She took the flash drive out of the computer and paced the floor, trying desperately to decide what she should do next. She wondered what Brandon would do to her if he realized that she knew about the double set of books and the note from Paulette. Obviously he hadn’t wanted her to know about it, since he’d come up with the elaborate lie about a racist agent. He simply wanted her to help him get the flash drive back from Paulette, hoping that she wouldn’t actually look at it. The big question was, Would he try to get rid of Gillian to protect himself?
Pacing wasn’t helping, so she shut down the computer and left his study, tucking the flash drive into one pocket and the note in the other, careful to make sure that nothing in the room looked disturbed. As she was walking down the hall toward her suite, she heard the door open and the butler say, “Good evening, Mr. Russell.”
Oh, shit, she thought, he’s home.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Eight months later searchlights crossed the night sky, beckoning throngs of fans to Hollywood Boulevard’s Grauman’s Chinese Theatre. Along the red carpet photographers trained their zoom lenses and reporters were at the ready, pens poised and mikes queued; all were waiting anxiously to catch a glimpse, take a shot of, or grab a sound bite from Gillian Tillman, the latest Hollywood sensation.
“This gorgeous actress, the star of Gold Diggers, is the newest addition to Hollywood’s elite A-list,” a hyper, bone-thin blond reporter from Extra spoke into the camera. “Her role in this highly anticipated movie is nothing short of brilliant! There is already talk about an Oscar for the former Broadway actress, model, and New York native. She burst on the scene just this year after honing her craft on Broadway.” She looked away from the camera, then back again. “Here she comes now! Let’s see if we can get an interview.”
When Gillian stepped out of the Silver Shadow inches away from the red carpet, she looked like several million dollars. Hundreds of fans burst into applause; some even had tears in their eyes as they clapped in unabashed glee. This maniacal support was surreal, something out of a bizarre Hollywood script, perhaps. The film had been screened to enthusiastic critical acclaim, but the masses had yet to even see it, though none of that mattered, because Brandon’s publicity plan for Gillian had worked like a charm.
The whole concept was to have Gillian appear on the scene out of nowhere, looking amazing and as if people should know her, even if they didn’t. For fickle, trend-following Hollywood types, this was a perfect scheme, because everyone wanted to be in the know and ahead of the curve. Everyone strove to be the first to know the hot new anything, so when the movie was released to fantastic reviews, everyone from studio heads and entertainment reporters to peers and fans immediately adopted Gillian; it would have been so “out of the loop” not to.
When she stepped onto the red carpet wearing custom-designed diamond-encrusted stilettos, it was clear to all that Gillian owned it. She looked like an exotic goddess as she glided up the red carpet with a poise way beyond her accomplishments. She strolled it as though she’d done it dozens of times, and this was simply another walk in the park. This was the premiere of her movie, and she was the star, a star who was definitely ready for her close-up. Gillian was celestial as flashes from photographers’ cameras lit up the sky around her, as her fans orbited her galaxy. It was magical, and she deserved it after all of the suffering she’d endured.
“Gillian, Gillian, over here!” The Extra reporter was scrambling to get an interview ahead of her rival at Entertainment Tonight.
Gillian graciously paused and obliged the reporter with a dazzling but coy smile. It was important that it not be a beaming cheerleader’s smile, which would show too much overeagerness, rather than supreme confidence. One would never guess that at this very moment Gillian craved a smoke in the worst way, a habit that had recently returned with a vengeance. “Yes, Donna.” Her PR people were the best, and had prompted her on the names of all of the important reporters. And Gillian knew that she’d make a fan for life if she simply said the name; and it worked like magic. Everyone wanted to be her new best friend, and the entertainment reporters were no different.
“Gillian, first I must say that you look stupendous; you are absolutely glowing. What a night!”
“Thank you, Donna. This really isn’t my night; it truly belongs to the brilliant writers, directors, and my fellow cast and the crew of Gold Diggers,” Gillian lied. This was all about her. “I’ve been blessed to be surrounded by such incredible talent, and I thank each of them for helping me achieve any success that I have.”
“Tell our viewers, in your own words, what Gold Diggers is about.”
“It’s a parable that broadens the concept of the gold digger as we know her. We’ve all heard the term before, often used to describe a cheap hoochie chasing a dollar, but this movie elevates it to include a wide range of women and men.” Gillian looked into the camera. “And yes, men can be gold diggers, too,” she teased the audience, and then turned back to Donna. “But also consider the C-list actress who scopes out and bags the A-list actor, or the college-educated woman who lands the star athlete, or, more simply, the tall, beautiful babe strolling along with the short nerd with the tall pockets. This film simply broadens the definition of the term gold digger by dramatizing the similarities between diverse people when it comes to the acquisition—or maintenance—of money and power.”
