Hollywood Girls Club (32 page)

It was as if someone had wiped away a haze through which she’d viewed the world for her entire life and now there was clarity. Clarity, peace, and serenity. The past six days together, she’d embraced them.

Celeste lay down next to him and watched as his blue eyes opened, taking in her and their world. He reached his arm across the bed and pulled Celeste toward him. Without a word he kissed her eyes, her lips, her neck. She felt the joy and heat rising up from inside her, spreading through her body. His lips were moving expertly down her chest as his hands unwrapped the sarong she’d worn for her walk on the beach. They’d explored every inch of each other. She knew about the scar on the small of his back and the teenage DUI that went with it. He, of the welt on her upper back left thigh and the jagged piece of glass she’d fallen on at age nine.

Her lips parted as his tongue explored her mouth, his fingers massaging the wet between her legs. He nudged his knee between her legs, spreading them apart. Her body tingled, ready for him.

Wanting him. Desiring him to take her, to have her, to be his. His blue eyes stared at her as he entered her. Silently their bodies rocked to the rhythm of the waves outside their open door, the speed increasing as the rumbling of the surf engulfed them.

*

Celeste glanced at the clock. He’d been in the bathroom forever. He loved his long, hot showers. It was, perhaps, the only decadent moment each day that he allowed himself. She knew he was a man with amazing self-discipline. These six days together meant all the more because of his workaholic nature. They’d both turned off their phones on the plane. No computers, no television, and no radios. It was bliss. The entire world could be gone and they wouldn’t know it.

But they were flying out today, back to civilization. Celeste glanced at her Chanel bag. She suddenly wanted to know what she’d missed. She reached in, pulled out her cell, and turned it on.
Forty-three messages!
Only ten people had the number to this, her most private line. She usually got only a couple of calls a day. Any business going on in her absence Jessica could easily handle.  But as Celeste scrolled down the list of numbers, Jessica’s turned up almost twenty times. Lydia was next with fifteen, and even her housekeeper, Mathilde, had tried to reach her a few times.
What was going on?
Celeste only needed to listen to four of the forty-three messages before the whole story unfolded.

“What are you doing, lady?” he asked in a playful voice as he emerged from the steaming bathroom. “We said no cell phones.”

Celeste held up her hand and smiled at him, hoping not to annoy him. She was trying to catch the end of Mary Anne’s impassioned plea for Celeste to call her.

Celeste flipped shut her phone and tossed it on the bed.

“We have to get back.”

He smiled, watching her bounce across the room in a packing frenzy. “We’re leaving in four hours.”

“What time is it?”

“Nine A.M.”

“No, love, not here, in L.A. What day and time is it in Los Angeles?”

“Let’s see, we’re seventeen hours ahead, so what, it’s four P.M. on Wednesday?”

Celeste stopped and did the math in her head. “Hurry, we have to leave now!”

He smiled again. “Okay, beautiful, whatever you say. I’ll call the pilots. We can be in the air in half an hour.”

Celeste stopped throwing toiletries in her bag.

“I love you. You know that, right?”

He put the phone down and turned to Celeste. “Yes, beautiful. And I love you, too.” His brilliant blue eyes flashed in the morning sun.

Celeste skipped out of the room into the bathroom.

“Hey,” she called as she stepped under the hot water, “how fast can your plane fly?”

Chapter 32

Lydia Albright Wearing Keds

The super-secret screening of
Seven Minutes Past Midnight
started in less than an hour and Lydia had yet to see Zymar or her film. Her director and the print were both safely tucked away, Lydia knew, in a Best Western in the Valley only three blocks from Arnold Murphy’s executive suite. Hiding in plain sight. Thanks to Mary Anne’s escort two days before.

Mitsy Meyers, surprisingly, was a godsend. Looking and sounding every bit the part of a Midwesterner on vacation in Hollywood, she’d been able to courier messages, food, and anything else Zymar desired to his hotel room without drawing attention. A guy with a beard, baseball cap, sunglasses, and a Eurotrash accent might collect some looks, but a middle-aged woman in khaki shorts and Keds over-pronouncing her o’s at a Best Western in the Valley most definitely blended in.

