Hollywood Girls Club (27 page)

“Good thinking, dear. There’s two more when we’re finished with that one.”

*

They dined outside under the stars. The meal, as always when Mitsy cooked, was impeccable. The remains of the food and two empty wine bottles littered the table between them. Mary Anne watched as Mitsy reached into her pockets and pulled out a lighter and a pack of cigarettes.

“Mother, what are those?”

“Cigarettes, dear. You’ve never seen them before?”

Mary Anne was horrified. She had listened to Mitsy lecture about the ill effects of smoking her entire adolescence.

“It’s an old habit of mine. From my college days. I haven’t had one in forever. Want one?” Mitsy put a cigarette to her lips and then held out the open pack to Mary Anne.

“Thanks, I’ll pass,” Mary Anne said, standing. She reached across the table and lifted her mother’s plate and then her own. “I’ll take these in.”

“There’s dessert if you want. Strawberry shortcake in the fridge,” Mitsy called after Mary Anne. “Dear, will you bring the other bottle of cabernet when you come back outside?”

Mary Anne set both plates in the kitchen sink. She hadn’t anticipated going back outside. But then, she hadn’t expected her parents to announce their separation, or her mother to show up at her house. Never mind Mitsy’s drinking and smoking. Mary Anne peered out the window above the sink toward her mother’s silhouette. The reflection of the pool lights and the candle on the table cast a glow around her mother. Their conversation over dinner had been mundane. Mitsy had posed questions about Mary Anne’s newest script and the chaos surrounding
Seven Minutes Past Midnight
. Neither of them had summoned the courage to address the white elephant standing to the side of the table.

How had it happened? When had Mitsy decided to leave? And why now, after all these years? Just when Marvin was talking about retiring next year. Mary Anne thought her parents would finally have time alone. Get to know each other again. And surely Marvin would end his affair with Nancy Macintosh. Mary Anne thought they’d finally travel together, split their time between Minnesota in the summer with the grandkids and someplace warm (preferably not Los Angeles, but perhaps Phoenix) during the winter months.

“Are you coming, dear?” Mitsy called. “I’m out of wine.”

Mary Anne walked out of the back door carrying the open bottle of cabernet. She poured some into Mitsy’s wineglass and then sat.

“So shall we discuss the obvious?” Mitsy asked, exhaling smoke. “Now, some of this will be uncomfortable for me, and a great deal of it will be uncomfortable for you. But I am here, and now, my dear, is the time to ask me any questions you might have. I am halfway loaded and completely relaxed.”

Mary Anne was petrified, as if she’d finally been offered the keys to the kingdom and suddenly didn’t know how to work the lock.

“Well, come on, dear. It’s getting late and I’m getting plowed. After this next glass, I can’t promise anything I say will make much sense.”

Mary Anne gave her mother a half smile. She wanted to know this woman. Not the Minnesota Mitsy whom Mary Anne thought was her mother throughout her life. But this Mitsy, the one who smoked and drank and said everything she thought, regardless of the impropriety.

“Okay, then,” Mary Anne said. “Let’s start with your writing.”

Chapter 27

Celeste Solange and Her Givenchy Spikes

Celeste looked stunning. Her expertly coiffed golden mane spread across her bare shoulders (she’d had a priority sitting with Jonathan, who’d come to the house for a color and cut, per Celeste’s request). Her personal makeup artist, Que, had completed her face immediately after Jonathan had finished styling her hair. She wore a low-cut Dior shirt that emphasized her perfect C cup breasts and tiny waist. Low-slung Armani pants that gave a tiny peek at her tummy and Givenchy spiked heels completed the look. Celeste was dewy, megastar perfection. She drove straight from home to Howard Abromawitz’s office.

Damien would be jealous. He’d be furious with himself for throwing their marriage away on that tramp Brie Ellison. Celeste would make sure of it. None of her preparation would be lost on him. A self-declared addict of female eye candy, Damien wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off of her. She’d even made sure to wear his favorite color, turquoise. He always said it accented the blue in her eyes.

Celeste enjoyed the attention as every head (both male and female) turned as she walked the short distance from the celebrity elevator in Howard’s office to the fishbowl conference room in the center of the suite. Howard’s paralegal escorted Celeste into the conference room and immediately started twisting the blinds, shutting out the rest of the office so everyone would stop staring. She didn’t realize that Celeste needed the attention, wanted that energy that strangers propelled toward her. Celeste fed off it, storing it, gearing up, preparing to do battle.

