by Maggie Marr
She lifted her Kelly bag from the floorboard and peered inside. She shivered when her fingertips felt the paper, soft as suede. She pulled the envelope from her purse. Lydia sat frozen as Jay motioned for her to speak.
“I’m sorry. To what do you refer?”
A soft laugh crackled across the phone. “Well, I sure hope it’s in your purse and not someone else’s. The letter could be”—the voice paused—“damaging.”
Fear spread through Lydia’s limbs, and she felt her chin quiver. “What do you want?” she asked. She listened to the silence, waiting for more instructions. But the line went dead.
Lydia placed her head against the headrest in the car. She exhaled. She hadn’t realized that she was holding her breath as she waited for the caller to fill the silence. Her chest felt tight, and a cold sweat moistened her upper lip.
“Lydia, are you okay?” Jay asked.
She couldn’t answer. The caller had failed to answer the one question to which she needed a response. How could she possibly stop this if she didn’t even know what the person wanted? What could she give them? Money? Power? Prestige? Her breath became shallow. The car felt like a vacuum. She looked at Jay and reached over to open the window.
“Okay, breathe slow and deep,” Jay said, turning to her. He rested a hand on her shoulder and started taking deep breaths, as if trying to teach her how to breathe. “That’s right, that’s right,” Jay said. He glanced out the windshield and then into the rearview mirror. Lydia heard a rapping on Jay’s window.
“Sir, is everything okay?” the valet asked through the window.
Jay nodded. He glanced into the rearview mirror again, put the Bentley in drive, and pulled out. Cars were piling up behind them; everyone in Malibu for the good times at Jennifer’s party.
Rule 9: Never Believe Actors — They Lie for a Living
Mary Anne Meyers, Screenwriter
Mary Anne luxuriated in postcoital bliss. Holden had arrived on her doorstep three days before, and aside from a quick trip home yesterday, he’d yet to leave her bed. And she enjoyed every minute. What was she, doing? She blushed at the thought of the last three days. Never, ever had she experienced this kind of sexual freedom. He heated her to her core every single time. Who actually had this kind of sex? Could it continue? She doubted it. But right now she didn’t care.
Mary Anne looked around her room. Another question had been at the back of her mind and was nagging at her more and more—what were they doing? Having sex, obviously. But dating? She doubted that, too.
“Babe, you’re almost out of eggs,” Holden called from the kitchen. She heard his heavy footfall as he walked toward the bedroom. The sight of Holden standing in the doorway forced the breath from her lungs. How could anyone possibly be that physically perfect?
“Seriously, babe, we’re running out of food,” he said. “Better call Gelson’s. They deliver.”
“Deliver? You have your groceries delivered?”
“Honey, come on. It’s a mob scene when I go to a low-key dinner. Can you imagine me trying to pick out a cantaloupe?”
“I’ll go,” Mary Anne said, throwing back the covers. “I’m not a celebrity.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Holden teased. He grabbed her and lifted her onto his shoulder. “You, Miss Meyers, are staying right here with me.”
He flopped her onto the bed as the phone rang. Mary Anne reached to answer it. “Ignore it,” Holden called from the foot of the bed, and Mary Anne paused. She listened to the phone continue to ring, then reached for it. She couldn’t ignore the call; she was waiting to hear back from Jessica about her rewrite on Sexual Being.
“Hello.” Mary Anne giggled as Holden kissed her toes.
“Mary Anne?”
“Mom?” Mary Anne glanced down at Holden and mouthed, Stop, it’s my mom. Instead, Holden gave her a naughty smile and began kissing her calves.
“How are you?” Mary Anne asked. “Where are you?”
“Today Atlanta, tomorrow Philadelphia.” A children’s book author, Mary Anne’s mother was more of a jet-setter than her Hollywood daughter. Mitsy spent winters in Los Angeles and summers in St. Paul.
“I just got the strangest e-mail and thought I should call you,” Mitsy said.
“Uh-huh.” Mary Anne closed her eyes as Holden lifted her leg and placed his lips on the back of her knee.
“I e-mailed Adam, asking if he’d be back in the States for New Year’s, and he e-mailed me that I should call you.”
