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New York and had survived in L.A. by taking any gig they could get. Venus had worked in a supermarket bagging groceries, as a nude model for an art class, as a movie extra, and various one-nighters singing and dancing.
    Ron had attempted waiting tables, running errands for a messenger service, and chauffeuring limousines. Together they’d managed to survive, until one night Venus was discovered by a small-time record producerwho’d hung out at the same all-night clubs she and Ron frequented. With some heavy persuasion she’d gotten him to cut a record using her, then she and Ron had put together a sexy on-the-edge video to go with it. Venus had planned the look and the style, while Ron had come up with all the right moves.
    Overnight they’d scored, for within six weeks their record was number one and Venus Maria was launched.
    Now, five years later, at the age of twenty-seven, she was a major superstar with an enormous cult following. And Ron was a hot director with two hit movies behind him. It helped that Ron’s current boyfriend was Harris Von Stepp, an extraordinarily rich show business mogul who’d financed Ron’s first film. As Venus often pointed out, if Ron hadn’t possessed the talent, it would never have happened for him. She didn’t like Harris, he was twenty-five years older than Ron and icily controlling.
    As an actress Venus was creamed by the critics, even though every one of her movies did mega box office. Her latest, Finder , had already made over eight million its first weekend out. She was one of the few female stars able to open a movie.
    It obviously pissed off the mostly male critics that a woman could be as daring and outspoken as Venus, and still manage to have a fantastic career. Journalists were always writing about her in derogatory terms—saying she was finished, tapped out, gone with the wind.
    Finished! Ha! Her last greatest hits CD had leaped into the charts at number one and stayed there for seven weeks.
    Finished, indeed! Who were they kidding? She had legions of loyal fans, and if the critics didn’t like her, too bad; she was around for the long haul and they’d better get used to it or bail out.
    Two years ago she’d gotten married to Cooper Turner—a classically handsome movie star with a majorstud reputation. Even though he was hitting forty-seven—twenty years older than she—she’d recently found out that her dear husband was unable to keep his dick in his pants. He adored women, and although she was sure he loved her, there was nothing she could do about his wandering cock. Cooper was a player who couldn’t help it. Too bad, because they made a dynamite couple.
    When they’d first met, she’d been involved in an affair with one of his best friends, the New York property tycoon Martin Swanson. At the time Martin was very hot for her and very married. Their affair had culminated in the suicide of Martin’s wife in front of them.
    Cooper had been there for her all the way. Tragedy had brought them together and they’d fallen in love and gotten married.
    At one time Cooper had mentioned wanting to start a family. She’d told him she wasn’t ready because she knew exactly what would happen —she would have the babies while he cruised the club scene; she would lose her figure while he stocked up on Armani suits; she would sit home with them while he would be out showing off the famous Cooper cock.
    No. Starting a family with Cooper was not for her.
    Marriage, she realized, had probably been a mistake, and lately she’d been considering getting a fast divorce.
    That would send the tabloids into a frenzy. She was their darling, their favorite. Ever since her dear brother Emilio the slob had sold them the story of her life, there’d been no getting rid of them. Every week they ran a sensational new story about her. According to the tabloids, she’d slept with everyone from John F. Kennedy, Jr. to Madonna!
    If they only knew the truth. She’d been the faithful wife,