Breaking Hollywood (9 page)

Back in the early days, the two women would share tubs of ice cream sitting on Santa Monica Beach late at night. Lou would dream of a Pulitzer, and Mirren would dream of writing bestselling
novels. The Pulitzer hadn’t materialized, but sheer graft had taken Lou to the top, while Mirren’s Clansman novels had delivered stellar success that led to movie-world glory. Now, they
had the money and sway to get them the best tables in Craig’s and Spago, but although the locations had changed, their friendship had not. They’d been together through every crazy twist
and turn that life had thrown at them.

Lou had never married, but there had been a couple of long-term relationships that perished because they always came second place to her career. She was Chloe’s godmother, was a second mom
to Logan and came close to punching out Jack Gore when Mirren caught him being unfaithful. She was the secret-keeper in Mirren’s life, the person who knew everything. Almost everything.
Mirren had never told her the real reason that she, Davie and Zander had come off that stage at the Oscars over twenty years ago and gone their separate ways, with no contact until events of recent
months brought them back together. She’d never told her the truth about her life back in Scotland.

One day, she’d tell her everything. But not yet.

As if she’d tuned into Mirren’s thoughts, Lou wiped hot mustard from her bottom lip and asked, ‘So how’s the big childhood-friends reunion thing working out?’

‘It’s . . .’ Mirren paused, searching for the words. ‘It’s . . . weird. Davie and I have had dinner a couple of times, and it feels easy and familiar, and then I
remember that we’re not sixteen any more and he’s not Davie Johnston from two houses away. It’s like I don’t know him, yet there’s a love there. It’s like having
a piece of me back and trying to work out where it fits.’

Lou nodded as she bit down on another fry. ‘Very poetic, my friend. And what about my favourite sex god? Tell me you’ve got naked with him. You’ll go right up in my
estimations.’

‘Sorry.’ Mirren shook her head, grinning. ‘I know you don’t get this, because you have no emotional depth and you’re sex-obsessed . . .’

‘All true,’ Lou agreed.

‘But Zander and I grew up with a brother-sister vibe and that’s exactly how it still feels.’

‘What a waste.’

‘See previous comment about shallow and sex-driven. Any way, he came over on Chloe’s birthday and hung out with Logan and me.’

‘Where was Fucker Gore?’

Mirren raised an eyebrow in mock rebuke. While she’d lost all her animosity against her arrogant asshole of an ex-husband, put all her negative feelings to one side for Logan’s sake,
Lou fully intended to bear the grudge on her friend’s behalf until the end of time.

‘Who knows?’ Mirren shrugged. ‘He came over for an hour or so, then bailed out.’

Lou pursed her lips, an expression Mirren had seen a million times before. There wasn’t a Hollywood innuendo, flirtation or attraction that Lou didn’t know about – ergo, it
made perfect sense that she’d have the details on what Jack was up to. Usually, Mirren didn’t want to know, but something in Lou’s wide-eyed expression made her curious.

‘OK, spill. Who is it?’

‘I heard he’s sending large bouquets to Carmella Cass. Daily.’

It took Mirren a moment to process. ‘The model from Davie’s show? Whose boyfriend . . . What’s his name?’

‘Jizzo,’ Lou added.

‘Yeah, Jizzo. He passed away last week?’

It was phrased as a question because it just seemed too bizarre to comprehend.

Lou took a sip of beer – another rebellious throwback to her uncouth youth – as she nodded. ‘Yup. Seems like Fucker Gore is lining himself up as a replacement already.
Although, in the scumbag’s defence, apparently he’s been hitting on her for a while. Didn’t take him long to move on once he found out he wasn’t the baby daddy,
right?’

‘Ah, suddenly, the rock T-shirts and tattoos make sense,’ Mirren nodded, laughing at the ridiculousness of it.

‘A tattoo? No. Fricking. Way,’ Lou shrieked, finding it equally hilarious.

‘Way,’ Mirren added, the giggles contagious. Both women were wiping tears away, when, like an ascending ringtone, the volume of the buzz in the room got louder. Mirren soon spotted
why.

Tonight was a very different crowd from the one that usually congregated in Staples Center for Lakers and Clippers games. At this moment, there were approximately 18,000 in the stadium, and the
majority were teenage girls, most of whom had pleaded, badgered or blackmailed their parents into buying them tickets and bringing them to see the boys whose posters adorned their walls.

