Breaking Hollywood (38 page)

‘What flight?’

‘Back from London. The girl.’

None of this was making sense. What girl?

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Zander!’ she exploded. ‘The stewardess on the plane back from London. Bernard Edwards called. He’s had a call from the
LA
Headline
,’ she said, naming the most notorious tabloid on the checkout rack. ‘She’s selling a story on you. She’s claiming you exposed yourself to her, sexually
harassed her, groped her. She’s portraying you as the worst kind of lecherous sex pest and she’s signed an affidavit saying it’s all true. Zander, what the hell happened?
What’s happening to you? What’s going on?’

The questions she was firing at him didn’t even register because his thought processes were still stuck at the accusations, the part of his brain that dealt with incoming threats screaming
in outrage. Groped her? Sex pest?

What the fuck . . . ?

‘Hollie, I swear—’

She put her hand up. ‘Zander, don’t. Don’t say it.’

His ab muscles clenched. Did she think . . . ?

‘I know she’s lying. I saw her, waving you off. Big grin. Thank you for flying Shag Air.’ Her tone held no humour, just weariness and sadness. As if her legs couldn’t
take the weight any longer, she flopped down onto the couch, her stricken face turned towards him.

‘Still think my conspiracy theories are crazy? Zander, none of this is making sense. We’ve had the wackos and the lawsuits before . . .’

Over the years, there had been many. The assault claims when he hadn’t even been in the same state. So many paternity claims he could have populated a kindergarten if they had been true.
There was one specimen of insanity who called the FBI claiming Zander had stolen his spaceship. It came with the territory. But the outrageous lies were easy to spot and even easier to disapprove.
This was different.

One weird incident was understandable, but this was starting to feel very different. The fight with Raymo Cash. The false drug-test results. The ransacked apartment. And now this. This was
starting to play out like he was being punked by a sadist.

‘But, babe, this is more than bad luck. It’s like you’re under siege. Under attack.’

Zander sat down next to her, rubbed his temples, trying to stop the anxiety that was building inside him from exploding. He needed to be on a board. He needed to be in a bar. He needed to be
anywhere else but here.

He was Zander Leith – he’d spent his whole life using alcohol and drugs to block out his issues and take away his problems. And now – oh, the fucked-up irony – life was
hitting him with all this shit when he couldn’t even go get wasted to get through it. This really wasn’t working for him.

‘Look, I’m heading over to see Bernard at the office now. Come with me, we’ll see what he says, get a better handle on it. Hopefully, he can shut it down until we can get to
grips with it. This is becoming a way too familiar pattern.’

Zander didn’t move. Couldn’t. His head hurt; his stomach ached; every single sense and nerve in his body was crawling with cravings.

‘You go, Holls. I’ve got some stuff to deal with. Something I need to do.’

Decision made, he was propelled into action. He sprang off the couch, grabbed his boots, pulled them on, picked up his car keys.

Hollie jumped up, her anxiety matching his. ‘Zander, don’t. Come with me. Don’t go anywhere else. Zander! Zander! Fuck!’

He was out of the door, running towards the car park, breathing laboured, sweat already forming on his forehead despite the cool of the early evening.

Had to get out of here. No more. He’d tried. He’d done everything they’d wanted him to. Nothing worked. He might have been wasted before, but at least there had been good
times. Crazy fun. Somewhere to go, things to do, people to do it with. Now? Nothing but shit. He’d always been a loner, but one that needed the flip side of crazy to balance it out. Now? He
couldn’t stand to be alone for a single night longer. It wasn’t psychological; it was a physical need. A desperation to feel differently. Feel like he was alive.

He pulled the car out of the car park and headed along Ocean Avenue towards the 10 freeway. The streets were packed with tourists, students, families heading back from the beach as the dusk
began to fall. Over to his right, the pier, the Ferris wheel giving off a kaleidoscope of colour, taking him back to that night in Shutters, with Adrianna, holding her, touching her . . .

Turning onto the 10, he put his foot on the gas, anxious to get there, needing to be there now. The miles passed; the minutes stacked up; his mind went to automatic. He knew the way to his old
stomping ground with his eyes closed. How many times had he driven there completely wasted and yet still made it to his favourite bar or club intact, clutching a fistful of money, a stoned model
and a death wish?

