Breaking Hollywood (24 page)

Mellie’s voice had shot up the urgency scale. ‘For the love of God, close her down, Davie. Right now. Wrap it up.’

‘But I don’t care,’ Carmella warbled in the sing-song voice of the drunk and deranged. ‘I don’t care at all. Because I’ve got my little Jacko now. And my Jack
is gonna take care of me and never ever, ever, ever leave.’

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

Mirren

The patio deck at Moonshadows was quiet, the calm before the storm of the evening diners. Mirren had been counting on that. Taking Logan to any restaurant, even in LA, where
stars were on every street corner, could rapidly turn into a crowd-control situation. While adults were happy to take covert snaps of Tom Hanks or Jennifer Aniston in a restaurant but leave the
names to enjoy their meals, teenagers had no such restraint or discretion.

Moonshadows had always been one of her favourite restaurants. Situated on the PCH in Malibu, it had a laid-back vibe that she loved, a mixed clientele and, most importantly, great food.

Mirren and Logan slipped into either side of the white booths that were on the outside of the exterior wall. Her newly amplified anxiety made her look around, scanning the other faces within
view, looking for one she never wanted to see again. Nothing. All clear. If only Brad Bernson would call her to say this was all a messed-up figment of her imagination. So far, she’d heard
nothing. That was Brad’s style. He would only call when he had something to report. No news was good news, so she had to let it go. Inhale. Exhale.

She turned to look at the breathtaking view, the sun low on the horizon, the waves rolling in from the ocean and crashing below them. It was calm. Uplifting. It was just what she needed right
now.

And OK, so her motivations for being here might not come from the most spiritual place, but she was damn well going to enjoy this time with her boy.

‘You OK?’ he asked her, picking up the menu and flicking straight to the desserts. He always did that. Chloe had too. It was their thing. Now it was just his thing.

She felt the familiar grasp of grief around her gut and made a forceful effort to snap it off. Later. Later, she could go home and cry until she was hoarse, but not now.

Smiling, she leaned over and squeezed his hand. ‘I’m fine, honey. Thanks for doing this.’

‘No probs. I remember when I used to drag you into school to talk about movies because the other kids thought you were a big-shot producer—’

‘I am a big-shot producer,’ she interjected tartly.

‘Absolutely. Anyway, I kinda dug that. Gives me a kick that it’s working the other way round now. And I’ll stop telling people you’re pimping me out.
Eventually.’

They were still laughing when a startled gasp interrupted them, followed by a staccato burst of ‘OMG. OMG. OMG.’

Mirren looked round to see Mark Bock, his arm loosely over the shoulder of his eleven-year-old daughter, Jade, who looked to be entering a state of shock. Mark leaned over and kissed Mirren on
each cheek, then shook Logan’s hand.

‘As you can see, Jade is slightly surprised,’ he said with a smile. ‘I hadn’t told her you’d be here in case anything cropped up and you couldn’t make it. I
fear it would have taken a lifetime to recover from that blow.’

‘OMG. OMG.’

When Logan gave her a casual wave and a ‘Hi. Good to meet you, Jade’, she almost passed out.

Mirren reached out and beckoned to her son’s number-one fan. ‘Why don’t you come and sit here?’ she offered warmly, pointing to the seat next to her.

‘I am, like, going to die right now,’ she gasped.

‘Can you at least wait until after we’ve eaten, because I’m starving?’ Mark asked, deadpan.

She shot him a look that Mirren recognized so well. Hadn’t Chloe had that same expression on a thousand occasions? That look that said, ‘You are so uncool. I can’t believe you
said that. I can’t believe you are my parent. Please stop embarrassing me.’

Mark winked at Mirren. ‘As you can see, my leverage for arranging this has already expired.’

‘It certainly has,’ she agreed. He looked completely different out of the office, she decided. In the boardroom at Pictor, he was the corporate big shot who didn’t even look
casual when he dressed down in a black polo and matching chinos on a Friday. Logan had stood up to shake his hand and then let him pass into the booth first, so he was sitting directly across from
Mirren. He was as tall as Logan, his shoulders every bit as broad, the physique of a man who worked out daily. Boxing, Mirren guessed. Maybe triathlon. Not yoga. She couldn’t see him chilling
out long enough to get in touch with his inner chi.

