by Maggie Marr
Mary Anne’s heart dropped—a giant mass pitted her stomach. The blood rushed from her face, and a clammy sweat broke out across her skin. She picked up the US Weekly. The headline read REIGNITED ROMANCE and underneath was a grainy picture of Holden with Viève. The magazine had printed a smaller picture of Mary Anne toward the bottom right of the cover. MARY ANNE’S HEARTBREAK was the title above a horrible shot of Mary Anne walking in her neighborhood alone, wearing sweatpants and an oversize jacket.
“What is that?” Michelle breathed over Mary Anne’s shoulder.
Mary Anne fought back the tears that popped into her eyes. They filled the tabloids full of lies—but a photo? A photo of Viève and Holden together?
“That picture has to be old,” Michelle said.
Mary Anne glanced at the date on the magazine cover. No, this was the most recent issue.
“There’s no charge,” the receptionist said.
“Excuse me?” Mary Anne tore herself away from the photo of Holden bent over to listen to Viève. Were they kissing?
“No charge for today.” The receptionist reached out and stroked the cat. “Lucky kitty, seems someone nice found you.”
Mary Anne waited until the receptionist turned away before she stuffed the magazine into her purse.
She and Michelle drove home in silence. Mary Anne pulled to a stop in the drive at her house. “I have something I need to do,” she said without looking at her sister.
“What do you want me to tell Mom?” Michelle asked, climbing out of the car.
“Tell her that I went to get cat food.”
Michelle pushed open the car door and grabbed the cat carrier the vet had given them. “Mary Anne,” Michelle said, her eyes filled with concern. “You know the pictures they use … they have to sell magazines.”
“I know,” Mary Anne whispered. She stared out the windshield. She wanted to believe Holden had accidentally bumped into Viève but Mary Anne also knew from her history with Viève that there weren’t any accidents.
*
Mary Anne didn’t want to cry. Crying made her feel weak. She handed the magazine to Holden. “When did it really end?” Mary Anne asked.
“I don’t love her,” Holden said.
“Holden, answer me.”
“We ended years ago, before Collusion,” Holden said. “I told you at Shutters.”
“But that wasn’t the last time you were with her, was it?”
Holden hung his head. Deny until you die, was the mantra he’d recited throughout his life. But now Mary Anne stood before him holding a copy of US Weekly with a picture of him and Vieve.
“We broke up, like I said, after our thing. That picture is of her stalking me. She’s been breaking into my house, leaving me notes, chasing me around town.”
Mary Anne’s knees wobbled with the gravity of Holden’s admission. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Look, she just showed up and climbed into my bed. I didn’t want her to come over.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Mary Anne whispered.
“I ended it. I told her to leave me alone. That picture is of me ending it. I told her that I want you,” Holden stepped toward Mary Anne—his arms outstretched—a motion of want—of surrender.
“Don’t touch me.” Mary Anne backed away from Holden. She wanted to believe his story but she’d caught Viève with a boyfriend of hers once before; plus, Holden’s reputation wasn’t built on monogamy and long-term relationships. No, Holden’s reputation rested on bedding supermodels and starlets.
“Look, the relationship thing? It’s pretty new to me,” Holden said. “I wasn’t even sure we were in a relationship until I met your family.”
“Until you met my family?” Mary Anne asked. “Have you been seeing other women this entire time?”
“No, no, no. I mean, for a long time I thought you were still seeing Adam.” Holden dropped to the couch and slumped forward with his hands in his lap. “She didn’t mean anything. Not like you.”
“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” Mary Anne whispered.
“I—” Holden wanted to answer, wanted to say whatever would make Mary Anne see that he hadn’t done anything wrong, that he’d only done what he’d been asked. “Look, I was only doing my job. When Jessica asked me to pretend to be interested in Viève, I knew this would happen. I knew she’d get completely crazy in the head and think we were a couple again.”
“You were leading her on? This entire time?” Suddenly Mary Anne’s sadness turned to rage.
