The Paradise Box Set

by Leslie Pike

  “But Beautiful” Lady Gaga/Tony Bennett

  Wild In Paradise

  Copyright 2018 by Leslie Pike

  All Rights Reserved

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products, brands, and/or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Editing by:

  Nichole Strauss, Insight Editing Services

  Cover design by:

  Kari March of Kari March Designs

  Dedication

  For Lara,

  I was waiting for you before you were born. And now I know one of the reasons why. I wouldn’t have, I couldn’t have, done this without you.

  Chapter One

  Finn

  They say luck is a lady. I think they’re right. Women have given me second chances before, chances I didn’t deserve. Lady Luck was no different. She resurrected this Irish soul from the ashes of my bad decisions. This limousine that I’m comfortably cocooned in confirms it’s so.

  A decade ago my pass at fame had slipped through my fingers. I had a minor role in one hit movie, which by some miracle became a cult classic. I had ten lines at most, but people connected with me. I was the fireman who rescued the ingénue. My one close-up and the line, “Give me your hand, darlin’ and I’ll take it from there,” was remembered. Then it all went bad.

  I’d had a brief ride on the carousel and reached for the brass ring, only to feel the metal brush my fingertips as I moved by in a haze of tequila and cocaine. Noticed by few, then quickly forgotten, I had become a footnote in Hollywood’s history book and a fading image on a few reels of celluloid.

  What a fool I’d been. I became a regular in the “Whatever Happened To?” articles, where they would compare my looks in before and after photos. The comparison was not good. I not only lost my career and my dignity, but I lost my wife. Bliss finally got tired of living with a husband who was frequently too stoned or hammered to know whose bed he was in. Any attempt at trying to get me to stop drinking and using was met with contempt. I didn’t deserve Bliss. After a time, she came to agree with me completely.

  The day she walked out I felt a pivot. The seat of my reason nudging at me, like a finger poking me in the chest. I kept using and drinking myself stupid for a few months, but it was never as satisfying. I kept chasing the high, but I couldn’t catch the same intoxication. I became aware of the lesser man I had become. Conscience is the most effective buzz kill.

  Then I began tallying up the costs of my addictions. You can’t ignore your own thoughts. I couldn’t, anyway. My better self was disgusted and let me know on a regular basis. Every day I’d wish that asshole would shut the fuck up. But he was unforgiving. And in the end, I saw the truth. As good as drunk is, it always ends in thirst.

  Now, by life’s artfully twisted itinerary, Bliss and I find ourselves friends. She in love and engaged to Steven French, a man I’ve come to respect, and me six years sober and enjoying another go around on the carousel. And rightfully, satisfyingly single. Life can be such a grand unpredictable bitch. So tonight this limousine is more than a ride. It’s a magic carpet, carrying me back to a place I’ve missed, a place I belong. I got another chance. This time I’m not going to piss away the opportunity.

  I pull out my cell to check my messages. Seventeen missed calls and six texts. Ironic, to think a few years back I’d go days without a call. The only name that consistently popped up was my coke dealer, Grandma, as listed on my phone. If someone had read my recent calls back then, they’d have thought I was the best bloody grandson in the world. I scan the list of names. Carl is the only one I’m looking for. I always return my dad’s calls, no matter the hour. He’s alone, but not interested in leaving his Bay Area home of forty years, to come live with me. Moving to Los Angeles is not an option as far as he’s concerned. We’ve had that conversation many times.

  So, I go directly to the text from Ashley, my neighbor. I know what to expect from the attachment she’s sent. Boobs, it will be a picture of her bountiful, bouncing, brilliant boobs. When I open it, I find more.

  “Whoa!” I let loose with a laugh.

  The driver jumps a bit, startled by my sudden reaction. I turn the screen toward his rearview mirror so he can see the source of my surprise.

  “My neighbor, sendin’ her regards.”

