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About Hollywood Wives
Product Description The iconic “raunchy, brash, and suspenseful” (The New York Times) blockbuster novel that started it all—the ultimate insider’s novel—from #1 New York Times bestselling author Jackie Collins. They lunch at LA’s hottest restaurants and feast on hotter gossip. They cruise Rodeo Drive in their Mercedes and Rolls, turning shopping at Giorgio and Gucci into an art form. They pursue the body beautiful at the Workout and Body Asylum. Dressed by St. Laurent and Galanos, they dine at the latest restaurants on the rise and fall of one another’s fortunes. They’re sensuous and jaded, corrupt and beautiful. They’re Hollywood wives, and they hold the keys to the kingdom. About the Author Jackie Collins has been called a “raunchy moralist” by the director Louis Malle and “Hollywood’s own Marcel Proust” by Vanity Fair. With over 500 million copies of her books sold in more than forty countries, and with thirty-two New York Times bestsellers to her credit, she is one of the world’s top-selling novelists. Six of her novels have been adapted for film or TV. Collins was awarded an OBE (Order of the British Empire) by the Queen of England in 2013 for her services to literature and charity. When accepting the honor she said to the Queen, “Not bad for a school drop-out”—a revelation capturing her belief that both passion and determination can lead to big dreams coming true. She lived in Beverly Hills where she had a front row seat to the lives she so accurately captured in her compulsive plotlines. She was a creative force, a trailblazer for women in fiction, and in her own words “a kick-ass writer!” Her fascinating life as a writer and icon is explored in the CNN Films documentary Lady Boss: The Jackie Collins Story. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Chapter One: Elaine Conti awoke in her luxurious bed in her luxurious Beverly Hills mansion, pressed a button to open the electrically controlled drapes, and was confronted by the sight of a young man clad in a white T-shirt and dirty jeans pissing a perfect arc into her mosaic-tiled swimming pool. She struggled to situp, buzzing for Lina, her Mexican maid, and at the same time flinging on a marahou-trimmed silk robe and pressing her feet into dusty pink mules. The young man completed his task, zipped up his jeans, and strolled casually out of view. "Lina!" Elaine screamed. "Where are you?" The maid appeared, inscrutable, calm, oblivious to her mistress's screams. "There's an intruder out by the pool," Elaine snapped excitedly. "Get Miguel. Call the police. And make sure all the doors are locked." Unperturbed, Lina began to collect the debris of clutter frorn Elaine's bedside table. Dirty Kleenex, a half-finished glass of wine, a rifled box of chocolates. "Lina!" Elaine yelled. "No get excited, senora," the maid said stoically. "No intruder. Just boy Miguel sent to do pool. Miguel sick. No come this week." Elaine flushed angrily. "Why the hell didn't you tell me before?" She flung herself into her bathroom, slamming the door so hard that a framed print sprang off the wall and crashed to the floor, the glass shattering. Stupid maid. Dumb-ass woman. It was impossible to get good help anymore. They came. They went. They did not give a damn if you were raped and ravaged in your own home. And this would have to happen while Ross was away on location. Miguel would never have dared to pretend to be sick if Ross was in town. Elaine flung off her robe, slipped out of her nightgown, and stepped under the invigorating sharpness of an ice-cold shower. She gritted her teeth. Cold water was best for the skin, tightened everything up. And, God knew, even with the gym and the yoga and the modern-dance class it still all needed tightening. Not that she was fat. No way. Not a surplus ounce of flesh on her entire body. Pretty good for thirty-nine years of age. W hen I was thirteen I was the fattest girl in school. Etta the Elephant theycalled me. And
