“Bengal on East Houston,” she told the driver. “Between Avenue A and B.”
“Gotcha,” he said. “Girls’ night out?”
She giggled. “Something like that. Everyone’s got to let their hair down at some point, right?”
“That’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout.” He clocked the meter. “You gotta live it up, baby. Life’s too short.”
She had never gone to a bar solo before or with the sole purpose of hooking up. Sure, she’d had her share of one-night stands, but never anything preplanned. This was foreign territory; exotic, dangerous, wanton. First time for everything. She strolled through the ultra-modern establishment and nursed a glass of wine at the bar.
“Vodka soda,” said a patron to her left in a thick Eastern European accent. “Pardon me, miss, but you look very familiar.” His bee-stung lips and five o’clock shadow caught Callie’s attention. And those arms … muscles for days, golden and godlike. His dark eyes scaled her body.
“I don’t think we’ve met,” Callie said.
“No, I don’t think we have, but your face … I know you from somewhere. I’m Petru. It’s a pleasure. And you are? Wait, don’t tell me. Casey, Carrie…”
“Close. It’s Callie.”
“Ah, Callie. Callie Lambert, yes? You were on Letterman the other night. What, you look so surprised!”
“I didn’t think anyone still watched that show.”
“You were promoting that horror movie, the one with the Manx murder girl.”
“Guilty as charged.” Excluding the film’s premiere, it was the first time she’d been recognized in New York.
“You did a great job. The movie looks funny, too.”
“Just make sure you down a few beers before you watch it. You’re not going to come away enlightened or stimulated.”
“Well, maybe not intellectually, anyway,” he said softly.
She batted her Garbo-esque lashes and sipped her wine.
“I must tell you, as stunning as you were on TV, you’re more beautiful in person. What are you drinking?”
“Chardonnay.”
“It looks like you need another. Sir? Your best Chardonnay for the lady. So, Doamn Callie, what are you doing here all by your lonesome?”
“I’ve been a lazy shopaholic, enjoying some quiet downtime before I go back to L.A.,” she said.
“I see. Silly question, but you have a boyfriend in L.A., I’m assuming?”
“Nope. I’m single.” Single … the word had an odd ring to it. Subconsciously, she arched her back like a feline and Petru stepped closer.
“You have the most gorgeous mouth. Hungry, sexy lips.” He ran his index finger across her lower lip. Two rounds of drinks later, they were in the Gramercy’s elevator riding up to her room. Petru pulled her hair at the nape and nibbled her neck. “You need a good fucking, don’t you, little girl?”
“God, do I ever,” she breathed. She pressed her crotch against his and kissed him with abandon. Mmm, this is just what I need.… Fuck you, Evan Marquardt, you’re not the only one getting laid. They tumbled on the couch and feverishly stripped off each other’s clothes.
“Go down on me?” she said. Petru had already slipped a condom on and was pawing her breasts.
“Later,” he mumbled. A few dozen pumps and moans later, he rolled off of her and propped his back against the cushions.
Ummm … Is this a joke? “You can’t be serious, Petru.”
He wiped a bead of sweat off of his brow. “What?”
“That’s it? You’re done after three minutes?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll give you more later. Let me take a nap first.”
“Actually, you should probably get going. I have to be up early tomorrow and need some sleep.”
“Okay, no problem.” He dressed and, in the doorway, leaned in for a kiss. Callie pecked his cheek—barely skimming the skin—and slammed the door.
She stomped to the bathroom and started the shower. I could have done a better job with my Great King. The memory of Petru’s bedroom skills—rather, the lack thereof—melted away with each pulse of water. What a joke! The biggest dud ever. How could a sexy man so seemingly full of bedroom prowess be so lousy? And more, why oh why did Evan have to be such an amazing lover? She decided he had permanently spoiled her; every future paramour would be compared to him. Damn you! Rough but sensitive and arduous. The body, the face, the skills … all were above reproach. Except that, in the words of Tyler Bragg, he couldn’t “keep his pants on.”
