by Maggie Marr
Arnold sat back in his chair and shook his head. “Lydia, it is just this kind of behavior that makes me dislike you so. Your inability to trust. Although I am under no obligation to share any of this information with you, in the spirit of working together and being colleagues I will.” He picked up the binder lying on his desk and handed it to Josanne. “Today I am meeting with Ted Robinoff and he’s requested that I prepare a status report on every film Worldwide has in production. I’ve taken this request quite seriously, much more seriously than my predecessor, Weston, and I’ve had a face-to-face conversation with every producer who’s in production on the lot. You, Lydia, because you refuse to return my calls, are the last.”
“I return your calls.”
“Two A.M. doesn’t count, Lydia, unless you are in New Zealand,” Murphy said, his neck beginning to flush. “Now, if you are satisfied, Josanne and I have some final numbers to compile, so please.” Murphy lifted both hands, and as if shooing an offending bug, waved Lydia toward the door.
Lydia eyed them both as she walked out of Arnold’s office. It just didn’t feel right. None of it.
*
Lydia stepped into the empty elevator outside Arnold’s office. She put her earpiece in and clicked on her BlackBerry cell phone.
“Toddy, it’s Lyd. Get on the phone to the other producers on the lot and find out from their assistants if they’ve had sit-downs with Arnold in the last five days.” Shit, maybe she was just being paranoid. But why not? Arnold had tried everything possible to shut down her film since Weston died. He’d even reassigned her to the oldest sound stage on the lot, number forty-four. The ancient wiring kept blowing fuses, costing them time. Thankfully, her crew was a bunch of pros, so they’d been okay, but it was inconvenient, and who knew what would happen when it came down to crunch time.
Lydia stepped off the elevator and walked through Worldwide’s front doors. She glanced at her watch and climbed into her golf cart. One hour and twelve minutes until explosion. She needed to get to set.
*
Lydia stood in her trailer reviewing the shot list one final time. In fifteen minutes, millions of the studio’s dollars would go up in smoke. The pyrotechnics had to go off without a hitch; once the explosions started, Zymar would get one take. Today was easily the most expensive set day of Lydia’s career. By the end of the week, they’d have the completed centerpiece for Lydia’s $200 million movie.
“Lydia,” Zymar called, yanking open the door to her trailer, “we got a problem.”
“What is it?” She called over her shoulder.
“Fire marshal is here.”
“Zymar, this is no time for jokes.” He was notorious for pulling pranks on set, and if she didn’t love him, she’d be furious at him for this one. She turned toward her trailer door and saw standing behind her director a guy in a fire helmet and fire jacket. “You even put him in costume. Cute.”
“Ma’am.”
“Okay, well, we’ve got ten minutes and this is all very funny, but Zymar, this is a big shot.”
“Ms. Albright, Captain Miller. Sorry about this, but the shoot today is going to be a problem.”
“Uh-huh,” Lydia said, smiling. She looked at Zymar, willing him to cut the joke short.
Zymar leaned forward. “Lydia, this is not a setup. This guy is for real.”
Lydia looked Zymar in the eye. Oh God! He wasn’t joking. The firefighter standing in front of her was the real deal. “Problem? Captain, we’ve taken every precaution, gotten all our permits, run everything through Legal, and it’s all been approved.”
“Yes, ma’am, it has been approved. Or was approved.”
“Was?”
“Well, ma’am, you changed places.”
“No,” Lydia said, holding up her shot list. “The shots are the same, the pyrotechnics, nothing, not one thing has changed since your approval.”
“Ms. Albright, please, all those permits and approval were for sound stage thirty-six. And, well, today you are shooting on stage forty-four. And well, ma’am, I hate to tell you, but forty-four isn’t zoned for these kinds of pyrotechnics. It’s a much older sound-stage and it just doesn’t have the capability for the event you have planned for today.”
Lydia felt the trailer move, or thought she did. She leaned forward.
“Usually when a production is reassigned the studio notifies us and we let them know if their permits are still in order. But Ms. Albright, we didn’t get notified of your reassignment until late last night. It came over the fax from Mr. Murphy’s office.”
