by Maggie Marr
Hello, big daddy.
The last thing she wanted to see when he took off his pants while she was lying completely exposed on the bed was a flaccid penis, and he didn’t disappoint her. This perfect boy-toy leaned forward and placed his hands on the bed. “Where should I start?”
Kiki rested against the pillows. “Why don’t you work your way up?”
*
“Fanfuckingtastic!” Kiki said as Boom Boom pulled the black leotard out of her Versace bag. “He made me come six times in two hours. Can you believe that? Six times! Completely worth the money. Completely! I need you to call and schedule another session for next week.”
“His name?” Boom Boom asked.
“Who knows? Who cares? He gave me his number.” Kiki tossed the piece of paper from the notepad in her hotel room to Boom Boom. “He wants room 245 again. Who knows why? Just get me into his schedule. Weekly. And make sure I always have cash when I meet him. It’s fifteen hundred for a two-hour session, plus tip. So two thousand. I feel so good. Boom Boom, you really should get fucked like that. Someone completely servicing your every desire? What woman ever had that? Right? I mean, come on, sex is almost always about the man. Have you ever been with someone who made the sex completely about you?”
Boom Boom remained silent as she pulled out the night-vision goggles and set them on Kiki’s bed.
“I’m getting you a session. My gift to you. You’ll love it,” Kiki dropped her Prada skirt to the floor and pulled on the black catsuit. “Nice bag, by the way.”
“Thanks,” Boom Boom said. “I don’t think I want a session.”
“What? You have no idea what you’re missing. It doesn’t have to be the same guy if that’s weird for you.”
“No. I mean, I don’t—”
“Don’t tell me. You’re a—”
“Please don’t, Kiki. It’s personal.”
“You are! You’re a virgin. Oh my God, do you know how rare that is in Los Angeles? I think you may be the oldest virgin I’ve ever met.”
“I didn’t say that I—”
“You didn’t have to. Look at you. You’re bright red.”
“That’s not it. I’m seeing someone. Or, kind of seeing someone.”
Seeing someone? Her little frumpette had a friend?
“Really?” A pang of jealousy whacked Kiki. Of course, Boom Boom had youth on her side—even the dowdy one could find a date—while Kiki’s age forced her to pay for pleasure.
“Kiki—”
“No, listen. I think this is fantastic. Believe me, I had my fun at your age. But when the newness wears off, you let me know. Because I am telling you, there is nothing as good as a man concentrating one hundred percent of his sexual energy on your pleasure.” Kiki looked at the equipment lying on her bed. “Did Sherman give you the key card, too?”
“Here,” Boom Boom said, handing it to Kiki.
“So we’ve got everything, then?”
“Everything that was on your list.”
“Including the mini-camera?”
“Right here.”
“Okay, so we’re ready. Sherman’s contact said she’d leave the file cabinets unlocked. We have the key cards to get into the building and then into Melnick’s suite,” Kiki said. Her sexual endorphin high fueled her. “And the rental car is out front?”
Boom Boom nodded. She was already wearing her black turtleneck, black pants, and … black heels?
“Are those Ferragamo?” Kiki asked, appraising Boom Boom’s shoes.
“Yes.”
“I haven’t seen those anywhere,” Kiki said.
“Next season.”
Kiki gasped. “What? You have next season’s Ferragamos?”
“I know a guy,” Boom Boom said. She slipped her bag over her shoulder. “Shall we go?”
“You know a guy?” Kiki was impressed. Maybe Boom Boom had been paying attention. It certainly seemed so with the bag, shoes, and … was that a Chanel overcoat?
Boom Boom saw Kiki eyeing the coat. “It’s Chanel,” Boom Boom said.
“Very nice.” Kiki reached out and touched the cloth. “Very nice.”
*
The lights at the reception desk had remained on after hours, just as Sherman’s contact promised. Excitement pulsed through Kiki. She hadn’t stolen files in almost five years. When she started KDP, breaking and entering quickly became one of her favorite business tactics.