This was a guy who oozed strength and who chose activities that required power. The fact that he was the head of a studio at forty-five said he was a workaholic – probably why his marriage
to Jade’s mother had failed. Mirren racked her memory for any information stored on his past history. Married to a lawyer, divorced a few years ago, mutual decision, no one else involved.
That was it.

It struck her that she should probably have done a bit of research – purely for professional purposes, of course.

Beside her, Jade was refusing to look at Logan now, clearly so overwhelmed it was easier to bury her head in the menu. Mirren’s heart melted a little. When she was that age, she’d
been obsessed with Spandau Ballet. She could still sing every word of every one of their songs. If Martin Kemp had ever ambled into the cafe in her local High Street while she was eating a bacon
roll and drinking a can of Tizer, they’d have had to resuscitate her.

Apart from the chronic blushing, Jade’s face bore a strong resemblance to her father’s. It was obvious that her wide mouth, sallow skin and piercing blue eyes came from him, as did
the deep brown hair, although the natural curls must have been her mother’s contribution. Mark wore his hair straight, short at the sides and back, longer on the top so that it flopped
slightly over his forehead. From the neck up, there was a bit of David Duchovny going on there. From the neck down, it was more Hugh Jackman.

Focus, Mirren. Back in the game. What was going on with her? This was business. OK, so it was dressed up as personal, but as far as she was concerned, this was just breaking the ice with the new
guy, getting to know him a little better, improving relationships so that they could gain a mutual respect that would pay off in the day job.

Logan took control of the conversation, asking Jade about her school and the cheerleading squad and her position on the soccer team. How brilliant was he at this? Years of meet-and-greets, or,
as they were known, ‘meet-and-gloats’, had obviously taught him how to handle the situation perfectly, and somewhere between the food order being taken and their dishes being placed in
front of them, Logan had prised Jade out of her shell and they were chatting away comfortably. Sometimes she couldn’t believe this amazing kid was hers.

Mark’s gaze caught hers and she could see he was both amused and delighted.

‘She hasn’t talked this much to me since she was five,’ he joked, earning another glance of total disdain from his daughter.

The conversation flowed happily throughout dinner, neutral subjects that were inclusive for everyone. It was only when the dessert plates had been cleared and Logan and Jade were compiling lists
of their favourite songs ‘ever in the whole wide world’ that he leaned over towards Mirren, allowing them to strike up their own conversation. ‘I don’t want to make you sad,
but I was so sorry to hear about your daughter.’

The sympathy caught her by surprise and her reply stuck in the back of her throat. It did that sometimes. All would be fine and then a thought or a kind word would collapse her windpipe, making
it impossible to breathe. She saw Logan check on her out of the corner of his eye and it was enough to kick-start her body into action again.

‘Thank you.’

‘How are you doing?’

‘I’m good. Some good days, some bad. But mostly bearable,’ she said, knowing that if he had any people-reading skills at all, he’d realize she was lying. None of it was
bearable. She doubted it ever would be.

‘We’re opening a centre in her name next month. It’s called Chloe’s Care and it will operate a drop-in centre for teens with substance issues. Somewhere to go. Not a
rehab. Or a therapy centre. Just somewhere that a kid can go and talk if they want to, seek help if they choose or just be in an environment where they know they’re safe.’

‘Wow, that’s incredible.’ It wasn’t a glib retort – she could see that he meant it. ‘How is it going to be funded?’

‘Twenty per cent of the profits from McLean Productions, and the rest will come from fundraising. I have a feeling Logan will be recruited to help with that.’

‘Are you pimping me out again?’ he asked, teasing.

‘For a good cause, son.’

‘Ah, that’s fine, then.’

Mark’s gaze went to the patio entrance, where a woman had arrived and was clearly scanning the tables.

‘Nicole,’ he said, standing up.

Jade’s face fell. ‘Noooooo.’

The other woman was at the table now. ‘I think you’re about to take over my title of least favourite parent,’ Mark joked.

‘Nicole, Mirren McLean and Logan Gore. This is Jade’s mum, Nicole. It’s a school night, so she’s come to collect her.’

‘Not leaving,’ Jade said sullenly.

‘Look –’ Logan nudged her ‘– I’m going on tour in a few days, but how about I come visit your school when I get back?’

