Breaking Hollywood (26 page)

His low, guttural groan was enough to let her know how close he was, while deep in her pussy his fingers could feel her tightening round him, her insides pulsating, hot, wet . . .

He gritted his teeth as the climax ripped through him and he shot everything he had over her belly, her breasts, the dip where her collarbone met her neck. At the same moment, her back arched,
her pussy clenching as she begged him not to stop. Not now. Not ever.

And then they were still.

Zander took a deep breath, exhaled, tried to stop the light spots that were floating in front of his eyes.

He leaned over, stroked her damp hair off her face and smiled, just as a thump announced their arrival on the ground.

‘Welcome to LA,’ she said, with a grin. ‘I hope you’ve had a pleasant flight.’

When the door opened, Zander turned to say goodbye, his hair still wet from the rapid shower he’d taken while the jet taxied to the gate at Van Nuys Airport.

She’d put her number into his phone under the name ‘Wendy’. He’d said he would call.

Maybe he would, he decided. An uncomplicated relationship. Wasn’t it about time he gave one of those a try?

Hollie was standing leaning against her Durango on the tarmac, chewing gum and looking about as impressed as she should be after her boss had gone missing, she’d had to pull every trick in
the PA’s book to track down where he was, cited a national emergency to get details of his homeward flight and skipped a long-awaited date to come collect him.

‘You look like crap, and you’d better have bought me a present,’ she told him, bypassing niceties. ‘But hey, you look sober, so there is indeed a God.’

Zander turned to wave goodbye to Wendy.

‘Oh, you didn’t,’ Hollie murmured, making it clear that she knew he most certainly did.

As soon as they got in the car, before her foot hit the gas, she started with the interrogation, the one born of security, not curiosity.

‘OK, so did she have a phone, and could you have been filmed at any time?’

Zander rolled his eyes, totally familiar with the questions, which had come straight from the security chief at Lomax Films, designed to protect all stars from blackmail, scandal and media
shit-storms.

He cast his mind back. When he woke, he’d been under the covers and still had his shorts on – all good. After that, he’d certainly have noticed if she broke off to take a
selfie.

‘No, and no.’

That was enough for Hollie to get the car moving, but there were still more questions to answer as she drove.

‘Was there anyone else involved or present other than yourself and Miss Happy Air?’

‘Nope.’

‘Did you notice any electrical items or suspicious devices that could have been used to film your . . . performance?’

‘Apart from the CNN live-broadcast crew in the corner, no.’

‘Don’t get smart or I swear to God I’ll hit Rodeo with your credit card tomorrow.’

‘Feel free. You deserve it.’

‘And did you take any substances or alcohol prohibited by your current contract with Lomax Films? Incidentally, if you say, “Yes,” I’ll beat you around the
head.’

‘No.’

Excellent.

‘And finally, last question. Given that you’ve just renewed your membership to the mile-high club, do I take it things with your very married fashion boss are over?’

Zander stared straight ahead, the word ‘over’ touching a raw nerve. ‘I told her I wanted her to leave her husband.’

‘Oh dear Christ, you didn’t,’ Hollie exclaimed, taking her eyes off the road to look at his stony face. ‘Oh dear Christ, you did. And she turned you down.’

Hollie’s eyes were wide as he nodded ruefully. ‘Yep. And now’s the time you tell me what a dick I’ve been,’ he said, resigned to the truth.

‘Zander, I’ve been with you for ten years. You’ve made so many fuck-ups that on your scale of dickdom, this barely makes a spike.’

He appreciated the effort to make him laugh, especially as it worked.

‘Look,’ she continued, ‘having an affair with a married woman wasn’t smart. Having an affair with the wife of a highly shady, multi-millionaire property mogul, even less
smart. But hey, things happen. You felt something for someone; they didn’t feel it back. Time to move on.’

As they drove the rest of the way to Venice in comfortable silence, her decisive manner sparked a tiny seed of resolve in him.

Time to move on.

Everything else was good.

For once, he wasn’t fucking up and wasted. He could handle normal life like a normal person. And normal people made mistakes and moved on.

No drama.