Her brand-new iPhone rang while she was toweling off. (It was just as well her CrackBerry bit the dust; she’d been meaning to replace it for a while.) It was her mother, frantic.
“Have you heard?” Virginia sobbed.
“Heard what? Mom, what’s wrong? Is it Grandma?”
“No, no. It’s Candice. Oh, Callie, it’s terrible. Her mother just called me in hysterics. She overdosed.”
“No!” gasped Callie. “When?”
“A few hours ago. She’s at Cedars-Sinai.”
“Is she going to be all right?”
“I don’t know at this point. None of us do.”
“This can’t be happening.…” Callie’s voice rang hollow.
“Poor Lara’s fit to be tied, the whole Boyd family is. Candice has really put them through the wringer emotionally and financially.”
“I know. She told me she was changing, though. She said she was giving all that up, all the partying. And she really seemed to mean it, too.”
“She’s an addict, Callie. She can’t quit on her own. She needs serious help. God almighty, I just pray she comes out of it and makes a change. Where are you?”
“I’m still in New York but I’m taking the next flight home. I’m so glad you told me, Mom.”
“How could I not? I know you had a falling-out—”
“We patched it up.”
“I know you did. What I’m saying is, you’ve had your share of ups and downs, but in the end, you’ve always been there for her. She’s very lucky to have a friend like you. Callie, promise me you’ll never do something like this? I couldn’t bear it.” Virginia’s tears prompted Callie to weep, too.
“I promise, Mom. You have my word.” She mentally swore off coke then and there; she never wanted to touch the garbage again.
“If I lost my only child, it would be the end of me. We may not be the closest, but we’re working on it, aren’t we? Aren’t we doing better?”
“We’re trying, Mom.”
“That’s all anyone can do—we try our best. By the way, did I tell you how pretty you looked on that talk show? Margaret and Aunt Claire came over and we all watched it together. You looked so classy and grown-up. I said, ‘Look at that one. She’s mine—that’s my daughter.’”
“You did? Really?”
“I certainly did. I haven’t told you often enough—you know how difficult it is for me to show my soft side—but I really am proud of you. Sure, I’m critical—you say cynical—but I’m proud to have you as my daughter.”
Twenty-four years she had searched for her mother’s validation, and Virginia’s sudden admission knocked the breath out of her. “Mom, that’s all I’ve ever wanted to hear you say. I never felt you thought I was good enough—ever.”
“Oh, come now. That’s not true. How can you say that?”
“You’ve never told me this before. I’ve always felt you wished I was … well, someone completely different, actually. Smarter, prettier, more grounded…”
“Not at all. I have the best little girl in the world. Any parent would be proud to call you daughter. Listen to me! This whole Candice debacle has me so emotional, I sound like a Hallmark card.” Virginia took a deep, wheezy breath. “I love you, kid.”
Callie wiped her moist eyes. “I love you, too.”
44
Ugh, hospitals—why did every one of them have the smell of ether-soaked gym socks? Candice was tucked deep in the starched sheets, sound asleep. She had never looked
more fragile. Her skin rivaled a corpse’s coloring. Beautiful, vivacious, voluptuous Candice—no more. Callie placed a plush teddy bear under her friend’s frail arm. Her breathing was deep and clear and, within minutes of Callie’s arrival, she opened her eyes. “Hey, mama,” she said softly. “I thought you were in New York.”
“I was, about twelve hours ago.”
“You didn’t have to come back just to see me. I’m fine, just a little tired.”
Callie arched an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Just tired?”
“Exhausted, actually.”
“Don’t give me that exhaustion BS. It’s the most overused excuse in Hollywood. I know what happened, Candy.” Callie dabbed lip balm on Candice’s cracked lips.
Candice looked away. “Can I have some water?”
Callie handed her a cup and raised her head to sip. “Much better,” said Candice after a hearty gulp. “Where were we?”
“Your incident. The fact that you almost died yesterday.”
“Oh, yeah. That. I’ve really gotten myself in a pickle this time, Cal. If Jackie hadn’t called nine-one-one, I’d be a goner.”
