by Maggie Marr
This film would normally cost the studio a minimum of $60 million to make, plus another $30 million in prints and advertising. But if Lydia cast Vitriol right then Worldwide would make back its money. Of course, Lydia didn’t care about the profit margins on this film. What concerned Lydia was the $250 million worth of Celeste Solange films that Worldwide wanted to release over the next eighteen months. If Cici’s sex tape went public then Worldwide’s investment would be worth nothing.
Lydia clicked onto the soundstage calendars. Worldwide’s shooting schedule was booked—every soundstage on the lot full. But Lydia would make room.
“Toddy,” Lydia yelled from her desk.
“Yes, Lydia,” Toddy said, entering Lydia’s office.
Lydia held up a copy of Vitriol, the script Nathan Curtis wanted to direct. “Did you read this?”
“Last night.”
“And?”
“And I think it’s an uninspired, by-the-numbers thriller,” Toddy said.
“You’re brilliant,” Lydia said, “because that’s exactly what I think, too. Do you know the writer? This Roland Rumphy?”
“Never heard of him. I tried to look up his credits on IMDB and Studio System, but they don’t have him listed. He’s either new or someone writing under a pseudonym.”
“Well, Mr. Rumphy needs to be rewritten,” Lydia said.
“Who should we get?” Toddy asked.
“The rewrite needs to be fast, and the script has to be tight. Plus this writer will deal with the dick of a director—”
“Nathan Curtis?”
“Yeah, you’ve heard of him?”
“I’m on your calls.”
“Right. So who do you think?”
“Let’s see, great writer who can deal with big egos? Hmm, who do we know with those qualifications?” Toddy asked, returning to her desk.
“Get me Jessica, then Mary Anne, then Sean Ellis,” Lydia called to Toddy.
“Sean will be pissed. You bump his writer and he’ll have to wait at least six months to make Sexual Being,” Toddy said.
“I’m not just taking Sean’s writer,” Lydia put in her blue tooth headset. Both Lydia and Toddy were now on the phone line as Toddy dialed. “I’m also taking his star.”
“Holden?”
“Yep.”
“Lydia, Sean is going to flip. He’s already in Brazil doing prep.”
“Yeah, but if he doesn’t whine too much and waits on Sexual Being, I’ll make his next film, too,” Lydia said.
“What’s his next film?” Toddy asked.
“Who knows,” Lydia said. “And who cares as long as we get Nathan Curtis’s film made. Have number two make twelve copies of the script. Start messengering them. I need copies to go to Mike Fox, Mary Anne Meyers, Celeste Solange, and Holden Humphrey.”
“What about the older male lead?”
“I have an idea, but I need to work on it,” Lydia said. She clicked through her e-mails as Jessica’s line rang.
“Jessica Caulfield-Fox’s office,” Jessica’s assistant answered.
“I’ve got Lydia Albright for Jessica,” Toddy said.
“One moment please.”
“Toddy, you think Celeste should play the female role?” Lydia asked while they waited on the line for Jessica.
“I thought that was a given.”
“I have Jessica for you,” Jessica’s assistant chirped. “Jessica, you’re on with Lydia.”
“Morning, Lydia.”
Lydia could hear Max singing in the background.
“How is Maxie?”
“Happy, and on his way to preschool.”
“Did you get it?” Lydia asked. She sent over a copy of Vitriol late the night before.
“Vitriol? Yeah. Wasn’t so great.”
“I need you to produce it,” Lydia said.
“How did I know you were going to tell me that?”
“Because you’ve lost your plausible deniability and are now my partner in crime,” Lydia said. “Besides, what other producer can I trust with this?”
“Do you know the writer?” Jessica asked.
“Never heard of him,” Lydia said. “Guess that explains the script. I want Mary Anne to do the rewrite.”
“She’s working on Sean Ellis’s film right now.”
“I’m pulling her,” Lydia said.
“Not like we have much choice. What do you think the budget is?”
“Maybe forty? Without P and A.”
