by Maggie Marr
“The bungalow first,” Lydia said.
The car pulled into her spot in front of her production offices. Longing filled her—want. Unlike her fancy office filled with glass and chrome in the executive tower, Lydia’s bungalow on Worldwide’s lot was small and quaint. It had just enough room for three offices, a small kitchen, a bathroom, and a conference room. Christina, Zymar’s daughter and a VP at Lydia’s production company, was already there, and Mary Anne’s Mercedes was parked in front of the bungalow too. Jessica was right behind Lydia’s car and waved as she pulled her Range Rover in beside them. Parked in the guest spot was a Lamborghini convertible. Could that be Nathan’s car?
Jay climbed from the front seat as Lydia stepped out from the back. “I’m going to be outside the conference room,” he said. “You know we’ve got a couple of mics and a camera in there?”
Lydia did know but had forgotten. Briggs told her they were going to wire her bungalow and her office at Worldwide. As a precaution, he said, so if her mystery caller telephoned on a hard line they might get the voice. Briggs wanted to wire her house, too, but Lydia had absolutely refused. Her home was still her private domain.
Lydia stood at the bungalow door waiting for Jessica.
“You look like you partied all night,” Jessica said.
“Los Angeles to Tokyo, dinner with Steven, then Tokyo to L.A. in seventy-two hours. A real all-nighter.”
“Commercial carrier?”
“No. Can you imagine?”
“Today is Friday,” Jessica said and followed Lydia into the bungalow.
“Thanks, Toddy told me.”
Jessica leaned forward and whispered into Lydia’s ear. “I see you still have the bruiser following you.”
“It’s a status thing, purely for show,” Lydia tried to joke.
“Everywhere?”
“Except the shower.”
Jessica appraised Jay from head to toe. “Not sure, but I think that is where I’d like him most.”
“Zymar said no.”
Lydia crossed through reception and opened her bungalow office door. Here, amongst the cranberry reds and deep browns, the overstuffed couches and bookcases full of scripts, was where Lydia felt most comfortable.
“Where’s Zymar?” Jessica asked.
“He’s on his way in right now. I offered to give him a ride, but he wanted his Harley. How’s post on Collusion?”
“Good. I’ll go by after this. We’ll have a rough cut in six weeks,” Jessica said.
“With Zymar that means two. He overestimates post; a little director’s trick of his so he can wow everyone.” Lydia tossed her Bottega bag on the chair inside her office door. She glanced longingly at her overstuffed couch. She wanted to lie down and close her eyes and block out the entire world, but instead she pulled the office door closed behind her. She and Jessica walked toward the conference room.
“What did Billy decide?” Jessica asked. Everyone in town knew that Billy made all the decisions for Steven.
“They said yes. But it’s an expensive yes.”
“Does it come from the budget?”
“He wants Viève Dyson to play the female lead.”
Jessica stopped walking. “I don’t think Viève as the lead is a good idea.”
“I know she’s crazy. I know you just finished Collusion with her, and she was nothing but problems, but it’s the only person Steven will approve for the role. He made that very clear.”
“She’s stalking Holden,” Jessica said.
“Stalking as in showing up unannounced? Or stalking as in only-I-can-have-you?”
Lydia had little patience for crazy, but the only way Vitriol would get made was with Viève in the lead role, so Lydia needed the nasty little elf to hold her sanity together for twelve weeks.
“She’s hiding in his bushes and breaking into his house. It’s only a matter of time before she figures out Holden is sleeping with Mary Anne.”
Lydia’s chest tightened and a sharp pain jabbed up the back of her spine. Vitriol got messier and messier. She glanced into the conference room. She dreaded production on this film—there was too much emotional baggage with Holden, Viève, and Mary Anne on set together, combined with the intrigue of Nathan Curtis and Celeste’s DVD. The entire scenario made her hugely uncomfortable. She already called Tolliver Jones, head of CTA and Steven Brockman’s agent, on her return flight from Tokyo, and made the offer. She was in too deep to pull out now. Plus there was the DVD—they had to find out more information from Nathan.