“Did it?”
“They also requested that all the stars on sound stage forty-four be pulled, too. I’m surprised the studio put you on this stage. It’s usually reserved for dramas. Both those things together alerted us to the fact that you can’t shoot this scene on this sound stage, at least not today.”
“What?! Do you know how much time and money went into this setup?” Zymar shouted.
“Sir, please refrain from yelling.”
“We’re talking millions of dollars!”
Lydia’s BlackBerry started to beep. “Excuse me,” she said to the fire marshal as she put her earpiece in. “What’s up?”
“No other producers had a meeting with Arnold.”
“What? Toddy, are you sure? Not one?”
“Yeah, I checked with everyone in Production, and no one else had a sit-down. Shit, most of them won’t even return his calls.
And, not sure if you know this, but the fire department called. They said they needed to speak with you.” Lydia glanced over at Zymar and Captain Miller arguing.
“Yeah, they found me. Okay, I need you to get me Jessica Caulfield. Tell Kim it’s important and to have Jess call me ASAP.”
“Yes, sir, but you cannot shoot this today,” Captain Miller was saying to Zymar. “Ms. Albright, if you’ll let my men go through and check it out, we may be able to get you a special-use permit so that you can get the shot. But I can’t guarantee it.”
“How soon?” Lydia asked.
“Possibly tomorrow.”
“Do it,” Lydia said, her disappointment buried by rage. Arnold. A very smooth play on his part.
“Lydia, what will we do?” Zymar asked. “We don’t have the budget for an extra day.”
“We will get the shot. One way or another we’ll get it.”
*
“What do I do?” Lydia whispered into the phone. She watched as the fire marshal and his crew crawled around her set like ants over spilled soda.
“Keep shooting,” Jessica said, her voice calm.
“How? I’ll be at least twenty million over, based on the extra days, and who knows how many there will be. Plus the fire department will bill us.”
“Doesn’t matter. Keep shooting. You and I both know the studio’s accounting department won’t catch it until you’re into post-production.”
“Can you believe that little cock set me up?”
“Pretty slick for Arnold,” Jessica said. “He’s usually not that clever.”
“Yeah, but he still didn’t cover his tracks very well; we know what he did.” Lydia’s heart finally resumed a normal speed. “I am so pissed.”
“As pissed as the first time?” Jessica asked, referring to the incident that ignited the Albright-Murphy feud.
“Different. This time I don’t feel nearly as used or alone,” Lydia said. “This time at least I know I have some friends to cover me.”
“Consider yourself covered. Just keep shooting. I know how these things go. By the time he sees the overages, he’ll realize how much money Worldwide stands to make. He may give you some lashings, but even Arnold isn’t going to turn down a box-office hit. He’s not that crazy.”
“Hope you’re right,” Lydia said. She saw the fire marshal bend over an explosive and shake his head. “I better go if I want to get the fire department out of here by today.”
“Keep shooting,” Jessica commanded one last time.
Lydia looked ove
r at Zymar, who was gesturing to the fire marshal. She watched as finally the fire marshal smiled and nodded his head. Zymar was a pro. With him working all the angles they might lose just one day. Lydia sighed. It was explosions now and explosions later, but dammit, she knew she’d get this film made.
Chapter 19
Brie Ellison and Her Christian Louboutin Black Velvet Platform Sandals
Brie Ellison was bored. She sucked on a cherry lollipop as she lay lolling in the sun at Zuma Beach. Ten feet away, Bradford Madison picked up a volleyball and prepared to serve. His body is perfection, Brie thought as she stared at his six-pack abs through her Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses.
“He loves volleyball, doesn’t he?” Christina Darmides said. She plopped down on her beach towel, which was spread out next to Brie’s.
Brie pulled the lollipop from her mouth and cocked her head to the side. “You’d know better than me, with all the time you two have been spending together.”