“Not the entire time, just while we were on set for Collusion.”
“But after our thing?” Mary Anne asked. “At Shutters, after we…”
Mary Anne watched Holden squirm. He couldn’t look her in the eye.
“I can’t belie—”
“But we didn’t do anything!” Holden exploded. He jumped from the couch. “We didn’t do anything. I watched her get off and that was it.”
A sick sensation bubbled in her belly. Curdled and oily—Mary Anne’s insides felt wrotten while her skin felt slimy as if tainted by Holden’s touch. “You watched her get off?”
“For the film, Mary Anne, for the film. Jessica asked me to pretend I wanted her, and part of the pretending was watching her diddle herself.”
Mary Anne raised her hand to halt Holden’s words, “I’ve heard enough.” She walked toward the door. How was it okay for Holden to lead Viève on, crazy or no? It definitely wasn’t okay for him to keep all these little secrets to himself.
Holden jumped in front of Mary Anne. She took a step back as he reached his arms out to her.
“Mary Anne, please. I am . . am so sorry.”
Holden had perfect blue eyes. Eyes that entertainment reporters dedicated entire paragraphs to. How many women in America would trade places with her, this very instant? How many women would forgive Holden Humphrey any indiscretion just to be near him? Mary Anne guessed most, maybe all. But not this one.
“Sorry? All you can say is you’re sorry?” She brushed past him. “Holden, you need to do better than that.”
She turned toward the front door. Her anger felt small next to her pain. She wanted him to reach out, to stop her. She wanted him to explain his actions, to make the hurt go away. She wanted him to turn back the clock and erase what he’d done. But instead she pulled open his front door and walked away.
Rule 25: Contain Your Disappointment
Jessica Caulfield-Fox, Manager-Producer
“We got it,” Howard Abramowitz, Cici’s attorney, chirped into Jessica’s ear. He sounded giddy with excitement.
“You’re sure?” Jessica zipped along Mulholland toward the Valley.
“As sure as I can be with Sherman. He said there was one other bidder, but Cici’s offer was the highest and the DVD is ours. I set up the wire transfer.”
“And I’m meeting him—”
“At Nat’s on Burbank, in Van Nuys,” Howard said. “We’ve dodged a bullet.”
“This time,” Jessica said. She hoped there were no other tapes of Cici having sex.
*
No one in the industry would see her here at a dingy little coffee shop on Hazeltine deep in the Valley and miles away from Worldwide, Summit, and Galaxy.
Sherman’s blue Porsche pulled into the strip mall parking lot. Jessica waited for him to park, then hopped out of her own car. She pulled open the passenger-side door of his 911 and got in. Sherman gunned the car out of the parking lot and zipped west on Burbank Boulevard.
“You have something for me?” Jessica asked. She couldn’t contain her smile. Of course there were no guarantees for the future, but at this moment excitement zipped through her.
Sherman nodded his head toward the dash.
Jessica opened the glove compartment and pulled out a folder—it contained paperwork and no DVD.
“What’s this?” she asked, suddenly apprehensive. She expected a DVD in a DVD case, not a file folder full of medical paperwork.
�
��That is second place,” Sherman said.
Jessica’s mouth fell open. Second place wasn’t good enough—second place was failure. “I just spoke to Howard. He said we had a deal.”
“And we did. Until five minutes ago.”
Jessica’s heart plummet—gone was the exhiliration of victory—gone was the adrenaline that came with a win—gone. “What happened five minutes ago?”
“Bigger bidder,” Sherman said.
Jessica looked out the windshield at the countless Valley strip malls racing by the car. “We can get more money,” she said.
“I said bigger bidder, not larger price. This isn’t about dollars.”
Jessica reeled. To go from victory to defeat in seconds. “Who is it?”
“I can’t tell you,” Sherman said.
“If you can’t tell me the buyer, then where’d you get the DVD?” Jessica asked. She looked at Sherman. “Come on, Sherman, you have to give me something.” She heard the pleading in her voice.
“I just did. Take a closer look at that file.”
