Hollywood Girls Club (22 page)

Celeste, having made her request prior to Kiki’s taking this call, watched as her publicist spoke to a magazine editor and waved her hands to emphasize why the B-list star of whom she spoke should be on the cover of
Vanity Fair
. On the wall behind Kiki hung a calendar studded with notes on film premieres and press schedules for her busiest clients. Celeste knew that Kiki’s client list was tiring. Five years before, when Damien had urged Celeste to sign with Kiki, she was
the
publicist to have, but because of a split within Kiki’s firm (three younger yet top-level publicists left, taking their clients, and started their own publicity firm down the street), Kiki’s roster had shrunk and so had her income. Now Kiki concentrated on signing young talent. Up-and-comers. Actors with a few good credits but great potential. This way, in five to ten years, as these actors emerged from their film roles with awards and big box office, Kiki would once again be on top of the publicity world.

Celeste also knew that Damien had brought Brie Ellison to Kiki. It was a conflict of interest, of course, with Kiki forced to do damage control for Celeste’s image during the divorce while trying to keep Brie’s name and photos in all the right magazines for as long as the public’s interest held. Celeste hoped to get what she needed from Kiki by playing upon these two things: Kiki’s insatiable desire for young talent and her guilt over the conflict of interest. Celeste smiled sweetly at her publicist as she hung up the phone.

“Celeste, I will not give you the security code to Brie Ellison’s house.” Kiki peered at Celeste through her glasses.

“But Kiki, I need it.”

“No way. Can you imagine? Tomorrow I read of a triple murder-suicide, you, Brie, and Damien, and me never knowing who killed who? No way!”

“Kiki, if you don’t give me this—”

“What? What will you do?” Kiki’s eyes turned cold and her smile faded. “Cici, I know where
all
the bodies are buried, even the ones you killed. So don’t take any kind of tone that even resembles a threat. Got it?”

Celeste turned up the wattage on her charm. “Kiki, my love, you are my publicist. I trust you with every one of my flaws. Everything that makes me human. All those things I want to hide.”

“All right, then. Now go do what stars do.”

Celeste stood and put on her Lara Bohinc sunglasses. “I don’t know why I even bothered. I guess it’s only because Bradford Madison’s become like a little brother to me.”

Kiki’s head snapped up. “Bradford Madison?”

Celeste knew that dropping Bradford’s name would catch Kiki’s interest faster than the paparazzi could say cheese. “Yes, Bradford Madison. He stayed with me during principal photography for
Seven Minutes Past Midnight
. You know, to keep his nose clean.”

“Go on.”

“Well, it seems like he and Brie started a little thing.”

“Really?” Kiki leaned forward. “I had no idea. Brie didn’t mention it. How could I not know this? How could
People
,
Star
, and
Us
not know this? This is huge news.”

“It’s very new and very under wraps. Especially since Damien is away on location scouts. I guess Brie does have a heart and wants to tell Damien about Bradford in person. Such a wonderful girl. So much more than Damien deserves.”

“You’re right there.”

“They had a tiff. Bradford and Brie. And, well, Bradford came to me and begged me to help. Darling, what was I to do? Seems that Bradford is really quite the romantic, and he wants to sneak into the house and do the whole rose-petals-champagne-I’m-so-sorry thing for Brie. I know it’s a little cliché. But young love …”

“Hmm … This Madison-Ellison thing could be big. Very big. It needs to be encouraged. Yes. Okay. I’ll do it. Have Bradford call me.”

“Kiki, my darling, no need. Bradford is here.”

“He’s here? Bradford Madison, the one client I’ve been salivating over for two years, is here? Cici, I adore you! Where? Where is he?”

“Right outside. Have your assistant send him in,” Celeste said.

“Boom Boom,” Kiki yelled, “bring Bradford in.”

Celeste could tell by Bradford’s slow shuffle that he didn’t want to enter this lion’s den. Kiki had, in fact, pursued Bradford mercilessly for over two years.
But if this is his penance,
Celeste thought,
so be it
. He’d absolutely broken Christina’s heart before she departed for Oxford.

