True Hollywood Lies (6 page)

“Everything you need to know is in there,” she murmured breathlessly, locking the heavy carved double doors behind us. Without a backward glance, she then drove off down the block, most likely to meet her friends at a “be seen” bar in WeHo—perhaps Coco de Ville, or maybe ABH.

Lucky, lucky girl.

Although I still had the Ralph’s run to make, I took a quick peek inside my goody bag and found the following:

My salary was to be $4,166.67 per month, or $50,000 per year (if I lasted that long), paid to me by Genevieve’s management company. On the ninetieth day of my employment, I was to be assessed for a raise that might take me to $72,000, depending on Louis’s recommendation. That was a bit disappointing, considering Jasper had sold me on this gig based on the fact that I’d be making six thousand a month. Well, beggars can’t be choosers, I reasoned. Hopefully before then Jasper would straighten out the estate mess, and Louis’s opinion of me wouldn’t matter. . . unless I wanted it to.

A list of the foods on his Zone diet, thank God—although possibly, due to all the Zone worshipers within proximity, the BH Ralph’s probably kept a list of foods and recipes on file.

Two Blackberrys—one gray, one red—taken out in my name, although they would be used expressly for calls for and from Louis. The gray cell was for his business calls, and to keep a digital accounting of Louis’s itinerary thus far for the next 12 months. I’d have the grand chore of inputting all of this. I figured it would take me a year just to do that. The red Blackberry’s number was given out to the privileged few who were accepted into the most private part of his universe. I was also instructed to program Louis’s cell with both my home phone number and the red phone’s telephone number, in order for him to be able to reach me at all times;

A typed directory of all the important people in Louis’s life. Should anyone on this stellar list call Louis, I was to put them through to him immediately. They included:

Jasper;

The odious agent Randy Zimmerman (that Louis had both Leo’s lawyer
and
his agent was some weird karma);

Genevieve;

His acting coach, the renowned Candida Sage;

His publicist, Monique Radcliffe;

His nutritionist;

“Dr. Manny” (Manolo) Lipschitz, therapist to the stars;

His physical trainer;

His chiropractor;

Mickey Fairstein, realtor to the stars;

His life coach, Eduardo Larken;

The various members of his posse;

And, of course, his current girlfriend, Tatiana Mandeville, the Russian-French Über model who had graced the cover of last year’s
Sports Illustrated
swimsuit edition, and whose universally renowned pout was adjacent to Louis’s own beneficent smile in practically every magazine article I’d already perused while delving into Trollope-iana.

A list of people who, upon calling, should be told that he was “out of range,” but that he would return the call as soon as possible; I was then to ask him if he wanted to return the call and when, and follow his directive. These included certain directors, producers, A-list actors, sundry celebrities of all walks of life and claims to fame, as well as some A-list journalists and talk show hosts, including Oprah, Ellen, Kelly, Katie, Jay, David, Conan, Stephen and Jon.

A list of people who would never ever get a callback, come hell or high water. Of course, they were never to know this. On that list were
The National Enquirer, The Globe, The Star
, the entire producing and reporting staffs of
Entertainment Tonight, Extra,
Inside Edition
; most definitely
TMZ
, and a motley crew of over-aggressive fans and stalkers. Someone named “Sam” (no last name given) was also included (previous posse member? Stalker extraordinaire? Long-lost brother?), as well as the fourteen girlfriends he had dated prior to Tatiana. (Obviously, good-byes were something Louis took seriously.)

I had my work cut out for me.

* * *

The Ralph’s run netted six bags of groceries for a whopping $485.23—a bit pricier than the usual fare for a guy’s night out, I was guessing.

Unless it was being delivered by a couple of third-rate hookers.

I couldn’t pull into Louis’s driveway because he never answered the intercom when I rang up, so I parked out on the street. Grabbing two of the bags, I began the trek back to the house.

As it turned out, there was no room to park in the driveway anyway, what with all the boy toys parked willy-nilly behind Louis’s own collection of hot wheels. There was a black Lamborghini Murciélago, a bright yellow Lotus Elise, and I recognized the red Humvee—a twin of the one Louis owned—belonging to Randy Zimmerman. Up until last year, Randy had owned an Aston Martin Vanquish, same as Leo. The trade-in was a sure sign that the auto Randy drove in any given year mirrored his idolatry of his client
du jour
.

