Cut to the Chase (17 page)

How much of her troubles had the press caused? Had her previous chances at love been sabotaged from the beginning? Gossip could undermine the strongest of unions, chipping away at the foundation, weakening confidence and trust.

Then again, even when the press wasn’t around, she and Jessica were like a torch to dry kindle, igniting arguments without much provocation.

And all of that was absent with Paige.

“Lighting will be done in ten minutes,” Helen said as she approached. “Do you want Tawnya to touch up your makeup and hair?”

She nodded, knowing she’d have to somehow manage the rest of her scenes with the essence of Paige wrapped tightly around her.

*

Ricky Boswell avoided performing any of his own stunts, a practice that wasn’t unique in a town where legs, arms, and faces were insured for millions of dollars, but one he pursued to the extreme.

Stunt people were always brought in to execute complicated and dangerous action scenes, but an actor’s ego usually compelled him to get as much camera time as possible. Because of that, minor stunts were choreographed to allow face recognition. This made the audience believe that the star had carried out all of the daring feats.

But while sports cars were careening about or punches were being thrown, Ricky was usually comfortably ensconced in his motor home, feet kicked up on the coffee table, martini in hand. And that’s exactly where Paige was at that moment, tape recorder in hand, wondering how the hell she was going to work this lazy bit of truth into her book.

“It’s a well-known fact,” Ricky was saying, “that without the face of the film, there is no film. You see, people want to connect with a star, not just the story. They want to
be
that star. So, in essence, I am their warrior.”

“Warrior?”

Ricky pursed his lips as if placating a small child who asked where hamburgers come from. “Yes. People’s lives are drab. They go to the movies to escape. And I am there to take them on a journey of bravery and fortitude, of wisdom and triumph.”

“This movie is called
Chocolate Milk and Cake
.”

“Chocolate is a metaphor. It represents lust and greed. The warrior needs to protect civilization from that.”

Paige couldn’t even bring herself to raise her camera to capture such drivel. She had already gotten quite a few tremendous shots of Paul, Ricky’s stunt double, in action. He was an extremely pleasant and energetic man who attacked all the hazardous stunts with enthusiasm and a whoop of exhilaration each time the director yelled "cut."

And as she sat with Ricky, trying to pull out anything of interest that didn’t revolve around his extreme self-love, she decided that Paul would find a place in her book as well. He wasn’t a star, but he was dynamic enough to write about. She’d add a section about the people who stood in the shadows, people whose bodies were seen in motion but whose faces were always obscured.

Her spirits brightened for the first time since she’d stepped into the slimy puddle of Ricky’s ego sludge. She allowed him to continue his diatribe, even taking a few shots to document his repugnant lethargy, and let her thoughts wander to Avalon.

The night before had been a little rushed, but what else could she have done after the way Avalon had posed for her? The pull of her natural sexuality had been too attractive to resist, but so was Avalon as a person.

In many ways, Avalon was the opposite of her—brash where she was modest, outspoken where she was diplomatic, fearless where she was timorous. And she flew by the seat of her pants whereas Paige kept more grounded. In a world where Avalon stirred things up, Paige couldn’t even find the spoon.

And all that contradiction worked like a magnet close to iron, enticing her and drawing her toward Avalon so powerfully that Paige couldn’t drive her desire away if she’d tried.

People talked about the stars aligning, but Paige knew it was much more than that. The way she felt about Avalon was tantamount to a stratospheric explosion.

*

“The Chateau Marmont is booked for next Friday, darling,” Carmen said when she called Paige that afternoon.

Paige’s hands-free phone allowed her to maneuver through the traffic in Hollywood as she headed to Chris’s house for dinner. Sunset Boulevard was packed with commuters, but the side streets would be too, so she stayed where she was.

“Okay. I’ll tell Avalon. Thanks for arranging it.”

“It’s gratis, so make sure you credit them in the texts or photos.”

“No problem.”

“You’ve got less than two months, you know.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Do you have an idea for the cover yet?”

“I’m hoping that one from the Marmont will be it.”

“Even though it won’t be an action shot?”