“If Celeste would just tell Ted,” Lydia muttered.
“So, wait,” Jessica said her eyes widened and her hand covered her lips. “Cici was going to play the female lead in Vitriol but if Steven wants Vieve then Cici now plays—”
“—Vieve’s mother.” Lydia finished the sentence. “The character who’s an alcoholic and hasn’t aged well. Can’t wait to tell Cici,” Lydia said.
“And Nathan?”
“Billy approved him as director, although Steven seemed to really hate him. I haven’t met him,” Lydia said and glanced into the conference room. “But I’ve heard about him.”
“It’s all true,” Jessica said. “Mike and I had dinner with him.”
“Did you tell Mike about—”
“The letters? Yes. The DVD? No. Should I?”
“Not yet,” Lydia said.
“You know Mike may have some contacts in that world from his bachelor days,” Jessica said.
“The world of high-end sex-tape parties?” Lydia whispered.
“I hate to say it, but yes. Mike was quite the slut,” Jessica said.
“Let’s wait. See what Howard can find out from Sherman before we tell anyone else,” Lydia said. “Who knows, Mike might already know. Everyone could know.”
They looked at each other. “So we’ve got a film,” Jessica said.
“Yes, we do.” Lydia sighed. “Now, if we can just get Nathan to give us the information we need.”
Rule 14: There Is No Such Thing As Bad Press
Mary Anne Meyers, Screenwriter
Mary Anne huddled under a heat lamp on the patio at the Chateau Marmont. Crazy—she’d spent her childhood braced against the frigid winters in St. Paul, Minnesota, and now she shivered in the slight chill on a patio in Los Angeles. She glanced at her watch, willing Cici to arrive. Mary Anne disliked the lackadaisical attitude people had toward time in Los Angeles. Perhaps it was her Midwestern upbringing, but she felt that arriving late disrespected the person you were meeting and although Mary Anne realized Cici meant no harm, her tardy arrival still was annoying.
Cici must have called the Chateau earlier that day because the hostess seated Mary Anne at the best table on the patio. Going places with Cici guaranteed getting the best: the best restaurants, the best clothes, the best service, the best shoes, the best of everything.
Mary Anne hoped Cici still hadn’t found out about Holden. She wasn’t sure why, but she just wasn’t ready to talk about Holden yet. She still felt unsure how to define her affair with him. They spent most nights together, and some afternoons, but other than sex, they’d yet to really do anything as a couple.
“Mary Anne!” Cici called.
Mary Anne’s eyes popped as she watched Cici walk across the patio in a tiny dress and super-high heels. Cici could pull off any outfit. Her dress appeared to be the same size as the pocket handkerchiefs Mary Anne remembered her father carrying.
“Darling, how are you?” Cici gushed.
Public encounters with Cici were sometimes a bit of a shock. Such encounters were remarkably different from meeting Cici in private. When they became friends, Mary Anne quickly realized that Cici had a public face, a persona she wore. The persona became so embedded in Cici’s personality that Mary Anne guessed that Cici didn’t even feel the transition from private to public personality anymore, but Mary Anne felt the shift. She believed that the persona Cici showed to the world was one Cici believed the world wanted. Cici internalized the wo
rld’s definition of a sexpot superstar and made it real. The mask rarely slipped.
Cici plopped down beside Mary Anne, and immediately a server appeared with a drink for Cici.
“Thank you,” Cici said. She took a quick sip and scoped out the patio. “So, what’s this I hear about you and Holden?”
Mary Anne’s stomach dropped and her gaze dropped to her hands clasped tight in her lap. Had Jessica told Cici?
“What did you hear?” Mary Anne lifted her gaze and tried to ignore the heat of the blush creeping up her neck. Mary Anne knew she didn’t bluff well. If Cici pressed her, she’d cave.
Cici leaned forward. “I hear that you two are fucking like rabbits all over town.”
The blush rushed upward and Mary Anne’s face flushed red.
“So it’s true!” Cici cried.
