How to be Famous

by Alison Bond

  ‘Go back to the office. Check,’ said Riley.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘I’ve got to get into the party, find out who she is.’

  ‘You’re not invited,’ said Luke.

  ‘I’ll be fine.’

  Hunter Philip emerged from the car and waved briefly at the waiting fans, touching hands and signing a scant number of autographs, his trademark grin and shades firmly in place. He posed for the press, Barbara smiling tensely on his arm. She hated stepping out when her clients needed a date. They all had an in-built fear of turning up stag. Like the unwashed public would think they couldn’t get a woman. Hunter liked Barbara as an escort, she was good to talk to and she kept the worst of the grabbers away. She thought on her feet too; it had not occurred to Hunter that arriving with the blonde bombshell wouldn’t be the best idea, but Barbara thought of everything. He still looked, he was married not dead, but whereas last year he would have seduced any pretty girl with his devilish smile and a well-placed whisper, these days he was trying hard to behave. It was harder than giving up smoking.

  Inside the party the revellers crowded the dance floor to the thump of an R&B track from the movie soundtrack. Waitresses, dressed like the character in the movie, circulated with glasses of champagne and shots of black vodka, as well as miniature hamburgers and cheese fries.

  Serena found herself a quiet corner to observe the action and waited for the inevitable flow of men to start. She wasn’t disappointed; before too long she had dismissed a number of no-hopers and hooked up with Xander, an amiable musician who played bass with his band Scar. He was the only man who had brought her over a cocktail instead of just hitting on her empty-handed. She liked his style. The evening had not gone entirely to plan, but all in all it hadn’t been a complete disaster, perhaps she just needed to be more realistic. For the rest of the night she wanted to concentrate on faces. One strengthening factor of the evening was the competition. Beautiful women were well represented at the party, but Serena was confident that she beat them all hands down. Thank God for her face and her body. Here she felt like she fitted in. A photographer snapped her picture and she treated him to a smile.

  Riley used his considerable charm to procure a laminated invitation from the male half of a couple that were leaving early. Spotting the matching wedding rings he said he was looking for his wife and made up some story about how she was supposed to wait for him outside the venue but must have forgotten that she had both invitations. The man took instant pity on the harassed husband and within minutes Riley was inside.

  He was here for one purpose only and didn’t waste time looking around for other stories; if he got the girl he already had his front page. He found her quickly.

  She was sitting on her own sipping a long drink through a straw and casing the room with alert eyes. Riley did an exaggerated double take as he passed Serena’s table and smiled uncertainly.

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘Hi,’ replied Serena.

  ‘Having fun?’

  Serena smiled and said that she was. She was flirting just a little bit. She didn’t recognize him but she planned to be ultra nice to everyone until she determined whether or not they could help her.

  ‘I know you,’ said Riley. ‘Haven’t we met?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Serena.

  ‘No, I’m sure… you’re a friend of Hunter Philip’s, aren’t you?’

  Serena stifled a giggle. Giggling was for little girls. ‘I wouldn’t say friend exactly.’

  ‘What would you say?’ Give me a quote, give me a quote.

  ‘I hardly know him,’ said Serena. ‘Hunter just gave me a ride.’

  ‘He’s a nice guy,’ said Riley.

  ‘Oh yeah, the best,’ said Serena, nonchalantly sipping her drink.

  He held out his hand. ‘I’m Riley Daniels.’

  ‘Nice to meet you.’

  No name. Did she recognize the byline? Up close she was even more breathtaking, her hair was like spun platinum and her brown eyes were flecked with yellow like a tiger’s.

  ‘You must know Barbara,’ said Riley.

  Serena was thinking on her feet. She had heard Hunter address the woman in the car as Barbara. ‘Sort of,’ she said.

  ‘Balls of steel that one, huh?’

  ‘She’s tough,’ said Serena and Riley laughed encouragingly so she guessed that she had said the right thing.

  ‘Did you enjoy the movie?’

  ‘Absolutely. Hunter was fantastic. Did you?’

  ‘It was okay. A bit sentimental. So, you’re an actress?’ he questioned.

