Secrets of the Hollywood Girls Club (22 page)

“What is that?” Kiki asked.

“My bag?”

“Yes, but who made it?”

“I don’t know. I picked it up at Target,” Boom Boom said.

“Did you just say that you picked it up at Target?” Disgust laced Kiki’s voice.

Boom Boom looked at Kiki and then at the offending bag.

“You are working for KDP and walking around Beverly Hills with a bag from Target? Boom Boom, how long have you worked for me?”

“Almost five years.”

“And have you ever seen me wear anything made by anyone other than a well-known designer?”

“No.”

“Have I ever mentioned the word Target?”

“No.”

“Do I go to Supercuts?”

“No.”

“Have you ever seen me in anything other than heels?”

“No.”

“Then why? Why do you torture me so?” Kiki asked. Her heart rate rose and her blood vessels expanded. A lack of money didn’t create Boom Boom’s fashion faux pas—Kiki knew that Boom Boom and her entire family were rolling in dough.

“It all seems so superficial,” Boom Boom said.

“Superficial? Superficial? You are in public relations! Of course it’s superficial. Superficial is what we do. We specialize in superficial. We sell superficial. Our whole business is about image and presentation. Our world, our business, has nothing to do with substance or reality. If you want reality, go work for a nonprofit. But if you want glitz, glamour, and everything that is unreal, then movie publicity is the biggest game in town. Don’t you get it? Have you learned nothing in five years?”

Boom Boom sighed.

“Do you want to work here?” Kiki asked.

“Yes,” Boom Boom said.

“Do you want to be an assistant for the rest of your life?”

“No.”

“Then get with the program,” Kiki said. “If you want to be in public relations for entertainment, then you have to wear the uniform, walk the walk, and talk the talk. That includes clothes, shoes, bags, brows, and a mani-pedi twice a week. Got it? Have I spelled it out for you?”

The girl received every conceivable advantage: money, a great college education, supportive parents, and now, thanks to Kiki, excellent hair. Why wasn’t she more driven—moving faster?

Boom Boom nodded and threw her bag over her shoulder. “Fine, Kiki. But I won’t like it.”

“Then get a different job. You’d think after five years you’d figure it out,” Kiki said. She clicked her computer icon for her phone sheet. “Go, go! I have my meeting this afternoon and I need that lingerie.” She waved her hands at Boom Boom. “And don’t forget my K-Y Jelly!”

A wicked smile danced over Kiki’s lips. She enjoyed the role of bitch and she liked being in charge. But maybe she wasn’t in charge anymore, as obviously this young stud didn’t feel the need to appear on time. She scooted down the bed, trying to adjust her thong, and heard the door open in the other room. What did he look like? She hoped he was tall with black hair. Maybe Italian or Spanish? Argentinean would be good. Or Greek? Her very best lover had been Greek. Oh, they were very bad, those Greeks … so bad but so good.

Kiki rearranged herself on the bed, trying to strike a sexy pose. Her body felt firm (Pilates and weight training) but her skin? Melnick could do only so much with her skin. Skin lost its elasticity. Melnick kept her face looking young-
ish
, but so far, even with all the miracles of modern medicine, he could do nothing to make the skin on the rest of her body appear as it did when she was twenty.

“Kiki?” Two candles flickered on either side of the bed, illuminating his perfect face.

“Yes,” she said.

She looked at him from head to toe. He pulled his black T-shirt over his head. He couldn’t be much more than twenty-five. A young man’s body was heaven-sent. Why was youth wasted on the young? They had no idea the beauty and power they possessed until both slipped through their fingers. He looked like he worked out seven days a week. An eight-pack flexed across his abdomen and his skin glistened in the candlelight. The curved muscles around his hips made Kiki’s toes curl. He slowly unbuttoned his jeans and slipped them over his bare ass, then stood and faced her.

Hello, big daddy.

The last thing she wanted to see when he took off his pants while she was lying completely exposed on the bed was a flaccid penis, and he didn’t disappoint her. This perfect boy-toy leaned forward and placed his hands on the bed. “Where should I start?”

Kiki rested against the pillows. “Why don’t you work your way up?”

*

“Fanfuckingtastic!” Kiki said as Boom Boom pulled the black leotard out of her Versace bag. “He made me come six times in two hours. Can you believe that? Six times! Completely worth the money. Completely! I need you to call and schedule another session for next week.”

“His name?” Boom Boom asked.

