Secrets of the Hollywood Girls Club (13 page)

“I’m going, too. In fact, I’m in it.”

“What?” Her biggest client doing print work in Asia, and no one told her?

“Tolliver got us the deal. Good money, and it’s Billy’s first paying job. Perfect, right?”

“Perfect.” At lunch today she would rip Tolliver Jones a new asshole. How could he not tell her details such as these?

“We’ll send you the photos in a couple of days. But I’m serious about this Kiki. I expect you to deliver.”

“No problem,” Kiki rubbed her temple with her fingertips. “Safe travels, darling. Ciao.” She pressed release and leaned back in her chair.

She hoped the package from Sherman Ross was good, because so far her morning had been most unpleasant.

Rule 12: Keep Your Mouth Closed

Celeste Solange, Actress

Cici sipped her Chianti in a back booth at Dan Tana’s. As a working actress she spent many evenings here pursuing producers for roles, convincing studio executives to green-light films, and just getting drunk with friends. She and Damien used to eat at Dan Tana’s late at night often after a party they had attended.
Party
was the word that Damien used to describe the multiple-partner sex groups he liked and she went along with. The word
party
no longer seemed to fit now that she was forced to deal with the dirty aftermath of her lifestyle with Damien.

A shiver, like a thousand tiny bugs, crawled up her back. The inside of her stomach clamped tight—twisting and knotting the fear, the tension, the anxiety all one sour bundle in her belly. She breathed deep and forced a false calm into her body. This meeting with the photog Nathan Curtis was a performance. Cici had one shot to persuade Nathan to tell her where he’d seen the salacious sex DVD in which she starred.

Nathan acted nonchalant on the phone when Cici called—almost as if he expected her call. Why wouldn’t he? On the beach he tantalized her with a bit of information that could destroy her career, her relationship, her entire life. Lydia and Jessica searched and found some background information on Mr. Nathan Curtis but these facts failed to lead them to any conclusions about how or where Nathan might have seen the DVD.

Through a little bit of research, the girls discovered that Nathan grew up in a rough section of London and dropped out of school at sixteen. He began his career as a paparazzo and a “celebrity friend,” someone who provided drugs, press, girls, and anything else young actors and soccer players in London might want. In return, Nathan received access and photos.

After Nathan’s infamous shot of a young prince exiting a strip club with a barely clothed tart on his arm hit the tabloids, Nathan’s name got bigger. Then, suddenly, Nathan somehow made the transition from paparazzo to fashion photog. Perhaps sordid photos of a fashionista or designer had accelerated that miraculous transition. After some work in London, Nathan accepted multiple jobs in L.A. gigs. Nathan Curtis was on the path to somewhere, and Cici needed to know his desired destination. Lydia guessed directing, but you never knew in this town.

What was Nathan Curtis after? If Cici pinpointed Nathan’s career goals, she knew what temptations to use. Did he want to design clothes? Direct? Just live in L.A. amongst stars? Have access to the rich and famous? Cici, Lydia, and Jessica, with their positions and connections, could fulfill all those desires. And would, if Cici could get her hands on the damn DVD.

“Ms. Solange.” Nathan stood before her. His accent was surprisingly mild for someone who had grown up on the wrong side of London. He wore a Marc Jacobs shirt and Earnest Sewn jeans; it was too dark to see his shoes, but Cici guessed either Gucci or Dolce.

“Nathan,” Cici purred. She leaned forward and let her low-cut shirt flash some breast as she sipped her Chianti and smiled. “Thank you for meeting me here. It’s one of my favorites.”

“Little old-school for my taste,” Nathan said. He flopped down in the booth, and instantly a waiter appeared. “Guinness,” Nathan barked without a look or a nod.

“So, Nathan. What brings you to L.A.? Other than my shoot, of course?” Cici curled up in the booth.

“Your shoot? I didn’t come to L.A. for that. Your shoot was totally last-minute. The photographer the studio originally booked canceled.”

Cici wanted to kill him, but instead she smiled.

The waiter set down his pint. Nathan took a sip and licked the foam from his upper lip, then scooted closer to Cici.

“Is that why you asked me here, Celeste?” he whispered, his lips almost touching her ear. “So I can tell you why I’m in L.A.?”

“Of course. Why else?” Cici tilted her shoulder and looked directly at him. She spent the majority of her career acting the sexpot; she could do it now, too. “Really, if it wasn’t to shoot me, then what brought you to Los Angeles?”