“It’s got to be the next cabinet,” Kiki whispered. She stood, turned to her left, and pulled out the top drawer. How did people do this all day—paperwork? The file cabinet hit her at shoulder level. She stood on her tippy toes to see the names.
“Do you want the step stool?” Boom Boom asked from her post by the front door.
“I’m fine. I see it. If I can just reach over.” Kiki stretched toward the file she wanted.
“Kiki! Someone is coming,” Boom Boom whispered.
“What?”
“A man and a woman.”
“Is it Melnick? Are they coming here?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen Melnick.”
“What does the man look like?” Kiki asked.
“He’s got a big nose and—”
“That’s him,” Kiki said. She slammed the file cabinet drawer shut and turned toward Boom Boom. “Hurry, we need—” Kiki lost her balance before she felt the pain in her shin. Her right hand sank deep into the lowest file cabinet drawer, which she had failed to close. Her fingertips touched the bottom of the drawer as her head hit the metal edge. She bounced sideways and landed on her back.
“Kiki?” Boom Boom stood above her. “Kiki?”
Kiki looked up and tried to focus on her assistant’s face. Two Boom Booms floated above her.
“You’re bleeding,” Boom Boom said, kneeling beside her.
“Why are there two of you?” Kiki asked. “I don’t even want one.”
Kiki heard a clicking noise. “What’s that?”
“Kiki, shut up. That’s the front door. The doctor is here.”
Boom Boom shoved Kiki into the coat closet next to the file cabinets. They both huddled on top of a pile of shoes. Sweaters hung over their heads.
“Who’s he with?” Kiki asked. She could barely see into Melnick’s first exam room where he and the tiny creature had disappeared.
“It’s her,” Boom Boom said.
“Who?”
“Kiki, the one whose file we’re here for! It’s her!”
Kiki squinted. She felt a warm trickle on her face and touched her forehead. Blood? Her face? She’d cut her face?
“I’m bleeding,” Kiki wailed.
“Shh, I told you that. Shut up. Prison won’t be kind to you,” Boom Boom whispered. “He’s got a needle. He’s giving her a shot.”
“It’s not her,” Kiki said. She pushed Boom Boom, trying to get a better view.
Boom Boom shoved her back. “Look, Kiki, get your fucking elbow out of my ribs, okay? I know what I’m seeing. Just sit back and listen to the commentary.”
Kiki turned and looked at her assistant, ready to whip the girl with her words, but then she saw the cold look in Boom Boom’s eyes. Boom Boom’s expression said she’d knock Kiki out if she uttered another word. Kiki leaned back into the broom behind her. “Boom Boom,” she said.
“I’m not kidding, Kiki,” Boom Boom said.
“You’re promoted.”
Rule 22: Sex Sells
Celeste Solange, Actress
Cici disliked reporters; they rarely wrote good things about her. And that included Terri Seawell. As Cici stretched, she looked into her exercise mirror at Terri behind her, draped over a chaise lounge eating a buttered croissant, sipping a cappuccino, and flipping through Variety. Cici knew that her publicist, Kiki, relied on entertainment reporters like Terri to maintain Celeste’s value in the marketplace. And the studios, Worldwide included, banked on the public’s obsession with actors’ lives to spur ticket sales. But even with this knowledge, she still believed that
Lydia and Kiki’s decision to grant Terri Seawell full on-set access during the filming of Vitriol was foolish.
Lydia struck the bargain to keep Steven Brockman on the film, but to have Terri Seawell on set —Hollywood’s oldest and most notorious entertainment reporter—while a sex tape of Cici floated about town? This was a recipe for disaster.
Cici watched herself in the mirror as she contorted her lithe body, doing post-workout stretches. She still looked good, though perhaps not as good as the barely eighteen girls on the DVDs she’d found in Damien’s closet. She hadn’t found any extra footage of herself on the unmarked DVDs from Damien’s safe, just nubile young girls.
“So, is this how you start all your days?” Terri asked. Her eyes darted toward Liam as he bent over to pack up his workout gear.
“Most of them,” Cici said.
“So what’s next?”
“Shower, then Kiki, then the set. My call time isn’t until after lunch today.”