“Who knows? Who cares? He gave me his number.” Kiki tossed the piece of paper from the notepad in her hotel room to Boom Boom. “He wants room 245 again. Who knows why? Just get me into his schedule. Weekly. And make sure I always have cash when I meet him. It’s fifteen hundred for a two-hour session, plus tip. So two thousand. I feel so good. Boom Boom, you really should get fucked like that. Someone completely servicing your every desire? What woman ever had that? Right? I mean, come on, sex is almost always about the man. Have you ever been with someone who made the sex completely about you?”

Boom Boom remained silent as she pulled out the night-vision goggles and set them on Kiki’s bed.

“I’m getting you a session. My gift to you. You’ll love it,” Kiki dropped her Prada skirt to the floor and pulled on the black catsuit. “Nice bag, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Boom Boom said. “I don’t think I want a session.”

“What? You have no idea what you’re missing. It doesn’t have to be the same guy if that’s weird for you.”

“No. I mean, I don’t—”

“Don’t tell me. You’re a—”

“Please don’t, Kiki. It’s personal.”

“You are! You’re a virgin. Oh my God, do you know how rare that is in Los Angeles? I think you may be the oldest virgin I’ve ever met.”

“I didn’t say that I—”

“You didn’t have to. Look at you. You’re bright red.”

“That’s not it. I’m seeing someone. Or, kind of seeing someone.”

Seeing someone? Her little frumpette had a friend?

“Really?” A pang of jealousy whacked Kiki. Of course, Boom Boom had youth on her side—even the dowdy one could find a date—while Kiki’s age forced her to pay for pleasure.

“Kiki—”

“No, listen. I think this is fantastic. Believe me, I had my fun at your age. But when the newness wears off, you let me know. Because I am telling you, there is nothing as good as a man concentrating one hundred percent of his sexual energy on your pleasure.” Kiki looked at the equipment lying on her bed. “Did Sherman give you the key card, too?”

“Here,” Boom Boom said, handing it to Kiki.

“So we’ve got everything, then?”

“Everything that was on your list.”

“Including the mini-camera?”

“Right here.”

“Okay, so we’re ready. Sherman’s contact said she’d leave the file cabinets unlocked. We have the key cards to get into the building and then into Melnick’s suite,” Kiki said. Her sexual endorphin high fueled her. “And the rental car is out front?”

Boom Boom nodded. She was already wearing her black turtleneck, black pants, and … black heels?

“Are those Ferragamo?” Kiki asked, appraising Boom Boom’s shoes.

“Yes.”

“I haven’t seen those anywhere,” Kiki said.

“Next season.”

Kiki gasped. “What? You have next season’s Ferragamos?”

“I know a guy,” Boom Boom said. She slipped her bag over her shoulder. “Shall we go?”

“You know a guy?” Kiki was impressed. Maybe Boom Boom had been paying attention. It certainly seemed so with the bag, shoes, and … was that a Chanel overcoat?

Boom Boom saw Kiki eyeing the coat. “It’s Chanel,” Boom Boom said.

“Very nice.” Kiki reached out and touched the cloth. “Very nice.”

*

The lights at the reception desk had remained on after hours, just as Sherman’s contact promised. Excitement pulsed through Kiki. She hadn’t stolen files in almost five years. When she started KDP, breaking and entering quickly became one of her favorite business tactics.

“It’s got to be the next cabinet,” Kiki whispered. She stood, turned to her left, and pulled out the top drawer. How did people do this all day—paperwork? The file cabinet hit her at shoulder level. She stood on her tippy toes to see the names.

“Do you want the step stool?” Boom Boom asked from her post by the front door.

“I’m fine. I see it. If I can just reach over.” Kiki stretched toward the file she wanted.

“Kiki! Someone is coming,” Boom Boom whispered.

“What?”

“A man and a woman.”

“Is it Melnick? Are they coming here?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen Melnick.”

“What does the man look like?” Kiki asked.

“He’s got a big nose and—”

“That’s him,” Kiki said. She slammed the file cabinet drawer shut and turned toward Boom Boom. “Hurry, we need—” Kiki lost her balance before she felt the pain in her shin. Her right hand sank deep into the lowest file cabinet drawer, which she had failed to close. Her fingertips touched the bottom of the drawer as her head hit the metal edge. She bounced sideways and landed on her back.

“Kiki?” Boom Boom stood above her. “Kiki?”

Kiki looked up and tried to focus on her assistant’s face. Two Boom Booms floated above her.