“Bradford, so good to see you again.” Kiki rushed around her desk and grabbed him and kissed both his cheeks. She pulled back, eyeing Bradford’s face over the top of her glasses. “My goodness, lover,
Seven Minutes Past Midnight
must have been a rough set—look at those bruises! But your skin is so young it will heal. Believe me, I know, bruises heal. Now, darling, you’ve been a very naughty boy,” Kiki said, wagging her finger at him. “You haven’t returned any of my calls. Sit, sit. Tell me all about this little love affair with my client Brie Ellison.”

“Well, it’s not exactly—”

“Bradford, don’t be shy,” Celeste interrupted. “Kiki knows everything about everyone—it’s her job.”

“So rose petals and champagne.” Kiki peered over the top of her glasses again. “Well, red is her favorite color, and I think that Veuve is her favorite champagne. We have some in the fridge out front; take a bottle when you leave. Boom Boom, get me Brie’s security code,” Kiki yelled. “Now, darling, I am happy to do this little favor for you, but you must promise me that when you and Brie go public with your relationship, I get to announce it, and of course a dinner. You and me. There is so much I can do for your career. I have so many ideas.”

A tiny Asian girl with dark glasses rushed in and handed Kiki a card.

“Here it is,” Kiki said, passing it to Bradford. “Now, don’t you share this with anyone.”

“Sure,” Bradford said.

“And have Boom Boom schedule our dinner before you leave. Now go, go.” Kiki waved both the actors toward her office door. “Both of you go make hits!”

Celeste smiled at Kiki and glanced at Bradford.
Yes, they certainly needed to make a hit.

*

Celeste had parked up a hill and around the corner from Brie’s Silver Lake home. The spot gave her the best view of both the drive and the front door. She held a wireless receiver in her hand that got both audio and video transmissions from the tiny camera (shaped like an exact replica of the Mont Blanc pens Damien used) that Bradford was positioning on the nightstand next to Brie and Damien’s bed. She also wore a wireless earpiece with a microphone, as did Bradford, so the two of them could talk.

Very high tech. Who knew that good divorce attorneys came equipped with spy gadgetry.

“Bradford, that’s perfect. Great view of the room and the bed,” Celeste said into the microphone. “Now get out of there.”

Headlights flashed in Celeste’s rearview mirror. She scrunched down in her car. The last thing she needed was someone calling the police because they thought she was a peeper. As the black Hummer cruised by, she saw the license plates. BIGD.
Shit
, she thought.
It’s Damien and Brie.

“Bradford, can you hear me? Bradford!”

“What’s up?”

“I’ve got Damien and Brie pulling into the drive. They must have taken an earlier flight. Get out.”

“You’re kidding? Cici, there’s only one way into this place, and I’m on the second floor.”

“Then hide.” Celeste peeked around the steering wheel. She watched as Brie hopped out of the Hummer and Damien went around back and pulled out their luggage.

“Bradford, she’s opening the front door now. Hide, do you hear me? Hide!”

“Cici, shut up. Okay, I hear you. Just make sure the damn thing is recording.”

Celeste looked at the wireless receiver. “We’re good. Bradford, where are you?”

“Closet.”

“Their closet?”

“Yeah.”

“But they’ve got luggage. Clothes to unpack.”

“Cici, I know Brie: There won’t be any unpacking tonight.” Celeste watched Damien haul the last bag into the house and shut the door.

“Damien, let’s go to bed,” Celeste heard Brie call, and then Brie walked into frame. “I need to relax. Can we get one on?”

How romantic
, Celeste thought.
She sounds just like a man
. Damien passed into frame. Celeste was shocked. She hadn’t seen Damien in months and he looked haggard and old.

“Brie, really, I’m just too tired. What about in the morning?”

Damien too tired for sex? That was a new one.

“I’ll toss and turn all night if we don’t just do a quicky.”

“Fine,” Damien said. “Let me brush my teeth and then we’ll get this done.”

Damien walked out of frame.

“Get this done?” Brie muttered under her breath. “Old man.”

Celeste watched as Brie approached the full-length mirror next to the closet door. She slowly took off her clothes, watching herself undress as though doing a striptease for herself.

Damien came back into frame, wearing his silk boxer shorts. His body showed the effect of forgoing his morning swims; the aging that Damien managed to keep at bay with rigorous physical exercise and an impeccable diet had assaulted his body. He looked every bit of his fifty years plus five more. The best word to describe his appearance, Celeste thought, was
awful
.