  I see his eyebrows arch in both approval and shock at the pornographic pose. Ashley’s totally nude and spread eagle. She’s sitting on an eight-by-ten glossy headshot of my face, pussy positioned directly over my smiling mouth. Nice. My cock lifts in appreciation of the sentiment. Ashley wins the Miss Good Neighbor award.

  I’ll save this one to show Jack when he calls me the kid. He likes to screw with me for a variety of reasons. At my advanced age of thirty-eight, I’m just now knowing success, just now experiencing the tidal wave of women interested in bedding an actor, just now learning my craft. All consequences of having been in my comeback film, Finding Collier. Released just two months ago, it’s stayed at number one in box office returns, and it doesn’t show signs of stopping. They say all boats are lifted in a rising tide, and my little sinking rowboat is riding the wave.

  My co-star, Jack Alden, has been a movie star for years. He’s done, seen, tried and been through it all. But he’s one of the most down-to-earth men I’ve ever met. The last film was just one more hit for him, in a decade-long winning streak. He was there on the last film, when during a second unit scene; I made a colossal mistake that nearly cost me my life, and Steven, the stunt coordinator, his livelihood and ability to walk. I don’t even like to think about it. The fact that they still talk to me is a testament to their character and capacity for forgiveness. I’m forever grateful.

  Tonight the party’s at Jack’s place in Laguna Beach. It must be the first wrap party thrown six months after filming wrapped. But after we finished shooting in Pacific Grove, it was necessary to delay any celebrations. Both the stunt coordinator, Steven, and I had to heal. Jack was newly married, and wanted to hole-up with his bride, Nicki. And the lead actress, Caprice, was hiding from us all. Unflattering half-nude selfies of her had been leaked online. She wasn’t in a partying mood. The last thing she said to me, when I made light of her situation, was, “Go fuck yourself, Finn.” Hopefully, she won’t be here tonight.

  I’m anticipating there will be talk about our next project, reuniting some of the motley crew. It’s a smaller, independent film, with Steven directing and Jack and I starring. He’ll be playing a murderous priest and I the recently transferred cleric, who discovers the pastor is the guilty party. When Steven sent me the script, I jumped at the offer. It’s so beautifully written and gifts me such a rich complex character. I couldn’t say no, but the fact that he wanted me after what happened on Finding Collier was a surprise.

  For a few of us this film will be a first. First-time director, Jack’s a first-time executive producer, and for the female lead, it’s her first dramatic role. Barrie Blue, BB to some, is playing a nun targeted by Jack’s psycho character. In reality, she’s a popular comedian known for her iconic comedy roles. But like most comedians, she can act. Steven told me he was blown away when she read for the part. What interests me, is the fact that she’s equally famous for her off screen untamed ways. They say she’s a wild one. I’ll soon find out if what I’ve heard is true. All things considered, I’ve got a good feeling about this
film. After all, I’ve got my Lady Luck with me.

  It’s time for me to drop my Irish brogue, as requested by my new director. In a minute, when I step out of this limo, it’ll be gone. It’s just easier if I keep the same accent off camera too. I want Steven to know my American dialect is spot on. This time I count on being an asset, not a liability. We pull through the ornate iron gates, onto a circular driveway, and stop behind a Jaguar, a Prius and a party bus. The troops are arriving.

  “I’ll get the door,” I say.

  The driver looks back at me through the rearview mirror and nods. I’m out before he looks away. Guests are spilling in through the massive double doors, which lead to the coastal fortress on the cliff. I see the familiar faces of actors, stunt people, grips and Teamsters. It’s like a family reunion, where everyone’s smiling and happy to see each other. A DJ’s sounds reverberate from inside the house. Justin Timberlake’s voice sets the beat, and through the two-story windows I see people dancing.

  “Finn!”

  The voices of KikiCoco momentarily overpower Timberlake’s. I don’t have to see them to know who it is. Oftentimes they speak as and are referred to as one. I’d recognize those voices anywhere. Sometimes I dream of them. I dream of them all.