“Uh-huh,” Mary Anne whispered, barely listening to Mitsy as Holden’s lips worked their way up the back of her thigh. He reached under her and flipped her onto her stomach. She shut her eyes and sank into the feeling of his lips fluttering light kisses across her ass.
“So, Mary Anne, what are you and Adam doing for the holidays?”
“Adam?” Mary Anne whispered.
Holden stopped. “Adam?”
“Who’s that?” Mitsy asked. “Do you have someone there?”
“Uh, Mom.” Mary Anne sat up as Holden got off the bed and walked out of the bedroom. “You know, this actually isn’t a good time.”
“Mary Anne, are you dating someone while Adam is away?”
“No, mother.” Mary Anne sighed. “I mean yes, I’m dating someone, and Adam is away—”
“Darling, you know I’m surprised with this choice, especially after what Steve did with that little tart—what was her name, your neighbor who’s now an actress—”
“Viève Dyson,” Mary Anne said.
“Exactly. After you walked in on Steve with that Viève girl, I’m surprised you’d do something so damaging to Adam—”
“Mom—”
“Dating someone behind—”
“Mom—”
“His back—”
“Mom, stop, okay? Adam and I broke up before I came back from England. We stopped seeing each other.”
Mitsy often walked a fine line between caring and overbearing, and Mary Anne wondered on which side Mitsy would fall in this conversation.
“You know, darling, I thought you and Adam were very well matched,” Mitsy said carefully.
That’s was a pretty good start, for Mitsy.
“And … well, you just aren’t getting any younger.”
What? She’d just told her mother that she’d broken up with her long-term boyfriend. She wasn’t expecting Are you okay? or Do you need anything? exactly, but maybe an Oh no, what happened? or an I’m so sorry would have been nice. All the things normal people who care about you say. But instead Mitsy told her that she wasn’t getting any younger?
“Perhaps once Adam’s play is finished and he gets back from London, you’ll patch things up?” Mitsy asked.
“Mother, I don’t want to patch things up. Things between Adam and me weren’t, well, we …” Mary Anne couldn’t finish. How did you discuss your dysfunctional sex life with your mom?
“What?”
“We weren’t really compatible,” Mary Anne said, hoping Mitsy would understand her euphemism.
“Compatible? Mary Anne, you’re both writers, voracious readers, love theater, and—”
“No, Mom, I mean, it wasn’t enough.”
“Enough? But darling, Adam is such a kind man and he wants children. Don’t you want children? Now, by the time you meet someone, it’ll be at least two years, possibly three, before you start a family and—”
“I can’t believe this,” Mary Anne mumbled.
“And then, darling, you’ll be almost forty when the children are born and—”
“Did you hear me? Mom, did you hear me?” Mary Anne knew her voice sounded terse, but she didn’t care. Mitsy had stepped over the line into intrusive.
“What, darling? You told me right before you left for London that you wanted to start a family soon.”
“Yes … I mean, no. Mom, you need to have sex to have a family, right? The couple? They have to engage in intercourse.” Mary Anne listened again to the silence on the phone line. “Mom?”
“I see,” Mitsy said. “Well, darling, since Miraval, I certainly understand the importance of sexual compatibility. If this is something you want to discuss, I am happy to listen.”
Mary Anne shuddered. She did not want to discuss her sex life with her mother. “Thanks, Mom.”
“But you and Adam left things on a positive note?”
“Yeah, as positive as ‘I don’t want to see you ever again’ can be,” Mary Anne said. She hopped out of bed, threw on her robe, and walked toward the kitchen to check on Holden. She didn’t want to have this conversation with Mitsy now. In fact, she didn’t want to have this conversation with Mitsy ever. Mary Anne wanted her love life to remain a private affair between her and whomever she dated.
“Darling, you don’t want to be eighty when your grandchildren are born. You’re already pushing the limits of your body by waiting this long and—”
“Mother, stop. I don’t want to discuss this right now.” Mary Anne peered into her kitchen. Holden stood with the refrigerator door open, rummaging for food. “I need to go.”
