Breaking Hollywood (27 page)

Sarah nodded, nonplussed. ‘Yep, I can see why you’d think that. But it came with a death threat. And there have been other incidents. Someone shot at his gates just a few minutes
after his children had passed through them.’

‘Oh God.’ Already pale, it now appeared that Mirren had no blood left under her facial skin at all. ‘Do you think it’s my mother?’

Sarah shook her head slowly. ‘I really don’t think so. If the rumours from the UK are true, she would probably know how to set something like this up, and she’d have the money
and maybe even the contacts here. Not that help would be hard to find. It takes a day in LA to rustle up someone prepared to do anything for cash. But why would she only target Davie?’

‘Never underestimate how much she hates all of us or how evil she truly is’ Mirren replied, her voice low.

‘I don’t,’ Sarah replied. OK, here goes. Knight makes a move on pawn. ‘However, I think this bears the hallmarks of someone younger. Someone internet-savvy and looking to
make a name for themselves. You’re right in what you said earlier – it seems like a stunt. And besides, nothing has happened to Zander, has it?’

‘Not as far as I know . . .’ Mirren answered calmly. ‘But I haven’t spoken to him in a while.’

‘I’m sure he’d have let you know if anything had.’

‘You’re probably right. Did you tell Davie about Marilyn?’

Sarah’s temperature rose a couple of degrees. This was where it was going to get tricky. Rook moves three squares, takes bishop.

‘I haven’t. I’ll be honest, I thought about it, but as we discussed before, it would only add to his worries, and God knows, he’s stressed out enough.’

Mirren thought about this for a few moments. ‘I still think it’s probably a good idea to keep it that way. At least until we know more.’

Sarah nodded. ‘His head of security has got a full-scale operation on it. I think he’s the most protected man in LA right now.’

‘I bet that’s pleasing him,’ Mirren said, smiling, her sarcasm lifting the mood a little.

Sarah was back on the chessboard. Queen takes bishop.

‘But I wanted to ask you a favour. One that serves both of us, actually.’

‘Go on,’ Mirren prompted.

‘You know I’m writing a book about fame and the vagaries of Hollywood. One of the areas I’m covering is teen stars, youngsters who have made it big and are facing the kind of
pressures no one outside their world can understand.’

Mirren didn’t reply, just listened.

‘Logan falls into that category.’

Sarah spotted the suspicious raise of a lioness’s eyebrows as she prepared to protect her cub and rushed to clarify. ‘Of course, I don’t want to write about Logan . . .’
That was true, although semantics might be in play there. She didn’t say she
wouldn’t
, only that she didn’t want to. ‘But I would much appreciate experiencing the
world that he lives in. I know he’s about to go on tour with South City . . .’

‘Tomorrow,’ Mirren confirmed.

‘Yes. And I’d like to go with them. Can you arrange that?’

‘You said it would help me too?’ Mirren asked.

Queen has opportunity to face off against queen.

‘I’m one of the few people who knows of Marilyn McLean’s existence, knows what she looks like and the threat that she poses. If that threat is against you, it could also be
against your son. I know he’s got a security team protecting him, but they’re not likely to be on their guard against an elderly woman. I can keep an eye on him. Look out for any signs
that something could be amiss.’

Queen makes aggressive move on opponent’s queen. Now the wait to see if the game was hers.

It was a few moments before Mirren replied, her words thoughtful.

‘I agree. I’ll make it happen. I’ll have my assistant contact you with the details. And thank you.’

Sarah had won, yet she now felt crap. Should she have told her the whole truth? All of the above stands, but hey, I also saw your son buying drugs and I want to get the inside story? Economics
of truth were in play once again. Both women had agreed not to tell Davie so as not to panic him over a situation that may not exist, and now Sarah was doing the same to Mirren. And yet this
didn’t feel like an act of magnanimity.

‘Is it wrong that this scene is making me freak out a little? Should I be worried?’

Neither woman had noticed Davie approaching, and now he slid into one of the other two chairs at the table. Sarah had asked him to join them for coffee, saying that she was having a ‘get
to know you’ lunch with Mirren.

Across the table, Mirren’s throaty laugh sounded utterly authentic.

‘Absolutely. Two of your girlfriends deep in conversation. We just need Jenny here to compare notes.’