  Out of the party bus steps ‘the girls’. They’ve obviously been drinking. Coco misses a step and falls off her four-inch wedge shoe. It goes flying ahead of her. I hear a loud, “Mother fucker!” fly from Coco’s mouth. Both girls find this funny and break into laughter. The wayward shoe is retrieved, and they turn my way. I open my arms wide, to the infamous hair and makeup duo, running toward me.

  “Girls! I’ve missed you and your misbehaving ways. Come here.”

  I don’t have to ask twice. They’re tucked under my arms and kissing my face. I’m certain I have bright red lipstick smeared everywhere. As we walk up the side steps to the front doors, Kiki playfully pinches my bum.

  “I’ve missed that fine Irish ass.” She smiles and reclaims her tight grip around my waist.

  “What happened to your Irish accent?” Coco says, looking a little disappointed.

  “I had to lose it for the next film. Don’t worry lovelies. I’m savin’ a wee bit for you two.”

  I give myself a reminder to reel that brogue in as we pass through the entry. I’m not surprised in the least at the scene inside. It’s happy chaos. There’s wall-to-wall people, dancing and drinking and talking and laughing. I’m sure the entire cast and crew of Finding Collier is here. Who’d say no to a private party at the home of one of the world’s biggest stars?

  But these people are more than fans or star-fuckers. They’re the family that existed in that short moment in time. Pacific Grove, 2014. And for the rest of their lives, they’ll remember just how much fun it was. The film-behind-the-film was as good as the movie released. Tonight they’re capping the experience off with one last gathering. There’ll never be another film set where this exact same cast of characters come together. There’s just one more night before they morph into other families on other films. It’s kind of poignant that everyone here understands that. I can see it in their eyes.

  I spot our hosts, Jack and Nicki, dancing next to a burly Teamster and his wife. The Director of Photography, Renee, is at one of the bars, deep in conversation with Albie, Colliers director. I see Bliss and Steven and head their way, snaking through the crowd. When I’m half way there, Bliss spots me. I see her nudge Steven’s arm and point me out. Both of them have big welcoming smiles as I make it to their sides.

  “Hi, Finn.” Bliss wraps her arms around me and leans in for a kiss on the cheek. She takes her cocktail napkin and hands it to me.

  “You’ve got red lipstick, here and here,” she says, pointing to her own face.

  “Thanks. I got attacked by KikiCoco.” I work to remove the evidence.

  Steven leans in and tries to start a conversation. But the music’s so loud, it’s futile. The DJ’s spinning Rhianna’s latest masterpiece, and the noise decibel just rose to eardrum-destroying heights. I make a hand gesture for Bliss and Steven to follow me outside. We pass through the crowd successfully, only interrupted by an occasional guest shouting their hello, or sharing a hug.

  Large glass doors have been telescoped back into the walls, opening the room to the dramatic ocean view. We pass through to the outdoors. To the right, the lights of Laguna Beach twinkle in the night. Guests gather around the infinity pool and huge spa. Big pots with citrus trees line the walkway, and the smell is intoxicating. I’ve got to remember this. It’s not just about what it looks like. My favorite part is the wide steps, tucked in the far left corner, with an unobstructed view of the ocean. They’re bookended by ancient-looking pillars. There are vines cascading along the edges of the stairs, as if only nature designed it, and not the landscape artist. People are sitting along the steps, drinking and talking. It reminds me of a beautiful ruin. Unique.

  “Let’s sit here,” Steven says.

  We take our seats around a fire pit. We’re not settled more than ten seconds, when a server approaches. He’s young, good looking and fit. He could be on the cover of the Barbie and Ken Almanac. As I look around, I see all the wait staff fit that bill, men and women. I laugh to myself thinking about my friend Jack. Even the wait staff has been cast.

  “Can I bring you something to drink? Maybe a martini, or a Patron?”

  “I’ll have a martini. Thank you,” says Bliss.

  “Tequila for me,” Steven adds.

  “Seven-Up. Thanks,” I say.

