Hollywood Nights (2 page)

Edna’s gaze slid in his direction. “He’s super sexy.”

As we watched, Tanner pulled his phone out of his pocket and stared at the screen as he worked on his latest drink. Behind him, Lacey, one of the biggest draws at Twisted, wound her former gymnast body around the pole on center stage. Every guy in the room had his eyes on her.

Every guy except Tanner.

“What do you think he’s doing here?”

“What people do in a place like this?”

Cheers and claps erupted closer to the stage. Lacey no longer wore her bikini top, and her silicone-enhanced breasts glimmered under the red and blue stage lights.

“He’s—” I broke off and took a deep breath. “I can’t stop thinking about the season finale of
LA Stands for Lana.
”

Edna’s eyes widened. “Oh, I know. That bitch dumped him on national television. For a woman.”

“He was so sad, too. Didn’t seem like he saw it coming.”

“Helluva year.” Edna arranged a few bar glasses on one of Twisted’s trays. “I saw
The Flash Returns
a couple of weeks ago On-Demand, and the critics were right. He was
horrible
. Killed the franchise.”

“And now he’s here. Drinking in this place.” I shook my head. Tanner Vance didn’t belong at Twisted. The bar might make bank every night, but it was Sunset Boulevard’s seediest joint. Plenty of bespoke restaurants and culinary outposts dotted this part of West Hollywood, and so did a lot of higher level sex joints. Twisted and Tanner didn’t fit together.

“What are you going to do?” Edna said. “Tell him to leave?”

Lacey flipped upside-down on the pole, and she slid down it using only her thighs. My stomach turned. I’d never imagined working in a seedy place like Twisted; that hadn’t been the plan back when I put Ohio in my review mirror and California in my front. If only the money hadn't been so good. An off-night like this one had already earned me more than $100 in tips.

I turned my attention back to Tanner in a deliberate effort to disregard the men still ogling Lacey. “Do you think he’s lonely?”

Edna scoffed. “Guys like him are never lonely, trust me. He looks like he has a lot of money that he cares nothing about. Why don’t you go over there and talk to him? Maybe he’ll give you some. Make a donation.”

I laughed, but I didn’t find it funny. I didn’t follow her advice, either. Instead, I walked over to the bachelor party table and delivered them the bottle of Grey Goose, a party-girl smile plastered on my face. Every minute they breathed on me, I hated myself a little bit more. But I had to make my share of rent that month.

When I walked back over to the bar a few moments later, Tanner Vance was gone.

Since Twisted sat on one of Sunset Boulevard’s better curves, the bar shared a small underground parking lot with two other restaurants and a nightclub, all of which catered to a classier crowd than those who thought watching naked women shake their boobs qualified as a decent night out on the town. One of those spots, Craving, catered to celebrities. It had a rope line as long as a marathon, and paparazzi staked outside every single night.

That night, the photographers outside of Craving reminded me of circling sharks. Their telephoto lenses reminded me of snouts and the clicking shutters of chattering teeth. They wanted a big fish, and they would wait it out until they caught one. Each person crowded the small gap of public sidewalk between Craving and the short entrance of the garage.

When I passed right by them, no one noticed me. Not that I cared all that much. I walked out of the bar’s employee entrance with my cell phone at my ear, listening to my latest Voice mail from Janet, the assistant to Andrea, my agent.

“Lynn, er, I mean Brynn—that’s right, Brynn, we have an update on the callbacks you went on last week. The ones for
The Dancer, Green Gardens,
and
Lover’s Choice
. All passes.” Janet’s raspy voice paused. “Let’s chat next week. Give us a call Monday.”

My thumb punched “end” on the phone, and I tossed it in my bag. One more slew of failed auditions to round out my week. How many had it been? Too many, really. This Hollywood dream of mine hadn’t come close to working out. In five years of Southern California sun, I’d only scored two national car commercials and a print modeling campaign for
Land’s End
. At least I had $250 in my pocket from tips, so my two roommates wouldn’t bother me about paying for my third of the week’s groceries.