Christina blushed. Brie liked Christina, as much as Brie liked any woman. Christina was cute, but Brie knew that cute faded. Christina might be fucking Bradford now, but soon Christian would be on her way back to Oxford and Brie would have her turn.
“We’re just friends.” Christina rubbed sunblock onto her arms.
“If fuck buddies means being friends, then okay,” Brie said and flipped onto her back. For a European, Christina was way too uptight.
“He did a great job on Seven Minutes Past Midnight. Dad showed us a rough cut of the film last night. You should come by and see it.
“No, thanks. I hear enough about Celeste Solange from Damien. I don’t need to see her act, too.”
It was all Damien did: visit his divorce attorney and bitch about Celeste. Brie was ecstatic that at this very moment Damien was on his way to Prague to scout locations for Borderland Blue. She was so tired of his whining. He complained about the money. He complained about Celeste’s film. He complained about his former home. And he complained about Brie’s cats. They barely fucked anymore. Not like on set in New Zealand—those had been wild times. Damien was a good lay, for an old guy. Plus, he helped her career. One more million in the bank, her first starring role, and the biggest perk of all, gross profit participation—that would make her rich!
Brie glanced across the beach to the volleyball players. Bradford Madison was just the boy toy she needed to liven things up. And Kiki Dee (her five-thousand-dollar-a-week publicist) would cream herself if Brie started showing up at clubs around L.A. with Bradford. The press for a Bradford-Brie tryst would be phenomenal, and just when the spotlight from breaking up Celeste and Damien was beginning to wane.
“So how are things with Damien?” Christina asked.
“Old. In every way,” Brie said. “Have you ever fucked an old guy?”
“Um … No, not really,” Christina said.
“Well, it’s okay in the beginning, but they don’t have much staying power. You have to get off pretty quick or not get off at all.” Brie sighed. “I’m actually just about over it.”
“But I thought you two were talking about marriage?”
Brie laughed. “Damien is. I’m not. Do the math. There is no way I’m spending my twenties taking care of a geriatric. Besides, it’s about time for me to find my next thing,” Brie said. Her eyes drifted back toward Bradford.
Christina propped herself up on her elbows and waved to Bradford. He trotted over and collapsed onto the beach towel next to Christina.
“Babe, I’m getting killed over there. Save me with a kiss,” Bradford said.
Christina giggled as Bradford leaned in and planted a long kiss on her lips. Brie watched as his hand wandered down Christina’s stomach and across her thigh. A wave of envy swept through Brie. She’d had her chances with Bradford. He’d begged her to sleep with him at least a dozen times. But that was before, when he seemed so childish.
Brie wanted him now. She was the star—a model. Christina was just a cute little Greek girl with a bad haircut.
Bradford slowly pulled his lips away from Christina’s. “Perfect,” he whispered. Brie watched as he stared into Christina’s eyes.
“Bradford, I was talking to Damien last night,” Brie said, “and he wants you for the supporting role in Borderland Blue.”
Bradford tore his gaze away from Christina. “That’s great, Brie. When does it start?”
“In about a month.”
“Perfect timing, too.”
“Damien was wondering if you’d come by our place tonight. Maybe talk about the script.”
“Sure. What time should we be there?” Bradford asked while he ran his hand through Christina’s thick black hair.
“Well, please don’t take this the wrong way,” Brie said and glanced toward Christina, “but Damien wanted to speak to you alone. Man to man, or some shit like that. I mean, I’m not even included.”
“Brie, don’t worry about it,” Christina said. “I totally get it. It’s business.” She smiled and leaned against Bradford. “You go on. You can come by after. Daddy wants me to go to dinner with him tonight, anyway.”
“You sure?” Bradford asked. “Because you know I’ll give it all up for you,” he said, grinning. “Every bit of it. The money, the fame … the money.” He started tickling Christina.
“Stop. Stop. Go. Go. Just come by when you’re finished.”
“About eight?” Bradford asked Brie.
“Sounds good,” Brie said, starting to stand. “We’ll see you then.”
“You leaving?” Christina asked.
