by Sara Celi
Tanner touched my forearm. “Satisfactory meaning… it changes the—er—national conversation about me.”
“Like I can control that.”
Tanner blanched. “What I mean is—”
“You’ll get what you’re paying for,” I said. “At least, I’ll do the best I can.”
Lewis pressed onward. “Mr. Vance also agrees to provide all food, housing, clothing, and other needs to Ms. Price for the duration of this agreement, and agrees Ms. Price is not required to provide anything in return, such as anything of a—ahem—sexual nature.” He handed us the contract, then produced one thinner sheet of paper and the final paperwork. “All we need is your signatures in the areas of these documents marked with the blue label.” Lewis glanced at each of us. “Any questions?”
I gulped as I peered at the documents and the endless lines of legalese. “I need to read over this before I sign it.”
“Of course, Ms. Price. We have a private conference room across the hallway, and you’re welcome to have these documents reviewed by your own legal counsel.”
“Give me a few minutes,” I said, as the three of us stood from our chairs.
Safely alone inside the conference room, I sat down at the circular table and read the first few pages of the documents. All three agreements had less than fifteen total pages, but as I read over them, my stomach lurched and twisted. Up until that moment, Tanner’s entire proposal hadn’t been a reality. It was a dream but not necessarily a fantasy, more like something that hadn’t been happening to a girl like me.
Once I signed my name, there would be no going back. I wouldn’t be Brynn Price, the down-and-out struggling actress who had to moonlight at a strip club in order to pay rent. I would be Brynn Price, Hollywood-girlfriend-and-struggling-actress who dangled off the arm of Tinseltown’s hottest and most misunderstood hunk.
“Would that be so bad?” I said to myself as I flipped through the pages. The legal mumbo jumbo danced and taunted me.
Truth: I liked Tanner. Well, what little I knew about him, I liked.
I already saw parts of him that could be gregarious and kind. Sometimes, when I looked at him, I caught a whisper of something inside that reminded me of a wounded puppy dog. Most of his antics, and the way people perceived him, had to be for show. The man I saw didn’t seem happy with himself, and didn’t seem okay with a lifestyle centered on parties. Even the incident with Heather had proven that point; he’d seemed too embarrassed when she appeared.
More, sometimes Tanner seemed… trapped. Hollywood might have given him a lot, but it took from him, too.
I read through the documents twice, and didn’t notice anything that seemed strange or unexpected. I knew I could have my own attorney read over it, but it would take more time than I wanted. This was my best chance at the one thing I needed: quick cash. I’d have to settle for my own gut feelings about Tanner Vance and his motives. Besides, I had almost nothing else to lose.
After finding a black pen on the conference room table, I signed every page.
“Wasn’t as hard as it seemed, was it?” Tanner said as we got into the elevator to ride back down the fifteen floors and to the parking garage. The door closed and locked us in the small car.
“I still can’t believe I’m doing this,” I said.
Tanner punched the button and the car shifted into gear. “Me either, but I have a good feeling about it. Things are going to work out for both of us.”
“You think so?” My mind went back over what we’d done. With one signature, I’d agreed to become this man’s girlfriend-for-hire.
What a day.
The car stopped on the eighth floor so that a large man and his young daughter could get inside. To give them space, I moved closer to Tanner and the back of the elevator. When I did, I got a whiff of Tanner’s cologne—musky and raw. I liked it. A lot.
“Aren’t you famous?” the girl asked Tanner between the sixth and fifth floors. “I think I’ve seen you before.”
Tanner grinned and her father hushed her. “That’s not nice, honey,” the man said. “Leave the man alone.”
“It’s all right,” Tanner said to him. “I’m used to it. And yes, sweetie, I’m Tanner Vance.”
“You are?” The girl’s eyes widened, and she pointed at me. “Is she your wife?”
Tanner took my hand. “My girlfriend. This is my girlfriend, Brynn.”
I looked down at our joined hands, and a shiver raced up my spine.
After we signed the contracts, I drove us back to the house. We didn’t say much, and truth be told, I couldn’t think of a way to begin a conversation. We’d done something seriously permanent. She’d agreed be my girlfriend, and to sell the appearance of her love for a high price.
All for the sake of my precious, precarious career.
Not romantic. Those days, romance couldn’t have been further from my mind. I had to admit it; this wasn’t how I’d envisioned it would go when I was younger. I hadn’t thought about marriage much, but I had supposed when the time arrived, I’d fall in love with someone who’d take me to another level, a person who would make every cell in my body shudder with electricity, and a person I wouldn’t want to live without.
But duty called. And fame.
“I have a few meetings this afternoon with my team,” I told Brynn as I drove my Acura up the driveway. I parked the car in front of the garage. “Will you be okay here alone?”
“Of course.”
“I might be back for dinner, but I don’t know. I’ll text you. Depends on what happens after the meetings.”
“Do you need me to take care of anything while you’re gone?”
“No, and I’ll have a check for you when I get back, unless you want to give me your bank account number so I can make a deposit. Just to cover any of your immediate expenses, of course.”
“A check sounds fine.”