Damien reached for the light next to the bed to switch it off (not that it mattered, since the spy camera had night-vision capability).

“Leave it on, baby. I’ve got lines to read when we’re done,” Brie said.

Damien gave an exhausted sigh and rolled over to the sexual succubus lying with him in bed.

Celeste watched as Brie mounted Damien like a dog deciding to dry-hump a leg. Celeste flipped the screen down and took the earphone out of her ear (keeping the two-way radio piece in, in case Bradford needed her).

Bradford! Poor Bradford
, Celeste thought, stifling a giggle. He’d get the full effect of Damien grunting and Brie moaning while he stood in Brie’s closet. Celeste knew Damien would conk out after the sex, but she hoped that Brie would work on her lines in another room so Bradford could slip out of the house. The idea of spending hours sitting in her Porsche in Silver Lake waiting for Bradford to find an escape route irritated her and marred her brief good mood.

In fact, the entire evening was preposterous. Spy cameras, two-way walkie-talkies, video receivers and digital displays. And for what? Revenge. The sweet taste of revenge. Knowing that every time she placed her Black Card down to purchase a pair of Ferragamos or Louboutins, it wouldn’t be her money paying for the purchase but Damien’s. He’d always been cheap. Celeste blamed it on his Midwestern upbringing. His family had money; they just never spent it. Damien was the same way.

“Cici!” Bradford yelled into Celeste’s earphone.

“What?”

“Start the car,” Bradford gasped.

“What?”

“Start the car.”

He sounded like he was running.

“Bradford, where are you?” Celeste turned the key in the ignition.

“Unlock the door.” Celeste turned and saw Bradford rapping on the glass. “Hurry, hurry. Damien’s behind me.”

As soon as the door lock clicked, Bradford jumped into the Porsche and Celeste gunned the accelerator. As she turned the corner, she saw Damien, barefoot and wearing his boxers, bent over at the waist gasping for air.

“What happened?” Celeste asked, taking the next corner fast and then slowing down.

“The cats.”

“What?”

“All six were in the closet with me. One sitting on my head. One curled up on a box right under my nose and another using my leg as a scratching post,” Bradford said, pulling up his leg and examining the marks.

“Were they finished?” Celeste asked.

“Weren’t you watching?” Bradford asked, incredulous.

“Couldn’t.”

“Well, it sounded like it from the closet.”

*

“Howard?” Cici heard a rustling noise over her phone.

 “Cici? It’s one a.m.”

“I got it,” Cici said, unable to contain her excitement.

“Got what?”

“Tape of Damien and Brie.”

“How di—? Never mind, don’t answer that. Okay, let me think. God it’s late. Tomorrow put it in a plain brown envelope and mail it to my office. Do not put a return address on it, do you understand?”

“Sure,” Celeste stood in front of her giant TV, an image of a buck-naked Brie frozen on the screen.

“And don’t lick the stamp on the envelope; use water.”

“Not a problem.”

“Don’t use your local post office, either,” Howard said, a sigh escaping over the phone.

“Drive over to West Hollywood or the Valley; yeah, the Valley would be best.”

“That it?” Cici giggled. She was giddy, her endorphins running high.

“Yeah that’s it. Is it good?” Howard asked.

Celeste turned back to the television and clicked Play, the image of Brie straddling Damian coming to life. “It’s good,” Celeste said, turning up the volume so Howard could hear Brie’s moans over the phone. “In fact, I think it’s her best performance ever.”

Chapter 23

Lydia Albright and Her Dior Open Pumps

Lydia didn’t want to show Zymar’s rough cut. It was good, but the film wasn’t ready. Unfortunately, her desire held little weight when compared to Arnold’s order to screen the movie for him privately that evening. Arnold’s order, plus an explicit threat that he would pull the film’s editor for another film and reassign the editing suite if she didn’t obey, was at this critical juncture, a fate almost worse than shelving the film.
They were too close to the end to lose the film now.
So Lydia grudgingly acquiesced, and now she and Zymar sat side by side in the third row of one of Worldwide’s screening rooms, with Josanne and Arnold several rows behind them.

“Lyd, it’s not even color-corrected yet,” Zymar whispered across the armrest.

“They know you’re only three weeks into postproduction.”