Jessica opened the file and skimmed the medical documents, starting with the patient’s name. A few moments went by as she shuffled the papers. “Is this … ?”
“Yeah, it is,” Sherman said.
“Amazing. But how does this help me?” Jessica asked.
“Turn the page,” Sherman said.
“Billy paid for this surgery?”
“It seems so,” Sherman said.
“And nobody in town knows about the procedure?” Jessica asked.
“I’ve never heard about it before,” Sherman said. “And I’m sure all those hot male stars she’s slept with don’t know, either.”
“This is some deadly proof,” Jessica said. “Where did you get it?”
“A combination of places. L.A., England, Asia, Kiki Dee.”
“Kiki knows about this?” Jessica continued to read the file. Sherman was right: This information’s going public could destroy multiple careers and marriages.
“Kiki acquired the L.A. file.”
How did Sherman manage to snag this information from Kiki? “Does this mean that Billy gave you Cici’s sex tape?” she asked.
A smile slipped onto Sherman’s face. “Without naming names, it would appear so.”
“But why?” Jessica mumbled as she continued to read the file. The name on the front of the file was Viève Dyson’s, but it looked like her original name had been Keith Tinkler.
“I’m thinking revenge,” Sherman said.
“For what? Celeste never did anything to Billy.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” Sherman said. “Celeste and her status as A-list superstar is merely a pawn in this power play.”
“What?” She gave Sherman a confused look.
“Jessica, I like you and I feel bad for snatching the DVD from you, so let me share with you my theory. The revenge, the payback, is for Lydia. What better way to destroy Worldwide and Lydia Albright than to destroy their five hundred-million-dollar investment in Celeste Solange films?”
“What did Lydia do to Billy?” Jessica asked.
“Not what she did but what she covered up. Ask Lydia. She’s helped to cover up Steven Brockman’s affairs with other men, several of them. I think the men, the lifestyle, and the drugs may have pushed Billy over the edge.”
“Billy did all this for revenge?” Jessica asked.
“Yeah, and just wait, there’s more.”
*
“We need Lydia,” Jessica watched Cici read the contents of the folder. The two sat on a park bench nestled next to a magnolia tree in Holmby Hills Park. “She’ll know what to do.”
“Have you talked to her?” Cici asked.
“Not since the Peninsula.”
“She was an ugly man,” Cici held up a picture of Viève, aka Keith, prior to his gender reassignment surgery. “Looks much better as a woman, don’t you think?”
Jessica glanced at the before and after photos. “Did you suspect? I mean, she looks completely like a woman.”
“We could destroy her,” Cici said. Jessica heard a hint of anger in Celeste’s voice.
“Or we could simply keep the contents as an insurance policy. For future use. I mean, it’s not difficult to determine all the names of everyone she’s slept with; it’s not like she’s been very discreet. And then, if we needed something from any of them in the future …”
“We have this,” Cici finished. “Does that include Holden?”
Jessica sighed. “I heard about him and Mary Anne. Mitsy e-mailed me. Have you seen Mary Anne?”
“This morning. I got the feeling it’s over.”
“Maybe,” Jessica said. “Maybe not.”
“Men don’t change,” Cici said. “Even the good ones have secrets.” The pictures dropped to Cici’s lap. She ran her fingers across her forehead—her skin was pale, her lips downturned. “It’s over. Lydia was right about everything. My entire career is over. I can’t believe that after all this someone else got that tape. Ted will find out, America will see the sex tape, and I’ll end up homeless and out of work.”
“Cici, most of that isn’t true. You’ll never be homeless if I have a place to live.”
“Thanks,” Cici said.
They stood and started to walk. “So I guess there’s only one thing left for me to do,” Cici said.