“You said you were turning over a new leaf. Remember, at the Four Seasons? You told me you were going to clean up.”
“I did.” Candice forced a wan smile. “It lasted a few days. Falling off the wagon is unfortunately super easy for me.”
“But, Candy—why? I’m trying to understand.”
“Because I’m just a big fucking mess. That’s what my parents say, anyway. They think if I move back home, I’ll be healthy and stable. What they don’t realize is that this town has really fucked with my head. My self-worth is in the shitter. Jon broke up with me yesterday. I don’t love him like I still love Lars but it’s just one more rejection. The straw that broke the camel’s back. How dare he break up with me? I felt lower than I’ve ever felt in my life. Everything has come at me like a goddamned freight train lately. All I wanted was to get completely blitzed, so Jackie and I scored an eight-ball. Mission accomplished.” Candice toyed with the teddy bear’s ear, avoiding eye contact. “I guess I went a little far.”
“A little far?” Callie said. “That’s the understatement of the year and you know it.”
“I know,” Candice whispered sadly. “I didn’t do it on purpose, I swear. I wasn’t trying to kill myself.”
“But you almost did.”
“Yeah, that’s true; I did. My parents are insisting I go back to Michigan State. They’ve been cracking that whip for a while now and with this new drama, they really mean business. I only have a year left to earn my degree. I could find a normal job and get back to the real world, as boring as that sounds.”
“That doesn’t sound like a bad idea, Candy.”
“They cut off all my credit cards, too. Rehab or else. Again. Third time’s a charm, right?”
“It’s okay to need help, you know.”
“No, it makes me weak.”
“Weak? Hardly. You’re the toughest person I know. The baddest broad out there.”
“But you told me not to give up, that I’d be doing myself a disservice. It would be a mistake to move back.”
“Maybe I was wrong,” Callie sighed. “I didn’t know it was a matter of life or death, but I should have seen the signs. You’ve been miserable for a while and look how it’s come to a head—with you at Cedars-Sinai.”
“And in the most unfashionable duds known to man,” Candice added.
“I’ll second that; those gowns are hideous. This is a new opportunity for you, Candice—a second chance. Clean up, go to school, get your head on straight.… Besides, you can always come back to L.A. It’s not like it’s going anywhere.”
“Not unless a seven-point-oh quake takes it down, which my dad is certain will happen.” She rolled her eyes. “You know how those Midworst people think California is nothing but doom and gloom.”
A nurse in polka-dot scrubs waddled into the room carrying a massive bouquet of roses. “Miss Boyd, you have a delivery,” she said.
Candice looked at the card and squealed.
“Lars, I’m guessing?” Callie said.
“The one and only. Isn’t he sweet? God, I love that bastard.”
45
“How many of these do I have to sign, Paul?” Callie asked. She sat across from his cluttered desk with a stack of papers in front of her and a pen in hand.
Paul shuffled through the documents and handed her a sheet of paper. “Here, all of these,” he said. “About ten more. I’ve highlighted everything.”
The contract for the television version of Nympho Cheerleaders Attack!—renamed The Cheerleader Chronicles for cable television—guaranteed Callie $35,000 per episode, excluding Paul’s cut. If Spike chose to order a full season of the series after the seven-episode run, her salary would be renegotiated, and, according to Paul, most likely tripled. Regardless of whether the show was a hit, Callie was over the moon with the agreement. (“Why, in just one episode you’ll be earning what you made in a whole year at Dr. Ryder’s!” Virginia gasped.)
“Who would have thought a silly sexploitation film would get me this far, eh, Paul?” She jotted her signature in her left-handed chicken scratch.
“It’s a win–win deal for the both of us. Oh, Glassman and Gillick called and want to see you on Friday for a casting. They have you in mind for a new Soderbergh project.”
“Am I reading for the hooker or the stripper?”
Paul guffawed. “Neither, she’s an art dealer.”
“I’m impressed. And shocked.”
“Young lady, you’re branching into mainstream, I’m telling you,” Paul said, licking his thumb and flipping a page.
