Secrets of the Hollywood Girls Club

by Maggie Marr

  Guilt twinged her belly. Mike was her partner, her lover, her friend—the father of her son.

  “You’ll be careful?” Mike asked.

  “Yeah,” Jessica said.

  “Because it’s not just you anymore. You get that, right?” Max sat on Mike’s shoulders, ready to go downstairs.

  “Go, Daddy, go!” Max yelled.

  “Yeah, I get that,” Jessica said. She watched as Mike bounded down the stairs with Max bouncing and giggling. Jessica needed to be cautious with Terri, and not just for her own sake.

  “Terri, darling, I’m so happy you’re here,” Jessica now said. She gave Terri the obligatory two-kiss greeting.

  “Jessica! I hear your movie is a mess.”

  “What? Terri, who’s telling you these silly lies? We just started production, and everything is fantastic.”

  “The set must be awful if we’re eating at the commissary and not with the crew. Trying to keep me away from the chaos as long as possible?”

  “Nonsense,” Jessica said. “Just thought this would be quieter, so we could talk.”

  “Bullshit. So Holden is dating Mary Anne Meyers,” Terri said. “How does Viève Dyson like that?”

  “Terri, surely you don’t expect me to comment on the private lives of my clients and the stars of my film?”

  “I have confirmation from his publicist,” Terri said.

  “About Viève or Mary Anne?” Jessica asked kiddingly.

  “Both.”

  Both? Jessica’s heart sank. Holden was dating both Mary Anne and Viève?

  “Well, his publicist confirms Mary Anne, but someone very close to Holden confirms Viève.”

  “I see. And do they confirm Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy, too?” Jessica asked, trying to make light. Both? Holden wouldn’t be so stupid to sleep with both Mary Anne and Viève, would he? And while all three worked on the same film?

  “Is this the kind of set visit I’m going to have, Jessica? The kind where we play coy with each other?” Terri asked.

  “I guess that depends,” Jessica said. There was a lot at stake for everyone involved. All of their careers were once again on the line.

  “On …”

  “On your definition of discretion,” Jessica said.

  “I’m around, aren’t I? For over thirty years. I think that gives you an idea about my ability to be discreet. Do you know I’ve attended Steven and Billy’s New Year’s Eve party every year for the last seven? Kiki and I have lunch twice a month.”

  “Steven’s a huge star and a close friend of yours; as is Kiki,” Jessica said. “But with other people there might not be so many reasons for you to be cautious.”

  “How about you and I be honest and I’ll let you read what I write before I turn it in to the magazine?”

  “Keeping in mind that everything I say is off the record?”

  “From an unnamed source,” Terri said.

  Jessica looked at Terri. She didn’t know if she could trust her, but if she wanted to put their spin on any story Terri wrote, she’d have to give Terri some information. “So where do you want to begin?”

  “Let’s start with Lydia. What’s it like working with her and producing for Worldwide?”

  “Well, she grew up in the industry, so she’s a complete pro,” Jessica said as the waiter set her Cobb salad before her.

  “You think that Lydia is doing a good job at Worldwide?”

  “I think she’s phenomenal,” Jessica said.

  “Really? I mean Arnold Murphy was incompetent, and Lydia is obviously much smarter and better qualified than he. But I question some of her recent decisions.”

  “Such as?” Jessica asked.

  “I read Vitriol and, no offense, I still don’t understand why she’s making this film. The only way I can explain the rush is that Celeste Solange wants to make it. But even Cici wanting to star in the film seems a little weak. She’s not the lead, and I find it hard to believe that she’s dying to play mother to an actress Viève Dyson’s age. So what is it, Jessica? What is the compulsion? Why Vitriol? And why now? Lydia has her thrillers for the year. Her slate is full.”

  Terri, Jessica knew, spoke daily with Billy. The gossip that she believed Billy and Terri traded could fill OK magazine for a year. But Terri’s question provided Jessica with an opening, a soft pitch that Jessica desired, to begin a plan of misdirection. Did she swing or just sit and let this pitch go by? “Funny you should ask,” Jessica said.