He cut off the freeway onto La Cienega, headed north, then hung a right onto Sunset. Almost there. Traffic was heavy, the tail end of rush hour. Most of the clubs not open yet, but the bars
already teeming with people. This was the world in which he belonged. Not the sanitized normality of five-star hotels and manufactured perfection. This was where he should be.

It took another fifteen minutes, tension twisting his gut until he got there, pulled into a parking space, cut the engine. He wanted to run in, burst through the door, but he forced himself to
stop, breathe. Did he really want to do this?

He put both hands on the steering wheel, then placed his forehead on top, not giving a damn who saw him or how it would look. He was done caring, done worrying. He had to start living his own
life, and he had to start now.

Unable to hold back any longer, he jumped out of the car, senses assaulted by the familiar sights and smells.

Over to his right, the bar he’d played poker in every week, even though it had cost him cash, jewellery and, once, the car that had sat outside on the kerb. He never did know when to fold
and walk away.

On the left, a strip joint that was home to Destiny, Carmen and Sugar, girls who knew their way to his apartment and who had shared many nights that were just clouds in his memory now. Next to
that, the club in which he’d punched out Raymo Cash the first time, earning him a huge fine and a stint in rehab. That was where he’d met Chloe. The thought made his gut twist a little
more. Nope, don’t go there. She’d understand. She was an addict. There was nothing about how he was feeling now that she wouldn’t recognize.

He paused at the door, took a breath, steeled himself. No going back.

Pulling open the door, he stepped inside. No one gave him a second glance, but why would they? No one was here for him.

He headed for a table in the corner, sat down, willing his breathing to return to normal.

Eventually, a woman approached him, smiling. She was tall, black, beautiful.

‘Hi. I’m glad you’re here,’ she said warmly.

He tried to return the smile, but the tension in his face made it tough.

Undeterred, like she dealt with this kind of reaction every day, she carried on. ‘Welcome to Chloe’s Care. I’m Pauline.’

With each word, his tension came down a tiny notch.

‘I’m Zander. I’m an addict, but I’m clean. And I just need to be here,’ he replied.

‘Dirty Little Secret’ – The All-American Rejects

Sarah

If she died right now, her tombstone would read as follows: ‘Here lies Sarah McKenzie, who died of a heart attack brought on from being a duplicitous spy who almost got
caught.’

The jet was more subdued than it had been after the earlier legs on the tour. The lights had been dimmed since take-off, and most of the band and crew were either sleeping or plugged into
headphones, watching stuff on laptops and tablets. At least the war between Logan and Jonell seemed to have calmed down. They’d been hanging out earlier and it all seemed amicable. Obviously,
their fight had been just another little blip on the landscape of life on the road.

Across from her, Logan was now fast asleep, mouth open, a tiny dribble of drool coming from the left-hand side of his lower lip. His fans called themselves the Logangstas. She had a hunch that
if the Logangstas could see their hero now, he might slip down their devotion scale just a little.

Her watch told her they still had two hours until they touched down in LA. Home. Kind of. Was it weird that she was beginning to think of that apartment in Marina del Rey as home? This time last
year, she’d never have believed she’d live anywhere but Glasgow, and yet here she was, on a jet, with a boy band, headed for her condo overlooking the sea.

That’s if she got there in one piece. At the moment, it was looking debatable. She turned her head to look a few rows back on the other side of the plane, and yep, Eli was still staring at
her.

She’d called his bluff back at the stadium and he’d backed down. Hadn’t asked to check her phone. His demeanour made it damn clear he was suspicious, though, and since that
moment, he hadn’t taken his eyes off her. He’d joined her and Logan in the limo after the gig. Sat within her eye line on the plane. And now, there he was, still staring. The guy would
make someone a great stalker one day.

Unable to resist, she gave him a sweet smile and a wave. He didn’t reciprocate, and she was fairly sure he was visualizing flying daggers entering her spinal area.