  Serena nodded non-committally. Actress, model, singer, whatever.

  Xander returned and placed a proprietary arm around Serena’s narrow waist. He looked at Riley with suspicion. Xander was almost famous and much better than Serena at spotting a journalist.

  Riley knew it was time to move on. ‘I’ve interrupted you, I apologize.’ Riley took a business card out of his top pocket and pressed it into her hand. ‘Perhaps you should give me a call sometime. Nice talking to you.’

  ‘You too,’ said Serena.

  Riley headed straight outside and punched a number on his mobile phone to speed dial Kerry.

  ‘Take this down and I’ll cut it in later. Luke’s on his way back with some art and we need general Hunter Philip copy, roguish hero, pregnant wife, that kind of thing. Ready? The girl, who refused to be named, is another aspiring actress but judging her on looks alone she should have no trouble finding an admiring audience. Despite describing Hunter Philip as “fantastic” and “the best” she insists that she is only on the scene for his chauffeur services. She denied our exclusive revelations by saying, “He just gave me a ride.” She does admit though that publicity machine Barbara O’Loughlin would be a hindrance to any burgeoning love affair, describing the media-savvy maestro as “tough”. Barbara O’Loughlin is legendary for protecting her top clients. Hollywood will possibly see more of this latest pretty face, but with his old reputation as a Casanova obviously proving hard to shake off, the question is, will Hunter? Read it back.’

  Kerry did as she was told.

  ‘Change “Casanova” to “ladies’ man”. Tell Luke I’m on my way back.’ Riley closed his phone with a satisfied snap. Tonight was a good night.

  He hailed a cab and when he went to pay for it at the other end he realized he’d left his wallet with the Discogirl. He called up to Kerry and made her run down with a twenty-dollar bill.

  *

  Serena was loving her first Hollywood party. It was everything she had hoped that it would be. Hanging out with a guitar player and attracting a stack of attention was definitely Serena’s idea of a good time.

  The rest of the band joined Xander and Serena was introduced. The names passed her by, but the looks of admiration registered. They were a fun crowd and Serena accepted their invitation to join them back at their hotel. For all their rock and roll attitude they took great pains to assure Serena she wasn’t under any obligation and the invitation was well above board. Scar had released one album on a small independent label that was a moderate success, now the big bucks of Sony were behind the second, which they had just finished recording. Fame beckoned and they were enjoying the ride. At nineteen Xander was the oldest.

  ‘We’re shooting our new promo in a few days,’ said Xander. ‘You should come along. It’ll be a kick.’

  ‘I’d love to,’ she said.

  As they left the party Serena caught a glimpse of Hunter Philip behind the curtain of the VIP area. He looked bored. Perhaps she could have made a bigger impression on him. It would have been difficult to make a smaller one. She was angry with herself for being star-struck and vowed right there that she never would be again.

  Later, much later, as the sky was lightening behind the hills she hit the road, walking the Los Angeles streets in her party clothes, suddenly feeling cold and a bit shaky. When she finally reached Hollywood Boulevard she tiptoed up the stairs of the host
el and collapsed into her bed, fully dressed under the covers.

  Riley paced outside the dark room until the red light went off and he was able to enter. Luke crouched over his contact sheets.

  ‘Got it,’ he said.

  ‘Both shots? Plates and faces?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘It’s the same car?’

  ‘No question.’

  ‘Then that’s what we lead with.’

  The next day Riley had the photographs on his desk and was calling round all the casting agents to see if anyone knew who she was, speaking to a few agents and giving her description. Willing assistants faxed him dozens of blondes but there was no match.

  His phone rang and he was told that Lynsey Dixon was waiting for him in reception. His wallet. Thank God. He wasn’t worried about the cash but it would have been a hassle to get his licence replaced. ‘Send her through.’

  ‘Hi, Disco.’

  ‘I’m really sorry,’ said Lynsey. ‘I just forgot.’

  ‘That’s okay. My fault. Thanks for bringing it back.’

  ‘After you saved me? It was the least I could do.’