  *

  If Jessica believed all the heist films that Hollywood produced, to catch a thief you needed to be cleverer than the criminal—which worried her. Because the man they suspected was one crafty culprit. Jessica stopped at the gate in front of Steven Brockman’s estate.

  “How may I help you?” a voice inquired over the speaker.

  “Jessica Caulfield-Fox to see Billy.”

  “One moment, Ms. Fox.”

  Jessica waited while the phantom voice told Billy of her arrival. She tapped her hand on the steering wheel, trying to release her jitters. She wasn’t an actress, and although she often told tender lies so as not to offend (I loved your screenplay!), she entered unfamiliar territory when it came to convincing someone that she was scared and worried for his well-being when actually she believed he wanted to harm her and her friends. Jessica prayed that Cici’s primer on conveying emotion worked.

  She’d timed her arrival based on Steven Brockman’s shooting schedule. By arriving at Billy and Steven’s without an appointment, Jessica was arming herself with the element of surprise. She wanted Billy alone and unprepared for this meeting. Jessica watched the wrought-iron gates lumber to life. Showtime!

  *

  A gorgeous young man who could have been a Calvin Klein underwear model wordlessly ushered Jessica into the formal living room. Decorated entirely in chocolate browns and deep reds, with a hint of tiffany blue, the room appeared dramatic and expensive. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed Billy and Steven’s view of their infinity pool and the ocean beyond.

  “Jessica, my love. I had no idea you were coming by today.” Billy entered the living room wearing a robe. “Please forgive me. I’ve just finished my swim.”

  “No, I’m so sorry to arrive unannounced. I would have called but, well, I needed to see you in person.”

  “Really? Are you all right?”

  “Can we talk here?” Jessica whispered, making sure she wore a pleading look on her face.

  “Of course, by the pool. Nelson!” Billy called. The Calvin Klein model reappeared. “Jessica and I are going to the pool. I’d like some juice. Jess, anything for you?”

  “Pellegrino?” Jessica asked.

  Nelson nodded.

  Billy led Jessica through the back patio door and to a plush seating area by the pool. “Here is private. No extra ears.” He settled onto an outdoor recliner, leaned back, and crossed his ankles. A demure yet powerful pose. “Now, what is it, Jessica? I’ve never seen you so agitated.”

  So far so good.

  “I don’t know where to start,” she said. “Or how to ask.”

  “Well, first, what’s it about?”

  “Everything. I’m worried. I mean this could be awful for Steven and you.”

  Billy leaned forward. “Tell me. You know I’ll do anything I can to help.”

  “I’m worried about Lydia,” Jessica said.

  “Lydia?” Billy cocked his head to the side –a tilt that indicated his surprise.

  “Her recent decisions? They just seem so, so …”

  “Arbitrary?” Billy offered.

  “For lack of a better word, yes,” Jessica said.

  “And you’re concerned?”

  “Very.”

  “Have you discussed this with Ted or Mike?”

  “Ted? Please. Ted’s biggest blind spot, aside from Celeste, is Lydia Albright. Billy, you’re discreet and a realist. I mean, what is Lydia thinking, giving Nathan Curtis his first feature? Do you know him?”

  “I met Nathan
for the first time a couple of months ago, when he did some photographs of Steven for GQ.”

  Jessica’s heartbeat quickened with Billy’s lie. She knew Billy and Nathan were friends back in their swinging London days. Why would Billy hide his prior relationship with Nathan Curtis? Jessica and Lydia had a theory that Billy and Nathan were working together—perhaps writing the letters—but what did they want? Nelson arrived and placed their drinks on the settee between Jessica and Billy.

  “What about Viève?” Billy asked.

  “Viève? I worked with her on Collusion. She is a complete nut. To put her on set with her former lover Holden Humphrey and his new girlfriend, Mary Anne? Vitriol is a powder keg waiting to explode.”

  A jagged smile spread over Billy’s face with Jessica’s remark. She picked up her water and sipped. “But I know you wanted Viève in the role opposite Steven.” Jessica wondered if Billy would mention that he knew Viève.

  “I’ve not met Viève,” Billy said and glanced down at his juice. “But her acting is superb, and her age helps Steven appear young to the public.”