Located on Level B, the Centurion Suite was available to those with American Express Centurion cards, the world-renowned, invitation-only black card that opened a world of spending and came with
no credit limit. It was reported that the average income of a black-card holder was $1.3 million, with assets of over $16 million. And small change.

In the lounge, the black-card holders mingled with the fans who owned premier seating tickets, usually corporate big shots and those who liked to pay a premium to enjoy dinner and seats with the
best view in the house.

But right now, none of the young girls in their designer clothes was looking at the buffet or at the parents who’d forked out $500 a head to get them here. Every single one of them was
watching the tall guy striding across the room, tailed by two black-suited security guards, both former members of the Israeli Secret Service. A hundred smart phones were raised in unison and video
buttons hurriedly pressed by shaking fingers.

Logan kissed both women on the cheek before slipping in beside his mother.

‘This is so typical of you two,’ he grumbled, feigning irritation. ‘I give you backstage passes and where are you? Up here, having food and ignoring your poor, neglected,
insecure son.’

Mirren laughed, gesturing around the room, marvelling at how grounded he was despite living in this overbearing bubble of adoration. ‘Yes, I can see why you feel that you’re lacking
in attention.’

Chairs started creaking as girls rose to their feet. Logan and Mirren both knew what that meant. In about ten seconds they’d start circling him, asking for autographs and selfies while
promising a lifetime of devotion.

One of the security guys cleared his throat, and Logan sighed. ‘Gotta go. Just wanted to say hello. Are you gonna watch from your booth?’

Mirren nodded. ‘We’d only get in the way backstage. And this way I get to see what everyone else does. I kind of like that.’

Lou leaned over. ‘And you’d better dedicate a song to me, as we both know I’m your favourite woman on God’s earth.’

‘I will, Aunt Lou,’ Logan agreed. ‘But only ’cause I’m scared of you.’

‘Excellent,’ Lou beamed. ‘I like it when I instil dread and fear.’

Mirren smiled. These two had always had a special camaraderie and she loved that Logan had someone else who cared for him almost as much as she did.

Watching him leave, a swell of pride caught in her throat, and right behind it a wave of sadness. It was just the two of them now. This time last year, they’d been a family. Now they were
a duo.

Spotting the emotional ricochet on her face, Lou reached over and put her hand over Mirren’s, saying softly, ‘No, no, no, no, don’t, baby. Don’t let it take this
moment.’

Mirren nodded, grateful, and shook off the melancholy. That’s how it worked. The wave of sadness ambushed you when you were down, but also when you were happy and least expecting it,
taking the brief moments of joy and turning them into moments of regret and longing for the girl who was no longer here and the family unit that was long gone.

‘Mirren? Hey.’

As if sent by the gods of distraction, both women looked up to see a familiar face. Mark Bock, president of Pictor, was standing looking slightly awkward, not a stance that was familiar for a
man who made deals worth millions of dollars on a daily basis. But that was in the boardroom, where he was Master of the Movie Universe. This was way out of his comfort zone. The young girl
standing next to him, wearing a South City T-shirt and a gold necklace that spelled out the word ‘Logan’ was eyeing him with undisguised scepticism.

‘Mark, hi!’ Mirren greeted him, rising to kiss him on both cheeks. Lou did the same, then gestured for him to join them.

‘Thanks, but we already have a table.’ He put his arm around the young girl who was still standing silently beside him. ‘This is my daughter, Jade.’

‘Hi. Lovely to meet you,’ Mirren offered. ‘Like the T-shirt.’

Jade responded with a shy, ‘Thanks.’

‘OK, so after spending my whole life trying – and failing – to impress her, I think I’ve finally managed it by telling her I work with Logan Gore’s mom. So we just
wanted to say hi.’

‘Ahhh, I understand completely,’ Mirren said. ‘How about I ask Logan to call into the office next week and perhaps you could come by and meet him?’

‘That . . . w-would . . . be . . . awesome,’ Jade stuttered, her excitement obvious. ‘Like, totally awesome.’

Mark laughed. ‘Mirren, thank you. I fear everything else life brings her will be an anticlimax after this.’

‘No problem at all.’

‘And now that I’ve resorted to emotional blackmail to coerce you into impressing my child, I’ll leave you to it. I’ll call you tomorrow. I think we’re due to sit
down and have a chat.’

‘I think we are,’ Mirren answered smoothly, giving no hint of her irritation over the latest Clansman negotiations.