“Ms. Solange, Mr. Abromawitz will be right here,” the mousy-haired, middle-aged woman said. “His motions hearing ran a little long this morning. I apologize. May I get you something to drink?”

“Water, please.” Celeste perched in a chair at the middle of the conference room table.

“Flat or sparkling?”

“Flat is fine. But do you have lemon?”

“Of course. Let me get it for you. I’ll be right back.” The paralegal scurried from the room.

Celeste sighed. Serving Celeste Solange flat water with lemon was probably the highlight of the paralegal’s day. Maybe her week. She’d have something to tell her family and friends, who would eagerly pick apart every inch of what Celeste wore, what she said, even how she smelled. Celeste knew it would be like this; she overheard other women in Beverly Hills (when they didn’t realize the woman sitting next to them in a baseball cap and oversized sunglasses was one of the world’s biggest stars) talking about their random celebrity run-ins. The way they carried on, it was as if royalty had descended from their throne or perhaps a god from the heavens. Didn’t they realize she was just like everyone else?

Celeste heard a knock at the door and sighed. As if Howard’s staff needed permission to enter their own conference room.

“Yes,” she said. The paralegal tiptoed in, carrying a tray with flat water in a crystal glass and a plate full of freshly sliced lemon.

“I didn’t know if you wanted ice, so I left it out.” She set the tray down across from Celeste. “There’s ice in the other glass. In case you want it.”

“Thank you. Do you know what time it is?” Celeste asked. The woman glanced at her watch.

“Ten after. The other parties won’t be here for another twenty minutes, and Howard just pulled into the garage.” She backed toward the door.

“Great,” Celeste said, smiling. “Thanks again.” At least, Celeste hoped, this woman’s story would end on a positive note.
She smiled the most beautiful smile and told me thanks again. She really is just like us. So sweet, so down to earth.
That was the story Celeste wanted told. Not the catty
She was such a bitch; who does she think she is?
story. But after years of celebrity, Celeste had learned that it didn’t really matter how the star actually behaved; the story ultimately told was always from the prism of the teller.

Celeste had just finished squeezing the lemon into her water (she’d decided against the ice; it made her crowns ache) when Howard burst through the conference room door.

“Cici! My darling. You are absolutely breathtaking.”

Howard tossed the file marked
Solange
in front of Celeste and walked to the side table, grabbing a plastic bottle of water.

“I see you met Connie, my paralegal. She got you all squared away. My God, Celeste, how can a woman be so beautiful?” Howard sat in the chair next to her.

“Thank you, Howard.” Celeste leaned conspiratorially toward him. “You know I do have to try.”

“Try? I doubt it. You are a natural beauty, my love.”

Howard twisted open the top of the water bottle and took a swig.

“Now, are you nervous? Don’t be nervous. You shouldn’t be. This is just a settlement conference. No court reporters, no tape recorders. Just a dialogue between the parties—well, between their attorneys, to see if we can’t complete this thing without going to court.”

“What about the …” Celeste didn’t want to say it. She let her sentence drift away, raising both her eyebrows.

“Yes, that. I made one copy. Just one, mind you, and I messengered it to Janice Rosenblatt just last night. That and a copy of the birth certificate. Told her it was imperative that she watch it before the conference today.” Howard took another swig of water. “Of course, you know we have no idea where the DVD came from. You understand?”

Celeste nodded. She understood perfectly. Finally her prenup would be blown to bits. A thought that thrilled her. Not because of the money. She didn’t need the money (although who was she to turn up her nose at a multimillion-dollar settlement), but she loved the idea of the tremendous pain it would cause Damien to part with so much of his precious currency. And (much like with his first wife, Amanda) for the simple fact that Damien couldn’t keep his dick in his pants.

There was a knock on the conference room door, and the paralegal poked her head into the room.

“Howard, they’re here.”

“Great,” Howard said. “Send them in.” He leaned his head toward Celeste. “We should get their reaction to your directorial debut pretty quick.”