“I’m bringing a lot of stunt gear. I’m picturing her by the pool, on a chaise lounge, dressed to the nines, but with all this grungy gear around her.”

“That’s a great idea.”

As Sunset Boulevard curved slightly at North Kings Road, a billboard came into view. Avalon Randolph was displayed front and center, sitting on the letters of the name of her recent film. Those incredible lips had to be two feet wide. But it was her hand that made Paige almost brake in the middle of traffic. Not twelve hours ago, those fingers had been inside her, pleasuring her and driving her wild.

“Oh, my God—”

“What?”

“Nothing. I’ll…I’ll have something to show you next week.”

Chris’s house sat on Palm Avenue, between Sunset and Santa Monica Boulevard. It was a small bungalow squished between rather bland, mid-century modern apartment buildings of pale stucco and nondescript balconies. Her diminutive dwelling was unassuming, but cheerful with its light blue paint and chocolate trim.

Abel barked from the backyard as Paige knocked on the door and then stepped in.

“Officer Bergstrom, show yourself.”

“I’m marinating,” she called from the kitchen.

“I doubt you’d ever get tenderized enough to be tasty,” Paige said as she entered the kitchen and poked her in the ribs.

“That’s what you think.” Chris uncovered the foil from a dish that held two steaks. “You’re just in time. Follow me.”

Abel barked again, trotting up to smell the back of Paige’s hand. Chris put the steaks on her barbeque and pointed to the patio table nearby. “Beer okay?”

Paige opened both bottles and handed one to her. “Perfect.”

“I made potato salad, I hope that’s all right.”

“You’re such a housewife.”

“You obviously haven’t seen the laundry room.”

“As stinky as you and Abel get? I won’t anytime soon. How are things in the life of my K9 copper?”

“Great. He got his third bite last night.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Some knucklehead wouldn’t come out of a house we were serving with a warrant. I called four times, told him I’d release my dog, and the idiot stayed put.”

“I bet he regrets that now.”

“Yeah, all twenty-eight stitches of that decision.”

“Ouch.”

“But it was a good night. We seized ten grams of meth and five thousand dollars.”

“Nice.”

“How was your second date?”

“Good. Great. Weird.”

“In that order?”

“No, the weird started first. We were at the Abbey and Jessica showed up.”

“Jessica, as in Jessica Wiley?”

“Yup.”

“Did it get ugly?” Chris turned the steaks over and then pulled her cell phone from the pocket of her shorts.

“You could say that. Avalon flew off the handle and caused a scene. I mean, Jessica was in her face, but it was all too dramatic for me.”

“Yikes,” Chris said as she tapped on her phone.

“We talked about it after. I told her I’m just not used to drama and craziness.”

“That, you’re not.”

“It certainly wasn’t fun.”

“It doesn’t look like you were having fun.” Chris turned her cell phone so that Paige could see the screen. The video was shaky and a little dark, but it captured the whole confrontation.

“Shit.”

“There are more angles of it. Wanna see?”

“No. That’s enough.” Paige put her beer down. “Damn it.”

“It’s to be expected. Come on, you’re dating a celebrity.”

“Not all celebrities act like that.”

“How is she in private?”

“Not that way at all. She’s kind and sexy and funny, actually.”

“So she’s got a public personality. I doubt it’s who she really is.”

“It’s part of who she is.”

“What? You don’t have bad parts? Come on, I’ve seen you when you haven’t gotten enough sleep.”

Paige glared at her.

“How was the rest of the night?”

Wonderful couldn’t describe it fully. “Fantastic, tremendous, remarkable.”

“Wow, all those?”

“I’m crazy about her.”

“That’s awesome!”

“It’s going so fast.”

Chris sat down next to her. “This isn’t the era of Victorian prudishness. It’s perfectly all right to race down the road of romance.”

“I’m not a prude. I’m just nervous. What if she dumps me without even a phone call? What if she stomps on my heart?”

“Your heart has been stomped on before and you survived.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“No, it’s not easy for me to say. Jen nearly killed me when she left. Would I have been with her if I knew she’d eventually leave? Yes. I loved her. So I took the chance.”