At least it would put her out of her misery. The suspense of not knowing what was caught on her phone was killing her, but there had been no opportunity to check it. If she’d disappeared
to the washroom for the length of time it would take to watch half an hour of footage, she’d arouse suspicion. Now everyone was sleeping, except Eli the Stalker, it was still too risky. He
could walk by at any moment, see what she was watching and there would be a cop car waiting for her on landing.

Making a decision, she stood up and headed over to where he was sitting. His expression didn’t change as his eyes watched her approach. Leaning down, careful not to waken anyone else, she
whispered, ‘Think I might have eaten something that doesn’t agree with me. If I’m not back out in ten minutes, can you call the medical team?’ He didn’t even make a
pretence of going along with the joke, just followed her with his eyes as she headed for the loo.

OK, so that bought her ten minutes. Not long enough to watch the whole thing, but at least it gave her time to fast-forward through it quickly and check if anything was untoward.

In the luxurious, black gloss bathroom – nope, they bore no resemblance to the tuna-can toilets on commercial flights, and yes, she was now ruined for any other mode of transport for life
– she sat on the lid of the toilet and plugged her in-ear headphones into her phone. A ton of messages popped up on the screen. Dammit! She’d flipped the phone to silent when she was
busy playing Bond. No time to check them now. Messages later, video first.

Sarah pressed ‘play’.

Nothing to see. An empty room. She fast-forwarded until she spotted the door from the dressing-room shower opening. ‘Play.’ An image of a naked Logan filled the screen. Oh holy shit!
And great – she was probably now breaking at least half a dozen federal laws, despite the fact that she’d snapped her eyes shut. Prising them slightly open again, she was relieved to
see he’d pulled on a pair of Calvins. And incidentally, whatever training regime he was following was totally working for him. He was, quite possibly, the fittest almost twenty-year-old
she’d ever seen.

On camera, she watched as he picked up his laptop and brought it over to the sofa where she’d been sitting. Closer. Closer. Oh no, no, no, no, stop!

He plumped down, missing the cushion that had been concealing the phone by inches. The evidence of how close she’d come to being caught made sweat beads pop out right across her
forehead.

Logan had his laptop open now, and the angle of her phone gave her a perfect view of the screen. The cursor moved to the Facetime icon and he clicked.

The ringing only lasted a few seconds before it was answered and a familiar face filled the screen. Pale, beautiful skin. Huge blue eyes. Long, deep red hair.

Lauren Finney’s smile showed perfect teeth and true affection.

‘Hello, baby,’ she greeted Logan.

Sarah’s eyes widened. Well, blow me with a boy-band member – she hadn’t seen that coming. What kind of crap investigative reporter was she that she had let that one totally get
by her? Logan and Lauren?

Although, of course, it made perfect sense. He was a teenage star, member of South City, lived a crazy life of fame and adulation.

Lauren was only a couple of years older, a girl discovered by Davie on
American Stars
, an artist who’d become a household name, a phenomenal success as a singer and host, who now
also lived a crazy life of fame and adulation.

They were made for each other.

‘You are so beautiful. I miss you, babe,’ Logan groaned. Sarah’s heart melted just a little more towards this kid. Whatever Mirren had done with him, she’d done it
well.

‘I miss you too. Wish you were here,’ she said, then laughed. ‘Not that you’d fit in at the moment, though.’ Sweeping her hand around the room behind her, Lauren
was obviously making a point. Sarah squinted to see what it was and eventually realized it was flowers. Dozens and dozens of flowers.

‘I wish I could say they were from me,’ Logan told her, smiling.

Lauren shook her head. ‘Honey, look at this. It’s out of control. Trust me, the day you send me flowers is the day we’re done. Even the smell of them gives me the creeps.
I’ve asked housekeeping to have them gone by the time I get back from the show.’

An arm became visible on the screen, and Sarah realized that Lauren was checking her watch. ‘Honey, I have to go. I can’t wait to see you later. Will you come straight from the
airport? I’ll be home by then.’

Logan nodded. ‘I will, and, Lauren?’

That incredible Julia Roberts smile again. Sarah decided if she were a less secure human being, she’d be excruciatingly jealous. Sod security, she was turning a mild shade of green.