Blonde Ambition

by Zoey Dean

  Anna and Danny took their drinks (Danny’s was Sex, Anna’s was Virgin) out to the star-shaped pool behind the mansion. Beyond that was the beach and then the endless ocean. “This is lovely,” she told him as they stood at the edge of the pool deck, sipping their drinks.

  “Streisand two houses to the right, Spielberg two houses to the left. One minute I tell myself it’s worth putting up with all the crap to live between them someday,” Danny mused. “Then I wake up in the middle of the night feeling like a total sellout who’s never going to write his novel. And then I think I write TV because I know the novel will be … average. It won’t suck, but it won’t be great. It’ll be just good enough to get some nice rejection letters. And I’ll watch two years of work go down the drain.”

  “You’re being a little hard on yourself.”

  “You’re right,” Danny cheerfully decided. “Nothing worse than an overprivileged guy whining about his overprivilege, huh?”

  “Oh, I can think of a few things,” Anna teased. “Such as—”

  She was cut off by the ringing of Danny’s cell. “Excuse me,” he said, and plucked it out of his pocket. “Hello? … Yeah … Yeah … Okay, I’ll be right there.”

  Danny hung up. A dark cloud had settled over his features. “What’s wrong?” Anna asked.

  “That was Clark, master and commander, summoning me back to the set.”

  “Now? You can’t even have lunch?”

  “Like I said, I’m a slave to TV.” Danny sighed. “He’s pissed about something or other. Just be glad he didn’t ask for you, too.”

  Clark Super

  Cammie had slept until noon, when Dee called to invite her and Mia to lunch at the Polo Lounge. Cammie took the opportunity to ream out the largely unapologetic Dee for having brought Mia to the rave in east L.A. Then she’d agreed to go to lunch but decided to stick it further to Dee by ordering a slew of expensive things and then nibbling at a bagel.

  Now they were indoors at the Polo Lounge, enjoying the famous Sunday lunch. Mia showed no wear or tear from the night before. She’d polished off a smoked salmon omelet and three glasses of fresh-squeezed orange juice before declaring that she wanted to look at the shops on the downstairs promenade.

  As for Cammie, she’d relented and merely ordered poached eggs. As Mia departed, she sat, assessing the lunchtime crowd—the mayor of Los Angeles sat at a rear table with Governor Schwarzenegger and his wife. Meanwhile Dee prattled on about a guy from Pasadena she’d met at the rave, a guy “way cooler” than Stevie, the guitarist with Border Crossing. As for Stevie, he’d returned to Brooklyn without even a “Thanks for the memories.”

  Cammie barely listened—she had a lot on her mind. Mostly Adam and his declaration that he couldn’t or wouldn’t be with Cammie until he was over Anna. Fuck Anna Percy. Revenge was going to be sweet.

  “… So I hope you accept my apology,” Dee concluded. Cammie focused on Dee’s saucer-sized eyes. “What?” “I said I’m really, really sorry I brought Mia last night. I guess I didn’t think it through.”

  “You’re forgiven,” Cammie told her, feeling empowered. “Don’t do anything that stupid again.”

  Dee nodded solemnly. “Cross my heart. I’ll apologize to Mia, too.”

  “Are you kidding? She had a good time. Something to talk about with her friends in Valley Village.”

  “Yeah,” Dee agreed. She opened her pink Hello Kitty purse—Cammie would have considered the purse an ironic statement except that Dee had no concept of irony—and handed something to Cammie. “A present. For you.”

  Cammie stared at the red, knotted Kabbalah bracelet. Kabbalah—the study and practice of Jewish mysticism— was all the rage in Hollywood. Thoroughly gentile Dee was taking classes with Madonna and Britney and had evidently decided she was a spiritual sage.

  “Thanks, Dee. That’s extremely … thoughtful.” Cammie stuck the bracelet into her purse. The waitress brought the check and Dee put down one of her many credit cards. She glanced at the entryway to the Polo Lounge. “Mia’s been downstairs too long.”

  “Maybe her stomach’s upset from last night,” Dee suggested.

  “To quote the worst line in the history of Hollywood, ‘I have a bad feeling about this,’” Cammie said. “Be back.”