Lydia had spoken with Zymar ten times in the last two days. He and Mitsy had hit it off famously. She was quite a hustler; in two days of gin rummy she’d cleaned Zymar out of all his cash and his watch. At least he wasn’t bored or hungry. Having company, Lydia knew, calmed his nerves and most likely prevented him from making a foolish attempt to sneak over to Lydia’s.

Lydia peeked out her upstairs bedroom window, the only one with a clear view to the street beyond her security gate. The black Lincoln Town Car sedan with two goons inside sat parked next to the opposite curb, as it had been for the last two weeks.

Arnold was insane. He wasn’t even attempting to be inconspicuous. There was only one reason for the black sedan that was tailing Lydia. Intimidation. But it wasn’t working. Although she felt nervous about the plan and the film, Lydia wasn’t scared.

She was Midwestern. That’s what the mirror reflected, anyway. Her wig, specially designed by Celeste’s stylist, Jonathan, was a perfect replica of Mitsy’s brown helmet cut. The purple floral-print button-down shirt and Bermuda shorts that Jessica had purchased from Target.com, Mitsy assured Lydia, were duplicates of the clothes Mitsy would be wearing when she pulled into the gate.

Lydia glanced out the window. The fluorescent green Scion they’d rented for today finally came rolling up to her gate, the color intended to be especially conspicuous. The two goons in the car needed to get a good look at Mitsy and her ultra-bright car.

Mitsy pulled up and punched a button at the gate, causing the cordless phone Lydia held in her hand to ring.

“Hello,” Lydia shouted.

She hoped the spies had their windows rolled down so they could overhear the exchange.

“Script delivery for Ms. Lydia Albright,” Mitsy yelled into the speaker-box.

“Great!” Lydia yelled back. She pressed the number nine on her phone and watched as her security gate rumbled to life, lumbering backward into the drive. Lydia had parked her black Range Rover in front of her home so that the thugs would get a clear view of it parked safely on the drive.

Lydia waited at her bedroom window until the gate swung shut; she knew the goons couldn’t see anything at the front door as long as the gate was closed. Carrying a white terry-cloth robe, she jogged down the stairs and pulled open her front door. There, standing across the threshold, was Mitsy Meyers, holding a script envelope and smiling. Their outfits and hair were identical.

“Mitsy, thank you so much,” Lydia said, pulling her through the door. “You may have just saved my career, Zymar’s career, and prevented both of us from spending years in prison.”

Lydia threw the fluffy robe over Mitsy’s outfit and grabbed the ten-dollar Kmart sunglasses Mitsy held out toward Lydia.

“My pleasure, dear, truly. I haven’t had this much excitement in years.”

“You’ll stay away from the windows?” Lydia asked.

“And the doors.”

“Vilma knows to tell anyone who calls or comes by that I’m sleeping.”

“Great plan.” Mitsy handed Lydia the keys to the frog-green Scion.

“Yes.” Lydia smiled. “All because of you, a very great plan.”

Jessica, Mary Anne, and Lydia had been stumped on how to get Lydia past Arnold’s goons and to the screening at CTA. Their biggest fear was that Arnold would somehow manage to find out the correct date and time and prevent anyone from seeing the film. But then Mitsy had come up with the bait-and-switch idea.

The screening had become an open secret in town for the last three days. But thanks to Kiki with her PR firm and Jessica with her CTA agents barraging the industry with a variety of locales and dates, Arnold couldn’t get a lock on the time and place. Only those guests specifically invited knew exactly when and where. And none of them would tell Arnold because they actually wanted to see the film.

The buzz in town was deafening.

Lydia put on Mitsy’s sunglasses and glanced in the mirror. She never would have believed that she could pass for a fifty-six-year-old mother of three from Minnesota, but she could and she did. Her stomach tickled from the adrenaline at pulling off this little subterfuge.

“Okay, I think I’m ready.”

“You certainly look like it,” Mitsy said. “Good luck, dear. I know it’ll be fantastic.”

Mitsy pulled Lydia into a hug.

“Thank you for everything. You are simply the best. If this works, it’s all because of you.”

Lydia pulled open the front door and paused as the gate again pulled back into the drive. She wanted to make sure Worldwide’s thugs got a clear shot of the frumpily dressed older woman who five minutes before had entered Ms. Albright’s home. Lydia surreptitiously glanced at the black sedan parked across the street, then stepped toward the bright-green Scion and opened the door. As she drove past the gate, she purposely stopped and looked in both directions before turning right onto Mulholland. She wanted to make sure they both got a really good look at the cheap sunglasses and the very loud purple shirt with orange flowers.