“So, no Adam for New Year’s, then?” Mitsy sounded disappointed.
“No, Mother.”
“Fine, darling. I’m off to my signing. I’ll see you soon. And should you want to discuss, just give me a call.”
Mary Anne placed the phone on the kitchen counter and walked up to Holden. She stood behind him and slid her arms around his waist. “So, did you find anything?” she asked.
“Not much.” He pushed the refrigerator door shut and pulled out of Mary Anne’s embrace.
“That was my mom,” Mary Anne said, sitting in the chair next to the kitchen island.
“Mm-hmm,” Holden said. “Do you have a cutting board?” Mary Anne pointed to the cabinet above her coffeemaker. “I’m making eggs with peppers. Want some?”
Mary Anne felt a distance from Holden. “Listen, she called to find out if—”
“Are you dating this Adam guy?” Holden asked with his back toward her, “because if you are and this”—he turned and pointed to himself and then to her—“whatever this is, is just a fling, then fine. I’m cool with that. But I want to know.”
Mary Anne looked into Holden’s eyes. He actually looked worried. Was it possible that he wanted more than just a casual fling? Was it possible that this perfect male specimen standing in her kitchen could actually fall for her? She was the girl next door, not one of the sexpot screen sirens the tabloids often reported Holden wearing on his arm.
“Well, I don’t know what this is,” Mary Anne said. “I mean you and me. If there is a you and me. But I’m not dating Adam.” Relief flooded into Holden’s eyes. “We broke up before you and I met at Shutters to discuss Sexual Being.”
“Jessica said you lived with him?”
“I did. Before he moved to London. But things didn’t work out. Look, I’m happy to tell you all the details if you want to know.” Holden stood next to the kitchen counter. He wore blue boxers and held a serrated knife.
“I don’t need details,” Holden said. “I just, I mean, we were starting something in there, when you said his name.”
“I said his name because my mother wanted to know why he declined her holiday invitation.”
“She didn’t know that you guys broke up?” Holden asked, surprised.
“Does your mother know about me?” Mary Anne asked.
“No,” Holden said, “I guess not.” He slid the knife through a red pepper. “But she’d like you. I know she would. You’re just the kind of girl she wants for me.”
“Really? And what kind of girl is that?” Mary Anne asked. She stood from her chair and moved toward Holden.
“A smart one,” Holden said.
“Smart, huh?” Mary Anne teased. She kissed his back and reached around him to lightly graze her fingers across the front of his boxers.
“And funny,” Holden said, closing his eyes.
“Funny?” Mary Anne pushed her breasts against Holden’s back. He set down the knife. Mary Anne gently turned him away from the kitchen counter and kissed his chest.
“And … nice,” Holden breathed out as Mary Anne took the tops of his boxers and pulled them down toward the floor.
“Really nice?” Mary Anne gave Holden a mischievous look, then slid down and inserted his cock into her mouth. She felt him arch his back toward the counter and saw the muscles in his calves flinch. He reached down and pulled her upward, his mouth finding hers. He lifted her and set her on the counter.
“Really nice,” he said and gave her a tiny smile, his eyes half-closed with pleasure as he pushed himself inside her. “Really … nice.”
Rule 10: Deliver Bad News Quickly
Jessica Caulfield-Fox, Manager-Producer
“Holden, what, do you want me to do?” Jessica asked. The wind whipped through her hair as she zipped along Mulholland. She loved Los Angeles. After spending the last nine weeks freezing in Toronto, any temperature above fifty-five felt like heaven. So although it was seventy degrees, cool for L.A., Jessica drove with the windows in her Range Rover rolled down.
“She broke into my house last night.”
“And?”
“And she fucking destroyed my bedroom wall. She painted her name in red. With a heart.”
Right now, while Viève still thought she and Holden were getting back together, she painted hearts and left him roses. Jessica wondered what kind of message he’d receive once Viève realized she and Holden were history. The rabbit scene from Fatal Attraction popped into Jessica’s head.
“She hid in my bushes the night before.”
“Wow.”
“Plus she’s been sending me these crazy-ass notes. Jess, you gotta talk to her.”