“You’re bleeding,” Boom Boom said, kneeling beside her.

“Why are there two of you?” Kiki asked. “I don’t even want one.”

Kiki heard a clicking noise. “What’s that?”

“Kiki, shut up. That’s the front door. The doctor is here.”

Boom Boom shoved Kiki into the coat closet next to the file cabinets. They both huddled on top of a pile of shoes. Sweaters hung over their heads.

“Who’s he with?” Kiki asked. She could barely see into Melnick’s first exam room where he and the tiny creature had disappeared.

“It’s her,” Boom Boom said.

“Who?”

“Kiki, the one whose file we’re here for! It’s her!”

Kiki squinted. She felt a warm trickle on her face and touched her forehead. Blood? Her face? She’d cut her face?

“I’m bleeding,” Kiki wailed.

“Shh, I told you that. Shut up. Prison won’t be kind to you,” Boom Boom whispered. “He’s got a needle. He’s giving her a shot.”

“It’s not her,” Kiki said. She pushed Boom Boom, trying to get a better view.

Boom Boom shoved her back. “Look, Kiki, get your fucking elbow out of my ribs, okay? I know what I’m seeing. Just sit back and listen to the commentary.”

Kiki turned and looked at her assistant, ready to whip the girl with her words, but then she saw the cold look in Boom Boom’s eyes. Boom Boom’s expression said she’d knock Kiki out if she uttered another word. Kiki leaned back into the broom behind her. “Boom Boom,” she said.

“I’m not kidding, Kiki,” Boom Boom said.

“You’re promoted.”

Rule 22: Sex Sells

Celeste Solange, Actress

Cici disliked reporters; they rarely wrote good things about her. And that included Terri Seawell. As Cici stretched, she looked into her exercise mirror at Terri behind her, draped over a chaise lounge eating a buttered croissant, sipping a cappuccino, and flipping through Variety. Cici knew that her publicist, Kiki, relied on entertainment reporters like Terri to maintain Celeste’s value in the marketplace. And the studios, Worldwide included, banked on the public’s obsession with actors’ lives to spur ticket sales. But even with this knowledge, she still believed that Lydia and Kiki’s decision to grant Terri Seawell full on-set access during the filming of
Vitriol
was foolish.

Lydia struck the bargain to keep Steven Brockman on the film, but to have Terri Seawell on set —Hollywood’s oldest and most notorious entertainment reporter—while a sex tape of Cici floated about town? This was a recipe for disaster.

Cici watched herself in the mirror as she contorted her lithe body, doing post-workout stretches. She still looked good, though perhaps not as good as the barely eighteen girls on the DVDs she’d found in Damien’s closet. She hadn’t found any extra footage of herself on the unmarked DVDs from Damien’s safe, just nubile young girls.

“So, is this how you start all your days?” Terri asked. Her eyes darted toward Liam as he bent over to pack up his workout gear.

“Most of them,” Cici said.

“So what’s next?”

“Shower, then Kiki, then the set. My call time isn’t until after lunch today.”

“And where are we lunching?’ Terri asked.

“I don’t have a lunch scheduled for today. I’m in production,” Cici said.

“You don’t eat when you’re in production?”

“Not much.” Terri slathered butter on her final bit of croissant and stuffed it into her mouth. Cici guessed from Terri’s ample bosom and derriere that the journalist enjoyed mealtime.

“How sexy is that?” Terri asked. “So tomorrow is the same setup? Workout and call time after lunch?”

“Yes,” Cici said. “Exactly the same.”

“Then I’ll sleep in and have room service. Meet you on set, if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course. Whatever you want; whatever you need,” Celeste said. “Kiki told you that after tomorrow I have a ten-day break in my shooting schedule, right?”

“What? No, I didn’t know that,” Terri said, irritated.

“Lydia mentioned she wants you to follow Holden, if that’s okay. I mean, I don’t have any real plans. Ted and I are going to take a quick break at the house in Fiji,” Cici lied. She hoped Terri bought it. Cici needed to be reporter-free for the next week and a half.

“Holden Humphrey? No, I’m happy to follow Holden around for a couple of days. Is he still sleeping with Mary Anne Meyers?”

“Now, Terri, isn’t that a question for Holden or Mary Anne?”

“Whatever,” Terri said. “I’ll just ask Viève.”

“Yes, why don’t you.” Cici flashed Terri a cherubic smile.

“How do you like working with her?” Terri asked.

“Mary Anne? I love—”