The front door was opened a crack. Still, I knocked before entering. No one answered, but I could hear the fight announcer’s voice and raucous men’s laughter wafting out from the living room.

I found my way to the kitchen and dropped the bags on the counter. I considered whether or not to make another run out to the car but thought it best to make my presence known first. I headed out to party central.

The lineup in Louis’s living room looked like a lad mag
dream cover shot, something along the lines of “Hollywood’s Young Turks at Play.” Sprawled comfortably among the leather and suede sofa groupings with Louis were Ethan Blount, an indie director who had recently gone mainstream in a big way, having had the foresight to secure the film rights of a popular cult trilogy belonging to a well-known Japanese sci-fi/fantasy author; T.H.E. Mann, the gansta-hip hop artist known for his chart-busting X-rated rap lyrics and his trend-setting line of men’s clothing, who had successfully transitioned into movies as the lead of a new “urbanized”
Oceans
reboot (“Oshunz 10 + 1”); Bennett Fielding, a hot young TV sitcom actor whose very first movie role had been the comic relief in Louis’s last film; the ever-leering Randy Zimmerman;

And Motorcycle Guy.

Motorcycle Guy? Here?

He did a double take too, then let loose with an ear-to-ear grin.

Very nice!

I glanced away, but I couldn’t help but smile, too.

“Ah, and finally, here is the most important lady in my life,” Louis declared with a flourish. He didn’t bother to get up, though. He just tapped the picture-in-picture feature on his remote control so that a
Man Show
wet T-shirt contest could be viewed at the same time as the boxing match.

“For the next forty-eight hours, anyway,” Randy sneered.

“Or, until Tatiana hears you’ve said so,” Bennett chimed in, then guffawed, as if he’d been auditioning for the role of class clown.

“Don’t mind them, dearest. They’re just jealous because you’re not only capable but beautiful as well—whereas Ethan’s assistant is some techno-nerd like himself, T’s assistant is his very pregnant wife’s ever-watchful brother, Bennett’s girlfriend won’t let him have one of his own, Randy’s assistants are usually out the door in a minute and a half, or end up in the psych ward because he’s so abusive, and Mick doesn’t have the cash flow
or
the stature to rate his own Hannah. Well, that’s just too bad, eh? They’ll just have to admire you from afar.”

From the looks on their faces, he’d gotten across his underlying message:
Lay off; she’s all mine.

“Besides,” Louis concluded, “
Someon
e has to take care of my dirty laundry. Believe me, it’s not something Tatiana aspires to.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to say,
Guess what? It’s not what I aspire too, either!
Instead I smiled benignly—and groaned inwardly: in my haste to make it to Genevieve’s before six, I had forgotten to drop his laundry at the dry cleaners. I made a mental note to myself to do so first thing in the morning, and to beg the clerk to have it back the same day. Of course, I would make up the difference and take the loss.

This job was already costing me money!

“Hannah, meet my guys: Bennett Fielding, Ethan Blount, T.H.E. Mann, Randy Zimmerman, and Mick Bradshaw.”

I shivered at the sound of Motorcycle Guy’s real name. It was almost as if that charge I’d felt when he shook my hand on Laurel Canyon Boulevard had been reignited at the center of my spine, and, in a flash, had worked its way back up and somehow wound its way back into my heart.

(Stop it, Hannah! He’s in Louis’s orbit, which means he’s out of
your
range).

It took a moment, but I came to my senses and murmured a bright, “Nice to meet you all.” Before I could turn to leave, though, Randy drawled out, “Oh,
I
know
Hannah. We’re old friends, ain’t we, sweet thang?”

His suggestive tone raised the hairs on the back of my neck. Randy expected one of two reactions: for me to slink off because I was too embarrassed to answer him, or for me to be flattered that he wanted to hang out with his wang out.

What, was he
kidding?
All his arrogance earned him from me was a look that should have turned him into a SnoCone.