Rule 26: Give Good Gossip
Kiki Dee, Publicist
“Terri, I have the most luscious bit of gossip for you,” Kiki purred into the phone. She looked away from the Enquirer she was paging through and across the hall at Boom Boom, now ensconced in her own office and wearing the latest Vera Wang creation. Kiki watched as Boom Boom’s newest assistant, the third in three weeks, and probably about to be fired, too, jumped up from her desk and trotted into Boom Boom’s office. Since her promotion, Boom Boom had become quite a dragon lady. Plus, lately she seemed absolutely consumed with a relationship. Kiki noticed the multiple bags of La Perla and Agent Provocateur. Plus the long lunches and flowers. Kiki didn’t know who the suitor could be. A young actor? A casting director? Perhaps a musician? Those musicians could be so naughty. Kiki smiled.
“About?” Terri asked, pulling Kiki back to their conversation. “Not over the phone,” Kiki said.
“I’m on set today, tomorrow, and the next day. Friday, they’re shooting the love scene with Viève and Steven, the one where Cici’s character catches them together.”
“Isn’t Holden in that one, too?” Kiki asked.
“The gang’ll all be here,” Terri said. “Can’t miss that.”
“This will be quite an article,” Kiki said.
“Mm-hmm. The male supporting actor schtupping the writer and his costar, the male lead schtupping the production photographer. I’d say it’s about average. And nothing I can put into the article and keep my job.”
“Sounds like a Fleetwood Mac tour.”
“Fleetwood Mac? Kiki, you are old,” Terri said.
“I think I smell a dead movie,” Kiki said.
“And some dead careers. After this stinker there won’t be a live one left,” Terri said. “I’ve seen the dailies; it’s pretty fucking bad.”
“Bad enough for a new studio head?” Kiki asked.
“I guess that depends on Ted,” Terri said, “whom I haven’t seen since this film began.”
“New girlfriend?”
“Mmm, don’t think so. My sources say something is going on in Asia. Besides, Cici seems too happy for Ted to be fucking around. But then, maybe Cici’s just happy about her new eyes?”
“She went to Fiji,” Kiki said, switching over to client-protection mode.
“Yeah, right. There should be a revolving door at Dr. Melnick’s office,” Terri said.
“You didn’t hear it from me,” Kiki said. “You know, she’s got publicity for California Girl tomorrow. Want to sit in?”
“No. But I need to for the article.”
“Come on, love. You’ll get to be around your own
kind,” Kiki said, referring to the reporters who would each get four minutes alone with Celeste to land their interviews and sound bites in preparation for California Girl’s release. “I want your article in the issue of Vanity Fair before the Academy ballots are due.”
“Don’t you think you’d better read it before you say that?” Terri asked.
“Why?” Kiki looked up from her newspaper. “Should I be worried?”
“There are a lot of rumors floating around your two biggest stars right now, Kiki. You can’t expect me to ignore all of them for this article.”
“Such as?”
“Well, the first one, which I confirmed, is the eye-lift,” Terri said. “And the second rumor is that there is a nasty little sex tape of Celeste floating around town.”
“Terri, you wouldn’t dare,” Kiki said.
“Break the story? Probably not, but if someone else does, I have to respond, don’t I? And then there’s Steven and Billy, of course. And the list goes on.”
“Stop,” Kiki said.
“But of course if there were a bigger and better piece of gossip …”
“Bigger?”
“And better,” Terri repeated.
“Why do you think I called?” Kiki asked. “But you have to come by to see it.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow then.” Kiki pushed release on her phone. “Jilly!” She yelled for her new assistant.
“Yes, Miss Dee?”
Kiki watched as Jilly scurried into her office. She looked at the girl from tip to toe. Good cut, nice highlights, good skin, cute nose, Diane Von Furstenberg dress, Louboutin shoes, new mani-pedi … excellent, just exactly right.
“Tell Boom Boom I need the Spice file,” Kiki said.
“The what?” Jilly asked.
“The Spice file.” When Jilly left, Kiki continued reading the Enquirer. She heard her phone ringing. “Get that, please,” Kiki called. When the phone continued to ring, she looked up at Jilly’s desk, but her fashionista was gone. “For fucks sake.” She pressed her headset. “This is Kiki.”