Jade’s face could have functioned as a beaming light to steer incoming ships. ‘Really?’

‘Absolutely. Hang on, take a pic with me.’ He picked up her phone and took a double selfie.

Jade then screamed with glee as she watched him jot on a napkin, ‘I hereby promise to visit Jade when I get back from tour. Love, Logan.’

It was enough to get her to leave happily, if still slightly reluctantly.

‘Thanks. And good to meet you.’

With that, mother and daughter were gone and Mirren noticed there had been very little dialogue between the parents. So. Amicable for the sake of Jade, but not friends, then. Interesting. She
made a mental note to press Lou for information later. If there was a story to tell here, Lou would know about it.

In his hand, Logan’s phone buzzed and he checked the screen, before returning his attention to Mirren. ‘Do you mind if I shoot off now? It’s just, er, some of the guys are
meeting tonight and I fancy hanging out.’

Mirren grinned, realizing he wasn’t quite telling the truth. She had given birth to him, watched over him almost every day of his life and it was so easy to see when he wasn’t being
entirely honest. His eyes would dart to the side, his jaw would tighten, and he’d have exactly the same expression as the time when he was five and she found three candy bars under his bed
and he denied knowing how they got there. ‘Something you’re not telling me?’

Her voice was teasing, light-hearted. ‘There’s been a few of those texts over the last few weeks. I’m thinking my son has found a girlfriend and he’s reluctant to tell
his mother in case I disapprove. Life was so much easier when I could hack into my children’s phones and computers and spy on their every move.’

‘You did that?’ Logan feigned horror. In truth, it had always been part of the deal. Full access to all devices until they turned sixteen. Mirren thought it would help her keep them
safe. How foolish she had been. Chloe had two secret cell phones by the time she was fourteen and used them to order her next high to be delivered to school.

Bloody hell. It crept into every thought, every sentence, got so far under her skin that sometimes she felt it was all there was to her. Regret. Despair. Sadness.

‘Can I take the car?’ Logan asked, standing up and reaching for the keys with a cheeky wink.

‘Sure. I’ll get a cab home.’

‘I’ll drop you,’ Mark offered immediately, then to Logan, ‘It’s the least I can do for your mom after you made me Parent of the Year.’

‘Mark will drop me,’ she corrected herself.

Logan shook Mark’s hand, kissed Mirren on the cheek and headed off.

‘Nightcap?’

‘Nightcap would be good,’ she agreed. ‘Brandy. On ice. I’ll be right back.’

She headed to the washroom, leaving him to order. She’d missed this. God knows, this wasn’t a date, but she’d missed male company, conversations with someone she didn’t
know, learning new things, talking to a guy who knew little about her past and nothing about her mistakes. There was something escapist about it, something that allowed her to just be. Not to be
Chloe’s mom, or Jack Gore’s ex-wife. Just to be.

In her purse, her phone started to ring as she pushed open the door to the washrooms. Lou.

‘Hey, honey. Are you checking up on me?’ she asked, laughing.

‘Have you dangled Mark Bock over the balcony of Moonshadows by his ankles yet?’

‘I was just about to do that when you called and interrupted me.’

‘Ah, sorry. I’ll let you get back to it. I just wanted to let you know that your ex-husband is a feckless, no-good piece of crap . . .’

‘I knew that already.’

‘Who continues to astonish and delight with his levels of stupidity.’

‘Oh God, what’s he done now?’

‘I’ve sent you a clip. Gotta go. I’m having dinner with Jackie Collins. I frigging love her.’

‘More than me?’

‘Ooooh, it’s close,’ Lou confessed.

Mirren was still chuckling when she hung up.

Checking out the room, she made sure she was alone before pressing ‘play’ on Lou’s incoming text. A video filled the screen, one that Mirren didn’t quite understand.

That girl, the model whose boyfriend died. On Davie’s show. Carmella – was that her name?

On the screen, she started to speak, and Mirren could see immediately that she was altered. Drunk? Stoned? Definitely not sober.

Carmella practically trilled, ‘I don’t care at all. Because I’ve got my little Jacko now. And my Jack is gonna take care of me and never ever, ever, ever leave.’

Mirren’s stomach lurched; her legs trembled. This was too, too close. That girl couldn’t be much older than Chloe, and she clearly had some of the same issues, yet Jack was fucking
her?