  To be honest, Riley was one of only two people she knew in Los Angeles. She was sort of glad to have the excuse to see him again. She needed to cultivate friends.

  Lynsey looked around. ‘You didn’t tell me you were a journalist. Is that why you asked so many questions?’

  Riley smiled apologetically. ‘It’s my job.’ He liked her. She knew about cars, she had brought back his wallet, she took open-air showers in her underwear. But though silver-tongued with celebrities and power moguls alike, Riley was terrible with women.

  He was about to let her walk out of his life when she spotted the photographs of Serena on his desk.

  ‘Hey,’ she said. ‘I know that girl.’

  Riley was all over this stroke of good fortune. ‘Who is she? What’s her name?’

  ‘Serena.’

  ‘Serena what?’

  ‘Just Serena.’

  13

  ‘Hi, Melanie? It’s Mary Ann.’

  For a split second Melanie thought that Mary Ann had found out about her and Davey and had called for a confrontation. Then she remembered that nothing had happened. ‘Hi,’ she said and wondered if her pause had been too obvious.

  ‘I called because I wanted, we wanted, to invite you to a party on Sunday. Please come, I know Davey would love to see you.’

  Melanie would love to see him too and couldn’t think of any reason to say no. She hated being put on the spot. She was really bad at spontaneity unless she was prepared for it.

  ‘So will you come?’

  ‘Sure.’

  It was a balmy Californian day as every day had been since she arrived. The sky was the palest shade of blue, hinting at a blaze of colour somewhere up beyond the lingering clouds. Melanie enjoyed the twists of the hills taking her higher. This was what Los Angeles had to be about, heading to a hot party, not sitting watching bare walls and worrying about her first day of work. Tomorrow. This was the entertainment capital of the world and she was ready to be entertained.

  Melanie couldn’t imagine Davey and Mary Ann hosting anything other than the hippest way to spend her Sunday. She just hoped that she didn’t take one look at Davey and fall in lust again. But at the back of her mind she knew she could close her eyes and fall in lust whenever she wanted. Even further back was the potent word ‘love’, but she was keeping a check on that. She needed to concentrate on work.

  Her first week of shooting was heavily scheduled. Fabien Stewart would be on set, fresh off the plane from Canada where he’d just finished shooting a film. Their bedroom scene was pencilled for Wednesday.

  Tall wooden gates, set deep into a dense hedge, confronted her and Melanie pressed the bell next to a carved sign with a four digit address. She told the faceless drawl her name. The gates eased open, making hardly a whisper in the gravel driveway that cut a river through land so deeply forested that Melanie didn’t see the house until she was almost on the front step. It was stunning. Whitewashed walls topped with a roof of curving terracotta tiles, with the early evening sun drenching the west side of the house in soft whiskey light. Melanie walked up stone steps to the porch dotted with roving bougainvillea. There was a table and chairs to the left and as she rang the bell she saw steam rise from a cup of coffee there and a slight breeze ruffle the pages of a newspaper open on the cartoons. She smoothed down the front of her favourite orange Maharishi trousers, hoping that Mary Ann hadn’t exaggerated when she had said ‘super casual’.

  Fabien Stewart answered the door.

  *

  Melanie had made herself pretty familiar with the life and work of Fabien Stewart since being cast in Justice. He played Silas Maxwell, the dynamic CEO of the crusading law firm, and he shared almost every scene Melanie was in, falling in love with her before either of them had time to realize the trouble they would cause. Melanie knew Fabien had a wealthy father and was raised in luxury. A decade ago he walked into a popular soap opera and became every American housewife’s lunchtime treat for three fame-making years. Since he left the soap he had done a number of mid-budget films with varying results. One thing was constant, his smouldering good looks never faltered.

  ‘Hi. What can I do for you?’

  Fabien was at least five inches taller than Melanie, a big brute of a man, and she looked up into green eyes, one brow raised in inquisition, a polite smile softening the severe masculinity of his powerful face. He looked as if he could crush her without breaking sweat.

  ‘I’m Melanie. I think I must have the wrong address, I’m after a party.’ She passed him the scrap of paper where she had scribbled the address down.

  ‘That’s me. Come on in.’