“And where are we lunching?’ Terri asked.
“I don’t have a lunch scheduled for today. I’m in production,” Cici said.
“You don’t eat when you’re in production?”
“Not much.” Terri slathered butter on her final bit of croissant and stuffed it into her mouth. Cici guessed from Terri’s ample bosom and derriere that the journalist enjoyed mealtime.
“How sexy is that?” Terri asked. “So tomorrow is the same setup? Workout and call time after lunch?”
“Yes,” Cici said. “Exactly the same.”
“Then I’ll sleep in and have room service. Meet you on set, if that’s okay with you.”
“Of course. Whatever you want; whatever you need,” Celeste said. “Kiki told you that after tomorrow I have a ten-day break in my shooting schedule, right?”
“What? No, I didn’t know that,” Terri said, irritated.
“Lydia mentioned she wants you to follow Holden, if that’s okay. I mean, I don’t have any real plans. Ted and I are going to take a quick break at the house in Fiji,” Cici lied. She hoped Terri bought it. Cici needed to be reporter-free for the next week and a half.
“Holden Humphrey? No, I’m happy to follow Holden around for a couple of days. Is he still sleeping with Mary Anne Meyers?”
“Now, Terri, isn’t that a question for Holden or Mary Anne?”
“Whatever,” Terri said. “I’ll just ask Viève.”
“Yes, why don’t you.” Cici flashed Terri a cherubic smile.
“How do you like working with her?” Terri asked.
“Mary Anne? I love—”
“No, Celeste. I know you love Mary Anne. I mean Viève. How do you like working with Viève?”
“She’s very talented,” Cici said.
“Cut the crap. Is she as cuckoo as everyone says?”
“I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Cici, we’ve been through a lot,” Terri said. “You know that I’ve always been close to Damien’s wives. Or, I should say, former wives.” Terri angled her doughy face toward Cici. “There are always so many rumors in town.”
Anxiety gripped her diaphragm Terri’s innuendo that there were rumors—dirty rumors floating around town made Celeste uncomfortable. Could she know?
“Perhaps I should rephrase my question. Viève Dyson—off the record—how is she to work with?”
“Well, as long as we’re off the record,” Cici said.
*
Cici disliked spending time with an entertainment reporter, but spending time with an entertainment reporter and a publicist was torture. Terri and Kiki, masters at spin, were having a conversation that made Celeste feel like someone had strapped her to the teacup ride at Disneyland. She knew the two aging mavens’ history: They’d been roommates years before in New York when they were young, broke, and struggling. But prior to this meeting, Cici didn’t realize the competitive nature of Kiki and Terri’s relationship. For forty long minutes she listened to Kiki discuss all her superstar clients instead of, as planned, discussing Cici’s Oscar campaign.
“I told Holden he’s a fool to have Mort as a publicist. Especially now, with this luscious little love affair? Such an opportunity! And Mort will completely waste it.”
“I’m sitting down with Holden this week. I’ll tell him he should be with you,” Terri said.
“So how was the Peninsula?”
“Fanfuckingtastic!” Kiki gushed. “The best experience of my life. Thank you so much for passing him along. I’m weekly now. He’s unbelievable.”
“Who?” Cici asked, curious as to what, other than celebrity scandal, could elicit such an enthusiastic response from Kiki.
“I didn’t even ask his name. I was too busy screaming yes, yes, yes!”
“What are you talking about?” Cici looked first at Kiki and then at Terri.
“A special little service for women, of which I am sure you have no need,” Terri said.
“At least not yet. Give it another fifteen years. Then, if you’re unmarried, you, too, can become a client.”
“A what?”
“It’s a male escort service,” Terri said. “For wealthy, older women.”
“Speak for yourself,” Kiki snipped. “It’s for wealthy, single women.”
“Kiki, you can fool some of the people, but we were born the same year. Just because I choose not to surgically deform myself doesn’t mean that you are in fact younger. You just look stranger,” Terri said.
“You bitch,” Kiki said. “You know that I’m younger than you.”
“By three weeks.”
“Still.”