I was almost to my car when I heard the coughing and gasping. It echoed through the garage, and it made me stop short. One second later came a telltale splatter.

There, a row or so away from me, stood Tanner Vance. He was about two hundred feet from the hungry lenses of the photographers, and behind the large pylon where no one could see him but me. He had one hand against the cinderblock wall, and he kneeled over as vomit spewed from his mouth. As I watched, my heart jumped around in my chest and my hands went clammy.

“Jesus Christ, this is insane,” I said under my breath.

I shut my eyes and shook my head. I needed to leave. That was it. Leave. I might have wanted to talk to him and to see if he was okay, but I also knew I didn’t have any business doing so.

I pulled my key out of my black tote bag and walked closer to my car. Tanner threw up again and swayed. I looked away and kept walking. Then he vomited a third time, coughing and sputtering as bile and spittle spewed from his mouth. When he braced his hand against the wall, I broke my silence.

“Are you okay?”

He mumbled something and dry-heaved again. I glanced over at my car and back at him.

“Do you need some help?”

“What could you—” He stumbled across his next few words. “Who are you?”

“I work at the bar over there.” I jerked my head. “I’m a cocktail waitress at Twisted. You were there earlier tonight.”

“Was I?”

I bit my bottom lip and crossed over to him. “You’re throwing up a lot over there. Kinda scared me.”

He wiped his mouth with the back of his right hand, and he leered at me with bloodshot eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Doesn’t seem that way.” I opened my purse and tried to ignore the small throb beginning to grow in the back of my head. “You’ve been drinking, right? Let me at least call you a cab.”

He waved me away. “It’s okay. I can handle this.”

“No, you can’t. Not in your condition.”

The photographers stalking the parking garage would eat him for a late-night snack, and he could get himself killed if he drove home, or someone else. At the least, he’d wind up on every Hollywood gossip blog in the world by the following morning.

“I’m calling a taxi.” I fished my phone out of my bag, then cursed when the buttons didn’t dial right away. Ten bucks at the store for a phone that only took calls or text messages. That’s what I got for saving money. Once the phone worked, I found the number for Twisted’s favorite cab company in my contacts. “Los Angeles U-Pick-a-Ride. They’ll have someone here soon.”

“No.” He moved closer. I got a whiff of bile and the acidic, undigested remains of whatever he’d eaten earlier. Yuck. “Don’t call them.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said, and then he swayed, losing his balance. “Whoa!” I grabbed him on his arm and tried to prop him back up, but it didn’t work. His eyes rolled up into his head and his knees buckled underneath his body.

An unconscious Tanner Vance hit the ground.

“Shit,” I said to no on one in particular. “Shit, shit, shit.” Within half a second, my night had gone from bad to worse. Forget the failed auditions, the guy at Twisted who’d offered me money for sex, and the group of drunks that tipped me five dollars on a $500 check. Now, one of Hollywood’s biggest stars lay on the concrete in front of me, and his slow, irregular breaths sounded like the beginning stages of alcohol poisoning. We saw it occasionally at Twisted, the end result of a long night. I was
not
ready to deal with this. Not in a parking lot. And not at the end of a shit-tastic day.

But I couldn’t leave him there. That wouldn’t be right. A tiny Good Samaritan lived somewhere underneath my jaded exterior, and I knew I should help him. No, I
wanted
to help him. This was Tanner Vance, after all.

“Hey.” I kneeled down and shook his limp body. His chest rose and fell in labored breaths, so I shook him harder. And harder. “Come on. Tanner. Tanner Vance. Wake up. Wake up, will you?”

After a minute or so, he groaned.

“Wake up!” I slapped his cheek. “Are you all right?”

His heavy lids opened halfway and he moaned something inaudible.

“I can drive you home,” I said. “Where do you live?”

He tried to speak, but the words didn’t make any sense.

“Come on,” I said. “I’m not leaving you like this. You’re coming with me, okay?”

“Hurmpghagh…”

I closed my eyes and shook my head. The small headache work had given me grew larger as I tried to figure out how to solve this problem with Tanner. We needed a plan. Fast.