I smiled my approval. “And by the way, today is Monday, so Roberta and Craig come by mid-afternoon to clean the house. They’re married, and it usually takes them about three hours. So don’t be shocked if you run into them.”
I had to laugh inside myself. Here we sat, sounding so typical, so usual, like one of those couples in a commercial for dishwashing liquid. God, it had been so long since I had done anything normal. If I allowed myself to, I might get used to it.
After saying good-bye, Brynn got out of the car and walked inside the pool house. I watched her until she disappeared behind the front door, admiring her ass as she went. She had a good one—rounded, perky, and like the rest of her, not trying too hard. I wondered what it would look like naked in my bed, along with the rest of her; I thought about how it complemented her beautiful face and then, what that face would look like when I kissed it, her breasts, and the apex of her thighs…
I pushed all of my desires aside. I had things to do and problems to fix. And that started with lunch in West Hollywood.
“I have to admit, old sport, I was surprised.” Kenneth ate a huge bite of his cucumber, spinach, avocado, and salmon salad. We sat at a patio table, having lunch at The Ranch, a farm-to-table restaurant on Robertson where people ate with the sole purpose of being seen by the paparazzi. Around us, people buzzed and tittered, trying to make sure the photographers saw them, but also trying not to make it obvious. “She’s not your usual type, and the media is eating this up.”
“Everyone loves a good romance.” I glanced at the rest of the crowd in the restaurant. “Everyone.”
“True.” Kenneth tapped his fingers on the table. “But I don’t know how a rebound relationship with a no-name is going to get the job done here when it comes to rehabbing this image of yours.”
As if Kenneth had any idea about rebound relationships. He’d been with Tony, a car dealer from Anaheim, for the last ten years. He never so much as looked at another man.
“You gotta trust me,” I said. “I know what I’m doing.”
I was Kenneth’s favorite client, or at least, that was what h
e liked to say around me. He certainly made a lot of money off me each year, and I didn’t let him forget it. We met years earlier, in the gifting suite at an awards luncheon a few months after my career started simmering from my role on the show Regent. I’d been drunk and almost falling down; he showed his worth by distracting a few journalists who saw a little bit too much. I hired him that afternoon and after two years, he admitted to me during a tennis game at The Beverly Hills Country Club that I was the first client for the public relations firm he owned. He often said he’d give me his kidney if I needed it; he had a sense of loyalty in a town full of people who didn’t know the meaning of the word.
“Well, at any rate, this new conquest of yours appears young.” Kenneth brushed the lapel of his green velvet blazer, a favorite from his endless collection. “Can’t ever keep this one clean.” He raised one eyebrow. “Anyway. Back to the girl. What’s her name? Corrine?”
“Brynn. Brynn Price.”
Kenneth mouthed the name back to me. “Not bad. Easy enough to remember, and she has one thing going for her.” He paused. “She’s not Lana.”
“She sure isn’t,” I said. “And she’s been a welcome distraction from my wreck of a life.”
“Good in bed?”
I smiled. “Yes. Good in bed.”
For this to work, Kenneth had to buy into it. He had to think I had more than a passing attraction to Brynn, because he had a hard time selling lies. That was part of the reason why things had gone so badly for me during the last few months. Kenneth did a great job selling the good stories, but he didn’t have a flair for manufacturing a good story when there wasn’t one. He needed to believe.
“How old is this… Brynn? Nineteen? Twenty?” Kenneth said.
“Twenty-four.”
“Jesus. So young.” Kenneth was forty, and fighting every wrinkle of it.
“I’m twenty-six.” I swallowed some more of my Manhattan. It was never too early for one, and that was my second. “And in any case, she’s also up to the task of dating me.”
Kenneth laughed loud enough to make the two women at the table closest to us turn their heads. “Is that so?”
I decided not to answer. “You will like this one, Kenneth. So, she’s an actress—”
“Who isn’t?”
I held up my hand. “An actress who happens to be from a place called Griffin, Ohio. Not much in town but a few hundred people trying to leave. I guess she did.”
“You can’t be serious. Not this sad story again. How many women out here at the same exact way? Little Miss Daffodil Queen from Nowhere, Oklahoma?”
“Give her a chance. Besides, this is an easy kill and you know it. She’s the hometown success story—or at least she will be once the press finds out more about her. They love stories like this because the masses eat it up.”
Kenneth licked his lips and settled farther into his chair, studying me. “I guess I can work with the sound of this. You’re the Hollywood star, and she’s a down-on-her-luck-but-plucky kind of girl.” Kenneth sipped his mimosa. “Nothing too controversial.” He paused, and I almost saw the thoughts turn in his head. “Typical Midwestern girl? All-American type? Corn fed with a big smile?”
“She’s smart and she has spunk.” I remembered Brynn’s long brown hair and the way she sometimes smiled when she believed no one noticed her.
“Now, that is exactly the kind of woman you need.” Kenneth tilted his head. “I like this.”
I opened my mouth to answer him, but some commotion across the street stopped me. Two of the five loitering photographers yelled at each other, and one punched the other. Two others tried to intervene, and the problem grew worse. I hadn’t seen photographers fight like that in a long time.
“Shit,” Kenneth said. “Maybe someone should call the police.”
