Hollywood Ever After

Hollywood Ever After

            Sasha Summers

The characters and events in this book are fictitious.  Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places, or events is coincidental and not intended by the author.

If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher.  In such case the author has not received any payment for this “stripped book.”

Hollywood Ever After

Copyright © 2012 Sasha Summers

All rights reserved.

Paperback  ISBN: 978-0-9851483-3-1

ePub ISBN: 978-0-9851483-4-8

Library of Congress Control Number:  2012940443

Inkspell Publishing

18, Scott Court, C-4

Ridgefield Park

07660 NJ

Edited By Megan Qualls

Cover art By Najla Qamber

You can visit us at
www.inkspellpublishing.com

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This book is dedicated to my parents,

Jeannie and Skip Summers,

for giving me my love of stories

and nurturing my every dream.

I love you both so very much!

Chapter One

Shannon squealed when I came through the baggage claim doors.

An answering grin tugged at my mouth as I ran to meet her.

“Oh. My. God,” Shannon exclaimed, hugging me. I was briefly engulfed in her sweet honeysuckle scent, then she pulled back to look at me. Her eyebrow arched as she inspected me. “Claire, what the
hell
happened to you?”

“I kind of fell asleep. Do I look that bad?” I tried to smooth my hair. Did I have bed head? My eyes felt puffy and dry; I hated dozing on airplanes.

“Holy shit.” She grabbed my hand and spun me around. “You’ve lost half your ass.”

“Oh, there’s still half there, I promise.” I laughed. “When did I see you last?”

“Will was a baby.” She shook her head. “Too long ago.”

I nodded. “Well, I’ve been working hard to get back in touch with
me
.”

A solid year of stress had taken its toll on my body. An abusive husband and a hellacious divorce tended to do that. Once all of it was over, I focused on getting my priorities straight. I’d spent the last year turning my mega-scary weight loss into a positive thing–making me fit and stronger. I had to take care of me now, for the kids.

This trip, this “relaxing vacation”, was a surprise birthday present from my baby brother. And it was the first time I’d been carefree, and kid-free, in a long time.

“Well,
you
are really thin and a wee bit ripped.” She surveyed me with a smile. “No fair. You still have your boobs. I lose a pound and it comes straight out of my bra.” She sighed. “We’re going to have so much fun!”

“What did you have in mind?” I was getting a headache and desperately needed caffeine. “Does it include coffee?”

“Sure. We’ll get you some nasty low-fat fake sweetened coffee and then I get to pretend you’re a life-size Barbie doll.” She was chattering away while I pulled my lone blue suitcase from the luggage carousel. “We’re going to the biggest party tonight with an invite list full of celebs. So finding you the perfect hot and sexy ensemble is the order of the day. Ooh, fun.” She was excited.

“Shannon, ‘hot and sexy’ aren’t words in my personal vocabulary.” I frowned. “And how did
I
get invited to this party?”

“Well, darling, you’re connected now,” she said. “I told you I’ve been working on more high-profile features. I’m now making my way up the list of borderline A-list assistant directors. Tonight just happens to be one of the perks. Trust me. You’re going to have a
blast,
Claire.”

“Can you go without me? The only thing remotely dressy I have fit me three sizes ago.”

“No.” There was a hint of exasperation in her voice. “We’re going shopping.”

We were out of the airport and climbing into her car in the thirty-minute parking lot before I had time to catch my breath.

I smiled, looking around at all the sights. “I can’t believe I’m really here.”

It was amazing, and exactly the way I imagined LA. Palm trees, blue sky, and lots and lots of cars on the road.

“Isn’t it awesome? I don’t know many baby brothers who send their sisters to Los Angeles for a birthday present. Joe
so
earns Brother of the Year for this one, huh?” She winked at me then focused on driving.

I tried to relax as she swerved in and out of traffic without hesitating.

“You look terrific,” I said. She did, golden and calm. If I focused on her, maybe I wouldn’t worry about the likelihood of a fatal collision. “Tell me what’s going on with you. What’s new?”

“Pretty much everything: house, car, promotion.” Shannon smiled; her face lit up. “Forty-two is my lucky number, I guess.”

“So you still love Hollywood?”

She nodded. “I’m doing what I’ve dreamt about; very ‘happily ever after.’”

“It’s nice to see good things happening to good people—outside of Lifetime movies and paperback novels, that is.”

She nodded, her smile turning a bit ironic. “I wholeheartedly agree.”

We bought my coffee then flew, barely missing the shiny bumper of a new SUV, to Shannon’s destination: rows and rows of shops.

“When’s the party?” I asked, looking down at the track pants and white t-shirt I’d pulled on after my hasty shower earlier that morning.

“The show’s tonight at eight, but the party won’t start until eleven-ish. This is Hollywood, baby. By the time we’re done with you, you’ll look like a star.” Shannon used her best movie promo voice as she spoke.

“I’m really happy to sit this one out. You know, sleep for the next two days or so. I haven’t had a nap in about six years.”

“You can nap tomorrow.” She parked the car. “But not right now. Come on. You could pretend to be excited about this, for me.”