“Listen, I’m taking you to my apartment,” I told Tanner when I opened my eyes again. He’d closed his, and he still seemed only halfway lucid. “My car is a short walk from here.”

“What’s the—”

“We don’t have time to screw around, okay?” My watch read 2:55 a.m. Five minutes, maybe ten, and the parking lot would fill with people as the late-night crowd left Craving after last call. “Get up.” I grabbed the lapel of his shirt and held my nose with my other hand. He smelled like three-day-old salmon. I ignored it, and pulled on him. “Stand up. You can stand up.”

He mumbled a few more protests before he finally gave into my demands, struggling to his unsteady feet before he leaned on me for support. I dragged and pulled him to my car, where I shoved him onto the backseat of my Corolla, then covered him with a raincoat I found in the back of my trunk. It didn’t do much, but I didn’t have a better option. I threw my tote bag in the passenger seat and the car into drive.

“Stay down,” I said to Tanner as I backed the car out of the parking spot.

I turned up the radio and drove toward the exit. Outside, the crowd of photographers had crushed themselves into a semi-circle around Craving’s entrance, and I strained to see who had their attention but couldn’t get a good look.

“I think we’re okay,” I said to Tanner as I flipped my car’s turning signal. “I don’t think they—”

Tanner sat up in the backseat, and the raincoat fell off him. “Why don’t I—” He grabbed the handle of the passenger door. “Let me just—and I…”

“What the fuck are you doing?” I punched the master lock on the driver’s side panel of the car. “Lie back down! Right now! They’re going to see you!” My attention darted back and forth between Tanner and the photographers.

It would only take one of them to see him.

“Tanner!” I said again, almost yelling. “Now! Lie down!”

He mumbled something else inaudible, nodded, closed his eyes, and slumped in the seat. It would have to be good enough. I gave the car some gas and pulled the car into traffic.

Fifteen minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot of a not-so-great apartment complex on a marginal street in Culver City. I choose a spot the back of the dark lot, turned off the engine, and took another look at Tanner Vance. During the drive, the part of the jacket that covered his head had slipped off, revealing his face. He’d passed out again, and his mouth hung open. Every once in a while, he snorted as he breathed through his mouth. He reminded me of a disheveled puppy dog, and for a moment, I considered leaving him in the backseat of my car overnight.

Wouldn’t work. Couldn’t have one of Hollywood’s hottest hunks waking up in a strange car in a stranger neighborhood. Besides, if anyone walked by, they’d notice him. Who knew what would happen then?

“Tanner,” I said again. “Wake up.” He didn’t move. I sighed. “Tanner! Wake up!” I tapped the horn on my steering wheel. “Jesus Christ. Tanner!”

He stirred, and one eye cracked open. “Where am I?”

“My apartment complex.”

“What?”

He rolled a bit in the seat, so I took that as a good sign and got out of the car. There in the dark, empty, hidden parking lot, I struggled to get him out, across the lot, through the back entrance, and down the wooden hallway to the small two-bedroom apartment. I shared it with Samantha, a sometimes model I met through a Craigslist ad, and her best friend, Kelly, an actress on her way to minor stardom on a scripted MTV show. Both were gone for the weekend on a trip with friends to Santa Barbara. They didn’t plan to be home until Monday night. Lucky break.

“Here you go,” I said as I guided shaky, drunken, half-lucid Tanner Vance through the door and onto the couch. He collapsed onto it with another groan. I turned on the room light, and he winced. “You can sleep there.”

“Hurmpah.”

He smacked his lips, twisted on the couch—which was where I normally crashed—then fell asleep a few seconds later. I stood above him, staring at his gorgeous, chiseled face and broad hands. I already knew he had a great body underneath his gray shirt; I’d seen it many times in about every magazine on the planet. Tanner had the kind of chest, legs, stomach, and arms that would make any personal trainer swoon. Everything flowed together like something out of Greek mythology.

Satisfied with leaving him there, I locked the apartment deadbolt, walked into Kelly’s bedroom, changed, and fell on top of her bed.