Secrets of the Hollywood Girls Club

by Maggie Marr

  Assistant number two, now poised like a springer spaniel ready to fetch—waited for Toddy’s instructions.

  “Flat water with lemon, thank you.”

  Toddy nodded imperceptibly, and the girl leapt up to retrieve the water.

  “How are you?” Cici asked.

  “Busy. Especially since she decided to rush Vitriol into production. We’ve reworked the soundstage schedule, and you can imagine how pissed Sean is since we took both his star and his writer from Sexual Being to get Vitriol going. And you? You look luscious as ever. How’s Ted?”

  “Good, he gets back from Hong Kong tonight.”

  “Hong Kong? What’s he doing in Hong Kong?”

  Celeste raised her eyebrow. How could Toddy, the epicenter of information at Worldwide, fail to know that Ted traveled to Hong Kong to location-scout for a Worldwide film?

  “Location-scouting,” Cici said.

  “Oh right, right. I forgot.” Toddy’s ever present calming smiled remained pasted to her face but she glanced down at her paper pad and pen. “Here’s Leigh with your water.”

  Lydia’s number two placed a crystal glass and a decanter on the table next to Cici.

  “I think I hear them now,” Toddy said as Lydia’s office door swung open and Tyler Bruger, an agent from CTA, walked out of Lydia’s office.

  “Cici!” Tyler left Lydia and bounded toward Celeste. She braced herself for the full-court press that would come from Tyler.

  “Tyler.” She leaned forward and let Tyler air-kiss each of her cheeks.

  “How are you? You look stunning. You know I’d love to buy you lunch someday soon. We miss you at CTA.”

  When Jessica left to start her own production-management company, Cici had followed as both a client and a friend. She’d yet to pick up a new agency and doubted she ever would. Why should she? Unagented, she was a hot commodity in the entertainment marketplace, and every agency serviced her—sending her scripts and introducing her to their best directing clients—each agency hoped that they’d do such a good job Celeste would sign with them.

  “CTA was my home for many years, but once Jessica left, I couldn’t stay.”

  A flicker passed through Tyler’s eyes. “How is Jessica? I haven’t seen much of her since she wrapped Collusion—you know I rep the female star of the film, Viève Dyson.”

  “Jessica mentioned you worked with Vieve. Talented actress even if she’s a little …” Cici waggled her hand back and forth as her words drifted off. Let Tyler sit with the idea that Celeste Solange, the biggest female star in Hollywood, thought Tyler’s up-and-coming actress was an unbalanced crackpot. A bit of real anger flashed in Tyler’s face.

  “Have you seen Zymar’s rough cut of Collusion? Viève carried the film. You must be looking forward to working with her?”

  Her throat clamped closed and Cici tried not to choke on her water. What? Looking forward to working with Viève? She bit back her response. “Oh I am. Of course. There’s nothing like talent.”

  “Cici,” Toddy Called from her desk. “Lydia’s ready for you now.” Cici picked up her purse. “Wonderful to see you, Tyler.” She glanced at Toddy sitting at her desk behind Tyler. Toddy looked up at the ceiling and shook her head as if to say, they never learn, the young ones—it takes years.

  *

  “No. No! Lydia, Viève Dyson cannot play my daughter in this film.” Cici paced in front of Lydia’s desk. “Have you spoken to Mary Anne? You know who Viève is, don’t you?”

  “Cici, it’s the only way I can hold this film together. Nathan wants Vieve as his lead and so does Steven.”

  “Why Steven? He doesn’t even fuck women.”

  “I think it’s coming from Billy. We found out that Vieve and Billy are friends from their London days,” Lydia said.

  “I’m too old to play Steven’s love interest?”

  Lydia bit down on her upper lip. No, Cici was the perfect age, but according to Steven and his over-sized male ego the woman playing his love interest should be nearly fifteen years his junior.

  “Oh fuck him,” Cici burst out. “I wasn’t even born when Steven Brockman started doing movies.”

  “He’s very concerned about the public’s perception of his age.”

  “And I’m not?” Cici stopped pacing and crossed her arms over her chest as if trying to quash the fire that burned through her. “Lydia, I’m an actress over thirty in Hollywood. Any film could be my last.”

  “Celeste, you’re overreacting.”