“Really? I was thinking more like sixty,” Jessica said.
“I’m not counting Celeste’s twenty-million-dollar fee. She’s offered to cut her quote.”
“Got it. So yeah, forty,” Jessica said. “Who do you want for the male lead?”
“I’m thinking Holden,” Lydia said.
“Go ahead and just ruin Sean’s life, Lydia.”
“I’m still going to do Sexual Being—Sean just has to wait a couple of months,” Lydia said.
“So Celeste for the female lead. What about the older male role?”
“I want Steven,” Lydia said.
“Brockman? You won’t get him. He refuses to play any character over thirty-five,” Jessica said.
“So far, but I’m going to try,” Lydia said. “It’s the only way Worldwide will make its money back on this bomb.”
*
Lydia wanted to tell Briggs Montgomery about Cici’s sex tape. But Briggs worked for Worldwide, and although it was simi-acceptable for Lydia, as Cici’s best friend, to lie to Ted Robinoff, it was quite another for Briggs Montgomery, head of studio security, to withhold important information from his boss. Lydia knew there was no way he’d keep the secret, and it would kill Cici for Ted to find out now.
“No more letters?” Briggs asked.
“Just the one in Malibu,” Lydia said.
“And that was the only phone call?”
“So far. Any ideas about who the wacko is?” Lydia asked.
“We went through the list of names Jennifer’s people gave us. Interviewed the catering staff from her party, too. So far, nothing. Has anything else happened?”
Lydia paused. “No, why? Is there something I should know about?” she asked, attempting to flip the attention to Briggs and his investigation.
“Just curious. How’s Jay working out?”
“Great. I mean, I hardly notice him.”
“He’s excellent at his job. He mentioned you’ve been spending a lot of time with Celeste.”
Lydia sensed that Briggs was tap-dancing around a question. Lydia often forgot Jay was around, and of course he saw everyone she met with. She needed to be more cautious about how often she met with Cici and Jessica.
“Ted is in Asia and—”
“Lydia, I’m not your dad. And you don’t have to tell me that Ted’s been away. Technically, I’m in charge of security for Ted and Celeste’s home, too.”
“Technically?”
“Ted didn’t want much surveillance. He has a home security system, and that was all he wanted. He didn’t have a security detail assigned to the house.” Briggs stood. “Well, I’ve got a meeting and I know you have one, too.”
“Right,” Lydia said. She wondered if Ted had his and Cici’s house bugged.
“So I hear you’ve got a new script going into production?” Briggs said, walking toward the door.
“Vitriol. A sexual thriller,” Lydia said.
“New director?”
“From London.”
“Celeste starring?”
“With Holden Humphrey.”
“That’s quite a cast. You’ll get me all the director’s info once the deal closes,” Briggs said.
“You might have it, or the marketing department does. He did photography for California Girl.”
“That guy’s directing now?” Briggs asked.
“You know him?”
“Mr. Robinoff mentioned that Celeste disliked him.”
“And you remember that?” Lydia asked.
“
Lydia, I get paid a lot of money to remember everything. Details are the key to my business. I’m surprised Celeste agreed to work with him.”
A tiny knot of anger formed in Lydia’s chest. Life would be so much easier if she could tell Briggs about the DVD and enlist the studio security team’s help. Trying to keep a secret like this was foolish.
“Cici likes the script, and I like the script. There isn’t any way around working with Nathan—he controls the material and he wants to direct,” Lydia said.
“And the writer?”
“Uninvolved and soon to be rewritten. Business Affairs is checking, but it seems Nathan purchased the script outright.”
“You’ll keep me informed? Mr. Robinoff wants us to pay close attention to Celeste and her security right now.”
“Any reason why?”
“Well, the letters that you received for one.”
“So Ted knows?”
“Lydia, I report directly to Ted.”
“And what else?” Lydia asked.
“What else?”
“You said there was something about which Ted is concerned.”
