, shadowing his features, but even so, I can see the thick mustache that almost drips off his chin, and I catch a glimpse of dark, dangerous eyes and a weathered face—not old, but lined enough to give away his occupation. This man lives in the saddle, I think, and immediately picture him riding, first horses, and then, well…never mind!

      I force myself to look away because I’m thinking that any fool could read my thoughts about this stranger, and I watch the woman at his side. Zoe Feller is instantly recognizable, even if I hadn’t attended the same parties with her, or seen her in almost every Oscar-nominated movie she’s ever made. Zoe looks fragile, but don’t let that fool you. She is driven by her work, immersing herself in her roles so completely that, for the length of the project, she is her character.

      I watch her walk beside the cowboy and immediately decide they are most definitely not a couple. In fact, I almost wonder if she is even aware of his presence. She seems, instead, to be totally focused on Jeremy. Her blue eyes burn feverishly as she walks purposefully toward him, slowing to an almost regal pace as she draws closer, then stopping and, if I’m not mistaken, bowing her head and half-genuflecting.

      “You’re back,” she breathes. “I thought you’d never come.”

      Jeremy’s expression doesn’t change, but his eyes do. I am learning to read the man now, I think, and it is always the eyes that give him away. He has locked onto Zoe with an intense, cold stare, as if he’s daring her to question him. I shiver involuntarily as I watch her flinch and take one tiny step backward.

      “Why are you here?” Jeremy asks, but it is not his voice any longer. I hear the words, but still can’t believe the change in him. The tone is deep, sonorous and commanding. It is the voice of a much larger, stronger man, but still, it is coming from the actor beside me.

      “There are details,” Zoe says softly. “I thought we should go over them before we shoot tomorrow’s…”

      “And I told you that I would summon you when I wanted you. Why are you here?”

      Zoe raises her head, and I realize we are watching a scene in progress. Her eyes lock with his, briefly—long enough for me to see anger and pain, defiance that is quickly replaced by submission.

      “I. Need. You,” she says, each word uttered in a halting gasp, almost forced from her against her will.

      Jeremy smiles, and it is the cruelest of his expressions because he is lording it over the poor woman. “Yes,” he murmurs. “Indeed you do.”

      The cowboy makes his move, stepping between them and breaking the mood with his body.

      “Can you two knock this shit off a minute? We’ve got problems.”

      Zoe tosses her head impatiently, starts to protest, and is silenced by a look from Jeremy.

      “Sure, buddy. What’s up?” Jeremy says.

      How in the hell has he just done this? I wonder. Jeremy’s voice has switched from Lord of the Manor to western ranch hand. His tone is two octaves higher and slightly squeaky. I look at his eyes and see nothing but a happy glint. Whoever this cowboy is, Jeremy genuinely likes him.

      The cowboy looks in my direction, lets his gaze move to encompass Mark and Andrea, and I hear him say, “We need to talk. Privately.”

      “Lovely manners,” I murmur softly, just loud enough for Jeremy to overhear but not loud enough to reach the oaf in the cowboy hat.

      Jeremy laughs, looks at the cowboy, and says, “I think Miss Rothschild finds you a bit coarse, Sam.”

      I feel my face start to flush and the cowboy says, “That would be her problem, not mine.” He looks at me again, only this time giving me a real thorough up and down. He appears not to like what he’s seeing.

      “Sorry, ma’am,” he says, touching the brim of his hat in a mock salute. “I don’t always have time to coddle Jeremy’s lady friends. You see, we have real work to do around here and right now, I have business I need to discuss with your boyfriend. So if you’ll excuse us, I’ll be sure and get one of the maids to show you where you can powder your pretty little nose while you’re waiting on lover boy here.”

      Marlena wakes up, no longer able to sleep with the cosmic energy becoming so disturbed around her, cracks one sleepy eye in the cowboy’s direction and hisses.

      “Just exactly who died and made you God?” I say, and start to move past Jeremy to plant myself right in front of the overblown bully. “I am not a plaything. I am not a bimbo. I am a guest of Mr. Reins and I do not appreciate rude behavior.”

      I spin around to look at Jeremy. “If he were my hand, I’d fire him.”

      “If I were your ‘hand’ as you call it, I’d quit!” the cowboy says.

      “Well?” I say to Jeremy. “Are you going to let him talk to me like that?”

      Jeremy seems to be enjoying himself at my expense. He grins and then says, “Aw, now, Porsche, don’t mind Sam. He might not come on smooth like you’re used to, but his heart is in the right place. He’s my manager, and when he says he has a problem, well, believe me, I’d better go hear what it is.” He looks back at the cowboy, his grin slowly growing wider. “Sam, this is Porsche Rothschild. I’m helping the poor dear out a bit. She’s hosting a charity party and doesn’t have a date, so she’s here for the week, slumming.”

      Before I can protest, Jeremy looks at Andrea and inclines his head in my direction. “Lovey, why don’t you help Porsche get settled in while I borrow your hubby and try and sort out this mess, all right?”

      “But what about me?” Zoe wails. “I need you, too!”

      Jeremy looks at Zoe and becomes the king again. “Wait in the library,” he says coldly. “I’ll come find you when I’m finished.”

      The men walk away without a backward glance. Zoe appears to have lost herself in her role again because she is following three yards behind Jeremy, head down, pacing slowly back into the mansion.

      “What in the hell is going on here?” I manage to ask Andrea.

      She shrugs. “Welcome to Hollywood,” she says. “Where nothing is real, true or genuine. Everyone is trying to be someone or something else and no one is ever satisfied with things as they are.”

      “So, do Zoe