  “Am I? I mean, this little tramp broke Mary Anne’s heart by sleeping with her boyfriend, then Viève dated Holden, who is now dating Mary Anne.”

  “Should make for an interesting set,” Lydia sighed and placed her hand over her chin.

  “What other demands did Steven make?” Her voice was resigned to losing this fight. Cici flopped into the chair opposite Lydia’s desk.

  “Billy gets to be the production photographer for a very handsome fee. Steven wants Billy to shoot his Vanity Fair piece.”

  “How are you going to deliver a Vanity Fair cover?”

  “I’ve got a call into Graydon, but it’s not going to come cheap. Graydon wants an inside look on a Hollywood film set for his February issue. Perhaps following an actress? A behind-the-scenes piece as she does a major film?”

  “Who’d want to do that? A film is stressful enough without some journalist following you around.”

  “Well,” Lydia leaned forward and placed her elbows on her desk, “with California Girl being an Oscar contender …”

  “Absolutely not. Are you kidding me? Let a journalist follow me around on set? With a sex tape, your letters hanging over all our heads, Steven’s boyfriend Billy doing production stills, and Vieve? You must have completely lost your mind to even suggest this.”

  “A journalist on the set of Vitriol is the last thing I want, but striking a deal that gets Billy and Steven the cover of Vanity Fair is the only way to hold Vitriol together. Without the Vanity Fair cover for Billy, Steven walks. And without the behind-the-scenes piece with you, no cover for Billy. And with no Vitriol, Nathan Curtis walks free in the world with the knowledge of the whereabouts of your sex tap going with him.”

  Cici was completely correct—the whole thing was insanity—so many secrets—so many lies—how did Lydia ever expect to keep all of the fibs unexposed?

  “No one works the press like you. The public adores you. Every magazine that puts you on the cover quadruples its circulation for that month. I spoke to Kiki, and she thinks it’s a great idea.”

  Lydia’s reputation—career—and studio were on the line.

  “I get to pick the journalist.”

  “Kiki already did. It’s Terri Seawell.”

  “Terri Seawell? Oh, Lydia, are you sure?” Cici asked. “You and Jessica have to contain the Vitriol set, because with Terri Seawell rummaging around she’s bound to find something.”

  Rule 18: Stay Cool

  Lydia Albright, President of Production, Worldwide Pictures

  Lydia’s Lincoln Town Car pulled up to Mann Chinese Theatre. Before Lydia had accepted the job as president of production for Worldwide, back when she merely produced films, she only attended the premieres for her own films and those of her close friends. Now, unless she was out of the country, she was expected to attend the premiere of every film Worldwide released. And she no longer breezed down the far side of the red carpet, the side that spouses, guests, and noncelebs quickly jetted down, bypassing the press. No. Now, as the public face of Worldwide, she had to actually walk by the reporters and occasionally answer a question. Her job required that she appear for photo ops with the stars of all the films Worldwide released.

  A Worldwide publicist opened Lydia’s car door. Jay stood near her, close but not too close. Lydia had arrived dateless. Zymar had boarded a flight bound for New Zealand earlier that day after finishing postproduction on Collusion. Organized chaos reigned on the red carpet. PR mavens wearing Donna Karan power suits flitted past
Lydia, holding walkie-talkies and sporting Bluetooth headsets in their ears. Flacks radioed drivers to alert them when to drop their celebrity cargo to ensure maximum press exposure for the star on the carpet. The infotainment journalists from Entertainment Tonight and Access Hollywood were poised to pounce on their celebrity prey. Hair pouffed, tits up, and microphones at the ready, Leeza and Lara stood side by side, waiting for their next feed. Perhaps Lydia could sneak into the theater? She didn’t see any of the Pivot and Press stars on the carpet.

  “Lydia?”

  Lydia looked over her shoulder toward the voice calling her name above the hubbub. Kiki Dee stood next to her client and the star of Pivot and Press, Maurice Banks. Kiki held a walkie-talkie in one hand and wore a Bluetooth in her ear.

  “Maurice,” Lydia said. She leaned forward and gave Maurice a quick hug. “So good to see you.” She quickly turned and smiled for the cameras. The bulbs flashed as the star of Pivot and Press and the president of production at Worldwide posed. Lydia knew that Kiki had faded into the background, as good publicists did once they got the shot for their clients.