Sarah watched in awe and admiration as Mirren transitioned from the worry and gravity of their conversation to the carefree chat of now. If Mirren hadn’t made it as a writer and
moviemaker, she’d definitely have had a career in acting.

‘Listen, I have to shoot back to the office,’ Mirren was saying now, and Sarah realized it was because she couldn’t keep the pretence up any longer.

‘OK, but tell me first what you two were talking about,’ Davie said, clearly enjoying the company.

Sarah decided it was time to execute the final move in the plan. ‘Actually, we were talking about my book. Mirren has had a brilliant idea that will really help me,’ she said,
transmitting her thoughts to Mirren via their locked gaze.

Mirren took the hint. ‘I did. And don’t hate me, Davie, but you’re going to have to live without your lady for a couple of weeks. I suggested she go on tour with the boys.
It’ll be great material for her, and I’ll feel so much better if Logan has another friendly face with him. Can’t have my baby getting lonely.’

Davie’s stages of reaction were so transparent it was almost funny. The knee-jerk frown said he didn’t want Sarah to be away from him, the subtle shift to pensive said he realized it
would help, the smile and glance at Mirren said he’d do anything for his old friend, and finally the nod of the head said that he’d decided it was a great idea.

Absolutely! You know, I’m so glad you two are meeting up. Not to sound like an emotional adolescent . . .’

‘You were always an emotional adolescent,’ Mirren teased.

Davie winked at her. ‘OK, I was. But anyway, I knew you’d get on and that makes me happy. Although –’ he reached out and put his hand over Sarah’s ‘–
you’d better behave yourself on that tour. I don’t want you getting into any dodgy situations,’ he said, his tone jocular but making a point.

‘Oh, I will,’ she reassured him. ‘Anyway, it’s a tour with young guys in a boy band. What could go wrong?’

Checkmate.

‘Shine’ – Take That

Davie

‘Have you been eating right? You looked far too skinny last time I saw you. It’s not normal.’

Davie’s eye roll was so protracted that he almost crashed the Veyron into a Stars’ Homes bus tour heading down North Beverly Drive. There would have been a story for the tourists to
take home.

‘Yes, Ma, I’m eating right. And I’m not skinny,’ he said, realizing he was once again back being the petulant twelve-year-old. Skinny? Did she have any idea of the work
that it took to keep this body looking like this? This wasn’t skinny; this was 9 per cent body fat over muscle that had been built, pumped and honed by a former Olympic champion boxer turned
personal trainer to anyone who could afford his extortionate fees. Davie could and did. And he wasn’t skinny.

‘How are the kids?’ Ena asked, speaking loudly because she was still of the opinion that transatlantic calls required you to raise your voice and speak more slowly than normal. Ena
was of a generation that hadn’t quite caught up with modern life. She still lived in the house in Glasgow where Davie had grown up. She had retired from her three different cleaning jobs now,
so spent her nights volunteering on the soup bus in Glasgow’s city centre, a mobile refuge for the homeless and street workers who needed a meal, a warm blanket or just someone to talk
to.

The trappings of his life did not impress her in the least. Others saw a $40-million baroque mansion. She saw a huge house that was far too big and ‘Who would want to rattle about in
there?’

Others saw a career that epitomized the very pinnacle of success. She wondered when he was going to get a real job and actually build something because ‘All you do is talk for a living.
It’s not proper work, is it?’

And when he’d married Jenny Rico, a successful someone who was regarded as one of the great beauties of her time? ‘Far too concerned about herself, that girl. Doesn’t lack
confidence, does she?’

All of which was said in the dry, caustic tone of a Glasgow mother determined not to let her offspring, or his spouse, get too big for their Gucci boots. ‘Five hundred dollars for a pair
of boots? You two need your heads examined.’

‘They’re great, Mum,’ he said now. ‘I saw them last night. They were asking when you’ll be back over.’ He wasn’t lying to her. For some inexplicable
reason, the kids loved their grandmother, probably because she was the only person in their world who actually treated them like kids, told them off, insisted on manners and good behaviour, while
being happy to spend all day with them, not entertaining them with elaborate days out and expensive shopping trips, but just talking. Hanging out. Last time he’d left them alone, he’d
come home to find them on their hands and knees, scrubbing the kitchen floor, all three of them laughing at a joke he wasn’t in on. It was one of the best things he’d ever seen, despite
the fact that Ivanka had taken it as a personal slight on her cleaning standards and sulked for a week.

