Free Rock Star by Jackie Collins Page A

his way into the luxurious pool house where there was a fully equipped gym. He’d been working with a body trainer and weights for almost two years and the difference was amazing. Whereas before he’d been wiry and naturally athletic, never a slouch when it came to moving around on stage, now he was in incredible shape – fitter than he’d ever been. Thirty-eight was the age when some rock stars began to think about winding down. Not Kris – he had a new energy; a steely strength. Whatever he was doing it worked for him – plus he was performing better than ever.
    Twenty minutes of punishment and he was ready for a swim. The pool was empty. Cybil had moved on to other activities.
    Churning up and down for thirty lengths he emerged fit and refreshed.
    Waiting poolside was his manager, Hawkins Lamont – an American usually known as the Hawk.
    The Hawk was fashionably dressed in white duck pants, a white polo shirt, white loafers and a pale beige crocodile Gucci belt. A tall man in his forties with a George Hamilton tan, the Hawk radiated an air of supreme confidence. And so he should: he was one of the most successful and sought-after managers in the business, with a stable of first-class talent. Kris had been with him for three years, ever since leaving his former manager – the notorious Doktor Head.
    ‘You seem to be in excellent shape,’ the Hawk said, settling himself at a patio table under a yellow striped umbrella.
    Kris nodded. ‘I feel great – I mean we’re talkin’ really great.’
    And he meant it, only too aware of the fact that he couldn’t have made that claim a few years ago.
    The Hawk smiled. A Hollywood smile made entirely of porcelain. ‘I just came over to convey a personal message. Marcus Citroen is delighted you’ve agreed to appear at his wife’s function tonight.’
    Wrapping a towel around his waist Kris sat down. ‘I didn’t have much choice, did I?’ he said dryly.
    ‘You made the right choice,’ the Hawk replied pointedly. ‘Tonight is special. Marcus wanted the three hottest recording stars in the business, and he got them. I wouldn’t have been pleased to see your place taken by Springsteen, would you ?’
    Kris stared at Mabel walking across the lawn bearing a tray with tea and toast for him, and a lead crystal glass of Perrier decorated with a slice of lime for his guest. ‘As long as I’m in an’ out,’ he said dourly.
    ‘We agreed on that. You’re appearing last, after Bobby Mondella and Rafealla. That was one of my conditions to Marcus, the star spot or nothing.’
    ‘Sure’, Kris said listlessly. He hated the whole deal.
    ‘Is Cybil coming with you?’ the Hawk asked smoothly.
    ‘I dunno. Haven’t asked her.’
    ‘It’s going to be quite an evening.’
    ‘Yeah, but I’m not stayin’, am I?’
    ‘You might change your mind.’
    ‘Naw.’
    The Hawk took one sip of Perrier and rose. ‘I’ll check with you later. The limo will be here at three thirty. I’d like to plan on leaving at the latest by four.’
    After the Hawk had departed, Cybil reappeared. Luckily she had dressed, although her ensemble left little to the imagination. A skimpy tank-top – under which she very obviously wore no bra. Crotch-hugging shorts, and white ankle socks worn with nifty Reeboks. She looked like an over-developed cheerleader.
    ‘Where are you off to?’ he asked.
    ‘Didn’t I tell you?’ she said, wide-eyed. ‘I’ve got a shoot with a vereee randy photographer. He’ll probably want to ravish my girlish body – what shall I do?’
    ‘Make ’im wear a condom!’
    She frowned. ‘Kris! That’s not funny. You wouldn’t like it if I did sleep with him, would you?’
    ‘I’ll tell you something, luv. You wouldn’t be around to tell the tale.’
    ‘No?’ she said challengingly.
    ‘Nope. You’d be out, kiddo. Bags packed an’ on the doorstep.’
    Cybil was unamused. Suddenly she was all grown up. ‘You’re such a chauvinist. I suppose you think I don’t