“I’m not the only one who keeps track of details,” Briggs said. “Well, he hasn’t been specific yet. I’m sure I’ll get more information when he returns from Asia. We’ve increased surveillance of their home.”
“And Cici knows?”
“Lydia, that’s between Mr. Robinoff and Ms. Solange. I just do what the man asks.”
“Don’t we all,” Lydia said.
“I’ll come by again when I’ve got more information.”
Lydia watched Briggs exit her office. She inhaled and shut her eyes. She tried to force away the feeling of dread that had settled around her. Increased security? Increased surveillance? Both could mean that there were cameras in Cici’s house, or that Worldwide security had tapped Cici’s phones. Lydia rubbed her forehead. The only way to save Cici’s relationship and Lydia’s job would be if Cici told Ted about her sex tape.
*
Wooing a star required fortitude. And wooing a star as temperamental as Steven Brockman demanded fortitude, patience, and a private jet. Lydia rested her head against the leather headrest in Worldwide’s Citation jet. She was flying all the way to Tokyo just to get a meeting with Steven Brockman.
She’d land, meet him for dinner; and then return to L.A. It was an insane turnaround. But she wanted Steven—no—needed Steven to star in Vitriol, and she realized that to persuade Steven to accept the part she must fly to Tokyo, to stroke Steven’s ego. Let him know that, yes, only Steven Brockman could successfully play this role.
Lydia felt the impossibility of winning this battle. So far she had an average script, a new director, and an older actor in denial about his age. She was prepared to meet Steven’s full quote and even give him a tiny bump. Financially, Vitriol would be a good gig for him. Besides, after Lydia had helped Kiki handle the debacle on Steven’s last Worldwide film, he owed Lydia.
The whole affair was unpleasant. Lydia never asked from whom or how Briggs Montgomery secured photos of Steven’s blackmailer with an underage boy. But the photos had forced the guy to keep quiet. This—keeping messy situations away from the public—was part of his job. Life would be easier if she could simply confer with Briggs, but Lydia had promised Cici, and she’d keep to their agreement as long as things didn’t become dangerous.
Her head bounced as the Citation’s tires hit the runway.
“Welcome to Tokyo,” the flight attendant said.
*
Everything in Tokyo was expensive, but the Imperial Hotel Tokyo was off the charts, even by Lydia’s standards. Huge fees and outrageous perks were standard procedure for Japanese corporations, which paid exorbitant amounts for American A-list celebrities to do print work and commercials. Though it was almost unheard of in the States unless an A-lister’s career was in trouble, it was fairly common for stars to jet to Japan, get treated like royalty, and make a couple extra million doing a commercial and some photos.
Steven had reserved a private dining room at Les Saisons, the five-star restaurant at the Imperial Hotel Tokyo. Lydia followed behind the hostess as she swept Lydia into a large room with an intimate table … for three?
Of course, Steven wouldn’t make such an important decision without Billy. Steven’s constant companion for the last seven years, Billy was consulted on every decision the megastar made.
While she waited, Lydia appraised the handwritten menu lying on her plate. Steven had preselected their courses, their wine, and even their dessert. Lydia calculated the bill Worldwide would receive next week for this extravagant meal and sighed. Another part of the price the studio paid to woo stars.
“Lydia, you look lovely,” she heard Steven say before she saw him. His entrance was grand: He was barefoot and wrapped in a white Versace suit.
Billy followed Steven and once beside the table leaned forward and gave Lydia a quick peck on the cheek. Ten years Steven’s junior, Billy was an exotic-looking man with black hair and dark eyes. He was stunning in a Rudolph Valentino sort of way. He always seemed to look through people. Billy went to the heart of every matter and said exactly what he thought. Prior to his involvement with Billy, Steven often danced around issues, never letting anyone know exactly what he wanted. Although their life together was a secret from the world, ironically, Billy gave Steven the ability to tell people the truth.
“I went ahead and preselected our meal,” Steven said. He placed his napkin into his lap. “Hope you don’t mind. And Billy chose the wine.”
Lydia glanced at Billy, who lit a cigarette.