  “I’m so pleased with the film,” Lydia whispered into Maurice’s ear as the cameras continued to flash. “You did a great job.”

  “Thanks, Lydia,” Maurice said and slipped away from her. “I’ll see you inside.”

  Lydia watched as Boom Boom, Kiki’s assistant, swept Maurice down the carpet to Leeza, hungry for her five-second sound bite. “He’s a great actor,” Lydia said to Kiki, who approached again, since the photographers had finished with Lydia for the moment. “He needs an award,” Kiki said.

  “This year big box office, next year the Oscar,” Lydia said.

  “I’m surprised you’re so upbeat, with everything you’re going through,” Kiki said.

  Lydia gave Kiki a quick glance. She hoped the publicist had some discretion. A film premiere wasn’t the ideal place to discuss Celeste Solange’s sex tape.

  “Vitriol won’t be an easy set,” Kiki continued. “With Viève, Holden, and Mary Anne’s little love triangle? Plus Steven and Billy? Believe me, I know Steven.”

  “Kiki—” Lydia followed Kiki’s gaze as she looked down the red carpet toward the Town Car pulling to the curb. Photogs flashed their cameras and lit up the night. Kiki touched her Blue-tooth earpiece. “Okay, got it.” She looked at Lydia. “Looks like this is a big one.”

  Lydia turned toward the theater, she’d have more time to chat with Kiki after the screening.

  “No, no. Lydia, stay. This arrival is important for Worldwide, too,” Kiki said.

  Lydia watched as Holden Humphrey emerged from the car. The fans went bonkers, as did all the photographers. He wore jeans, snakeskin boots, and a blue button-down that matched the teal in his eyes. He turned to help someone out of the car.

  “Don’t they make a pair,” Kiki said.

  Lydia contained the shock that tripped up her spine and balled at the base of her brain. This was not good for Vitriol. “Yes, quite a pair.” Lydia waited as Holden and Mary Anne worked their way down the press line.

  Mary Anne arrived breathless by Lydia’s side. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  Mary Anne’s fingers wrapped around Lydia’s wrist as though Lydia were a life preserver floating on the sea of the red carpet. The threesome turned toward the press. Tonight Holden Humphrey and Mary Anne Meyers went public with their relationship, and with this new hot Hollywood revelation the Pivot and Press premiere became the lead story for every infotainment show on the planet.

  Lydia’s heart ached for her friend Mary Anne, the screenwriter from Minnesota. Mary Anne still maintained her fresh-faced charm. Lydia knew by Mary Anne’s gargantuan smile and effervescent joy, her friend, still riddled with naivete about the cutthroat nature of the movie biz, did not realize what she’d just done—Mary Anne had just jumped into the very deep end of the pool. The public now owned a piece of Mary Anne’s life. Mary Anne and her relationship with Holden would become a commodity that print and broadcast infotainment would use to sell tickets, magazines, books, soap, gas, cars, and anything else their advertisers hocked. The photogs called out Holden and Mary Anne’s names as the two posed. The photogs needed their money shot. Lydia braced herself for the questioning calls from the journalists.

  “Holden! This way, this way!”

  “Mary Anne, when did you start dating again?”

  “Holden, what does Viève say?”

  Lydia continued to smile for the cameras. “I’m speechless,” she whispered to the couple, maintaining her smile. “But thrilled for you both.” She stepped closer to Mary Anne as the new ‘It’ couple broke apart and Holden turned to his adoring fans.

  “Mary Anne,” Lydia whispered, “let me have Worldwide send some security to your house.”

  Shock passed over Mary Anne’s face.”Security? Why?”

  “This is a very public event. And now”— Lydia eyed the cameras and hundreds of people drifting around them— “you’ve become a public person. You and Holden will immediately be the hottest story in America. Just to be safe, please. I’ll have Jay send someone to your house now.” Lydia waved toward Jay.

  “Lydia? I’m fine. No one will bother me. Besides, we’re not even going to the after party. Just the film and then home. Holden has to get ready for—”

  “You’re wrong,” Lydia interrupted. She realized by Mary Anne’s expression that her voice sounded cold and harsh. She filled her lungs with air and softened her tone. “Before you get home the press will go through your garbage and trample your yard. Mary Anne, this is a big deal, and I’m worried that you are unprepared.” Lydia needed Mary Anne to wise up—to understand the reality of the tabloid machine—to understand how the machine could hurt people—to understand the machine created collateral damage.