  Fuck. These are the moments that suck. I’d love to have a Guinness. Just a taste of the black stuff. One. But my will is greater than my desire. My will is greater than my desire. I have to remind myself of that every day. Sometimes every hour. Today I win the battle.

  “Bliss, what’s the latest on your HBO project? Dad said filming isn’t starting till September,” I say.

  I watch her roll her eyes and laugh. Takes me back to our days together. She used to roll those beauties at me, but rarely accompanied with a laugh. For good reason.

  “You know how things work. It’s hurry up and wait. The rewrite took longer than I expected, and every producer had to give me notes on how they could improve the story. Then the actor they wanted for the lead wasn’t available till late September.”

  Steven reaches for her hand. Their eyes meet, and they both smile. Is it weird I’m happy for them? They’ve got whatever it is that makes it work.

  “Thanks to your family’s story, and her talent, my girl seems to have hit the jackpot,” he says proudly.

  “Well, she lived it. And it’s good to know my parents’ story will be told. I only wish my mother were here to see it. At least Dad will be able to be part of it. He’s happy, and that’s all that matters to me.”

  Our drinks arrive, and I raise my glass to my friends.

  “But let’s toast our latest effort. And here’s to Steven and Bliss, who don’t hold grudges. If they did, I’d be screwed.”

  We touch glasses, and I’m glad to see they’re getting a laugh out of my comment.

  “By the way, when’s the wedding?”

  “We think it’s going to be in…” Steven’s interrupted by the familiar dancer approaching.

  “Hello, party poopers. Why the hell aren’t you dancing? Come on kid, let’s rock!”

  Our attention turns to Jack. His hair is sticking straight up, in a complete mess, as usual. He starts dancing, all by himself. Like a preteen girl, alone in her room. Like Carlton, from that nineties show. He’s pretending to be lost in the music, Pharrell’s anthem, “Happy”. It’s comical.

  “Jesus, Jack,” Steven says, laughing. We’re all laughing.

  Jack stops and pulls up a chair. He gestures to the server to get him another drink. They know, without asking, what he wants.

  “So what are we talking about? Our latest endeavor?”

  “No, but let’s,” Steven says. “I heard from the location scout that he’s found an old rector
y on the edge of Park City. I’m flying there tomorrow, to see if it’s right for us.”

  “Eight weeks in Park City doesn’t suck. Just make sure our digs are befitting the King,” Jack says, only half joking.

  “The Prince will take what he can get,” I say, not joking at all.

  “Kiss ass.”

  The server returns with Jack’s whisky.

  “Remember we don’t have Collier’s budget. Jack, you’ll have your usual accommodations. We’ll most likely be in condos, and the rest of the cast and crew will be in a hotel,” says Steven.

  “That works for me.” Jack’s smiling. “I don’t give two shits where the rest of you land. I’ve heard there are some good camp sites. Maybe you could pitch some tents.”

  Nicki arrives just in time to hear her husband’s comment.

  “Don’t be a dick, honey. It’s unbecoming.” She wraps her arms around his neck and bites his ear. She looks up at our faces. “Boy this group looks familiar. How are you, Finn? All healed?”

  I forgot how pretty Jack’s wife is. They met and married within a month, but it seems to be holding. Sometimes you strike gold with the first dip of the pan.

  “I’m good. Anxious to start this film. I think your husband was typecast as the psycho killer, but other than that, we should have a good time.”

  “You’ll have a good time with BB. Bad, bad BB,” Jack adds, raising an eyebrow.

  Nicki takes a swing at the top of his head, in mock anger. “How the hell do you know?”

  “Allegedly, allegedly, honey. And careful, you’ll muss my hair.” He grabs Nicki and swings her around to his lap.

  I look doubtfully at Jack. “That’s what you told me about Caprice. So naturally I’m leery about your recommendations.”

  Jack waves my words off. “Completely different circumstances. I didn’t even like you then. All I knew was that you were Bliss’ ex, and my friend Steven had his sights on her. I was punishing you by unleashing the Caprice hound.”