  He ushered Melanie into a cool hallway, with bare creamy walls and a floor covered with intricately painted tiles. He scratched his chin, which looked as if it hadn’t seen a razor for days, but judging by the testosterone Melanie could almost smell coming off him, may have been just a five o’clock shadow. Fabien looked at Melanie and back at the piece of paper.

  ‘So I’m having a party? If all the guests look like you then I’m a happy man.’ He walked through a huge kitchen past a girl in a bikini lost in the open door of a mammoth refrigerator and outside to a terrace framed with tumbling vines flowing like tassels. Trees soared up from the graceful arch of a curved staircase and Melanie could hear the sound of laughter coming from somewhere down below them.

  ‘I was looking for Davey Black and Mary Ann Simpson. This is the address Mary Ann gave me. That’s where she said their house would be.’

  ‘This is my house,’ said Fabien, as they rounded the staircase and looked down onto a sunken garden with a swimming pool in the centre and an orchard of citrus trees jostling for space with pine. Terracotta pots littered the terrace, sprouting forth blazes of colourful blooms and exotic cacti. There was some sort of music playing, somewhere between calypso and reggae, and butterflies flirted in the warm evening. The garden rolled on luxuriously towards a towering wall of trees on all three sides but somehow the late sun still found its way into this hidden oasis.

  Fabien cupped his hand round his mouth and shouted, ‘Mary Ann!’

  Down below a figure sitting at the edge of the pool stood and waved, said something to her companion and bounded up the stairs towards them. Melanie recognized Mary Ann, her long hair pinned up in a clumsy topknot, tiny denim shorts and a customized Lakers T-shirt.

  ‘You’re here. Fantastic,’ she said, hugging Melanie.

  ‘Now, wait a second, M, I didn’t know this Sunday social had reached the status of party.’

  ‘Oh come on, Fabien, you don’t mind,’ said Mary Ann, sticking out her bottom lip in a girly pout and looking up at him pleadingly.

  ‘And here was me on my best behaviour. A party? That changes everything. So, who’s your friend?’

  Melanie was momentarily offended. She’d spent three days tracking down this guy and watch
ing his work and he didn’t even know her face.

  ‘Melanie Chaplin, I’d like you to meet Fabien Stewart. He lets us live here when we need to, which is unbelievably generous of him and a testament to the great and noble man that he is,’ said Mary Ann.

  ‘True,’ said Fabien. ‘I got back two days ago to find them in my pool. What could I do?’

  ‘We move into our own place next month,’ said Mary Ann. ‘You know you’ll miss us.’

  Fabien smiled at Melanie, but there was still no note of recognition on his face.

  Pretty, but dumb, thought Melanie as he shook her hand and offered her a drink. Melanie asked for a beer with as much grace as she could handle and wondered if she could play this to her advantage. Find out what he was really like before he turned on the charm. Fabien was a notorious womanizer, never publicly unfaithful, but nine months seemed to be his limit and he serially dated some of the world’s most beautiful women. They had fun together and as the press made his aversion to commitment legendary he found it even easier to score. He wasn’t looking for a special someone, he was looking to fill his brief life spending quality time with as much top-notch pussy as he could. Occasionally one came along who thought she could tame him but he usually spotted the type before letting her move in. Otherwise he regularly opened his heart and his home for a limited period only and had a stable of ex-girlfriends who never said a bad word about him.

  ‘Come and meet everyone,’ said Mary Ann, taking Melanie’s hand and leading her down the stairs. Her denim shorts covered only half of her ass and Melanie noticed a small green tattoo about the size of a fifty-pence piece. Mary Ann stopped so that she could look at it properly.

  ‘It’s an apple,’ said Mary Ann. ‘For temptation.’

  She gave Melanie a cheeky wink over her shoulder and skipped down the rest of the stairs to the side of the pool. ‘This is Jeanette. Jeanette, this is Melanie, she’s a friend of ours from England.’

  Jeanette was a pretty black girl with a permanent grin and a sing-song voice. ‘I used to date a guy from England, he played football, a team called the Chelsea something? How are they doing?’