“I’m moving to L.A. I want to work in film.”

Cici leaned forward. She wanted her body language to convince him that she hung on his every word. “What does that mean, though? PR? Marketing? Freelance for magazines?”

“I want to direct,” Nathan said. He took another swig of beer. Score one for Lydia.

“Really?” She feigned enthusiasm. “Do you have a project set up?”

“Not yet, but I’ve got a screenplay I’m trying to get financed.”

“I’d love to take a look,” Cici eyed him. “Perhaps I could help.”

“I’m sure you could.” Nathan leaned in and lowered his voice. “Does your sudden interest in my career have anything to do with the footage I watched of you recently?”

Cici stiffened but quickly fought her visceral response. “Perhaps we can be helpful to each other. Our desires might be aligned.”

“Maybe,” Nathan said.

“So where did you say you saw this footage of me?” Cici asked.

A wicked smile danced across Nathan’s lips. “Aren’t you a clever girl? I didn’t say where, but since you’ve inquired, I’m happy to tell you.”

Cici leaned forward. Really? Finding out who had the DVD was this easy?

“A friend of mine had a viewing party.” Nathan’s gaze locked onto Cici’s breasts. “It would seem from the footage that you might be familiar with such parties.”

An oily, slick feeling churned through Cici’s stomach. People were viewing her fucking? At parties? She forced down her feelings and swallowed back the bile and venoumous words that threatened to spew from her mouth. She needed to convey the correct emotions. There were multiple ways to play this scene. She decided on vulnerability. Men were usually terrified of a crying woman. Celeste forced tears into her eyes. “Oh Nathan, what am I going to do?” She dropped her head into her hands and sniffled.

Nathan placed his arm around her shoulder. “Cici, please don’t cry.”

Power surged through Celeste. She was an excellent actress. She added more tears and a sniffle to her performance.

“You’ll introduce me to your friend?” Cici asked, looking up.

“Well, I’m not sure, but I’ll definitely ask.”

“Nathan, how can I thank you?”

“Well, I can certainly think of one way.” Nathan set his hand on Cici’s thigh.

The queer unsettled feeling rolled through her stomach again.

“I suppose,” Cic said still ignoring the churning in her gut, “that you’ve got your director’s reel?”

“In the car,” Nathan said. “and a copy of that script.”

Rule 13: You Need a Star to Make a Movie

Lydia Albright, President of Production, Worldwide Pictures

Lydia scanned the calendar on her computer screen. She had a staff meeting in an hour and a meeting with Briggs Montgomery in twenty minutes. She bent over to grab her Versace bag and pulled out
Vitriol
, Nathan Curtis’s script that she read the night before.

This film would normally cost the studio a minimum of $60 million to make, plus another $30 million in prints and advertising. But if Lydia cast
Vitriol
right then Worldwide would make back its money. Of course, Lydia didn’t care about the profit margins on this film. What concerned Lydia was the $250 million worth of Celeste Solange films that Worldwide wanted to release over the next eighteen months. If Cici’s sex tape went public then Worldwide’s investment would be worth nothing.

Lydia clicked onto the soundstage calendars. Worldwide’s shooting schedule was booked—every soundstage on the lot full. But Lydia would make room.

“Toddy,” Lydia yelled from her desk.

“Yes, Lydia,” Toddy said, entering Lydia’s office.

Lydia held up a copy of
Vitriol
, the script Nathan Curtis wanted to direct. “Did you read this?”

“Last night.”

“And?”

“And I think it’s an uninspired, by-the-numbers thriller,” Toddy said.

“You’re brilliant,” Lydia said, “because that’s exactly what I think, too. Do you know the writer? This Roland Rumphy?”

“Never heard of him. I tried to look up his credits on IMDB and Studio System, but they don’t have him listed. He’s either new or someone writing under a pseudonym.”

“Well, Mr. Rumphy needs to be rewritten,” Lydia said.

“Who should we get?” Toddy asked.

“The rewrite needs to be fast, and the script has to be tight. Plus this writer will deal with the dick of a director—”

“Nathan Curtis?”

“Yeah, you’ve heard of him?”

“I’m on your calls.”

“Right. So who do you think?”

“Let’s see, great writer who can deal with big egos? Hmm, who do we know with those qualifications?” Toddy asked, returning to her desk.

“Get me Jessica, then Mary Anne, then Sean Ellis,” Lydia called to Toddy.