“How did—” Tears heated Mary Anne’s eyes. How did people know about her private life? She and Holden had been to three hotels, but they used aliases and never arrived or left together.
“Oh, no, no, no, darling, please don’t cry. I guessed. Plus I am plugged in,” Cici said.
Plugged in? What did that mean? Mary Anne’s face must have registered her confusion.
“Darling, I kept a suite at the Four Seasons for a number of years. And Shutters was one of my weekend faves.”
“People are talking about my sex life?” Mary Anne whispered.
“Darling, it’s not your sex life they’re talking about, it’s Holden’s. You just happen to be a participant. After all, he is People magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive. I hear that the price for the first picture of you two together just hit one hundred thousand dollars,” Celeste said.
“What? Who would pay a hundred thousand dollars for a picture of me?”
“Again, darling, not you. You with Holden. Okay, if you’re going to date a celebrity, you must learn the rules. You see where we’re sitting?”
“Yes,” Mary Anne said, glancing around the patio.
“Why did you get this table?”
“Because I’m meeting you?” Mary Anne said.
“No,” Cici said.
“No?”
“I didn’t call the Chateau today. You, my darling little Midwesterner, got this table because people believe that you are dating Holden.”
The air rushed from Mary Anne’s lungs. She leaned back in her chair, breathless. “But I’m not a star.”
“Your new boyfriend is,” Cici said. “One of the biggest. And in this business, dating Holden makes you valuable. Not only can you write the script, but now you can persuade one of the biggest male stars in the world to be in the movie.”
“But I wouldn’t do that,” Mary Anne said.
“I know that, you know that, but all these people sitting around looking at us—they don’t know that,” Cici said.
Mary Anne loved the anonymity of writing. She could go anywhere and never be recognized—it was her favorite thing about living in L.A. And now, as she glanced around the patio, she felt that anonymity slipping away from her. She wondered who else sitting on the Chateau’s patio knew she was dating Holden. It was funny, Mary Anne never noticed her sense of privacy before, but now that it was gone she really felt naked in its absence.
Mary Anne leaned forward. “How do you do this?” she whispered.
“You get used to it. You learn to live with the idea that everyone thinks they know all about you, your life, your business.”
“No wonder so many celebrities became obsessive about their privacy.” Mary Anne’s eyes darted about the people seated at tables near them. “I don’t like it,” Mary Anne said. “I feel like I’m being watched.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“You are officially on the radar, darling,” Cici said and took a sip of her drink. “Get ready for the attacks.”
*
Mary Anne never drew attention to herself. At least not intentionally. She stood in the gas station and stared at the cover of the latest Star magazine.
The photographer had shot the picture from a distance, with a telephoto lens. In it Mary Anne sat on a reclined Holden, her swimsuit top hanging at her waist after he’d pulled the string. His hands grasped her breasts. Her breasts and Holden’s hands were blocked by the angle of Mary Anne’s body, but it was obvious where his hands were. The headline—WHO IS HOLDEN HUMPHREY HOLDING NOW?—embarrassed her. Mary Anne flipped the magazine open to the middle section. Solo pictures of Holden and Mary Anne sat side by side. The photo on the cover, Mary Anne guessed, was the first photo any paparazzo had secured of her and Holden together. Mary Anne purchased the magazine and hoped that the guy handing her change didn’t know that behind her sunglasses, she was the girl on the cover.
*
“Mary Anne, stop crying,” Cici said.
“I can’t stop crying. Did you see it?” Mary Anne paced her home office.
“Sweetie, there’s nothing to see.”
“My parents are going to freak out. My family will be humiliated. I can’t believe this. How did they get this picture?”
“We talked about this. There are photographers following you.”
Mary Anne peered out her office window toward her pool and the sandy cliff behind her fence. She pulled the string and let the shades drop. She loved the sunlight, but now? How could she write with her shades open?
“Where was it taken?” Cici asked.
“San Ysidro Ranch in Santa Barbara,” Mary Anne said and peered around the shades. “How did they know? We took separate cars, we checked in at different times, had rooms on different floors, used different names.”