“Speaking of men, will you be changing your name to Mrs. Gillian Russell?”
Gillian ignored the interesting transition, smiled, and raised her left ring finger to display fifteen-karats of Harry Winston engagement and wedding rings. Again she flashed the coy smile that would become her trademark. “Brandon and I thought it best that I keep my maiden name, given the fans who’ve already gotten to know my work on Broadway.”
Six months earlier they’d been married in a private ceremony aboard Brandon’s new yacht, The Sleeping Dog, as it cruised the Mediterranean. Lauren and Gideon, who’d been traveling throughout Africa, joined them; and so did Reese, who had traveled alone from New York.
After discovering the contents of the flash drive, Gillian had run into Brandon as he entered the house, and shown him the device as though she’d just found the Holy Grail, giving him no indication that she’d looked at its contents, or that she’d ever seen a copy of the note written to him by Paulette. That performance was also Academy Award–worthy.
At first, she wasn’t sure that she could live with him, knowing that he was at least a money launderer connected to gang members, and at worst possibly a murderer. But money and luxury had a funny way of soothing the conscience. She rarely ever thought about those pesky details anymore; she was too busy nestling deeper into the lap of luxury.
“It takes a very secure man not to insist that you change your name.”
“My husband is nothing if not secure,” Gillian said.
She stepped away from the mike, waved, and continued her stroll up the red carpet.
EPILOGUE
“He is soooooo fine,” the blonde said as she watched Rowe dribble the basketball upcourt with all eyes centered on him. She had the look of a piranha set to eat him alive.
“Uhmmmm. Tell me about it,” her friend purred. “I hear he’ll be this year’s first-round draft pick.”
The two girls sat watching the game like two talent scouts. It wasn’t the statistics on the court that they noted, but the numbers that were soon to come.
“Yeah, which means a very big contract.” Though it was the dead of winter, they both wore tops that were skimpy enough to be considered bikini halves.
“So, how are we going to meet him?” Neither one of them took her eyes off of Rowe during their entire conversation with each other.
“A friend of mine promised he could get us into the team party later tonight.”
“Cool.” The blonde tossed her hair, getting in practice for tonight.
“May the best g
irl win,” the brunette challenged.
Some things never changed, Reese thought, as she sat behind the two scheming hoochies, cringing while she listened to them plot to snag her son. The only difference was that these days there were more white chicks going after the black athletes than there were black girls, and somehow that made it even worse. She wanted to interrupt and tell them that they needed to go gold digging in another mine, but she knew that it wouldn’t have made a difference. Even if it did for these two, there were hundreds, if not thousands, of others to replace them, each one hoping to be the lucky girl who struck gold. Yes, Reese knew this game all too well.
In the years since the accident and her divorce, Reese had devoted most of her time to her son, and then his career. They’d grown very close, and she guarded Rowe fiercely. In fact, she moved to California to be near him during his time at UCLA.
“What are you wearing tonight?” the brunette asked the blonde.
“The shortest, tightest, and smallest thing I can squeeze these into.” She laughed, sticking out her augmented chest. “Trust me; I know exactly how to get his attention.”
“Don’t we all!” the brunette said slyly. They threw their heads back in laughter as they gave each other a big high five.
READING GROUP COMPANION
1. Which female character ended up being the most notorious gold digger? Why?
2. Which character experienced the most significant transformation? Explain.
3. Does Paulette’s family history explain and/or excuse her behavior?
4. Was Lauren to blame for her family’s escalating problems by failing to address or acknowledge them?
5. Truth be told, aren’t most people gold diggers to one extent or another? After all, who digs for dirt?
6. Is there a difference between gold diggers and people who simply want to marry well, or increase their lot in life? What is that difference?
7. How far did Gillian fall from Imelda’s tree?
8. Was it wrong for Lauren to mislead Max about her fertility?
9. Can men be gold diggers? Is Max one?
10. Who do you think really tampered with Paulette’s car?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Tracie Howard is the author or coauthor of five books: Revenge Is Best Served Cold (with Danita Carter), Success Is the Best Revenge (with Danita Carter), Talk of the Town (with Danita Carter), Why Sleeping Dogs Lie, and Never Kiss and Tell. She is a former columnist and lifestyle editor for Savoy magazine, and the owner of a fashion accessories company called Ethos (www.ExperienceEthos.com), whose products debuted in Barneys in fall of 2006. She lives with her husband on the East Coast.
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Gold Diggers Page 26