She was right. Still, Avalon seemed like a race car with no brakes. And Paige’s heart was now strapped to the hood.

But what could she do? She wanted her.

*

Early Wednesday morning, Paige was making notes for the Chateau Marmont shoot. She had two days to rent equipment and arrange the props that would enhance her chosen theme. Most of the phone calls were made and as she waited for some answers back, she grabbed a pad of paper and began sketching ideas of some photo compositions.

Her doorbell rang. Chris was at work, so it wasn’t her, and other than some wonderfully sexy texts she’d shared with Avalon, they hadn’t spoken since their last night together.

A tall man in a well-tailored black suit stood at the door.

“Are you Paige Cornish?”

“Yes?”

“Avalon Randolph would like to meet with you. I’m here to pick you up. She wanted me to ask if you were free for about twelve hours.”

“Twelve hours?”

“Maybe more. She would also like you to pack a jacket and wear hard-soled shoes.”

His demeanor gave away no more information, and judging by the serious look on his face, she doubted she’d get more by asking specific questions.

The Marmont shoot was coming together and she could answer her cell phone from anywhere, so she actually did have twelve hours, or more, free.

Curiosity tiptoed up her spine. What was Avalon planning?

*

The driver took her to the Bob Hope Airport in Burbank. Rather than arriving at the departure terminal, he drove to the private-jet section and out onto the tarmac. Passing a few planes that were tied to the ground, they headed for one that was pointing toward the runway.

“What’s this?” Paige said under her breath. Obviously, she’d spoken loud enough for the driver to respond, “This is a Learjet 60.”

That wasn't really what she was asking, but as soon as he came to a stop next to the plane’s staircase, Avalon stepped out and walked down to greet her. Paige’s mouth was open as she got out of the limo, and she was about to repeat her question when Avalon took her in her arms and squeezed her.

“Now don’t protest,” Avalon said quickly, then kissed her.

“Why would I protest?” Was this going to be a flight to San Francisco for lunch? Maybe a trip to Catalina Island for some sightseeing?

“We’re going to Oklahoma!”

Paige shook her head as if she hadn’t heard her correctly. “Oklahoma?”

The pilot appeared at the top of the steps. Avalon took her hand and they ascended the stairs. Behind the pilot stood a flight attendant and the copilot. They all greeted her by name and stepped aside.

Paige had never been in a private jet before. It had only seven seats, which looked more like big, white leather massage chairs. The interior walls were impeccably white and the thick carpet was silver-gray. A rather large fold-down table in front of the first two seats held a platter of fresh-cut vegetables, fruit, and breads. Little beads of moisture on a champagne bottle glistened from the sun as it rested in a silver bucket. Next to that were, Paige assumed from the sparkle, two cut-crystal flutes.

“Buckle up,” Avalon said as she sat down.

Paige lowered herself into the seat, buckled her belt, and turned to Avalon. “Oklahoma?”

“Curious, aren’t you?”

“Very.”

Avalon took her hand. “You’ll see soon enough.”

The pilot slowly eased the jet down the runway, and as they gained speed, Paige watched the city of Burbank move by her window and then slowly fall away as the jet climbed rather swiftly toward the clouds.

When they’d leveled out, the flight attendant stepped up and asked if they wanted champagne. Paige, still quite surprised, just looked to Avalon.

“Yes, please.”

As quickly as the attendant appeared, she was gone. Paige wondered if that’s what the private part of private jet meant.

“To an adventure,” Avalon said as she held up her glass.

“An adventure?”

The look on Avalon’s face seemed to be a mix of excitement and delight, and her eyes had never looked so bright. “I know the only things you’ve uttered so far are questions, but I assure you, the answers are forthcoming.” She shifted closer. “And for now, let’s just enjoy the time without cell phones and other distractions.” They kissed and Paige felt that wonderfully soft tongue that had pleased her so well the last time they’d been together.

Avalon began to tenderly caress her face, and Paige relaxed into the sensation, enjoying the reassurance of Avalon’s affection.

She decided that wherever they were going didn’t matter. Being together did.