Kissing both women, he mouthed another ‘Thank you’ and retreated to a table on the other side of the room.

‘Stop it,’ Mirren warned Lou.

Her friend feigned confusion. ‘Stop what?’

‘You’re already mentally setting me up with him.’

‘Yeah, and I can see why you’d hate that. I mean, he’s successful, powerful, looks like Liev Schreiber’s equally attractive brother and seems to be a caring dad
who’s here with his daughter instead of off trying to fuck a supermodel whose boyfriend just died. I can see why you’d hate his guts.’

‘Sarcasm. Really?’ Mirren retorted, enjoying playing around. Lou had a point. If she was looking for any kind of relationship, she could see that Mark would tick boxes. But the truth
was, it had been twenty years since she’d had any form of physical contact with any man other than Jack Gore, and that wasn’t a fact she was ready to change just yet.

They signed off the check and made their way out to their private viewing booth. Located right in the middle of the stadium, it had a semicircular black leather sofa, a black gloss table and an
eager waiter ready to take their drinks order.

He’d just hurried off to the bar when the lights went down and the contagious cheer rose to a deafening crescendo.

Spotlights roamed over the stage, the first notes of ‘Not Giving You Back’ were twanged on an electric guitar, and the roar got even louder.

Mirren stood, leaning against the balcony, immersed in a sea of thousands, goosebumps covering her body, completely unaware that while 18,000 people in that stadium were focused on the stage,
one head in the crowd was turned the other way, looking upwards, watching her.

‘I Knew You Were Trouble’ – Taylor Swift

Zander

Zander held the Marlboro loosely between his lips, the tip falling dangerously close to his chest as he inhaled.

‘You should give that up,’ Adrianna informed him as she rose from the scrunched sheets, the flawless contours of her ass shaded by the stream of light that forced its way through the
gap in the heavy chenille curtains.

‘I should,’ Zander agreed. ‘But sometimes I kinda like things that are bad for me.’

In the last week, he’d liked the beautiful thing that was bad for him on several occasions. They’d met most days, snatched moments, usually at their favourite hotel, Shutters On the
Beach, a resplendent colonial beauty on the sands at Santa Monica.

Adrianna’s perfect red lips widened as she leaned back down to kiss him. ‘So that’s what we have in common.’

Yes, it was.

She disappeared into the shower. Zander was only dissuaded from joining her when his cell phone rang and Hollie’s name flashed up. He knew better than to reject the call. Ignoring Hollie
was a dangerous move. It wouldn’t be the first time she tracked him down and then coerced room service into opening a hotel door for her.

‘Hi,’ he said, attempting to pull on his jeans with one hand.

‘Urgh, you’re naked. I can tell. And you’re smoking. Did we not talk about that?’

Zander’s laughter made him drop the phone and he had to scramble to reclaim it. ‘Your superpowers freak me right out,’ he told her.

‘And they should. Listen, where are you? I’m in Venice to collect you and the newsflash is that you’re not here. You’ve got an event in an hour and I’m holding your
suit. So unless you intend to go butt naked, I need to know where you are.’

‘Shutters On the Beach.’

Silence. Then, ‘Tell me you’re having a coffee in a picturesque setting and not doing anything you shouldn’t be doing . . . Fuck it, I don’t want to know. I’ll be
there in fifteen.’

He hung up just as Adrianna emerged from the bathroom, already dressed in a plain white shift dress, accessorized with red stiletto heels and reapplied scarlet lipstick. The information went
straight from Zander’s eyes to his brain to his instant erection.

There was no doubt about it, this was a physical craving just like the one he felt for a bottle of Jack and a line of coke.

She blew him a kiss, murmured a ‘
Ciao
’ and was out the door. Ten minutes and a quick shower later, he was sitting downstairs in the restaurant, which looked out onto the
famous Santa Monica boardwalk and pier. It was 5 p.m., late for the lunch crowd but too early for the evening diners.

As he sat at a window seat, he eyed the array of drinks behind the bar, feeling that familiar urge creeping through his veins. It would never leave him. That need, the absolute desperation for a
shot of bourbon. But it was never just one. The first time he’d knocked back a slug of alcohol at the age of fourteen, right after he’d battered his father with a baseball bat for
beating his mother one too many times, he was hooked. This was more than the west of Scotland affinity with a good drink. This was addiction, pure and simple. And he knew it was never going away,
no matter how many meetings he attended. Today, he wasn’t giving in to it. And hopefully not tomorrow.