“Okay, okay,” Jessica said.
“I don’t need to see her anymore, especially now that we’re back in L.A.,” Holden whispered.
“Why are you whispering? Where are you?”
“Jessica, you promised this wouldn’t happen. You said you’d take care of it.”
“And I will. Today.” Jessica said as she turned off of Mulholland.
Fabrocini, at the top of Beverly Glen, was an easy place to meet, where she, Lydia, Cici, and Mary Anne could sit outside and talk. Perhaps they’d have ideas on how to get Viève to stop stalking Holden.
Jessica couldn’t find a parking space and circled the lot. She spotted Lydia’s Bentley (a gift from Ted Robinoff) and Cici’s Jaguar (another gift from Ted). Jessica wondered if she’d ever receive a dream car as a gift from Mr. Robinoff. In her single, non-mommy days she always arrived early and waited for everyone, but after having Max, Jessica discovered that she was always twenty minutes behind, even after she gave herself an additional half hour. She pulled into a space and checked herself in the rearview mirror. On set, Jessica got by with jeans and a ponytail, but now back in L.A. she did both her hair and her makeup. She even wore a pair of Gucci heels.
“It’s about time,” Lydia said when Jessica appeared at their table. Jessica leaned forward and pecked Cici then Lydia on the cheek.
“Back from the tundra?” Cici asked.
“Sure am. Where’s Mary Anne?” Jessica asked, sitting down. She expected all three of her friends to be there to fill her in on all the gossip she’d missed while filming Collusion in Toronto.
“She’s not coming,” Lydia said.
“Why?” Jessica asked.
“She told Cici that she’s writing, but I think it’s because of Adam,” Lydia said.
“Adam? What’s wrong with Adam?”
“They broke up,” Cici said. She reached for a slice of bread and dipped it into the olive oil. “Seems he’s too busy in London with his play. Good thing she leaves for Brazil next week.”
“Sexual Being?” Jessica asked.
Both Cici and Lydia nodded.
“Holden actually did script notes, can you believe it?” Jessica asked and reached for a piece of bread.
“I’ll bet he did,” Cici said. “Don’
t you remember Holden and Mary Anne’s night together years ago?”
Jessica paused. “When I was still an agent?”
Cici nodded.
“Cici, I seriously doubt Holden remembers that. He’s had so many ‘nights.’”
“Oh, he remembers. He got a room at Shutters when he met with Mary Anne,” Cici said.
“What? When?” Jessica asked, surprised.
“When he flew back for that meeting you two scheduled. The one about his script notes. And it seems that a very attentive concierge, who is a friend of mine, saw Mary Anne exit the hotel the morning after their meeting.”
Jessica felt a pang of guilt. Only two days after Mary Anne’s rendezvous with Holden, she asked him to pretend to make a play for Viève. But how could she have known? And anyway, this was Holden they were talking about. “You don’t think they’ll start a thing, do you?” Jessica asked.
“According to my sources, it’s already started,” Cici said.
Jessica bit into her bread. She needed to call Viève, and possibly Viève’s agent, Tyler, just in case there was damage control to be done. She didn’t want Mary Anne in another love triangle with the crazy redhead.
“Mary Anne in Brazil with Holden for three months. That’s a great cure for a breakup,” Cici said.
And a great way for Holden to lose one little green-eyed stalker, Jessica thought.
“What about Holden and Viève on set?” Cici asked.
“There wasn’t a Holden and Viève.” Jessica hesitated. “Well, aside from the fact I made him tell the nut job he wanted to sleep with her.”
“Oh, Jessica, that’s dangerous. Actresses are crazy,” Cici said.
“Cici, you’re an actress,” Jessica said.
“Have I ever claimed to be sane?” Celeste smiled at both her friends.
“I’ll stop by Mary Anne’s after lunch to check on her,” Jessica said, lifting her menu and scanning it. “Lots of carbohydrates and comfort foods. Good thing you’re not in production, Cici; there’d be nothing for you to eat.”
The silence Jessica received after her glib remark made her uncomfortable. She peeked around her menu at her friends. Both Lydia and Cici stared at her with serious expressions.
