Secrets of the Hollywood Girls Club (17 page)

Sherman’s eyes roamed the backside of Boom Boom as she exited the room. “She’s tough,” Sherman said.

“Very bright. But I’m not sure she has what it takes. She’s a little bit too, too, hmm … I guess dull is the word I’m searching for.”

“Dull? Kiki, I’d hardly call her dull. Besides, we can’t all be as obvious as you: aggressive, always looking for the next kill.”

“Sherman, you say that like it’s a bad thing,” Kiki tucked her legs beneath her. “We’ve known each other a long time haven’t we, Sherman?” Kiki ran her index finger along the arm of Sherman’s shirt.

The muscle in his jaw flinched. “Almost ten years.”

“That’s a lifetime in this town.” She cupped Sherman’s jaw in her hand and looked into his blue eyes. She bit her lower lip. “Would you like to see the rest of the house?” A massage always turned her on, and today, lucky for her, an attractive man sat in her home. She surveyed Sherman’s physique under his tailored shirt. She wanted him. She wanted a younger man to touch her, to feel desire for her, to make her feel beautiful.

“Ah, Kiki, I’d love to,” Sherman said softly, “but I have another meeting in the Palisades.”

“I see.” Kiki pulled her hand away from his face. “Some other time, then.”

“Definitely,” Sherman said.

Not long ago, when Kiki’s breasts were perkier and her neck tauter, an invitation into her bed would have resulted in the quick cancellation of any meeting, but now, no matter how hard she chased youth with a knife, it continued to elude her.

“You know your way out.”

She watched Sherman retreat to the front door. He possessed lean lines and a tight ass, but no desire for her. Kiki glanced into the mirror over her marble fireplace. She pulled down her terry-cloth robe, letting it slide over her shoulders. How long since she’d slept with a man? Too long. Kiki sighed. She sat up straight and sucked in her cheeks. She could pass for under forty…with the right lighting. Maybe she needed a young Hollywood boy toy. Someone desirous of the access, introductions, and success she could provide. The thought of playing Mrs. Robinson to some sweet, tight-assed young Hollywood stud excited her. She turned her head from side to side, admiring her profile in the mirror.

“Kiki?”

She pulled up her robe and glanced toward the foyer. Boom Boom. Timing, the poor girl had no sense of timing. Or style.

“Are you going into the office, or do you prefer to work from home? Your cook wants to know.”

“Here is fine,” Kiki said. “It’s cool today. I’ll eat on the west patio.” As she brushed past Boom Boom, she glanced down at the girl’s feet. Flip-flops? Today was Friday, sure, but what about a pair of Chanel sandals? “Who do. I have this afternoon?” Kiki asked as she mounted the stairs.

“Cici. She wants to discuss the Oscar campaign for
California Girl
, and she also signed onto a new film,
Vitriol
.” Boom Boom stood below in the marble foyer with her clipboard.

“Call her and ask if she’ll come to the house.” Kiki watched Boom Boom scribble a note. “Boom Boom?” She paused, waiting for her assistant to look up at her. “Over lunch go get something else to wear on your feet. Those”—Kiki pointed to the offending footwear—“are for bathhouses, not my home.”

“Yes, Kiki.”

“And, Boom Boom, schedule a hair appointment with Frederik for sometime this week,” Kiki called over the banister.

“You just had your appointment with him three days ago.”

“It’s not for me,” Kiki called from the balcony. “No, darling, it’s for you and that flop mop you call hair.”

If the girl wasn’t going to make the necessary changes then Kiki would just have to take control.

Rule 17: Play Dumb

Celeste Solange, Actress

Cici clipped down the slate stairs behind Kiki’s stocky assistant, Boom Boom. The girl teetered precariously on a pair of Louboutin heels. Kiki sat at the patio table talking on her cell. She waved at Cici. Papers and black binders lay scattered around Kiki’s feet. The table held only one notepad, a gold pen, a pitcher of water with lemon, and two crystal glasses.

“May I get you something to drink, Celeste?” Boom Boom asked as Cici took the seat opposite Kiki.

“I’m good, thanks. The water is fine.”

Boom Boom nodded, and Cici watched the girl’s treacherous ascent back to the house. She felt for the poor girl; Cici knew Kiki could be a beast to her assistants.

“My love!” Kiki exclaimed. “You look gorgeous. Steven Brockman says hello; he’s still in Asia. Can’t wait to see
California Girl
. You know he loved that script. Wanted to do it, but with the baby due the same time as the shoot …” Kiki threw up her hands. “What can you do? I can’t wait to get you two back on a set together. How long has it been? What film was it?” Kiki reached to fill both glasses with water.