“Dude, that ain’t
no
way to treat a lady.” T.H.E. got up and proffered his hand. “These boys have the manners of a pack of hyenas. Don’t be giving ’em no mind, sweetie. And you can call me T, if I can call you Hannah.”

“Thanks. Please do, and I’d be honored to do the same.” I smiled up at him, willing to forgive and forget all those nasty rumors about his having pistol-whipped the head of his music label as his way of expressing “disappointment” over the lack of promotion for his latest CD, or that, just a nanosecond before I’d entered the room, he had commented on how he’d like to “twang the G-string” belonging to the third contestant from the left.

“You’ll have to excuse me. I’ve got to bring in the rest of the groceries.”

“Need any help?” Mick asked nonchalantly enough, but he still had that shit-eating grin on his face, which made it all the more difficult for me to keep a silly smile off mine.

“There are only four more bags,” I said hesitantly. ”It’s nothing, really—”

“I don’t mind. I need to stretch my legs, anyway.”

“Sure, okay. Thanks.” I was glad to see that the others were preoccupied with the pre-fight commentary as Mick followed me out the front door.

“I can’t believe you were on your way
here.”

“Yeah? Well, I can’t believe that
you’re
Louis’s new assistant.”

Simultaneously we both said, “You should have seen the look on your face—” and burst out laughing at the serendipity of it all.

It was too dark outside to see much, and it seemed totally natural when Mick grabbed my hand and steered me up the driveway toward the gate. Halfway there, he bumped into Randy’s Humvee and yelped: he had hit the knee with the open wound from the motorcycle fall.

“Gee, I—I can’t apologize enough for that.”

“Hey, it’s just a scratch, really. Besides, if I hadn’t fallen, we would have met under totally different circumstances. That might have changed everything. Fate, you know?”

I didn’t know what he meant by that, but I liked the way it sounded. “I guess you’re right,” I answered cautiously. I was glad that it was dark and he couldn’t see how happy hearing that made me, because I wasn’t yet ready for him to read me so openly.

Besides, there was still the issue of my working for Louis.

“So, how long have you known Louis?” I asked as casually as possible. I opened my car door, then grabbed two sacks of groceries and handed them to him. I picked up the last two bags and locked the car door.

“For a couple of years. I was the script doctor on
Fast Eddie
, his first American film.”

“Oh, yeah? I remember that one.”

“Yeah, well, he had the role pegged. You know, ‘fast-talking bloke taking L.A. by storm.’”

“Sounds like total typecasting.”

“Seems to have turned out that way. Anyway, that’s when we started hanging out together. I also wrote
Dead End
, which he starred in.”

“I know. It just came out, right? That’s the one that may get him an Oscar nod. Wow, you two have a great relationship: artist and muse.”

“Not really.”

“You’re
not
great friends?”

“No. I mean, yes, we
are
close buds, but he’s not my ‘muse.’ I wrote it several years ago, before I’d even met him. In fact, it was my first script, and I had another actor in mind for the lead. That guy turned me down, though, and it sat in a drawer for years. Louis read it and pushed the studio to get it made. I owe him a lot for that.”

We’d walked into the kitchen undetected. The boxing match had just started, and curses, whoops and whistles were flying out from the living room. I opened a few cabinets until I found ones containing the needed plates and trays then I began unwrapping the prepared dishes. Mick seemed in no rush to get back to the guys, which was fine with me.

“Of course, being the grateful friend that I am, I guess I’ll have to tell Louis what you really think of him.”

Was it that obvious? I turned around, startled. “How do you know what I think?”

“You told me, remember? At the scene of the accident. You called him a ‘slave driver.’” He let loose with another teasing grin.

I laughed. “Who do you think he’ll believe, you or me?” I blinked my lashes in mock innocence.

“That’s a good question,” said Louis.

Neither Mick nor I had heard him enter. We both stared at him, like two guilty children caught playing doctor or something. He looked from one of us to the other, not sure what to make of our little game.

“I didn’t know you two knew each other. Gee, Hannah, you seem to be
very
popular.”

“We just met tonight,” I explained. “Unfortunately, on my way down the hill, I ran out of gas, and Mick stopped to help.”

“Oh.” Louis turned back to Mick, bemused. “So
Hannah
is the girl you almost ran over.
Interesting
.”