“An escort service? You two use an escort service?” Cici asked.
“Don’t look so surprised, Celeste,” Kiki said. “Once you hit forty, if you’re not married, the dates dry up.”
“Try fifty, and she’s right,” Terri said. “But the desire, the need?”
“That continues.”
“And increases,” Terri said. “But the supply of willing males—”
“—nonexistent,” Kiki said. “Even the ones who were begging for it when you were younger—”
“If they’re still alive—”
“—are disinterested,” Kiki continued. “Viagra killed it for us more mature—”
“—old,” Terri interrupted.
“—ladies,” Kiki finished.
“The men our age go after the girls your age,” Terri said. “And why not? They have plenty of dough, and now, with Viagra, they have staying power.”
“You two don’t need an escort service,” Cici said. “You’re both smart, wealthy women. Men your age must go for women like you.”
“Oh really?” Terri asked. “Just how old is Ted?”
“He’s almost sixty,” Cici said.
“Try sixty-five,” Terri said. “Women aren’t the only ones who lie about their age.”
“Ted isn’t sixty-five,” Cici said. “There’s no way. His kids are only—”
“Get online and check,” Terri interrupted. “I believe his daughter is almost your age, Cici, and his son is thirty-five.”
Cici thought about Terri’s words. Ted? Sixty-five? She was sleeping with a man older than her father would be? When Cici first met Ted, she believed him to be in his early fifties, but if he too, like everyone else in entertainment, subtracted seven years from his age, then he was almost sixty-five.
“Seventy is the new fifty,” Kiki cackled.
Did everyone in town lie about something? Kiki placed her hand over Cici’s.
“You can’t be upset about this? You’re dating one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in the world.”
“And he is absolutely mad for you,” Terri said. “He was quite a whore for a while after his wife died.”
“What?” A tremor passed through Cici. She wanted a monogamous relationship. She’d chosen Ted after Damien, in part, because she wanted someone to trust.
“How many models did he date?” Terri asked.
�
��I lost count after the crazy one from England.”
“The one with the heroin addiction?”
“Right. But that came out after they broke up,” Kiki said.
“You two must have the wrong guy,” Cici said.
“Like there could be any mistaking Ted Robinoff,” Terri said.
“Darling, I’m afraid they are all hounds,” Kiki said. “Besides, what’s to worry? You aren’t married, you have your own money, and he’s forking over a ton of dough for your Oscar campaign. Terri, you should see the money Ted’s shelling out. The parties and the ads. I think he’s going to personally shake the hand of every Academy member who’s still breathing at the Ray Stark Villa.”
“It worked for Harvey,” Terri said.
Cici’s heart beat faster thinking about Ted’s devotion to her. But she loved him, and she didn’t want him fooling around with models, actresses, or prostitutes.
“Oh Cici, stop,” Terri said. “We shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Please, darling, it’s obvious he’s in love with you. It’s not like he’s still taking his Asian sex tours,” Kiki said.
“Asia?” Cici whispered.
“Most of them go to Asia now,” Terri said.
“Keeps everything private, you know,” said Kiki. “They don’t have to read about their fetishes in the tabloids.”
“Really, who cares if you want a golden shower? Sexual preference is none of my affair. And I’m a reporter,” Terri said.
“Sex sells,” Kiki said. “So, Terri, since you’re here. I want your opinion on these shots. I’m not very pleased with them, honestly, but which one do you think we should build the Oscar campaign around?” Kiki placed four publicity stills of Celeste from California Girl onto the table.
While Kiki and Terri prattled on about the Oscar campaign, Cici’s mind spun. (She’d already seen the shots, and her opinion seemed irrelevant.) Ted had flown to Hong Kong two days earlier. He’d spent the majority of the last three months traveling between Malaysia, China, Japan, and Hong Kong—Asia. Celeste glanced at her reflection in the window. She could barely make out her face. Was it her age? Did he want someone younger? Was he bored? She had rescheduled her appointment with Dr. Melnick twice and was considering canceling altogether, but now? Now she wondered if she needed to keep the appointment with the plastic surgeon after all.
