I stood outside the circle of mutual admiration sweating in my inappropriate clothes, my curls sticking to the back of my neck. “Glad you finally made it,” I said. “How was the flight over?”
“That little plane, my God! I don’t think I’ve ever flown on anything that small… Landing on the water was crazy. I thought I might die.”
Cole snickered. “Glad to hear your flair for the dramatic is intact.”
“This place is amazing.” Stella swept her arm toward the horizon. “The water is just…so blue. I can’t even. I’ve always wanted to live on an island, drink from a coconut. So romantic. I love it.”
Out in the bay, Jackson splashed the girl on the rock, eliciting a cascade of squeals. We watched as she stood, laughing, then dove into the sea.
June 2, 2006Celeb SpotterStole Getting Married?
It was a wet-n-wild weekend for Stella Rivers, 27, and Cole Power, 36. The two, who have been hot and heavy since playing opposite each other as star-crossed lovers in the film Faster, were spotted Saturday in Miami, lounging on Power’s yacht. Rivers flaunted her toned figure in a barely there white bikini, while Power helped lube her up with sunscreen [picture]. Later that night, “Stole” were spotted in the VIP room of Thrive nightclub’s annual white party, dancing the night away to the sound of DJ Hall with a group of friends that included actress Hannah Bridges and her boyfriend, Chad Young. But the biggest news came on Sunday, when Stole were spotted canoodling at brunch at hot spot South Shore, Stella wearing what appears to be a square-cut diamond solitaire on her ring finger [pic]. According to our source, the ring is startlingly similar to the engagement ring Cole’s character gives Stella’s character at the end of Faster. Could wedding bells be in their future?
Stella
Felicity!” I called, waving my hand overhead.
She glided in with the surf like Aphrodite, only way hotter. I’d seen the paintings—I knew. One wealthy Austrian I dated in my early twenties who shall remain nameless even had a museum-quality Diana hanging in the entry hall of his country estate, by one of those famous Renaissance artists whose objets d’affection were always depicted as lumpy and pale—a reflection of the beauty standards of the time I’m sure, but Fee! My God. Greek goddesses had nothing on her. She was TV pretty. Though these days it did seem like every casting wanted “real people.” As if having a symmetrical face and a trim waist somehow made you not a real person.
People might think I’d be jealous of my young assistant—and I’m sure some actresses would be—but you can’t hold youth against the young. I am an Aquarius, after all; I’ve always valued aesthetics. And I understood what it was like to be splendor in the springtime of life. I was a girl like her not that long ago: hot without caveat. I knew I was still beautiful—it would be ungrateful and disingenuous to pretend otherwise—but I had to admit I was always a little thrown when I looked in the mirror these days. Like, Who is this woman staring back at me?
As much as I’d have loved to imagine myself aging gracefully like a sexy French dame, I lived in Hollywood, where women were put out to pasture at forty. Which is why I couldn’t let anyone know I’d just turned forty. Forty! Lord, it sounded so old. The problem was, I’d been acting since I was a child, so it was hard to lie believably about my age. And it didn’t help that I had to dye my hair every three weeks to keep the grays at bay. I did it myself so no one would know. You can’t trust hair stylists. At least I still had my “captivating emerald” eyes (September 2005 Vogue’s description, not mine), though the crow’s-feet drove me nuts, and I was afraid to get injections around my eyes for fear of looking frozen. C’est la vie.
I stepped beneath the shade of the thatched umbrella and fanned myself with my hat as Felicity sauntered across the pale pink sand, her thin beige bikini clinging to her curvy wet body like a tan line. I couldn’t help but notice Jackson pretending not to watch from out in the bay. Ooh…they would make a cute couple. Maybe I should play matchmaker. I did want to help her any way I could. Contrary to popular belief, I was actually quite generous. “Come meet Cole,” I continued. “And—” Oh hell, I’d forgotten the producer girl’s name again. “And everybody!”
Felicity fluffed her bangs and ran her fingers through her short brunette waves, flashing a smile that warmed her cat-like dark eyes. “I just have to hug you,” she purred, throwing her toned arms around Cole’s neck. Accustomed to but never bored by the attention of beautiful girls, he inhaled her like a wolf would a rabbit, his hands on her back as she pressed her damp skin to his. “Bad Boy got me through high school.”
“Glad to be of service.” He fixed her with his mesmerizing gaze.
“I’m Taylor,” the producer girl chimed in, extending her hand.
Wait a minute—this was Taylor? Surely she couldn’t be the same Taylor the wardrobe girls were dishing about at my fitting. She certainly didn’t look like a “devious little slut.” She was diminutive and pale with messy black hair and brown eyes, wearing an unflattering mix of knee-length cutoff jean shorts and a bulky T-shirt that seemed specifically designed to repel any romantic interest.
The wardrobe girls were shocked I hadn’t heard about the scandal—something about