  She slid out of the booth, left the Polo Lounge, and went downstairs to the promenade. There was no sign of Mia in any of the shops. She checked the downstairs bathroom, too.

  “Mia?”

  Nothing. Cammie peered at shoes under the stall doors. What the hell was Mia wearing on her feet? Delman white leather ballet flats under stall one: no. Knockoff Steve Madden platforms and fat ankles in stall two: definitely not. Stall three was Jimmy Choo stilettos in at least a size twelve—an obvious transsexual. Stall four was empty.

  Damn her. Cammie marched back upstairs to the Polo Lounge, where Dee had just signed the credit card slip. “No go,” she reported to Dee. “Let’s check outside.”

  There were the usual two valets at the hotel entrance. Cammie accosted the older of them as he was unloading Louis Vuitton luggage from the back of a black limo.

  “Have you seen a teen girl out here? Skinny, maybe five-four, red hair, puffy lips?”

  The valet thought for a moment. “Yeah, actually. She came out here about fifteen minutes ago. With some other kids. They went toward the upper parking lot.” He pointed to the right. “Now, excuse me. I’m busy here.”

  “Come on,” Cammie told Dee. The two of them started toward the upper parking lot, where no one except the valets usually went. But they hadn’t walked for more than five minutes when they heard peals of laughter coming from inside a small toolshed. Cammie recognized the laugh—Mia. She strode to the entrance of the shed and pulled the door open. There, sitting in a circle, were four middle-school-age kids. One of them held a bong. The shed reeked of high-quality reefer.

  “Hi. Want some?” said the boy, holding the bong out to Cammie. That simple remark was enough to start the kids laughing again.

  “Mia, what do you think you’re doing?” Cammie asked, appalled that Mia was using such bad judgment as to get stoned in a place where she could easily be busted.

  “This your mom, Mia?” the boy with the bong asked. More laughter followed.

  “Fine,” Cammie snarled. “Our car’s leaving in five minutes, Mia. You’ll either be there or not.”

  With that, Cammie closed the door.

  Let her ruin her life, she thought. No one died and appointed me Superman. I’m not even her real sister.

  Around ten that evening Anna was just about to climb into the bathtub when she heard a knock on her bedroom door. “Miss Anna?” someone called.

  The voice was female. Anna slipped on her robe, walked through the bedroom, and opened the door. Juanita, one of her father’s housekeepers, was at the door. She wore her coat over her uniform, and her purse was over her arm.

  “I am just leaving and a man is here to see you,” Juanita explained. “Clark Super.”

  Clark Sheppard, Anna thought automatically. Why would Clark come to her house on a Sunday night?

  Anna thanked Juanita and followed her downstairs. Clark stood in the foyer; Juanita slipped out behind him.

  “I wasn’t expecting you,” Anna said, feeling awkward. Yes, he was prone to call at any hour of the day or night, but to show up at her house was crossing the line.

  “Turn on the TV,” he barked.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Turn on the fucking TV!” he thundered. Without waiting for Anna to follow his direction, he marched into the living room, searched for and found the remote, and powered up the TV himself.

  “What are you doing?” Anna asked.

  “That’s funny, coming from you.”

  She had no idea what he was talking about. The big screen filled with an image of Lynda Larson, host of Hollywood Tonight, the same show that had interviewed Jackson Sharpe at the party the night before.

  “Tonight an HT exclusive:
the inside scoop on the scandals and secrets of Arnold Pink’s newest show, Hermosa Beach.” Footage of Scott Stoddard, the actor playing Cruise, that had been taken at the previous night’s party, filled the screen. “Scott Stoddard, who plays the hunky male lead Cruise on the soon-to-premiere show Hermosa Beach, apparently has a secret past. He has been linked to a white supremacist group, the Aryan Alliance, with major followings in both America and England. According to our source, Stoddard attended Aryan Alliance meetings in both Idaho and Liverpool over the last two years and was involved in weapons training at both conclaves.

  “Hollywood Tonight was tipped off by an inside source,” Lynda continued, “a disgruntled Hermosa Beach insider. We wonder how this disclosure will affect the show’s premiere in ten days, and—”

  Clark snapped off the power. “Well?”

  “Well, that’s horrible,” Anna said, bewildered. “But you could have just called and asked me to tune in.”

  “Why would you need to? You’re the insider.”

