New York Times bestselling author Nora Roberts weaves scandal, celebrity secrets, and murder into an explosive novel of Hollywood almost too wicked not to be true: the story of a legendary actress who knows too much-and the woman she's chosen to reveal it all…. Eve Benedict is the kind of subject who could make any biographer's career. Last of the movie goddesses, she has two Oscars, four ex-husbands, and a legion of lovers, both famous and infamous. Now she is ready to write a tell-all memoir that has even Hollywood's richest and most powerful worried. Julia Summers never dreamed of being chosen to tell Eve's story. But even if it means transplanting herself and her ten-year-old son from their quiet life in Connecticut to the withering limelight of Beverly Hills, it's an opportunity too great to pass up. But Julia never imagined how far someone would go to keep Eve Benedict's book from being published…until she discovers just how dark Eve's secrets are. And the one man Julia hopes she can trust-Eve's stepson, Paul Winthrop-may have the most to gain if his stepmother's story is never told…and if Julia's life ends before she can write a word of the truth.
Though the opening scene of this book refers to a murder, that deed only occurs 100 pages from the end of the story, when Roberts's ( Public Secrets ) disappointing tale finally heats up. Until then, the reader is dragged through the sordid secrets of a dreary collection of friends, lovers, employees and ex-husbands of 67-year-old film star Eve Benedict. She has hired Julia Summers to write an authorized biography, an expose of Hollywood life guaranteed to irk most of her past associates. And soon an aggressor swings into action: Eve and Julia receive threatening notes; Julia's rooms are broken into twice; finally, Eve is silenced permanently. So whodunit? The suspects are legion: Eve's nephew and agent, Drake Morrison, now fired and disinherited; former lover Michael Delrickio, whose mob connections Eve planned to reveal; actress Gloria DuBarry, a symbol of morality--provided no one learns of her affair and abortion. Or maybe it was Eva's devoted supporters Nina Soloman and Dorothy Travers, who are more than just staff. Or Eve's stepson, mystery writer Paul Winthrop, who has a marked interest in Julia. Or, as the police think, Julia herself.
Copyright 1991 Reed Business Information, Inc.
Showing 1-3 of the 3 most recent reviews
1 . I couldn't put this book down!!
Posted September 12, 2010 by Abby , Vancouver, BCI stayed up to 3:00 to finish this book. Lots of twists and turns to keep you entertained. I really enjoyed this book!!
2 . AWESOME
Posted March 27, 2010 by Karen , HuntsvilleTexasTruly one of her best! This book as twists and turns until the very end. I couldn't put it down.
3 . Mystery and Love
Posted March 03, 2010 by Kara , MiamiThere's nothing like the scandals of Hollywood. And nothing is what it seems. After a series of surprising twists and turns, after the characters have grown and been marked and changed by all that happens, the story will ease you to a satisfying conclusion.
July 30, 1991
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Excerpt from Genuine Lies by Nora Roberts
Somehow, using a combination of pride and terror, she managed to keep her head up and to choke back the nausea. It wasn't a nightmare. It wasn't a dark fantasy she would shake off at dawn. Yet, dreamlike, everything was happening in slow motion. She was fighting to push her way through a thick curtain of water beyond which she could see the faces of the people all around her. Their eyes were hungry; their mouths opened and closed as if they would swallow her whole. Their voices ebbed and flowed like the pounding of waves on rock. Stronger, more insistent, was her heart's jerky beat, a fierce tango inside her frozen body. Keep moving, keep moving, her brain commanded her trembling legs as firm hands pushed her through the crowd and out onto the courthouse steps. The glare of sunlight made her eyes tear, so she fumbled for her sunglasses. They would think she was crying. She couldn't allow them that dip into her emotions. Silence was her only shield. She stumbled and felt a moment of panic. She could not fall. If she fell, the reporters, the curious, would leap on her, snarling and snapping and tearing like wild dogs over a rabbit. She had to stand upright, to stand behind her silence for a few yards. Eve had taught her that much. Give them your brains, girl, never your guts. Eve. She wanted to scream. To throw her hands up over her face and scream and scream until all the rage, the fear, the grief, emptied out of her. Shouted questions assaulted her. Microphones stabbed at her face like deadly little darts as the news crews busily tapped the finale of the arraignment for murder of Julia Summers. "Bitch!" shouted someone whose voice was harsh with hate and tears. "Coldhearted bitch." She wanted to stop and scream back: How do you know what I am? How do you know what I feel? But the door of the limo was open. She climbed in to be cocooned by cool air, shielded by tinted glass. The crowd surged forward, pressing against the barricades along the curb. Angry faces encircled her; vultures over a still-bleeding corpse. As the car glided away, she looked straight ahead, her hands fisted in her lap and her eyes mercifully dry. She said nothing as her companion fixed her a drink. Two fingers of brandy. When she had taken the first sip, he spoke calmly, almost casually, in the voice she had come to love. "Well, Julia, did you kill her?" * * * She was a legend. A product of time and talent and her own unrelenting ambition. Eve Benedict. Men thirty years her junior desired her. Women envied her. Studio heads courted her, knowing that in this day when movies were made by accountants, her name was solid gold. In a career that had spanned nearly fifty years, Eve Benedict had known the highs, and the lows, and used both to forge herself into what she wanted to be. She did as she chose, personally and professionally. If a role interested her, she went after it with the same verve and ferocity she'd used to get her first part. If she desired a man, she snared him, discarding him only when she was done, and--she liked to brag--never with malice. All of her former lovers, and they were legion, remained friends. Or had the good sense to pr