It's Only Love

by Mel Curtis

  “Oh, hell, no. I’m calling Amber.” Cora set her boxy, black leather bag on a chair, removed Brutus, and rummaged inside, presumably for her phone. Her small, black dog sat on the Oriental carpet and yawned.

  Gemma came around the reception desk, swinging her pleather backpack purse onto her shoulders. “Amber won’t answer. She’s meeting with the Kings management team.”

  Cora’s gaze narrowed on Gemma. “You blackmailed Amber into this, didn’t you?”

  “No.” Gemma knelt to pick up Brutus, scratching him behind one ear. “The Foundation needs life coaches and I was available.”

  It was the wrong thing to say. Cora pointed a manicured finger at her dog. “Brutus is available. That doesn’t mean he’s qualified to help anybody get their shit together.”

  “I help you three – ”

  “Please.” Cora reached for Brutus. “Stay here and do your college homework.”

  “The semester hasn’t started yet.” Gemma swiveled so the fluffy Chihuahua was out of reach. “You need me.” Where did that come from?

  Cora gave Gemma a disdainful once over. “Seriously?”

  Oh, hell. Now what?

  Gemma stroked Brutus’ soft fur like the dog was a lucky rabbit’s foot, one that had the answer to the question she knew was coming.

  “I need you.” The sarcasm in Cora’s voice hung heavily in the air between them, a physical divider between the haves and the have-nots. “Why is that exactly?”

  “Because…because…” Gemma could feel the chance slipping through her fingers, could almost hear Cora’s derisive comments that would surely follow her for weeks on end if she didn’t come up with a good reason. It was just that Cora was such an intimidating bitch and… “You’re a bitch.”

  Cora closed her lipstick-laden lips.

  “Bitches are intimidating.”

  Cora twisted a lock of long brown hair over one shoulder, but said nothing.

  Gemma pressed on. “You scare the crap out of people.”

  “Name one.”

  Thankfully, a name came to mind. “Mimi Sorbet.” The starlet had just been released from rehab. “When she came here last week with her agent, she hesitated before she went into your office.”

  Cora’s laughter promised Gemma would never ride shotgun. “You are so clueless. Mimi is a tigress in sheep’s clothing. You think she could achieve her level of success if that helpless female act was real?” She laughed again. “You’re misreading things. You couldn’t even notice when a guy was checking you out at Jack’s party last night.”

  “Guys never notice me.” Especially the ones she wanted to, like the new assistant coach of the Flash. She’d started following him on Twitter this morning – @CoachRFarrell.

  “I wonder why.” The dismissive glance Cora was so good at skimmed over Gemma again, landing on her feet.

  Damn boots. There were fashionable army boots, and then there were these. “You need me.” Gemma hoped to heck it was true. “Take me with you today, and if I don’t contribute, I won’t ask you again.”

  Cora hesitated, considering. “One day is way too long.”

  An opening. Gemma tamped down the feeling of excitement and tossed out the only argument she had left. “You know Amber will make you do it anyway. Why not get it over with?”

  ~*~

  As a rule, young Hollywood starlets were insecure, projected the impression that they were virgin whores, and flaunted their eccentricities for a blurb in People magazine. Having been exposed to Daddy’s starlet clients since she was a teen, Cora had little patience for the type.

  Portia Francis was the exception to the rule. She had that classic, blond, movie-star beauty and real talent, but was afraid – almost to the point of being frozen – that any misstep would ruin her career. So she dressed conservatively and looked for other ways to garner publicity. Portia’s latest cutting-edge idea? Use purple as a theme. Her movie-studio dressing room was decorated in purple and white. The fish in her tropical fish tank matched the color scheme. As did her purse and her sports car.

  Peeking in the doorway of Portia’s dressing room, Gemma looked uncomfortable in her fashion-don’t black and army green ensemble.

  “Welcome to my world,” Cora muttered to her as they entered Portia’s purple wonderland.

  But a love of purple wasn’t enough to create buzz. And since buzz seemed to follow the Dooley Foundation wherever a Rule went, Cora had been hired by the studio to help break Portia out of her stuffy shell. Enter a spotted, hairless Chihuahua from the Malibu Small Dog Rescue, an organization supported almost solely by the Dooley Foundation.