  “I’m what?”

  “I got a call from a friend on Hollywood Tonight,” Clark continued. “He warned me that this was running and that it was you who leaked it.”

  Anna shook her head at the bizarre accusation. “Me? But that’s not possible! I don’t know anything about these people. How could I?”

  Clark stabbed a finger at Anna. “You have fucked the wrong person, Anna Percy. You’re fired. And you will never eat breakfast, lunch, or dinner in this town again.”

  As he stormed out the door, Anna stood with mouth agape. Had that really just happened? She had to call Danny. Maybe he could make some sense of the insanity. She hurried upstairs and punched his number into her cell. He answered on the third ring.

  “Danny? It’s Anna.”

  “I’m in a meeting,” he said, voice low.

  “Clark was just here and he—”

  “Look, I can’t talk to you. I’ll lose my job. Clark says you’re dead to us.”

  D-Minus List

  “Danny?”

  “I told you last night, Anna. Clark says you’re dead to us. That’s a direct quote. I’m really sorry.”

  Anna clutched her cell tighter and turned away from the prying eyes in the BHH cafeteria. It was the next day at school, and she was at lunch. Though she’d tried to reach Danny repeatedly during the morning, he hadn’t answered the phone. Now he had answered but still refused to talk to her.

  “Don’t hang up,” she said quickly. “I didn’t do it. I didn’t. You know me better than that.”

  “Here’s the deal. I like you. But I can’t take sides. Not against Clark.”

  Anna was hurt. Profoundly. “I’m sorry you feel that way.” “This is my livelihood, okay?” Danny went on. “I can’t screw around here. Everyone knows we were hanging out.”

  Anna’s voice went Jane Percy icy; no one could cut someone cold quite the way Anna’s mother could. “Fine. I’m sorry I called. I won’t bother you again.”

  “Anna—”

  This time it was Anna’s turn to hang up.

  “What you did is the bomb, girl! Fuck ’em!”

  Anna turned to see an alt girl in combat boots and black tights give her a monster thumbs-up. But she didn’t acknowledge it, just stared down into the vanilla yogurt she’d purchased. She could feel the eyes and hear the whispers. She had no idea how the news mill of BHH worked as quickly as it did, but by the time she’d arrived that morning, everyone knew she was The Insider Who Had Fucked Hermosa Beach. Most kids thought she was a traitor. A few thought she was beyond cool. No one asked whether the report was true or not.

  The upshot was that Anna, who a mere week before had ascended to the heights of the BHH A-list, was now demoted to the D-minus list.

  “Hi.”

  Anna looked up nervously. But it was only Sam, who slid a tray of Jell-O cubes and iceberg lettuce onto the table and sat across from her.

  “Dining in?” Anna asked. With the exception of her brief flirtation with Power Eating, Sam hardly ever ate on campus.

  “Penance for a weekend of utter gluttony,” Sam explained. “So, is it true?”

  Anna managed a half smile. “You’re the first person all day to ask me that.”

  Sam spooned some Jell-O into her mouth. “Meaning you didn’t?”

  “Of course not!”

  “I didn’t think so. But Clark Sheppard has a way of making instant enemies,” Sam explained. “Still, it didn’t seem like your style. You just would have quit.”

  “No need. I got fired.”

  Sam squeezed a lemon wedge onto the lettuce. “Do we care?”

  “Well, let’s see. I blew my Apex assignment and got fired by Margaret. Then Clark fired me for creating a scandal. One more and I set a world record.”

  “Hey, cheer up. You never know how these things play out. The publicity might be good for the show. Scott Stoddard might go on Sixty Minutes and make a contrite apology. You’ll be hailed as a hero and get a development deal at UPN.”

  Anna laughed. “This is a strange town, Sam.”

  Sam’s eyes slid over to a girl who was wearing her lace bra over her T-shirt. “Land of insanity and fashion victims,” she proclaimed. “That’s showbiz.” She took a bite of lettuce and made a face. “God, I’d kill for a Mars bar. Maybe I should get my stomach stapled.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Anna said.

  Sam pushed the tray away from her. “So let me ask you this. If it wasn’t you, then who?”

  Anna shrugged and dropped her chin into her hands. “There are other interns,” Sam pressed. “Why is everyone so sure it’s you?”