“Sean will be pissed. You bump his writer and he’ll have to wait at least six months to make
Sexual Being
,” Toddy said.

“I’m not just taking Sean’s writer,” Lydia put in her blue tooth headset. Both Lydia and Toddy were now on the phone line as Toddy dialed. “I’m also taking his star.”

“Holden?”

“Yep.”

“Lydia, Sean is going to flip. He’s already in Brazil doing prep.”

“Yeah, but if he doesn’t whine too much and waits on
Sexual Being
, I’ll make his next film, too,” Lydia said.

“What’s his next film?” Toddy asked.

“Who knows,” Lydia said. “And who cares as long as we get Nathan Curtis’s film made. Have number two make twelve copies of the script. Start messengering them. I need copies to go to Mike Fox, Mary Anne Meyers, Celeste Solange, and Holden Humphrey.”

“What about the older male lead?”

“I have an idea, but I need to work on it,” Lydia said. She clicked through her e-mails as Jessica’s line rang.

“Jessica Caulfield-Fox’s office,” Jessica’s assistant answered.

“I’ve got Lydia Albright for Jessica,” Toddy said.

“One moment please.”

“Toddy, you think Celeste should play the female role?” Lydia asked while they waited on the line for Jessica.

“I thought that was a given.”

“I have Jessica for you,” Jessica’s assistant chirped. “Jessica, you’re on with Lydia.”

“Morning, Lydia.”

Lydia could hear Max singing in the background.

“How is Maxie?”

“Happy, and on his way to preschool.”

“Did you get it?” Lydia asked. She sent over a copy of
Vitriol
late the night before.

“
Vitriol
? Yeah. Wasn’t so great.”

“I need you to produce it,” Lydia said.

“How did I know you were going to tell me that?”

“Because you’ve lost your plausible deniability and are now my partner in crime,” Lydia said. “Besides, what other producer can I trust with this?”

“Do you know the writer?” Jessica asked.

“Never heard of him,” Lydia said. “Guess that explains the script. I want Mary Anne to do the rewrite.”

“She’s working on Sean Ellis’s film right now.”

“I’m pulling her,” Lydia said.

“Not like we have much choice. What do you think the budget is?”

“Maybe forty? Without P and A.”

“Really? I was thinking more like sixty,” Jessica said.

“I’m not counting Celeste’s twenty-million-dollar fee. She’s offered to cut her quote.”

“Got it. So yeah, forty,” Jessica said. “Who do you want for the male lead?”

“I’m thinking Holden,” Lydia said.

“Go ahead and just ruin Sean’s life, Lydia.”

“I’m still going to do
Sexual Being
—Sean just has to wait a couple of months,” Lydia said.

“So Celeste for the female lead. What about the older male role?”

“I want Steven,” Lydia said.

“Brockman? You won’t get him. He refuses to play any character over thirty-five,” Jessica said.

“So far, but I’m going to try,” Lydia said. “It’s the only way Worldwide will make its money back on this bomb.”

*

Lydia wanted to tell Briggs Montgomery about Cici’s sex tape. But Briggs worked for Worldwide, and although it was simi-acceptable for Lydia, as Cici’s best friend, to lie to Ted Robinoff, it was quite another for Briggs Montgomery, head of studio security, to withhold important information from his boss. Lydia knew there was no way he’d keep the secret, and it would kill Cici for Ted to find out now.

“No more letters?” Briggs asked.

“Just the one in Malibu,” Lydia said.

“And that was the only phone call?”

“So far. Any ideas about who the wacko is?” Lydia asked.

“We went through the list of names Jennifer’s people gave us. Interviewed the catering staff from her party, too. So far, nothing. Has anything else happened?”

Lydia paused. “No, why? Is there something I should know about?” she asked, attempting to flip the attention to Briggs and his investigation.

“Just curious. How’s Jay working out?”

“Great. I mean, I hardly notice him.”

“He’s excellent at his job. He mentioned you’ve been spending a lot of time with Celeste.”

Lydia sensed that Briggs was tap-dancing around a question. Lydia often forgot Jay was around, and of course he saw everyone she met with. She needed to be more cautious about how often she met with Cici and Jessica.

“Ted is in Asia and—”

“Lydia, I’m not your dad. And you don’t have to tell me that Ted’s been away. Technically, I’m in charge of security for Ted and Celeste’s home, too.”