  Looking throwback sophisticated in gray silk trousers and a white and black silk blouse, Portia took the trembling dog from Cora. “Are you sure this dog will get me press?” The tiny thing nuzzled the actress’ neck, giving her a tentative kiss. “I don’t want to seem like I’m pulling some kind of stunt, using an animal for personal gain. My fans expect me to be authentic.”

  Portia cited her fans every time her fears threatened to overwhelm her. A former Disney Channel star, Portia had experienced the tremendous highs and desolate lows of a rollercoaster career. And she was only twenty-five.

  “Besides, Cora,” Portia was saying. “You get into L.A. Happenings all the time without a dog.”

  Not by choice.

  “If you take Dottie everywhere, it won’t seem like a gimmick.” Gemma piped up, a cheerful expression on her face that looked forced and unnatural. “It’ll seem like love. And love makes the L.A. Happenings column.”

  Not hardly. Hot liaisons interested the gossip king.

  The Constant Companion program was one of her father’s most effective life coaching methods. He’d called it Dog Gone, but Blue had deemed that non-friendly and renamed it. Most clients bonded quickly with their constant companions and learned to be more compassionate. In Portia’s case, the hope was the actress would feel more comfortable putting herself out there with a live prop and conversation starter.

  Portia scratched Dottie behind her ears, smiling at Gemma the same way she’d smiled at the villain in the closing scenes of her last film, right before she’d shot him between the eyes.

  Taking Gemma along today had been a bad idea. The diminutive receptionist wasn’t cut out for Hollywood’s larger-than-life drama.

  The actress turned to Cora, shooting her with the same gaze. “I know what you’re doing. You got a dog, so you think I need a dog.”

  “We’re not in grade school.” Nor were they BFFs anymore. She and Portia were merely business associates. Cora was choosier about who she hung out with now.

  Who was she kidding? Cora hadn’t been hanging out with anyone lately.

  Cora smiled back at Portia, feeling as fake as fur trim at the Oscars. “Dottie is beautiful, unique, and a rescue dog. She gives you something to talk about. And here.” Cora handed Portia a purple leather dog carrier that looked like a purse, with a purple rhinestone-studded collar and matching leash inside. “My gift to you.”

  “Miss Francis.” Someone knocked on Portia’s dressing room door. “You’re needed in five.”

  Portia sighed. “Rehearsals.” She stood and air-kissed Cora’s cheeks. “Thanks for the dog. Do you think she’ll be all right in here alone?”

  “What part of everywhere didn’t you understand?” Cora snapped.

  Gemma leapt in. “That’s why we brought you a designer carrier. Take Dottie to rehearsal.”

  “Oh.” Portia blinked at Gemma as if she was from a sub-species that spoke a different language. “But – ”

  “Portia, if you want to get back into People or the L.A. Happenings column, this dog never leaves your side.” Cora waited for Portia to nod before collecting Gemma and heading to her car. She waited until they were down the paved path to say, “Leave the talking to me.”

  “Of course. You’re so charming. Portia was ready to do whatever you suggested.”

  They both knew that wasn’t true. They walked the short dista
nce to the space where Cora had left her car running and locked, air conditioning blasting to keep Brutus and another little dog cool on what was turning into another hot summer day.

  They’d almost reached her Mercedes when Cora heard her name.

  Cal Lazarus sauntered over. “I’m glad I caught you.” He was tall and fit, with silver threading his thick brown hair. Once upon a time, she’d been taken in by his kind brown eyes. Today they were intense, rimmed with dark circles, and repelled her.

  Or maybe it was his text from last night that creeped her out: I’m hard and craving your lips. Wear lipstick and meet me in ten minutes. Say yes and I’ll text the address.

  Cora subtly positioned herself between innocent Gemma and the pervert.

  “I requested you as a life coach.” His gaze reviewed Cora’s attributes with uncomfortable familiarity. “They said you were booked solid and I’d be assigned someone else.”

  “That would be me.” Gemma reached around Cora and introduced herself.

  Little fool.