‘OK, I’m just going to come in and pick up your mail, and erase the death threat I left on your answering machine when you ran off last week,’ Hollie informed him,
laughing.

Not for the first time, he wondered what he would do without this girl. Crumble, was the obvious answer.

Thirty minutes later, they turned off Speedway to his home.

It wasn’t the most obvious place for one of the most successful actors in the world to live. Most of the A-list pitched their heated swimming pools in the Hills, Bel Air or maybe Santa
Monica or Malibu. Those areas held no appeal for Zander. He still lived in the same green wooden apartment block he’d moved into when he first arrived in LA. The back of the block overlooked
the car park, but it was the front that had him sold. There was only a walkway between his apartment and the Venice sands, allowing him to open the balcony doors of his third-floor home and let the
sound of the ocean be the backdrop to his time there. His only concession to fame and money had been to buy the other apartment on the same floor and knock them into one, giving him a loft-style
arrangement with a glass wall and a balcony spanning the whole of the sea-front view.

He gestured ‘hi’ to the two homeless guys who lived in the car park outside his home. They’d have missed the food parcel he left for them every couple of days. He’d make
it up to them tomorrow.

He waved again to the building caretaker who sat in the glass-partitioned office on the ground floor, then headed up the stairs behind Hollie, his travel bag thrown casually over his
shoulder.

‘So can we make a deal?’ she asked as they reached his floor.

‘Shoot,’ he replied, as she used her key to open the door.

‘Oh, don’t tempt me,’ she joked. ‘If only that time in juvy didn’t stop me getting a gun licence. Anyway, the deal is, no more disapp—’ She stopped
mid-sentence, froze, causing him to almost walk into the back of her.

For once, she said nothing, just stood there, her mouth open with shock.

‘Holls, are you—’ Zander’s words went the same way as his assistant’s – lost in a sea of incomprehension.

He scanned the room once, twice, trying desperately to make the sight in front of him assemble into some kind of logical sense.

It didn’t.

Every piece of furniture was upside down, every fabric was sliced, every dish broken, every glass smashed. It looked like a scene depicting the aftermath of an apocalyptic tornado.

He stepped forward, dazed, but Hollie darted her arm out to stop him.

‘Don’t touch anything until the cops get here.’ Her voice cracked. ‘Zander, who the fuck would do this to you?’

‘Something Inside So Strong’ – Labi Siffre

Sarah

The roof garden in West Hollywood’s Soho House was busy, as it always was on a Thursday lunchtime. It wasn’t Sarah’s favourite place to dine in LA – too
full of whinging Brits with mockney accents using clichéd tripe.
I’m in a weird headspace. I’m percolating ideas.

It was almost like there was some kind of competition to see how many wanky clichés they could fit in one sentence. Dicks.

However, it did have a few compensations. The roof garden was a stunning work of topiary bliss. Wooden slatted floors, hanging triffids and meandering plants in terracotta pots were scattered
throughout a terrace that came with incredible views of the Hills.

There was also an emotional connection. This was where she’d met Davie only six months before. He’d been wasted after celebrating his tenth wedding anniversary to a woman who hated
his guts and was only stringing the marriage out so that she could get a better financial settlement after ten years together. Davie realized it the night of the party, and filed for divorce the
next morning, less than seventy-two hours before the actual day of their anniversary.

Was it really only six months ago? It felt so much longer. It amused her that she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Back then, she’d been over here on a week-long holiday from the
Daily Scot
, after a conversation with a dying Glasgow crime lord had thrown up the possibility of a connection with
Zander Leith. Manny Murphy had told her about Jono Leith, one of his crew in their younger days. ‘A mad bastard’ he’d called him, before going on to say how he’d just
disappeared off the face of the earth one day.

It was the name that struck her as unusual. Leith.

‘Don’t suppose he was any relation to Zander Leith?’ she’d asked, feeling totally ridiculous for even vocalizing such a ludicrous question. Of course he wasn’t
related. Zander Leith was one of Glasgow’s most famous exports, the guy who’d gone off to Hollywood with his buddies Mirren McLean and Davie Johnston. They’d won Oscars and were
now three of the most powerful players in the industry. Surely she’d have heard if Zander’s dad was a lowlife criminal?