Howard stood as Damien and his lawyer, who looked like an attack dog straining at the leash, entered the room. Janice Rosenblatt was six-foot-one and an overpriced Doberman bitch, trained to maul any woman who dared to divorce one of her celebrity clients. She wore a very expensive yet manly pantsuit and carried a Coach briefcase and bag. Very no-nonsense. She had represented Damien in his divorce proceedings with Amanda. Celeste was surprised that Damien was using Janice again; she hadn’t gotten Damien a very good deal the last time.

Celeste looked at Damien. She felt indestructible.
Bring it on
, she thought as she sipped her water. Damien looked haggard and old. Older, perhaps, than the night just a few weeks before when Celeste and Bradford caught Brie Ellison’s carnal devouring of Damien on film.

“Howard.” Janice smiled as she sat in the chair across the table. “Ms. Solange.” She gave Celeste a viperous look.

Celeste nodded her head toward Janice, acknowledging her presence but not deigning to speak to her, then turned her attention back to Damien as he made his way to the seat across from her. Her heart fluttered. His paunch was bigger, his hair grayer, and he did, in fact, walk like a very old man. The unkempt cheater with the sad eyes sitting across from her was not the behemoth take-no-prisoners Hollywood producer she’d married little more than a year ago. That man had been obsessive and vain, going so far as to keep a lint brush and roller in the glove compartment of each of his seven cars. This rumpled and unshaven Damien looked as if he’d neither slept nor eaten in the last three days.

“Shall we get started?” Howard asked.

“It won’t take long,” Janice said, pulling out her briefcase and bag.

“You received our settlement offer?” Howard opened his own file and rifled through the papers.

“I did. As well as Ms. Solange’s attempt at blackmail.” Janice smiled.

“Janice, I made this very clear. We have no idea who made this DVD. Or how. It came by U.S. mail. I even saved the envelope for you.

“How very kind of you, Howard. I am sure you did. However …” Janice pulled a file from her briefcase and flipped it open. “Your settlement offer is out of line with the prenup that your client signed before she married Mr. Bruckner.”

Howard cleared his throat and leaned forward. “Janice, in light of the DVD, and the discovery of Ms. Ellison’s birth certificate, I’m sure neither side wants a long, drawn-out process. We’re talking about three very high-profile people here. Besides, who knows what could happen if the district attorney’s office were to subpoena the DVD and the birth certificate.”

Celeste looked at Damien across the table. He wouldn’t meet her gaze. He leaned on his left hand, watching Janice and Howard as if watching a Wimbledon match.

“You know how the L.A. DA is. This is just the kind of slam-dunk celebrity case he’d love to try. If only for the publicity.” Janice glanced up from her file.

“
Yes.
This kind of publicity can be very bad for a career. Especially when you’re a celebrity.”

Janice pulled a DVD out of her briefcase and walked toward the television in the corner of the conference room.

“May I?” she asked. In one swift motion she pressed the power button and opened the DVD player.

“Of course. But Janice, we’ve all reviewed the DVD, and I don’t think—”

“Howard, this is a
different
DVD.” Janice smirked.

“Different?” Howard croaked.

“Yes, much older.” Janice inserted the disc and stepped back from the television so that she and everyone else in the conference room had a clear view.

Celeste watched as the grainy picture slowly came into focus. She gasped as the camera panned across an open-aired cabana in an exotic local, the viewfinder landing on herself a few years earlier. There she was, in all her naked glory. Breasts, ass, and Argentinean muff. All of them exposed. She and another couple filled the screen (very lovely people, an actor and actress she’d worked with on the film set where she’d met Damien), all engaged in acts of sexual gluttony. While Damien, Celeste now remembered, worked the camera.

Celeste watched as she mounted the actor and kissed the actress. All had enjoyed the slow passion in the exotic South Caribbean locale. But Damien, ever-present Damien, was nowhere to be seen.

The entire saga came rushing back to her. Damien had begged for the foursome, tantalizing Celeste with the promise of marriage if she proved that they were sexually compatible. It had been the last night on set in the Caribbean, and most of the cast and all of the crew had flown back to the States that day. As producer, however, Damien had stayed behind to finalize details and to close up the set. Plus, he wanted another twenty-four hours alone with Celeste, or so he said. Celeste realized now that what she then believed to be an impromptu orgy was most likely planned by Damien down to the last orgasm.