“I’ve had it with the sun, and I’ve got a mani-pedi-wax with Olivia in an hour.” Brie stuffed her towel in her Chanel tote. “I’ll tell Damien eight, then.”
“Awesome. See you, Brie,” Bradford called, not even looking away from Christina.
*
Brie Ellison stood before the full-length mirror in her bedroom. Her body was the ideal collection of curves and long, narrow straightaways. Dr. Melnick was an awesome surgeon. She’d wanted to go bigger (because wasn’t bigger always better when it came to boobs?), but Dr. Melnick convinced her to just go up one size. And he was right. Her thighs looked tight and the butt lift gave her the perfect curve between her ass and leg.
Brie gazed at the black lace demi-cup bra and crotchless panties. She decided the garters were too much, but the Christian Louboutin black velvet platform sandals gave off just the right vibe of sexiness. I almost want to fuck myself, Brie thought.
Then the panic hit her. The panic always hit her just before she seduced a man. What if Bradford said no? But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. No man ever had. Since she was thirteen, she’d gotten everything she ever wanted by spreading her legs. Everything. And not one of the dozens of men (stepfather and high-school teachers included) had said no. Married? Engaged? Single? As long as they were straight, it was yes, yes, yes, every time. The sex really didn’t matter to Brie. It was this moment that turned her on. The surge of panic followed by the adrenaline rush of conquest. And, of course, the baubles; trips, money, and career advancement sweetened it. But she didn’t really care that Bradford liked Christina. It didn’t even matter that there was a Christina. All that mattered was the sexy woman standing in front of the mirror.
Hot always trumped cute. Brie would win tonight. Bradford might think that he loved Christina Darmides, but for men hot sex beat out love every time. Besides, it wasn’t as if Bradford was married (not that marital status had ever mattered to Brie, obviously). This afternoon at the beach, even Christina said that she and Bradford were just friends. Bradford was open game.
Brie heard the security buzzer from the front gate. “Sarah,” Brie called to her housekeeper, “will you get that? Send Mr. Madison up to my room.” Brie leaned forward, perking her breasts in her demi-cup bra. Yes. She smiled into the mirror. She looked irresistible.
Chapter 20
Jessica Caulfield and Her Curled Toes
Jessica Caulfield stretched her arms over her head. She wiggled her b
are toes under the down comforter. Early Saturday morning light crept in through the white silk curtains on her bedroom windows. It was already a beautiful day. A perfect day.
She rolled slightly to her left. He was still there. Mike Fox. Adorable Mike Fox, in her bed, snoozing away. When they’d been together years ago, Mike never spent the night. It didn’t matter what time they got back from dinner or a premiere. As soon as they finished making love, Mike was out the door. Not anymore. Not this time. This Mike Fox spent the night. This Mike Fox sent her flowers, cooked for her, and even told her he loved her.
Jessica was satisfied. Gluttonously, sexually satisfied. She felt as if she’d feasted after a long famine. Tender caresses, long kisses, and fantastic sex replenished her. She felt alive. And happy. The stress, the anger—it had all drained away. Jessica ran her fingers along Mike’s cheekbone as he snored. His brown hair was rumpled. Yes, this Mike Fox was the Mike Fox she’d always wanted.
It was almost effortless, the transition to having him around again. Round two began with a casual dinner party at a mutual friend’s home three weeks before. She and Mike both arrived sans date (Jess was still wondering if she’d been set up). Dinner led to an after-dinner drink at the Polo Lounge, which led to two more dates, a party, and just like that, Mike had slipped back into her life. Effortless and fulfilling, the way Jessica had always imagined that the right relationship would be.
Although he was the same Mike (he still loved to have a good time), he was different, too: Not nearly as inebriated with the glitz and the glam as a few years ago, Mike, like a number of Hollywood executives (at least the ones who didn’t burn out or crack their nut), understood you needed something real in your life. The biz would let you down; it couldn’t be the only thing in your life (no matter how tempting the siren song of screen success, the A-list parties, yachts, supermodels, and blow). It was all an illusion, a pleasure palace that in the end couldn’t sustain your soul.