  “How…unexpected.” Cal submitted Gemma to a calculating review, blinked at the sum of impressions, then sent Cora a look that said bad things might happen if he didn’t get his way.

  Cal was an über-shit and a sleezy stalker. Cora didn’t care about losing his billings – either for herself or the company. But she was oddly protective of Gemma. She gently moved her aside. “I think I can squeeze you in.” But not in her mouth.

  “I’m glad we understand each other.” He snared Cora’s hand and tugged her forward, nipping her ear lobe and running his thumb between her legs. “We can start tonight.”

  “Sorry. I’m busy tonight.” Cora suppressed the need for a crotch-aimed knee-strike and whirled her way to freedom. “Let’s get out of here.” Cora needed a shower and comfort food.

  “Or perhaps the three of us can get together and…work things out.”

  Cora glared at Cal over her shoulder. “I’ll call you when I’m ready.” She suppressed a shudder.

  Gemma stomped to the car, her mood as black as Cora’s Mercedes. “Don’t do that again.”

  “What? Save your ass?” Cora could have unlocked the doors. Instead, she faced Gemma over the hood of her idling engine. “Do you know who that is?”

  “Everyone knows Cal Lazarus.” With her dark unruly curls and nerd glasses, she looked as naïve as she sounded. “He’s one of the most successful producers in town.”

  “And one of the biggest head-cases. Did my dad ever tell you about him?” When Gemma shook her head, Cora unlocked the doors. “I thought not. If you want to be a life coach, let’s start you out with something less complex.” Like an aging Hollywood housewife who was more interested in saying she was a Dooley Foundation client than wanting to change her life.

  Brutus and a sweet, tea cup poodle were in carriers in the front seat, soaking up the cool air. They transferred the dogs to the back. It wasn’t until she’d buckled her own seat belt that she realized Gemma was absorbed in her cell phone, posting to… “You have a Twitter account?” Gemma didn’t seem like the type.

  “That’s none of your business.” Gemma set her phone in her lap and pushed her glasses to the bridge of her upturned nose. Dark hair floated about her face, much as Cora’s father’s used to. Had she never heard of hair gel? “And no, I won’t tell you what my Twitter account is. Don’t try to follow me.”

  As if Gemma had anything Cora needed to read about in 140 characters. She started the car. “Cal needs a woman. Any ideas?”

  “Is that what he’s paying for?”

  “No.” He wanted to pay Cora for sex when what he really needed was balance.

  “No ideas then, especially since you poached him from me.” That was Gemma. A joy to work with.

  Cora drove out of the studio lot. “You have to get out more. You know nothing about Hollywood or men.”

  “I read L.A. Happenings. And I know that I want a guy who appreciates me for me, not my bedroom moves or the clothes I wear.” There was a note of pain in Gemma’s voice, like a little girl admitting to her dad that no one else in school liked her.

  Her tone bothered Cora. Their relationship was antagonistic, bordering on pain-in-the-ass, but it was a relationship forged by bitchiness. She didn’t want Gemma to wimp out on her. “In case that was your way of asking, Gemma, I don’t do fashion makeovers.”

  Gemma recovered with whip-cracking anger. “The right guy won’t like me just because I’m wearing great shoes.”

  Cora tried not to smile. “Yep, behind those glasses and army boots hides a real dude magnet.”

  Bullseye. Gemma crossed her arms over her chest. “At least I’ll have my virginity on my wedding day.”

  Cora almost rear-ended a Hummer that had stopped abruptly on a yellow light. She recovered enough for a late volley. “At least your best sex will be behind you – all those nights alone in your bed.”

  “Whereas your equipment will have more miles than a used Camry.”

  “Bitch,” Cora said good-naturedly.

  “Whore,” Gemma spat.

  Chapter 10

  When Cora pulled into Mimi Sorbet’s driveway, Gemma started in again. “Give me a chance. I can do this. You intimidate Mimi.”

  “You think being a life coach is easy? Like being someone’s friend?” Stubborn clients and annoying receptionists. Today was turning out to be just as frustrating for Cora as yesterday. “Let’s do a practice run. Pretend I’m a client whose career is in the crapper. This week my agent landed me a reading with none other than Cal Lazarus. What are you going to do?”