I shook my head. “Just let them slug it out.”
“I wonder who’s here. They only fight if they think they can get a high-value shot.” Kenneth gulped down some more of his drink, and his eyes shifted around to scan the crowd. “I didn’t see anyone on the reservation list more famous than you.”
I laughed without humor as a LA police car arrived on scene. “Reminds me of the time the photographer from Keep it Close scaled the fence at my old house, right after I won the Golden Globe for Regent.”
That incident happened two months after Lana and I had started dating, and the photographer wanted photos of us together. He had been determined to do anything to get them, right up to climbing the fence and dangling off the side so his telephoto lens would capture a clearer photo of us in the backyard of the house. I remembered how much it had bothered me, and also how Lana had relished the whole experience. Should have been my first clue about her, but I hadn’t wanted to see it. Three months later, I’d moved us into the house on Mulholland Drive.
“Listen,” I said to Kenneth. “I want to make sure we maximize this over the next couple of weeks, okay? But I also don’t want this thing with Brynn to get out of control, like it did with Lana.”
“Lana. Topless sunbathing in that backyard of yours.” Kenneth tried to stifle a laugh. “I’ll never forget it.”
“Neither will the rest of America.”
Kenneth nodded at the photographers, who stood next to the police car talking to a portly cop. “They’ll do whatever they want with you and Brynn. You know this.”
“I know.” I gave him a meaningful look. “But you know there are approaches we can take to keep it positive.”
“Hmm.” Kenneth ate a bite of salad and after a moment, his eyes met mine. “I still have a few contacts over at the Times and someone at Rockchick Mag. You know how they are; they’ll take anything. Bottom feeders, but they like positive stories. Maybe I can pitch them a sit-down. Couple of photos. Style secrets. You know the drill.”
“With the two of us?” I downed the rest of my drink.
“Not an article featuring you, Mr. Self-Centered,” Kenneth said. “With her.”
“Just Brynn?”
“They always want to feature who’s next, and if she’s with you, that’s who’s next for sure.” He chewed his bottom lip, then clicked his teeth. “She’s booked some things, right? She’s not an actress in name only, is she?” He rolled his eyes. “God, if I hear one more time…”
“Commercials. She’s done a few of those.” I made this up as I went along, and hoped later it would turn out correct. “That’s all.”
“And how did you all meet?”
“I helped her out.” I decided to leave out the part about how I met Brynn in the parking lot outside a strip club. He didn’t need the finer points.
“Perfect. And she has an agent?”
“Doesn’t everyone in this town?” I signaled for the waiter. “Let’s have some of the Parmesan truffle fries.”
Seemed more attractive than eating the bun-less hamburger with only lettuce and tomato on the plate in front of me. When the waiter scampered away, I turned back to my publicist.
“Brynn will be good for me,” I said.
“Will be?” Kenneth laughed. “I like what she’s done to you already. She’s having a nice effect.”
“She is?”
“Never seen you order a meal with more than five hundred calories in it. It must be her.” Kenneth raised his half-empty champagne glass. “I’ll toast to that, honey.”
As I met him with my own glass, my phone buzzed on the table. The message came from Owen Jones, the only actor in town I considered halfway my friend.
What R U up to in about 2 hrs? Pool party at Hotel Le Rose. You in?
I knew it was probably a bad idea, but I typed a one-word reply: yes
After Tanner left, I retreated to the pool house for about fifteen minutes before my curiosity became too much to take. I had to know more about Tanner Vance, needed to know more about Tanner Vance. There was something about him. I also had the whole property to myself and an empty house. Couldn’t pass that up. An estate like this had secrets.
I slipped on a pair of flip-flops and casually strode over to the sliding doors on the backside of his house. As a kid, I’d been decent at picking locks; I’d had to do it more than once after my dad lost his house keys in a drunken haze or his car keys after a stupid bet with the guys down at the auto-body shop. Once, I’d hotwired Dad’s 1992 Ford Taurus.
Tanner’s house would be easy.
I walked up to first the sliding door and pulled the outside handle. Locked. Same with the second one, then the third. Undaunted, I scanned the property for another entrance. Mansions like this one never had only one back door. When I walked into the side yard, I found a back door next to a small pathway leading to the garage. Below the door lay a black woven mat. I flipped it over.
Jackpot.
A small house key on a green string lay on the brick. When I put the key in the door, the slid open and I heard the security system beep once, but the alarm didn’t sound. Tanner Vance must not have bothered to set it before he left for his meeting. The silent, empty, imposing house lay before me.
I closed the side entrance and locked it.
“All right,” I said to myself. “Let’s get started.”
The living room didn’t tell me much. It was beautiful and California cool, but an expensive decorator had finished it, and it was devoid of personal items. The large stainless-steel kitchen had little new to say, too. The library had a large book collection of broken spine favorites, but they didn’t tell me much beyond the obvious. Like a lot of people, Tanner enjoyed reading James Patterson, Stephen King, and Michael Crichton novels in between attempts to get through biographies and current events books. He was a Democrat. All of the political books on his shelves centered around Barack Obama, Bill Clinton, and JFK. At least we had that in common.