‘Och, I’ll be back over soon, son. Maybe Easter.’

‘I’ll book you a ticket,’ he told her, delighted.

‘Aye, OK. But not one of those first-class ones. Shocking waste. All that money just to lie down in a room next to folk you’ve never met.’

They said goodbye and he hung up, still laughing. She was some woman. Brutal. Honest. And utterly unimpressed by him. Actually, he realized, a lot of the same qualities as Sarah. Maybe that was
why she was so damn infuriating. He wanted her to be fulfilled and happy, but damn it, there was no denying the truth. If he was totally honest with himself, he wanted her at his side, not working,
just hanging out, having fun, being there when he needed her.

Yes, he was a selfish prick. That wasn’t a newsflash. And yes, he knew he was coming off like a remnant from
The Good Husband Guide, 1940.

But it was more than that. She kept him off balance, always feeling a little insecure, and for a guy who was self-aware enough to realize that his inherent personality sat on a seesaw of
insecurity and arrogance, that wasn’t a good thing. Falling in love? Good. Falling in love with a woman who wanted to live life on her own terms? A one-way street to instability.

Shaking off the irritation, he pulled the Veyron into a reserved space outside the network’s HQ.

He was always wary about leaving it on the street, aware of the glances of the people walking by on the sidewalk. Still, it felt pretty good to be him right now. His mother might think he was
too skinny but he knew that by LA standards, he was looking killer, especially today. Navy trousers from the new Tom Ford line, a pale blue shirt, his trademark colour ever since a stylist told him
that it emphasized the colour of his eyes, and on his wrist, a vintage Panerai Kampfschwimmer, this one bought for $1.5 million at auction in New York when the network had commissioned
Here’s Davie Johnston.

The receptionist beamed at his arrival and took him personally to the executive lift, punching in a code that would take him to the top-floor boardroom.

When the door slid open, he saw that the board, Mellie and his agent, Al Wolfe, were already seated.

‘Good of you to get here,’ Al said breezily.

The suits smiled at the predictable joke. Of course they smiled. Davie was riding high in the ratings at the moment, therefore he could do no wrong. He could be late. He could fuck up. He could
screw their wives. But as long as he was pulling in record viewers and avoiding public scandal, they’d indulge his every whim and late arrival.

At the head of the table, Hank Wilson, one of the few old-school TV guys who hadn’t been replaced by a young, flash bastard who spent all day talking about his work as ‘art’
while ruthlessly cutting corners to save budget. Hank didn’t get the whole reality-TV thing at all, but he was six months off retirement, so he’d defer to his right-hand woman,
Jacqueline Cosh. Davie gave it ten minutes until she mentioned her ‘art’.

Hank launched straight into business. ‘Good to see you, Davie. Jacqueline, can we have a ratings summary?’ he asked.

Jacqueline tripped off a whole swathe of figures – domestic, East Coast, West Coast, syndication, international and online numbers – but Davie waited for the summary.

‘
The Dream Machine
is at number two in entertainment. In reality,
Beauty and the Beats
is sitting at number three.
American Stars
is number one. And in talk
shows,
Here’s Davie Johnston
was number one this week, and we’re only four weeks in.’

The whole room burst into a round of applause. Davie didn’t stop them. Number one. Thank you, Jizzo Stacks. You just bought me another Panerai.

‘Congratulations, Davie. Great job.’

Davie didn’t need to be told. Even Al Wolfe’s pointed face beamed with happiness, and Davie knew it was because there was a clause in the contract that added 25 per cent to
Davie’s fee if they reached number one in the first six months. Al would, of course, inherit 10 per cent of that. Not bad for just turning up to work in the morning.

Jacqueline Cosh stepped in again, obviously keen to establish her presence by taking control. ‘OK, so tell us about the proposal for the new show. Obviously
Beauty and the Beats
has reached the end of its . . . lifespan,’ she finished, suddenly aware that her rush to assert her authority had prompted an unfortunate use of words.