“It all looks fabulous,” she said. An army of waiters appeared, set down plates, and poured wine.
“What time do you need to leave?” Steven asked.
“Whenever you’re ready for me to go,” Lydia said, giving Steven her best president of production smile.
She noticed Steven give Billy a quick look across the table.
“Good answer,” Billy said in his sultry smoker’s voice.
“So, I read the script,” Steven said.
At most of her dinners, business talk was reserved for dessert and coffee.
“And Billy read the script, too—”
“—and we both think Vitriol is really ho-hum,” Billy said, finishing Steven’s sentence. “What’s the rush on this one, Lydia? I mean, really, why are you pushing so hard?”
“I feel this project in my gut,” Lydia lied. “The public wants to see Steven and Cici together again.”
“You’re the second person to tell me that this week,” Steven bit into his ahi tuna tartar.
“Lydia, for Steven to start playing the older man is a big jump. Once he goes older, it’s impossible for him to return to younger roles.”
“Perhaps. But he’d be doing this for all the right reasons. A great part, a stellar cast, and he gets the girl. At the very least he can use the actors he’s working with as an excuse as to why he agreed to play the more mature role. And personally, I think the more mature male lead is a more interesting character than Holden’s. Wouldn’t you agree?” Lydia asked. She spoke to Billy. If she wanted Steven, Lydia realized, she needed to convince Billy.
Billy nodded his head almost imperceptibly. “I agree.”
“The best thing is that even though it’s a more mature role, Steven’s character is still a virile, sexual man. And isn’t that the fundamental component to longevity in this business? Aging while remaining sexy to the audience?”
Billy cracked a smile and glanced at Steven. “Oh, he’s always sexy.”
“But what about this director, Lydia? I worked with him on a photo shoot, and he’s a real dick,” Steven said. “Made me look like my father. We hated those photos.”
Billy frowned a little but didn’t disagree.
“I’ll admit he’s a little cocky,” Lydia said, lying again. She’d yet to meet Nathan, but his terrible attitude was already something she was hearing about from everyone. “But he o
wns the script, and his reel is good.”
“So, Worldwide is just giving away features to first-time directors? I have a script, Lydia. Want to make it your next film?” Billy asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice.
Lydia gave them the hard sell. “Listen, I follow my gut, always have. And so far I’ve managed to earn over three billion in box-office ticket sales. My gut tells me Worldwide needs this film. But to make it complete, to make Vitriol the film that I want it to be, I need you.” Lydia looked at Steven. “The only way I can make this film. Steven, the only person who can play this role is you. No other actor has the gravitas necessary for this character. You can make him real. You and your talent will allow the audience to see beyond the limitations of the director. Your character is the linchpin on which the whole piece rests, and that’s why it can only be you.” Lydia rested her hand on Steven’s arm.
She was laying the compliments on thick. Too thick? No. From the look on Steven’s face, he was devouring her praise.
Steven sighed. “Well, what do you think?” He looked at Billy.
“She’s good,” Billy said. He stubbed out his cigarette and finally took a bite of his food. “Really good.” He paused. “Well, why not, if we can make a deal.”
“Oh, we’ll make a deal,” Lydia said.
“Maybe. But Lydia, there are a few extra demands,” Steven said and winked at Billy.
*
Lydia rode in the back of the Town Car. Exhaustion settled heavy in each of her limbs. As if a bag of wet cement were strapped to her back. She wasn’t certain what day it was. Toddy said Friday, but Lydia’s body vacillated between Wednesday morning and Saturday evening. Jay sat in the front seat with her driver.
She landed two hours before, and now was on her way to meet Nathan Curtis, the infamous prick and the person who, Cici and Jessica speculated, had written Lydia’s letters. Lydia wasn’t convinced that Nathan was the author. The letters, to Lydia, seemed too personal to be about only Cici and her films.
The Worldwide guard waved them through the studio gates and onto the lot. “Ms. Albright,” her driver asked, “the bungalow or the office?”