“
The Lady’s Affair
, almost ten years ago,” Cici said.

Cici remembered working with Steven Brockman. A high-maintenance drama queen, Steven—while filming slept with the director, the supporting actor, and two grips. She also remembered hearing rumors about a fan Steven kept as a lover for a while once the film wrapped.

“The studio made so much dough on that one.” Kiki handed Celeste her water. “So, the Oscar campaign. I just got some material from the studio. I’m a bit disappointed with their choices, actually. I’ve seen the rough cut twice now, and I think there are better stills we can use for Variety and The Reporter. But the one thing you’ve got going for you, darling, is that the studio assured me they will spare no expense. We’re talking parties, screenings, huge box-office promotions, print, TV, radio—all of it. You know, darling, Ted really wants this for you.”

Cici adored Ted. He knew that she desperately wanted an Oscar. She’d won a Golden Globe for Best Actress in a Leading Role, and an Emmy for a guest-starring arc, but the Academy had failed, thus far, to find any of her film performances Oscar-worthy.

“Looks like the release date is Christmas Day. Your performance is so emotional, really; the whole film is so raw. You did a brilliant job. I know we’re early in the process, but I want to get everyone on board and totally committed now, because the closer we get to awards season, the busier everyone becomes.”

“I have complete trust in you, Kiki,” Cici said. And she did . . for the Oscar campaign.

“What is this I hear about a new film?
Vitriol
? I thought you were going to relax the rest of the year?”

“This project is impossible to refuse.” Cici shifted in her chair. If only Kiki knew just how impossible.

“And the director?”

“Nathan Curtis, from England.”

“Didn’t he do the publicity shots on
California Girl
for Worldwide?”

Cici nodded.

“That’s a pretty fast climb. Did he do a feature in Europe?”

“A couple of shorts, but
Vitriol
is exactly what Lydia’s slate needs—a very sexy thriller.”

“But, darling, Worldwide just wrapped
Collusion
. You can’t get much sexier than that.”

Cici sipped her water. She didn’t want to share with Kiki Dee the explanation for Nathan’s rapid rise to director. But Cici needed to say something. Kiki hadn’t lasted as a publicist in Hollywood for this long without knowing how to dig. “Lydia asked me to do the film, made my quote, and put Jessica on as a producer. So I said yes.” She gave Kiki what she hoped was a convincing smile.

“Steven worked with Nathan Curtis on a photo shoot,” Kiki said. “Steven didn’t care for him much. I think Steven used the term insufferable prick. But who knows, perhaps Steven was describing himself.” Kiki cackled. “Who’s your costar on the film?”

“Holden Humphrey, and there’s another role for an older male star, say forty or forty-five.”

Cici wanted to plant the seed with Kiki—even though Lydia had visited Steven in Tokyo, and Worldwide business affairs had sent an offer to Steven’s agent—whetting Kiki’s appetite for the role in
Vitriol
would help the film’s momentum.

“Perhaps something for Steven?” Kiki asked. She lifted her pen and scribbled on her pad.

“Kiki, you’re such a good publicist; most don’t even think to tell their clients when they hear about a role.”

“Oh but, darling, I do try. A working client is a much happier client.”

“I’m not sure Steven will want the role. The film is a three-hander, and Steven’s character isn’t the sexy male lead, but the older, more mature voice of wisdom.”

“He’ll have to consider switching to older roles at some point. I’ll mention it to Tolliver,” Kiki said. “So, darling, anything else new for you that I should know about? Marriage, children, scandal?”

Cici’s chest tightened. Kiki emphasized the word scandal. Was it possible that she’d sniffed out the sex tape that threatened Cici and Worldwide?

“You know, it is my job to protect your image,” Kiki continued. “Make sure you’re never tarnished in the public’s eye. I need to know of any nasty little bit out there that might emerge.”

“But there’s nothing,” Cici forced an easy smile to her lips. “Everything is pretty normal.”

Kiki leaned forward and placed a hand over Cici’s. Her eyes softened as though she had the most dreadful news to convey.

“Then, darling, as your publicist, I think there is something you need to know.”