  “Lydia, I don’t … ,” Mary Anne whispered, glancing at the red carpet beneath her feet. She looked up and reached her arm out to Lydia. “Please—”

  “Lydia,” Kiki interrupted, “sorry to break in, but I need this little lovebird. Access Hollywood gets her first and then Entertainment Tonight. This is big, big, big!” Kiki was thrilled by the romance between People’s Sexiest Man Alive and the cute writer from the Midwest. Lydia gazed skyward as Kiki pulled Mary Anne from her—more fuel for the never-ending publicity fire.

  *

  Lydia worked her way toward the back of the premiere-party tent. She glanced down at one of the buffet tables as she passed. Her stomach churned at the sight of food set out by Worldwide’s caterer. The chicken satay looked plastic, the salads appeared wilted, and the drinks tasted watered down. Pivot and Press might not be the biggest film, or the most expensive premiere, but Worldwide’s guests deserved a better selection.

  A clump of people surrounded Paul Peterson, the former president of production at Summit Pictures who, after leaving Summit, received an overall production deal at Worldwide.

  “Lydia,” Paul called. He reached out to her over the bodies surrounding him. Although nothing spectacular, Pivot and Press was a solid film and would make its budget and P&A costs back for the studio. Because of his profitable movie, Paul would get another film made with Worldwide this year. Pivot and Press would also get a huge publicity bump with the red-carpet appearance of Holden and Mary Anne.

  “So good to see you. Thanks for coming.” Paul wrapped an arm around Lydia’s shoulder. “And thanks for bringing Holden and Mary Anne. Tomorrow, unless World War Three begins, we’re the lead on every news show in America.” He laughed. “Hell, we’re the lead even if World War Three does start.” He nodded at a gorgeous young man that stood beside him. “Have you met Rick?”

  Rick held out his hand to her. “We’ve never met, but I’ve heard about you from Arnold.”

  “Arnold?” Lydia’s heart quivered with the mention of Arnold Murphy—the man that nearly destroyed Lydia’s career in Hollywood not once, but twice.

  “Arnold is a huge fan of yours. In fact, I’ve brought him with me.” Rick look
ed around. “Where did he go? You know he’s easy to lose in a crowd. He’s rather vertically challenged.”

  Lydia’s skin tingled and her palms grew damp. Prior to his banishment from Hollywood Arnold Murphy spent most of his energy attempting to destroy Lydia. How had he gotten into a Worldwide premiere? When had Arnold returned to L.A.? Why didn’t Worldwide security keep a list with names of people who weren’t allowed to attend Worldwide events? Lydia assumed Ted Robinoff’s banishment of Arnold after the Seven Minutes Past Midnight screening would last longer—perhaps forever.

  “Lyyydiiiaaa!”

  A chill slid down her spine as the familiar voice called to her. “Arnold.” She turned, bent forward, and air-kissed each of Arnold’s cheeks. “So good to see you.”

  “You’re looking fabulous,” Arnold held her hand tightly and looked her up and down. “Being president must agree with you. Seems you’ve dropped a couple of pounds.”

  Lydia pulled her hand from his grasp. “Yes, I’m on the no-time-to-eat diet, but surely you remember from your tenure as president of production?”

  “Ah, I missed many a meal when I had your job. No, darling, I don’t envy you one bit. So, you gave my little lover his first big break?” Arnold gazed adoringly at Rick. “So talented, isn’t he?”

  Arnold appeared calmer, perhaps happier. But Lydia couldn’t let her guard down. A mere four years before, Arnold took gleeful pleasure in attempting to convince the U.S. Attorney to file criminal charges against Lydia and Zymar. Arnold probably still blamed her for his ignominious exit from Hollywood.

  “Arnold, I had no idea you’d returned to Los Angeles. Last I heard you were on the East Coast? Working in theater?”

  “For about a minute,” Arnold said. “I couldn’t stand it. Too pretentious and too slow. Besides, who wants to deal with the weather? No, Los Angeles is my home. This is where I’m meant to be.”