  Another lie. From behind her Dior sunglasses, Jessica studied Billy’s face. He didn’t flinch. Lying took practice, and Jessica surmised that Billy had plenty.

  “And Cici … well, you know about Cici, right?” she asked.

  “The DVD?”

  Jessica paused, a little surprised by Billy’s straightforward response. “Yes, the DVD.”

  “I’ve seen it,” Billy said.

  Jessica needed to appear calm, but her heart beat so fast it felt like it would pop out of her chest. “And?”

  “Who knew Miss All-American Superstar could be such a naughty, naughty girl,” Billy said.

  “That DVD will destroy my movie.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “Come on, Billy, once the DVD hits. the mainstream media? You and I both know the press and public will have a feeding frenzy.”

  “Well, it might not ever go mainstream, right?” Billy asked.

  “Not possible. Whoever has the film knows they have a cash cow. Footage of Celeste Solange fucking? That’s like a money tree growing in your backyard.”

  “What if a private collector has the footage?” Billy asked.

  “Nathan Curtis saw it,” Jessica said. “Whoever has the DVD is showing it. The story will break.” She watched Billy, needing to know what he’d say. Did he know who owned the DVD? Were he and Nathan in this together? Billy gazed out over the pool toward the ocean.

  “Did you see the cover of last month’s Redbook?” Billy finally asked.

  “The one with Steven, Katherine, and Sylvan?”

  “The perfect all-American family,” Billy said.

  Envy oozed out of Billy. He lived the perpetual life of the other woman without the possibility of Steven ever leaving his wife and making his relationship with Billy legitimate. Steven couldn’t divorce his pretend wife and marry his gay lover—not even in California—not if Steven wanted to keep his fan base.

  “No.”

  “Redbook’s circulation tripled because of the cover shot,” Billy said. “Steven was thrilled.” Billy’s brow creased, and his tone contained pain.

  “I don’t know how you do it, Billy, hiding your life for Steven’s career,” Jessica said softly.

  “I guess my situation is much like being the other woman, except here, in L.A., where everyone knows I’m the full-time live-in.”

  “I’d never feel secure,” Jessica said.

  “Security is overrated,” Billy said. “But you’re right, I have to keep some things for myself.”

  Anger flickered in Billy’s eyes. She almost felt sad for him. The idea of loving someone the way she loved Mike and being unable to tell the world? The pain that repression caused? And all this while Steven pretended to be married to someone else?

  “Ours is like any marriage; you never know what goes on in your spouse’s mind.” Billy stared at the infinity pool, his expression frozen in thought.

  “Billy, do you know who has the DVD of Celeste?” Jessica asked.

  Billy tore his gaze away from the view and looked at Jessica, hardening again.

  “Jessica, I’m afraid that’s a secret I’m unwilling to share.”

  Rule 21: You Get What You Pay For

  Kiki Dee, Publicist

  Kiki would pay for sex. Why shouldn’t she? Men paid for sex. She was an older woman with a lot of dough and she’d finally found somebody who would provide. Capitalism 101: supply and demand. Kiki was merely helping the economy. She leaned against the plush pillows on the king-size bed at the Peninsula.

  Working girls, aka actresses, constantly prowled the Peninsula Bar, looking for producers and agents. But where were the working boys? Kiki had finally asked Terri Seawell.

  She and Terri went all the way back to their days in New York. In her twenties, Kiki had broken into entertainment as a dancer while Terri struggled for a break as a singer. Back then, young, broke, and beautiful, they turned a few tricks to cover the rent. Of course, they didn’t call them tricks.

  No, the girls were simply dating older men. Older men who wanted the girls taken care of. And in return for their male companions’ generosity and concern, Kiki and Terri expressed their gratitude.

  Now Kiki maintained a position on the heavy end of the economic scale. She had money, power, and connections. And yes, she was happy to give a little financial help, as long as she got some sexual satisfaction in return. She glanced at her Cartier watch with irritation: He’d said four thirty and her watch now read ten after five.

  She left the fake name at the front desk and went to room 245 as he’d requested. Kiki looked down at her La Perla bra. Brand new. Boom Boom picked it up that morning at Barneys.

  “I want the white satin with black pinstripes,” Kiki had told her.

  “Demi cup or full coverage?”

