Breaking Hollywood

From Ross – for David Johnston King. My hero, my pal and my ‘Pops’. Forever in our hearts.

From Shari – for Betty Murphy, who is missed every single day.

Prologue ‘Hollywood’ – Michael Bublé

1. Sirens

2. ‘Uptown Funk’ – Mark Ronson & Bruno Mars

3. ‘Wish You Were Here’ – Pink Floyd

4. ‘Rehab’ – Amy Winehouse

5. ‘You Give Me Something’ – James Morrison

6.

7. ‘Rock ’n’ Roll Star’ – Oasis

8. ‘Every Breath You Take’ – Sting

9. ‘I Knew You Were Trouble’ – Taylor Swift

10. ‘Stairway to Heaven’ – Led Zeppelin

11. ‘Forever Young’ – Rod Stewart

12. ‘Calling All Hearts’ – DJ Cassidy, featuring Jessie J and Robin Thicke

13. ‘Human’ – The Killers

14. ‘Only Women Bleed’ – Julie Covington

15.

16. ‘Man In the Mirror’ – Michael Jackson

17. ‘Killer Queen’ – Queen

18. ‘Closest Thing to Crazy’ – Katie Melua

19. ‘Fix You’ – Coldplay

20. ‘Life With You’ – The Proclaimers

21. ‘A Good Heart’ – Fergal Sharkey

22. ‘Stay With Me’ – Sam Smith

23. ‘Boulevard of Broken Dreams’ – Green Day

24. ‘Crazy World’ – Aslan

25. ‘Love the One You’re With’ – Luther Vandross

26. ‘Fire and Rain’ – James Taylor

27. ‘Something Inside So Strong’ – Labi Siffre

28. ‘Shine’ – Take That

29. ‘Demons’ – Imagine Dragons

30. ‘I Don’t Want a Lover’ – Texas

31. ‘Love Runs Out’ – OneRepublic

32. ‘Live While We’re Young’ – One Direction

33.

34. ‘Trouble’ – Ray LaMontagne

35. ‘Don’t Give Up’ – Kate Bush & Peter Gabriel

36. ‘Somebody’s Watching Me’ – Rockwell

37. ‘Eight Letters’ – Gary Barlow

38. ‘Love Me Again’ – John Newman

39. ‘Make It Rain’ – Ed Sheeran

40. ‘Dirty Little Secret’ – The All-American Rejects

41.

42. ‘Burn’ – Ellie Goulding

43. ‘I Would Die 4 You’ – Prince

44. ‘Ashes to Ashes’ – David Bowie

45. ‘Is There Something I Should Know?’ – Duran Duran

46. ‘Moves Like Jagger’ – Maroon 5 & Christina Aguilera

47. ‘Chasing Cars’ – Snow Patrol

48. ‘Better Man’ – Paolo Nutini

49. ‘Run the World (Girls)’ – Beyoncé

50.

51. ‘Slippery People’ – Talking Heads

52. ‘Stronger’ – Cher

53. ‘Home’ – Blake Shelton

54. ‘It’s a Wonderful Night for Oscar’ – Billy Crystal

55.

56. ‘Everybody Wants to Rule the World’ – Tears for Fears

57. ‘Wrecking Ball’ – Miley Cyrus

58. ‘Fear’ – Eminem

59. ‘Holding Back the Years’ – Simply Red

60. ‘Everybody Hurts’ – R.E.M.

61. ‘We Found Love’ – Calvin Harris & Rihanna

62. ‘Through the Barricades’ – Spandau Ballet

63. ‘I Will Always Love You’ – Dolly Parton

64. ‘I’ll Stand By You’ – the Pretenders

65. ‘Creep’ – Radiohead

66. ‘Starting Over’ – John Lennon

Epilogue ‘Yours’ – Ella Henderson

Acknowledgements

Prologue

‘Hollywood’ – Michael Bublé

The Lomax Oscar After-Party, Beverly Hills Heights Hotel, 2014

It wasn’t your typical Hollywood threesome.

