Free Rock Star by Jackie Collins

pain.’
    ‘What kinda pain?’ Fanni asked suspiciously.
    ‘He’s drunk,’ muttered Ernest, pulling the covers over his head.
    ‘The boy don’t drink,’ retorted Fanni, always ready for a fight.
    ‘That’s what you think, woman,’ replied Ernest knowingly.
    Bobby clutched his stomach. This was his punishment for selling dope. He’d known it was wrong. Why’d he let Rocket talk him into it?
    He felt the sweat break out all over his body, followed by a spiralling sensation of serious pain. And then, with an enormous thud, he fell to the floor, unconscious to the world.
    The last words he heard were Ernest saying, ‘Shee . . . it! I need my rest, woman. I don’ expect these kinda goin’s on in the middle of t’night. Do somethin’ about it, witch. Throw him outta here! I can’t stand lookin’ at his fat, lazy, no-good ass one more day!’

 
    Los Angeles
    Saturday, July 11, 1987
    Emerging from the shower, Kris found the delectable Cybil arranged across his bed, completely naked except for a blooming red rose placed strategically between her thighs.
    ‘Wanna pick a flower, ya lucky man?’ she drawled in a put-on street accent. ‘Twenny bucks for a trip to the Rose Parade, an’ you don’t even havta go to Pasadena!’
    Why was she tempting him like this? Feeling the heat rise he was aggravated. Retreating back to the bathroom he said, ‘Do me a favour, luv, put your knickers on an’ stop messin’ about.’
    ‘Oh, boy , you’d better have some good things in store for me tomorrow,’ she threatened.
    He closed the door. ‘I’m not coming out until you’re dressed.’
    ‘You veel regret zis day,’ she said in a heavy foreign accent. ‘I veel ’ave my beeg revenge.’
    One thing about Cybil, there was never a dull moment. She was good-natured and fun, a natural-born joker. She was also fancied by every straight male in America, yet it was his bed she was sharing. He had exclusive rights to the gorgeous blonde body, the Miss America face, and the cascades of shining hair.
    So why did he need Astrid – the mistress of his English mansion?
    Insurance. While Astrid was on the scene he couldn’t get too involved with Cybil. And vice versa. Kris had a natural-born aversion to marriage. The very word sent cold chills up his spine. To him being married equalled being trapped. He had sampled it once, and had no intention of getting caught a second time.
    Dressed in jeans and a casual shirt he peered into the bedroom. Cybil was gone, only her perfume lingered. Eau de Horny Blonde , he thought with a ribald laugh.
    Downstairs his live-in Scottish couple busied themselves with domestic tasks, jumping to attention when they saw him.
    ‘Welcome back, Mr Phoenix,’ said the plump and motherly Mabel. ‘Why don’t I make you a nice cup of tea?’
    Nodding, he wandered outside to inspect his property. Immediately his two golden labradors came bounding over to greet him. Bending down he petted them for a good ten minutes.
    His Bel Air mansion stood on two acres of impeccably kept grounds. Flowing lawns, sumptuous flower beds, lemon and orange trees, brilliant bougainvillaea, and the obligatory Hollywood swimming pool and tennis court. Not bad for an English lad who was chucked out of school at fifteen without two pennies to rub together.
    Several Mexican gardeners toiled diligently. He gave them a cheery wave. Being back in Los Angeles was a kick. The weather appealed to him. Having grown up in England with constant rain and fog, he appreciated warmth and sunshine. Besides, he enjoyed cultivating a healthy tan.
    Cybil came running out of the house in a minuscule bikini. The gardeners stopped work and stared. The dogs barked. Flashing Kris a winning smile she dived gracefully into the pool.
    Was there no end to her desire to turn him on? Tomorrow she would pay for her teasing, oh how she would pay!
    ‘Coming?’ she called innocently, surfacing with a lethal crawl.
    ‘Naw. I’m gonna work out.’
    He made