  “Demi.”

  “Do you want a thong or boy-cut shorts?” Boom Boom asked.

  “I’ll take the thong. And make sure to get the garter belt and some black stockings.”

  “Got it.” Boom Boom scribbled on her pad.

  Kiki watched Boom Boom pick up her purse. The bag looked like something one might purchase at Goodwill.

  “What is that?” Kiki asked.

  “My bag?”

  “Yes, but who made it?”

  “I don’t know. I picked it up at Target,” Boom Boom said.

  “Did you just say that you picked it up at Target?” Disgust laced Kiki’s voice.

  Boom Boom looked at Kiki and then at the offending bag.

  “You are working for KDP and walking around Beverly Hills with a bag from Target? Boom Boom, how long have you worked for me?”

  “Almost five years.”

  “And have you ever seen me wear anything made by anyone other than a well-known designer?”

  “No.”

  “Have I ever mentioned the word Target?”

  “No.”

  “Do I go to Supercuts?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever seen me in anything other than heels?”

  “No.”

  “Then why? Why do you torture me so?” Kiki asked. Her heart rate rose and her blood vessels expanded. A lack of money didn’t create Boom Boom’s fashion faux pas—Kiki knew that Boom Boom and her entire family were rolling in dough.

  “It all seems so superficial,” Boom Boom said.

  “Superficial? Superficial? You are in public relations! Of course it’s superficial. Superficial is what we do. We specialize in superficial. We sell superficial. Our whole business is about image and presentation. Our world, our business, has nothing to do with substance or reality. If you want reality, go work for a nonprofit. But if you want glitz, glamour, and everything that is unreal, then movie publicity is the biggest game in town. Don’t you get it? Have you learned nothing in five years?”

  Boom Boom sighed.

  “Do you want to work here?” Kiki asked.

/>   “Yes,” Boom Boom said.

  “Do you want to be an assistant for the rest of your life?”

  “No.”

  “Then get with the program,” Kiki said. “If you want to be in public relations for entertainment, then you have to wear the uniform, walk the walk, and talk the talk. That includes clothes, shoes, bags, brows, and a mani-pedi twice a week. Got it? Have I spelled it out for you?”

  The girl received every conceivable advantage: money, a great college education, supportive parents, and now, thanks to Kiki, excellent hair. Why wasn’t she more driven—moving faster?

  Boom Boom nodded and threw her bag over her shoulder. “Fine, Kiki. But I won’t like it.”

  “Then get a different job. You’d think after five years you’d figure it out,” Kiki said. She clicked her computer icon for her phone sheet. “Go, go! I have my meeting this afternoon and I need that lingerie.” She waved her hands at Boom Boom. “And don’t forget my K-Y Jelly!”

  A wicked smile danced over Kiki’s lips. She enjoyed the role of bitch and she liked being in charge. But maybe she wasn’t in charge anymore, as obviously this young stud didn’t feel the need to appear on time. She scooted down the bed, trying to adjust her thong, and heard the door open in the other room. What did he look like? She hoped he was tall with black hair. Maybe Italian or Spanish? Argentinean would be good. Or Greek? Her very best lover had been Greek. Oh, they were very bad, those Greeks … so bad but so good.

  Kiki rearranged herself on the bed, trying to strike a sexy pose. Her body felt firm (Pilates and weight training) but her skin? Melnick could do only so much with her skin. Skin lost its elasticity. Melnick kept her face looking young-ish, but so far, even with all the miracles of modern medicine, he could do nothing to make the skin on the rest of her body appear as it did when she was twenty.

  “Kiki?” Two candles flickered on either side of the bed, illuminating his perfect face.

  “Yes,” she said.

  She looked at him from head to toe. He pulled his black T-shirt over his head. He couldn’t be much more than twenty-five. A young man’s body was heaven-sent. Why was youth wasted on the young? They had no idea the beauty and power they possessed until both slipped through their fingers. He looked like he worked out seven days a week. An eight-pack flexed across his abdomen and his skin glistened in the candlelight. The curved muscles around his hips made Kiki’s toes curl. He slowly unbuttoned his jeans and slipped them over his bare ass, then stood and faced her.