No one could take their eyes off them.

All night the official photographers had been firing flashes like strobes in their direction.

The managers, the PRs and the agents who’d kill to have them on their client lists would need a chiropractor to sort out the neck pain caused by keeping them within view no matter which
part of the room they moved to.

Even the stars who demanded all the oxygen in the room, the ones who’d thought of nothing but themselves since their cheap Sunday-best shoes first hit Hollywood tarmac, were fascinated by
the trio, who had been inseparable all evening.

Zander Leith. Mirren McLean. Davie Johnston.

The actor. The writer. The producer.

Individually they were people to be reckoned with, stellar forces that were circled by lesser beings in an industry that prized profit, power, beauty and talent. In that order.

But together they were royalty – three imports from Scotland who had won their first Oscar when they were barely in their twenties. Two decades later, they still had the kind of
three-in-a-billion careers that others would kill for. They had history, they had a unique connection, and they all shared the knowledge that the very event that had created their success could one
day bury them.

But not tonight.

Tonight, on the most hallowed of Hollywood occasions, the ballroom at the Beverly Hills Heights Hotel was a glittering collection of industry stars and heroes past and present, of $10,000 suits,
beauty queens and billionaires, all gathered at the invitation of Wes Lomax, studio owner and – when it came to making movies – more powerful than God.

There were three other big events in town on Oscars night: the
Vanity Fair
party, Elton John’s Aids Foundation benefit and, of course, the Governor’s Ball. But it said
everything about the power and status of Lomax that the tickets everyone wanted would gain them exclusive entry to his celebration, where they could breathe in the most rarefied atmosphere of
all.

And if they didn’t get access? Better to leave the country, feign illness or find another career, because if they weren’t seen here, it said they either weren’t big enough or
they were over – and those were the two Hollywood crimes that could never be forgiven.

The walls were solid masses of flowers, banks of ornate white roses and lilies rising from floor to ceiling. The chandeliers were glittering crowns on a room filled with jewels, haute couture
and enough silicon to fill a valley.

It was manufactured perfection. And it didn’t come any more perfect than the trio at the centre of the star-filled galaxy.

A hundred and ten pounds of former Miss Alabama sashayed past Zander and smiled with a mouth that had been sucking the dick of a mid-level director in the gents’ only half an hour before.
The movie-maker got sexual satisfaction; she got a line of coke and an audition for a bit part in a sci-fi fantasy on Monday morning. If she was lucky, she might even get her whole face in the
frame of a background shot.

‘Can I get you anything?’ Her low purr oozed promise, an offer that replicated a million others over the course of his twenty years as the most messed-up but utterly irresistible bad
boy of the movie world.

Every woman in the room would fail a polygraph if she claimed she’d never thought about fucking Zander Leith. He was the nation’s go-to action hero, the Hollywood personification of
sheer down-and-dirty, give-it-to-me-now sex, his physical perfection made all the more attractive because he was totally unaware that when the gorgeous chick at the next table looked at him, all
she saw was her next orgasm.

Zander acknowledged Miss Alabama’s offer with a smile that said ‘gentle refusal’.

On any other night, he’d consider it, but not tonight.

Tonight, he was here for the beautiful woman beside him in the exquisite blush Dior gown, her Titian curls swept up to emphasize her perfect bone structure, her eyes the same deep shade as the
sapphires that glistened in her ears. Mirren’s wide smile didn’t waver as she shared the love with everyone she spoke to, paying grateful thanks to an industry that had just given her
yet another small, gold, naked but genital-free statue.

‘Hey, don’t let me stop you,’ Mirren murmured, having caught both the blatant offer and the subtle refusal in her peripheral vision. Zander’s green eyes crinkled at the
side as he returned her smile and Mirren realized she’d never seen him looking this well. The months off booze and drugs had been good for him, as had the training regime for his next movie,
the seventh in the Dunhill spy series. There was no danger of a Bond-like scenario in which the leading man was replaced every few years.

Zander still had it.