Lydia drove cautiously, checking the black sedan in her rearview mirror for any sign of movement or alarm. She crested a hill and made the curve. Nothing. They weren’t following her. Lydia let out a giggle of glee. Phase one was complete.

*

Lydia pulled the car into the underground parking garage at CTA. Already seven cars lined up at the valet. Per Jessica, the security guards were given strict orders to check the ID of everyone who entered the CTA building. Anyone not on the list didn’t get in. Well, everyone except the middle-aged woman in the purple blouse driving the green Scion. The security guards had special guidelines for that car. As instructed, the guards waved her past the other cars, and Lydia zipped the Scion up one floor and into a prearranged spot. Lauren, Jessica’s first assistant, stood waiting, her look of concern giving way to a slight smile.

“Thank God,” Lauren said as Lydia emerged from the car. “She’s been calling me every two minutes to see if you’re here yet.”

“Has Zymar made it?”

“Five minutes ago. He’s upstairs in Jessica’s office with the door closed,” Lauren said. “This spy stuff looks fun in the movies, but it really wears me out.”

“You and me both, sister,” Lydia said.

*

Lydia walked into Jessica’s office and all her eyes could see was Zymar. Beautiful, wonderful Zymar. Her heart fluttered. His scruffy beard tickled her face as he kissed her.

“Ahem.” Jessica pretended to clear her throat. Lydia hadn’t noticed that she was even in the room. “I know it’s been six weeks, but come on, we’ve got a screening to do.”

Lydia smiled at her friend. Jessica practically glowed.

“Go get changed, Lyd. You’ve only got five minutes. Security called and almost everyone’s here.”

“Cici?” Lydia asked, a hint of hope in her voice.

“Still no sign.”

Lydia sighed.

“Need a bit of help in there, Lyd?” Zymar asked, a sexy smile dancing on his lips.

“No time for that,” Jessica called from her desk.

Once inside Jessica’s bathroom, Lydia began to shed her Midwestern costume. Mary Anne had packed Lydia’s Armani pants, Donna Karan blouse, and Dior pumps, and left them in the trunk of the Scion. If only she’d been able to find and throw in Cici. It’d been seven days since anyone had seen or heard from her. They would have called in the FBI if she hadn’t left a note with Mathilde. They knew she was on a private island somewhere in the Pacific, but for how long?

Lydia tucked her white silk shirt into her black pants. She pulled off her wig and fluffed her chestnut brown hair. Jessica had finally received a garbled voice-mail message from Cici at nine A.M. this morning, something about landing in Hawaii, when Cici’s phone completely cut out. With five minutes left, Lydia doubted that Cici would see this screening. She just hoped there’d be enough heat to ensure it wouldn’t be the only one.

*

Lydia wondered if any film in Hollywood history had gotten a screening like this before. She suddenly felt panicked. She’d never seen the final cut.
What if this thing was a dog?
She looked at Zymar and felt a sudden pang of doubt. His last film had tanked.
What if this one was a stinker, too?
And in front of all her peers. They’d never forgive her for wasting their time for a crappy film. If Arnold shelved it, she was dead, and if it stunk, her career was finished. Well, better to go down swinging. The only path to success was to show the film. Lydia heard claps and she looked toward the screen. There stood Zymar, flapping his hands and asking the crowd to settle.

“Okay. I know this is a little unorthodox, the director speaking at a screening, but ‘oo knows, this might be the only premiere and we need to get started before this party gets busted.”

The crowd laughed, knowing full well that Arnold and Worldwide could pull the plug at any minute.

“Bring on the leprechaun!” Lydia heard someone yell.

Hoots and cheers followed.

“I just want to say thank you to the one person who made this whole thing possible—”

“Liideeeaaa!” Arnold’s screech pierced the room.

Lydia’s heart sank. She sighed and looked at the ceiling. She would now be beaten and led out in handcuffs in front of all of Hollywood. She turned, and there, standing at the back of the room with two oversized goons and what looked like attorneys or federal agents, was Arnold Murphy.