“A celebration is in order, wouldn’t you say? Got any plans for tomorrow evening, Paul?”
“Can’t say that I do.” Paul did precious little for recreation. His life revolved around his clients and Chelsea, his springer spaniel.
“Good! What do you say we do dinner at Nobu in Malibu? My treat.”
“Well, now, how can I refuse that?”
“I guarantee I’m the only girl in Los Angeles who offers to not only pay for her own meal but someone else’s, too.” Callie made a call and spoke to the maître d’; he’d been a friend of Gabrielle’s. “Okay, Paul. We’re down for nine o’clock.”
“Really, now? On a Friday night at nine? How’d you finagle that one?”
“I’ve got connections, Paul, didn’t you know?” she said with a glint.
“I’ll say. Nine it is. Looking forward to it.”
* * *
She handed her keys over to the valet and marveled at the cluster of paparazzi on hand; clearly someone famous had arrived but she couldn’t see the culprit causing the commotion. Dolce and Gabbana’s Masculine—Bedroom Eyes’ favorite cologne—hung in the air.
“Hey, look, it’s that Manx murder babe,” said a mangy paparazzo. Several mosquitoes snapped her picture. “Lookin’ good, girl! So, it’s date night for you and Evan?”
She was ambushed and her vocal cords froze. Why would he ask that, she wondered? Is Evan here? Impossible. What were the odds of that? The timing was too ironic. They hadn’t seen or talked to one another in over a month. He had bombarded her with texts—I miss you, doll; Call me, lover, we need to talk; Where have you been? I don’t know why you’re ignoring me. Call me, I love you … Screw the lies and excuses; nothing he had to say could take away the sting of being cheated on.
Amidst a detonation of flashbulbs, Evan Marquardt stepped out of a black Bentley driven by Gary. His eyes met Callie’s and he smiled—that sexy, sinful grin that always managed to make her clitoris tingle. He shouldered his way through the throng of cameras and steered her inside.
“Ooh, Callie’s got a knight in shining armor,” taunted a Latina mosquito.
“Why did you two arrive separately?”
“Where’ve you cats been campin’ out? No one’s seen ya’s together in months!”
They remained silent
until safely inside the restaurant.
“Can we talk?” Evan led her down the hallway by the restrooms, away from the hustle and bustle. “Why haven’t you answered any of my calls?”
“Sssh!” She jiggled the restroom door handle. “Let’s talk in here.… Why don’t you leave a message like everyone else?”
“Why would I leave a message? You won’t even return my fucking texts. You’ve completely blown me off.” His eyes were fixed with a fire she had never witnessed before.
“You have this mixed up,” she countered. “You’re the one who got caught red-handed with your pants down. Why would I want to talk to you, let alone have anything to do with you after what Tyler saw you doing?”
“Baby, let me explain—”
“Explain?! Yes, please do. I want to hear you explain away why you were in bed with two naked sluts. Let’s hear it—give me your best shot.”
“Look, the party was a little crazy, but don’t act like you don’t know how after-parties are here in L.A. Give me a break, Callie. We both know you’re not some virginal saint.”
Her bottom lip quivered. “And I never claimed I was! So, tell me—what really happened in that room? Let me guess—you were innocently partying with two naked girls in the middle of the night but nothing happened. You really expect me to believe that? Really, Evan?”
He looked away and remained mum.
The veins in Callie’s neck bulged. “You pig! You lousy, shady slut! I can only imagine what else you’ve done when I haven’t been around. On the road, especially.”
“Callie—”
“Save it, Evan. You can have any girl you want—what are you doing with me, then, wasting my time? You want to be a bachelor, knock yourself out. But I really cared for you and I thought the feeling was mutual.” Do not cry. Damn it, girl, hold it together.
“I do care about you, doll. Listen to me: I’m not perfect and I’m not pretending to be. So I made a mistake—”
“You certainly did. A big one!”
“Yes, a big, major mistake. But you and I—we’ve got something special, you can’t deny that. We’re alike, two peas in a pod.”
Hollywood Strip Page 17