“Darling, these guys are pros. They spend more money bribing waiters and hotel housekeeping than I do on shoes.”
Mary Anne sighed.
“Has your mother called yet?” Cici asked.
“No. She’s on a book tour.” Her mother’s latest children’s book had been released in time for the holiday rush, and Mitsy had three more cities in her fourteen-city tour before she returned to Los Angeles. And once Mitsy returned … a shudder rushed up Mary Anne’s spine. She didn’t even want to think about what her mother would say.
“And Holden?” Cici asked.
“Working out? I don’t know. He didn’t stay here last night, and he isn’t answering his cell.”
“Well, it won’t be a shock to him. I’m sure he’s used to this by now. Besides, no press is bad press when you’re a star.”
“But I’m not a star,” Mary Anne whined and flopped into her office chair.
“You are now,” Cici said.
*
Sweat dripped down Holden’s chest and back. His post-exercise high kicked into overdrive, and he felt strong. He stripped his wet T-shirt over his head and glanced into the windows on his back patio. The push-ups that Liam, his trainer, had assigned him were really improving his pecs and upper arms.
“Looking good, bro,” Liam said. “Same time tomorrow?” He grabbed his duffel bag.
“Sounds good.” Holden gave Liam his manshake at the front door. He bounded up the stairs feeling powerful. A hot shower would keep his muscles loose. He glanced at his watch. He needed to hurry; Mary Anne wanted to cook lunch, and Mary Anne, Holden had discovered, became cranky when she didn’t eat.
At the top of the stairs he dropped his shorts and grabbed them with the same hand that held his sweaty T-shirt. As he rounded the corner into his bedroom he faced the dirty clothes hamper and did a jump shot. Both the shorts and shirt landed inside the basket.
“Nice form, baby.”
Holden stopped and looked toward the bed. Why was she still here? He walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. She had crawled into his bed late the night before, it must have been after three A.M. He hadn’t known she was there until he woke up to go work out with Liam.
“Baby, come here,” Viève whined.
Holden looked into the mirror. He felt himself grow hard. The thought of sex, any sex, turned him on. What did he want? Did he want a relationship wit
h Mary Anne? Or did he want Viève? He decided he wanted the sex now and Mary Anne later.
“Please, baby, just for a minute?” Viève called.
Holden walked out of the bathroom. “Viève, you’ve got …” He paused. She had positioned herself on all fours, her ass pointed toward him. She reached her hand between her legs and touched herself as she swayed back and forth, her perfect bare ass putting him in a trancelike state.
“I’m wet for you, baby,” she whispered.
Holden wanted to walk away from her. He wanted to walk to the shower. He wanted to be on time to meet Mary Anne.
“Just slide it in for me, please, baby,” her voice purred.
Sex with Viève would be so easy. Mary Anne would never know. He watched Viève’s ass. But he’d know. Yes, physically he wanted Viève, but mentally the idea of fucking the twisted creature on his bed actually repulsed him. He couldn’t. Not now, not ever.
“Viève, you’ve got to go,” Holden said.
He pulled shut and locked the bathroom door.
Rule 15: You Can’t Fix Crazy
Jessica Caulfield-Fox, Manager-Producer
Jessica looked around the meditation room and glanced at the cross-legged inhabitants. She hoped she wasn’t disturbing them.
Softly, she stepped around the meditators. The little redheaded gnome sat at the front of the room. Jessica bent forward and rested her fingers lightly on Viève’s shoulders.
“Viève, I need you,” Jessica whispered.
Viève’s eyes fluttered open and her pupils slowly focused on Jessica. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve left six messages for you. I’ve called your agent, your manager, and your publicist,” Jessica hissed.
“I know.”
“You missed your ADR session for Collusion,” Jessica said.
“I know.”
Jessica waited for Viève to provide an excuse for her no-show, but when the sprite closed her eyes to continue meditating, Jessica quickly realized that no such explanation was forthcoming.