A couple of inches over six feet, he had the craggy good looks, the action-hero jawline, which contrasted with a disarming grin that made even the staunchest resolve crumble. His blond hair,
naturally wavy, curled over the collar of his shirt, a captivating contrast to the formality of his Tom Ford suit.

On the other side of Mirren, Davie Johnston leaned into the centre of the triumvirate and spoke in hushed, serious tones. ‘She only gave you that come-on because I’d knocked her
back.’

They laughed, the irony not lost on any of them. On any other day, Davie Johnston was a catch. Multi-millionaire producer, a serious power player and physically cute. Yep, cute. Tom
Cruise-short, Bradley Cooper curls, Michael J. Fox grin, Simon Cowell ego – all of which was elevated to ‘A-list desirability’ by the fact that he was Davie Johnston, the man who
could turn any nobody into a star.

‘Oh fuck, lesbian ex-wife at nine o’clock,’ Davie muttered. ‘Brace yourselves for incoming hostility.’ The others immediately went to movie-star Defcon 1 –
wide smiles that were more fake than a porn star’s tits, designed to disarm the two approaching females. Jenny Rico, Davie’s ex-wife, tall, dark-haired goddess, star of the crime drama
Streets of Power
, holding hands with her co-star on the show and co-recipient of the Hottest Woman on Earth Award, Darcy Jay.

Sadly for Davie, what had started off as an occasional threesome had ended in a permanent coupling. Penis not required.

It was a relief when the ambush was halted by a drum roll emitting from the speakers at the front of the room. The overhead lights dimmed, allowing two spotlights to focus on Wes Lomax, a
sixty-something deity, who was deigning to address the crowd, fully aware that half the room were devotees who worshipped at his temple of power and the other half despised him. Welcome to
Hollywood.

A hush descended.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to say a few words.’ His smug grin was enhanced by the combination of attention and the fact that the Viagra he’d popped an hour before
was forcing his dick to strain against the inside of his Ted Baker trousers. ‘I’d like to congratulate all you guys out there who were winners tonight. Even the ones who weren’t
in
my
movies.’

Cue sycophantic laughter from the audience.

‘It was a great night for Lomax. Best Director . . .’ He paused to wait for the obligatory cheer. ‘Best Supporting Actor and Actress . . .’

Another round of congratulatory adulation.

‘And finally, the pinnacle of excellence, Best Movie . . .’

More applause as the flush of his face made an even stronger contrast to his thick mane of impeccably coiffed white hair.

‘But tonight, another member of the Lomax family is going home with the gold. A returning member. Many years ago, Lomax Films gave this lady her first break. Over the last two decades
I’ve tried to persuade her to come back home, but, well, she played hard to get. And you all know how well I deal with rejection.’

His faux self-deprecating grin set off another round of amused, exaggerated laughs.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to announce a new partnership. Tonight, Mirren McLean, author, producer and Oscar winner for the second time for Best Original Screenplay, will be
rejoining Lomax Films and will make the next two Clansman movies here . . . where she belongs.’

The vibrations from the thunderous applause made the trays of champagne glasses on the bar tremble. Mirren, smiling widely, nodded her thanks to her peers, then blew a kiss to the beaming man on
the stage.

Davie Johnston’s breath was hot in her ear as he whispered, ‘Did you know he was gonna do that?’

Still grinning at the flashing camera bulbs, Mirren barely moved her lips. ‘Not a clue,’ she hissed. ‘Ink’s barely bloody dry.’

Zander leaned in for a congratulatory kiss. ‘You OK?’

Still smiling, Mirren squeezed his arm. ‘I am . . . but I’ll love you forever if you get me out of here.’

It was all she had to say.

They knew. They were the only three people on earth who knew it all: what they’d risked, what they’d shared and what they’d done to get here. Only they knew that the real story
would blow their high-action thrillers and epic dramas out of the water.

It took them an hour to work their way to the exit, doing the standard shake-and-fake, pressing flesh and saying all the right things along the way – even if it was utterly insincere.

‘I’ll call you tomorrow, Marti. Yep, we gotta work together.’