I glared at her, sighing in exasperation.

“Pout all you want, woman. We’re still shopping.” And with that, she hauled me into the first boutique.

***

By seven-forty-six, I sat, exhausted, in a limo in LA, going to a red carpet premiere. I was beginning to wonder if this was a hallucination or one hell of a super-realistic dream. Shannon seemed oblivious to my dazed state, which was probably for the best. This was a pretty big deal for her, so my supportive smile was pasted in place as Shannon explained what tonight’s fanfare was about.

Shannon’s studio was promoting its new movie, her first real assistant director job. She had to help with PR. Not on the same level as the stars or the director, but she was expected to be there. She was pretty excited and very nervous. Somehow she thought I’d help her deal with that, which was why I’d reconciled myself to enduring the evening. My intent had been to blend into the background—a plan Shannon seemed determined to foil.

“God, you look so amazing!” she said.

I shook my head.

She held her phone up and aimed, clicking a picture. “I’m going to send a picture of you to Natalie.”

“I guess you can, since
you
got her the phone.” I shot her a look. Shannon had tried to get my daughter a phone when she turned nine, which had been ridiculous. Now, four years later, I thought the phone was a pretty good idea.

“She’s thirteen, Claire. Thirteen-year-olds have cell phones. I know where you live. Even kids
there
have cell phones.” She took another picture with a muttered “Smile” before she answered an incoming call.

I sat, trying to calm my nerves as we drove to the cinema. Shannon’s afternoon of beautification had been glorious, no way to deny it. I’d been exfoliated and moisturized, massaged and plucked. I had no idea my hair could be so straight. I ran a hand over the soft tresses, distracted by their uncharacteristic smoothness. There was something unexpectedly seductive about the feel of my hair against my almost bare back—silk against skin.

Shopping had been another matter. Shannon had accompanied me into the dressing room and the horror began.

“Claire. You can
not
be serious.” She’d stared at my white cotton utilitarian bra and underwear. “Those are
so
sad! We’re getting you some lingerie that fits.”

“I don’t wear lingerie, Shannon. I wear underwear.” And yes, they were pathetic.

“With this bod? You’ve got to try new things. Live a little. Try some ridiculously indecent and sexy stuff. Just to see.”

And I’d tried on lingerie, evening attire, pajamas, shoes, pretty much anything Shannon could find that was in my size.

Now here I was, wearing a lacy red thong and no bra under my teeny tiny dress, wobbling on ridiculously high strappy stilettos.
You’re not going with the flow
. Where was my gratitude? It had been a totally new—and not unpleasant—experience. I smoothed my skirt over my thighs again.

“Stop fidgeting,” she said. “You look fantastic!”

“Shannon, I’ve
never
worn anything remotely like this. Ever. I’m not sure I’m comfortable going out with so little on.” I held my arms out to encompass my complete transformation.

“Well, happy birthday!” She smiled. “Thirty-five looks good on you, girl.”

Shannon and the stylist, Francesca, had been delighted by the results. My hair had been colored, straightened, primped, and arrayed to look windblown. My eyes and lips were very dark and brooding, while my skin looked creamy and soft. I’d stared at my reflection in the salon mirror, slightly awed. I didn’t look like
me
, really, but I looked great. I stayed overwhelmed and stunned for the entire process. Normally I took thirty minutes to get ready, tops.

I wasn’t sure which I should worry about more: falling on these heels or having a wardrobe malfunction with my dress. The dress was backless, falling into a low cowl at the very base of my spine. I felt like a sudden cool wind could expose my butt—Shannon had assured me it was there, covered, and looked terrific—to the world, while the front of the dress plunged down low enough to provide a tempting peek at my breasts. All in all, Shannon and the saleslady had “oohed” and “aahed” so much, and I’d been so done with shopping, that I’d let them pick. Now I seriously regretted that decision.

When the limo stopped, the door opened and Shannon emerged to a throng of screams.

I took a deep breath and clung to the driver’s hand as he helped me out of the car. My ankles teetered a bit on my new spiky heels. Shannon had a cruel sense of humor about appropriate footwear. I wobbled a bit before I took a cautious step toward Shannon, my steps measured and small.

I was amazed. As much of a cinematic junkie as I was—and I definitely was—the lights, the screams, the people were more than I could have imagined. The flashes were momentarily blinding and the noise was completely deafening, a loud roar of unending squeals. I made my way slowly behind Shannon. I was introduced to Shannon’s assistant, Amy Mayes. Amy smiled and motioned me to her side, so that Shannon could do all the talking.

I let my eyes wander as Shannon answered several questions effortlessly.

“So excited. Just thrilled,” she was saying. “I’m just so happy to have been a part of this project. This film was such fun! We know it’s going to do well.” Amy barely tapped Shannon’s elbow—I assumed that was the signal to move on. Shannon thanked the reporter and moved a few feet down the carpet, smiling as the camera flashes continued.

I blinked in an attempt to adjust to the rapid bursts of white light.

I stumbled on a cord and tipped back, mortified. To fall, on the red carpet? I’d be forever humiliated.