  Gemma squared her shoulders. “First, I’d tell you to visualize yourself in the role. To choose that image and pretend you’ve already got the part. Voice your wish to the world. And then imagine how you’ll feel when you land the role. Let the positive feelings fill your heart.” Gemma patted her chest, ruining her delivery with her snapping eyes. “Trust the feeling is real and welcome that feeling every morning. Never doubt. Never surrender.”

  “That was rough, but good.” Amber insisted they be cheesy and try to incorporate the choose-voice-trust-welcome positive affirmations into their coaching. “But then what? What exercises? What hell are you going to put me through so I have the confidence to land that role?” Because other than cute little dogs, most of Dooley’s programs were like being in emotional boot camp.

  Gemma opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

  “That’s what I thought. It’s not just visualization and the power of positive thinking. Daddy came up with a grab bag of well-meaning torture.”

  “Like giving them a dog?” Gemma deadpanned.

  “People who’ve achieved a high level of success often become insular. Dogs help them open up, teach them the importance of patience, and make them think of someone else first.” Cora got out of the car and took Brutus out of his carrier, giving him an affectionate pat and indicating Gemma should do the same for Coco. “Most of Daddy’s programs tend to be worse. Much worse.”

  “Give me an example. What would you do if it was me?”

  That was too easy. Cora had ridden shotgun with Daddy too many times. “Keep in mind that this is for you. It wouldn’t work for Mimi.” Gemma had confidence issues, while Mimi had lost her courage. “I’d make you strip to your skivvies and read your lines in character. Then I’d take you to a crowded bus stop late at night and do the same.”

  “If I could do that and not get arrested…” Gemma moved slowly toward the front door. “I could do anything.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I can do this,” Gemma said. “If you’ll teach me.”

  Cora scoffed. “You don’t even like me.”

  “True. But that doesn’t mean I can’t learn something from you.”

  Mimi opened the door before they could knock. Recently released from rehab, the starlet looked as fragile as a wilting lily...if wilting lilies wore Daisy Dukes and glittery sports bras. And yet, Mimi was still beautiful in an Anna Nicole Smith typ
e of way – that voluptuous innocence that men preyed upon.

  “Amber sent me a dog?” Mimi clutched the chocolate teacup poodle to her cleavage. With such a big foundation, the dog could sit there and watch TV.

  “It was your agent, Cy Maxwell,” Cora said.

  Cy was concerned that Mimi’s confidence was shaken, and her faith in her sobriety weak. Mimi hadn’t left her house since her release and was refusing to read any scripts.

  “What a beautiful place.” Without waiting to be invited in, Cora stepped past Mimi and inside her 1940s bungalow, followed by Gemma and her army boots.

  Mimi’s home had a professionally decorated appearance, uncluttered, a modern sensibility with antique touches. But the vibe was pure sex-kitten – a zebra print throw, a white couch with a wide seat (wide enough for two), a white, faux fur rug in front of the fireplace. Like Portia, Mimi had extended her public persona into her environment, as if she needed help keeping up the façade that her bra size created.

  From a chair in the dining room, a woman built like a linebacker and dressed like Sporty Spice looked as if she wasn’t happy to see them. Since she wasn’t modern or fashionable or friendly, Cora assumed she was the sober companion Cy had told her about.

  “What’s this cutie’s name?” Mimi snuggled her nose into the poodle’s brown hair.

  “Coco,” Gemma said, beating Cora to the punch. “If you want to keep her, you have to agree to one condition.”

  Mimi glanced up. Her blue eyes were huge, despite the lack of make-up and the ravages of alcohol.

  “She has to go with you everywhere,” Cora cut in. Damn upstart newbies. “That’s why she comes with this doggy tote.” Gucci. Tan. If it’d been a purse, Cora would’ve been jealous. Under the conditions of Daddy’s will, she couldn’t buy new purses either.

  Blue eyes blinked guilelessly. “But I have a date with Kent Decklin tonight. I have to look perfect. If I go…” The actress trailed off, then gamely assembled a nonchalant smile. “I don’t think Kent likes dogs.”

  Kent Decklin was a dog. He’d tried to win Amber back last spring, while stringing Mimi along.