‘Zander . . .’ Manny’s tongue rolled the word around for a few moments, while a red rash of embarrassment crept up her neck. ‘You mean the bloke in the films?’

Sarah didn’t even fill the pause with an answer.

‘Aye, hen, that’s him. Back then he wis just Wee Sandy. And aye, Jono was his old man.’

His answer had astounded her. And she’d been even more intrigued after she did some research and discovered that Jono Leith had gone to ground back in 1989 and never resurfaced. Her
interest had been piqued again when she realized that the three friends who had gone to Hollywood hadn’t appeared together in a show, interview or event for the last two decades. Obviously
there had been a falling-out, but why?

It had been enough for her to beg Ed McCallum for a week off and head for LA. It had taken longer than a week, but eventually she’d discovered the truth and realized that, like Jono, it
should stay buried. His remains were still deep in the garden of Davie’s old house in Glasgow, steeped in cement by Davie and Zander, because Mirren—

‘Hi!’

Sarah’s attention was snapped back to the present by Mirren’s voice beside her.

‘Mirren, hi! Thanks for coming.’ She stood up to kiss the woman on both cheeks, before Mirren took the seat across the table.

Not that she was being critical, but Sarah couldn’t help noticing that Mirren looked tired and pale. It wasn’t a surprise, really. The woman had been through so much in the last year
and yet she was still standing. Sarah felt an inkling of sorrow that she could potentially add to those woes. Not today, though. She’d thought long and hard about how to play this and she
just hoped she could pull it off. It would all depend on whether Mirren bought in to her story.

The server was at their side in seconds with menus and water. Sarah waited until he was gone before opening with ‘How are you?’

‘I’m great, thanks.’ Her smile didn’t reach her eyes, but Sarah didn’t take her lie personally. The two women barely knew each other, and although they did share a
couple of mighty large secrets, they hadn’t yet established the kind of friendship that led to shared confidences and authentic feelings.

To any other diners, they’d have looked like two friends out for a casual lunch. They swapped small talk before ordering, then carried on exchanging stories, mostly amusing ones about
Davie, until Sarah’s chestnut ravioli and Mirren’s Jidori chicken arrived. Only when the first morsel had been speared did Sarah move the conversation on to the reason they were
there.

‘Any word from Brad Bernson?’

Mirren’s face didn’t even flicker with surprise. ‘No, nothing. He’s come up blank in LA, and I’ve asked him to contract a former colleague who now operates in the
UK to do some subtle digging there. I’m hoping he’ll come up with something soon. Preferably a death certificate.’

The venom in her words took Sarah aback. Not that it wasn’t warranted, because it most certainly was, but it still evoked a jolt when Mirren said it out loud.

Mirren put her fork down on her plate. ‘Have you come up with anything?’

‘Nothing yet. She was in a relationship with the guy in Liverpool – we both knew that. What I didn’t realize is that apparently she played an active role in his work. Turns out
she was quite the criminal. It was all behind the scenes, though, and no one in the know is prepared to talk so far for fear of reprisals.’

Mirren nodded thoughtfully. ‘So she was more than just a whore this time. S’pose it makes sense. We both know she had no limits. What about her boyfriend?’

‘He is definitely still in custody. But there’s been no mention of Marilyn’s name in any of the press or online reports, and certainly no connection to you. While that’s
a good thing, it also means that there’s no mention of where she is now.’

Mirren listened intently to every word and Sarah realized this was why she was arguably the most successful woman in Hollywood today. Nothing got past her. She absorbed, analysed.

Sarah hoped it wasn’t noticeable that she took a deep breath before her next entry into the conversation. She’d thought this through a dozen times in the last few days and she knew
that she had to put her proposal forward carefully. This was like a game of chess. One move. Then another. Repeat until checkmate.

‘I think you should know that Davie is being targeted by someone.’

Mirren looked up, aghast. ‘What do you mean, targeted?’

‘There was the whole “splattered with blood outside the studio” thing.’

‘But I thought that was just a crazy prank. To be honest, I thought he’d probably set it up himself.’