*

Cici’s hands shook and tears streamed down her face as she roared her Jaguar up Coldwater Canyon. Of course Cici played the scene brilliantly, as though Kiki’s telling her of the sex tape was the very first time she learned of the horrible DVD. Cici needed to call Howard, but with the tremor in her hands, she couldn’t drive and use her cell at the same time. She couldn’t even get the voice dial recognition in her car to work with the gutteral sobs escaping her mouth. Cici gripped the wheel tight and inhaled a lungful of air—her ribs expanding as if they might burst from her chest. Panic served no purpose. She exhaled and relaxed the tightness in her jaw causing her molars to grind. Better—much better.

This catastrophe had to be dealt with methodically—consciously—thoughtfully. Perhaps Kiki could be an asset in the battle for containment. Kiki managed to keep Steven Brockman’s sexuality from the public for the last twenty years. But Steven’s sexuality was an open Hollywood secret, well known within the confines of the Hollywood club, and Cici didn’t want anyone in Hollywood to see this dvd. If she enjoyed giving public viewings of her lovemaking, she’d have stayed married to Damien.

Cici turned the car onto Mulholland and stopped on the side of the road at a turnout. Her voice was more even, her breathing less ragged, her fingers more steady. “Lydia Albright she said to her car. One ring later Lydia answered.

“Lydia?” The moment Cici heard her friend’s voice, the hiccupping sobs resumed their voice-breaking routine.

“Cici, what’s wrong?” Lydia’s voice sounded panicky.

One more deep breath—Cici rubbed her temples and forced calm to replace fear.

“Kiki knows.”

“Oh no. Cici, I told you not to—”

“I didn’t tell her. She’s seen the DVD.”

“What? But who? Was she at someone’s party?”

“The private investigator who works for her and Howard.”

“Sherman Ross,” Lydia said. “He must know that Kiki reps you. He wants us to approach him.”

Celeste’s heartbeat sped up. “Maybe this is connected to Damien?”

“This seems too big to have Damien’s fingerprints on it. Besides, what’s his motivation?” Lydia asked.

Revenge? No, she and Damien had settled their differences during the divorce. Money? Damien had plenty of money and would make more if Celeste’s image remained pristine. Damien owned two scripts now in development at Galaxy and Summit that Celeste was attached to star in. Destroying Celeste’s career and public image didn’t serve Damien’s purposes.

“Hey, you okay?” Lydia interrupted Cici’s silence.

“Aside from the biggest big mouth who loves celebrity secrets having seen my sex tape? Yeah, I’m fine.”

“At least she has an interest in keeping it quiet. You’re one of her biggest clients. Call Howard.”

Ache careened through her chest—she’d made so many wrong choices and bad decisions, and now, now that she’d finally found love with Ted she could lose him because of all the baggage in her past.

“Are you still coming to the studio this afternoon?” Lydia asked.

“Can we reschedule?”

“Normally, Cici, I’d say yes, but we’ve got a tight schedule with
Vitriol
. We need to keep Nathan Curtis on a tight leash and we’re supposed to start filming in ten days.”

She knew Lydia rushed
Vitriol
into production in an attempt to contain Nathan Curtis and the DVD. “I’ll call Howard.”

“And I’ll call Sherman,” Lydia said.

Cici signed off from the call and pushed hard on the accelerator. Dirt and rock flew into the air from the turnout. She needed to make one more stop before going home.

*

Cici pushed open the front door to her ex-husband Damien Bruckner’s lavish new Bel-Air home. Damien’s gross profit participation on
Borderland Blue
, the super hit that Celeste starred in after their divorce, had paid for this house.

“Damien?” she called.

She walked across the rug, imported from Tibet. Damien usually played tennis on Fridays and she wondered if he was out on the court.

“Damien?” Cici walked up the stairs toward Damien’s bedroom and study.

She needed to do a little recon. As Damien’s former wife, she had a right to walk through his house, didn’t she? She tapped on Damien’s study door, hoping to find the room empty.

“Damien?” Cici called softly. No answer. She turned the handle and gave the door a gentle push. Damien’s desk sat next to a wall of windows that offered a view of his pool and tennis courts. Cici glanced down toward the yard, where Damien was rushing around the court getting his ass kicked by his tennis instructor. From the looks of Damien’s energetic stride, he and Dart had just begun playing.

Cici turned away from the windows and surveyed Damien’s study. She pulled open his top desk drawer and rummaged. Nothing unusual: receipts, files, nail clippers, lint roller. A combination lock secured the bottom drawer. Cici punched in Darnien’s birth date and the lock popped open. Not very imaginative. The drawer contained some porn, a letter to his attorney, and a check register for a foreign bank account. She glanced out the window. Damien and Dart still played.