  “Because that’s what someone at Hollywood Tonight told Clark.”

  Sam shook her head. “Come on, Anna. Where’s your killer instinct? Think like a Los Angeleno, not like a New Yorker. Who’d want to make you look really, really, really bad?”

  Slowly the truth dawned on Anna, who’d been so horrified by her situation that she’d barely thought about who’d framed her.

  “Cammie?” she ventured.

  “Aren’t you bright,” Sam said.

  Anna sat up straighter. No. That was insane. “She would stoop this low? This is her father’s show! Why would she want to hurt it?”

  Sam shook her hair back. “I know Cammie. The answer is: yes, she would.”

  “But you can’t just accuse her,” Anna began. “Unless you know for a fact—”

  “We don’t,” Sam admitted.

  “But I can help you find out.” Anna leaned forward. “How?”

  Before Sam could answer, Adam loped by their table, barely nodding in their direction.

  “She’s even playing games with Adam’s head now,” Sam went on, “and he’s the nicest guy I know.”

  Anna looped some hair that had come loose from her ponytail behind one ear. “In some ways I’d like to just forget the whole thing. It’s all so sordid.”

  “Spoken like a girl of breeding,” Sam teased. “But breeding doesn’t get you squat in this town. I say, first we figure out what happened. Then we give as good as you got.”

  Pink-and-White Birthday Cake

  Happy birthday to me, Cammie thought, and took another sip from her champagne flute. So what if she’d had to throw the party for herself? It had turned out great. She’d decided to hold it at Antebellum Daddy, a new bar down the block from Star Shoes, which, in Cammie’s opinion, was already post-hip. House of Blues was way too obvious. And these days The Viper Room was filled with high-school kids with fake IDs.

  Onstage Jared Leto’s band, Thirty Seconds to Mars, was jamming. Over at the bar kids Cammie knew vaguely from school were swigging this week’s stupid drink trend from Pooh Bear baby bottles: cough syrup with codeine mixed with Hennessey. Cammie preferred to stick to Cristal champagne. She glanced at the dance floor and grinned. Not only had all her friends showed up, but a number of celebrities, too. Kirsten was dancing with Tobey, Dee was dancing with Adam, and Sam with Parker’s younger brother, M
onty.

  Cammie had planned her affair carefully, right down to the departure gift bags that each guest would take away. The girls and women would each get a big assortment of Mario Badescu skin care products, a Levi’s Type 1 jean jacket, a Jacobson/Mann ancient coin necklace, and a Kiko watch on the underside of whose leather band had been etched Cammie 18. The guys would each get the newest iPod, a sleeve of the new Calloway golf balls, and the same Kiko watch as the girls, except with a more masculine band.

  Adam worked his way through the crowd, balancing two plates of food from the buffet. He handed one to Cammie. “Everyone over there is saying how great the food is. You throw a hell of a party.”

  To Cammie, these words momentarily underscored the sad fact that she’d had to organize her own affair, but she grinned anyway. Those days were over: happy days were here again, Anna Percy was hiding in her room, and being with Adam just about made up for everything else. Jared’s band took the pace down a notch, and Cammie indicated a nearby table. She put her plate down and motioned for Adam to do the same. “We can eat later.”

  She led him to the dance floor, where they embraced and he smiled down at her. “You look beautiful.”

  She already knew that. But it was sweet of him to say so. “So do you.”

  They danced a few beats in silence. “About the other night,” he began. “What I said about Anna—”

  “I’d prefer not to discuss her at my birthday party, if you don’t mind.”

  “Fair enough,” he agreed.

  “She treated you like shit, Adam,” she went on, despite her own edict. “I mean, think about it. What does it say about you if you’re hung up on a girl who does that?”

  “I’m not ‘hung up’ on her, exactly. I’m not very good at bouncing from relationship to relationship.”

  “I understand,” Cammie sympathized, though she thought Adam was slightly full of shit. Relationship? He and Anna had been together for a nanosecond in between Anna’s pathetic Ben Birnbaum binges.

  “You see, Cammie—”

  “Shhh.” She raised her lips to Adam’s and kissed him softly. Once again electricity surged through her. Adam was hot in a completely different way from Ben. But hot he definitely was.