by Leonie Gant
Chapter Six
Heading to Eleanor’s the next morning, I wasn’t feeling quite as refreshed as I had hoped to be after my supposed day off. After Crystal and Edwin had left, I had written up a detailed report on everything that had happened that day and emailed it to Monique. I decided not to include the follow up friendly visit from Griffin, just that the LAPD had delivered my car to me at home. I also notified her that I would be returning to my assignment with Eleanor Channing today. The email back had been short and sweet but the thrust of it was to be careful.
Eleanor’s house was noisy when I got there. Yesterday had been an anomaly for Eleanor, to be alone. Today things were back to normal. To be perfectly honest I have no idea what half the people who are around Eleanor do. I know her manager, the cook, the housekeeper, the maids and the bodyguards. Basically I know the people in her life who have easily definable jobs. Then there are the people who just seem to be there to tell her how wonderful she is. Usually I ignore these people. The only reason they speak to me is because as her PA, they believe I can give them more access to Eleanor than they already have.
In the lower foyer, Jorge, one of Eleanor’s regular roster of bodyguards that Monique provides, lounged against the wall. Great. That meant we were going out today. Silly me, I thought the fact that your ex-boyfriend had died meant that you’d stay at home and maybe mourn for a minute or two. Obviously not.
“Hope that’s strong,” Jorge said, looking at the coffee in my hand.
“It always is,” I replied.
Jorge was one of the few bodyguards that I could tolerate. He knew his business and managed to do it discreetly.
“Heard you were there yesterday,” Jorge remarked, only looking slightly interested as he drank his own coffee.
“Yeah, I was,” I replied carefully.
“Any fallout I should be aware of?” Jorge asked, and this was why he was one of the better bodyguards. Despite the fact the man was huge, like a mountain with tattoos all over him, and biceps which I have on occasion imagined swinging from, he actually had a brain that worked out the possible threats to his charge before they happened. He was also careful in what he did and tried not to trample over too many enthusiastic fans while he did his job.
“She was there when Ryan Hendricks died. You’re going to have people who think that she was to blame. Whatever they come up with, whether it is drugs or something else, there are going to be a lot of fans who are going to think it was her fault.”
“Do you think it was drugs?” Jorge asked.
“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “Probably. You know how it is. I didn’t think Ryan did drugs but what would I know?”
“Guess you’d better get up to her,” Jorge said.
“Have you seen her yet?” I asked.
“Nah, she’s still in her room with her therapist. I think the poor shrink ended up having to sleep in her room all night and get woken up on demand.”
“Great.”
I made my way up the stairs and knocked quietly on the door. Opening it, I found Eleanor still in bed, the therapist sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, looking like she was quietly nodding off to sleep. Eleanor however was awake and just sitting there looking out of the window.
“Miss Channing,” I said quietly, trying not to disturb her too much. “Is there anything you need me to get you?”
I didn’t really expect anything at this stage. To keep her stunning, impossible for normal people to attain figure, Eleanor pretty much existed on a no fat, no sugar and no fun diet. This meant coffee, cigarettes, occasional salads and a binge every now and again, followed by a period of self-flagellation with the latest toxin cleansing diet which was making the rounds. During this time, believe me, everyone suffered.
“Do you want to go through your itinerary for the day?” I asked, pulling out my tablet.
“No,” sighed Eleanor. “I need you to cancel everything I have today. I’m spending the day at Bliss. I think I need to take care of me today.”
I nodded in what I hoped was an understanding way. Considering pretty much every day was all about Eleanor Channing, I didn’t get how this would make today any different.
“Are you sure you want to go out in public?” I asked. “Maybe after what happened yesterday it might be good to stay at home rather than spending the day at a spa.”
“Bliss is not just a spa,” Eleanor said indignantly. “It is a wellness center and I need to heal after the trauma I suffered yesterday. Dr Kennedy said it would be best for me.”
Considering Dr Kennedy was probably completely sleep deprived, I wasn’t sure how much stock I would put into her advice right about now. That being said, Bliss seemed to be the place to go for everyone. Part spa, part relaxation, all indulgence. The therapists in LA seemed to have locked onto it as the complete cure-all for Hollywood’s beautiful and stressed. Luckily it worked on the same priority system as everywhere in LA and Eleanor Channing was close to the top of that priority system.
Eleanor’s therapist, grateful that her work seemed to be done, left, but only after reiterating that Eleanor should go alone to Bliss. None of her entourage should be there as Eleanor needed to process yesterday’s events and how they affected her life and her future going forward. That meant there were only three of us in the limo heading for Bliss: Eleanor, Jorge and myself. Jorge, of course, would only be allowed inside the reception area as men were strictly forbidden from the inner sanctum. I, as a woman, was allowed to go in, but there would be no pampering for me. My job was to sit in a corner and be invisible for six hours. I couldn’t leave to eat and if I wanted to pee I was out of luck.
Two hours in, I was very discreetly sitting on the edge of the communal bath room. It was based on the old Roman baths concept where women sat in one of the square, in ground baths soaking in some kind of organic concoction. Eleanor had just been relaxing in some milk and honey when there was a sound as the door opened and I looked up into the horrified face of Emily Saunders’ PA. Emily Saunders, as in Ryan Hendricks’s fiancée, Emily Saunders.
“You slut, how dare you show your face here.” Emily shoved her PA to one side and stormed over to Eleanor who was trying desperately to wrap her towel around her wet, and probably sticky from the honey, body.
To Eleanor’s credit she did try to make a hasty exit. Nothing like being caught out at being the other woman. Emily Saunders kept yelling at Eleanor using language which, quite frankly, considering she had been portrayed in the media as the sweet innocent darling of tinsel town, quite shocked me.
After sending Jorge a quick help text on my cell, I went to grab hold of Eleanor to get her out, reminding myself to send a very strongly worded note of complaint to the management of Bliss. Something along the lines of making sure staff kept an eye on bookings with relation to current affairs. Unfortunately, as I reached Eleanor, I could see the change in her when Emily made the mistake of calling her a white trailer trash whore. Eleanor Channing was the product of a less than ideal upbringing and she had grown up in some pretty rough places. Despite her delicate look now, I knew from some of the previous stalker incidents with ex-boyfriends, that the woman was able to bring it if necessary. All of a sudden I started being less worried about Eleanor and more worried about how Hollywood princess, Emily Saunders, was going to find herself getting an education on how fighting worked on the streets.
Eleanor grabbed hold of Emily’s hair and dove onto her. The two of them ended up on the ground, slapping and scratching. I know when you see fighting on the screen it looks good, but that is because it is choreographed. Fighting in real life, in most cases, looks ridiculous and messy. In this case there was biting and pinching and pulling hair. Eleanor had managed to get on top of Emily. Meanwhile Emily had managed to get hold of Eleanor’s arm and left some bite marks on it.
I could hear noise coming from the reception area as voices were raised and hoped that Jorge was able to get in here and help me out. Emily’s PA
was standing to one side taking video footage as were most of the staff. No one seemed to be at all interested in stopping the cat fight that was going on in front of them.
Hair was flying everywhere as extensions were torn off. Eleanor had managed to scratch Emily’s face, but give the girl her due, Emily was putting up a plucky fight. There was no way she could win. Street fighter against princess always ended with the princess being destroyed. Considering she started it, I had trouble feeling sorry for Emily. My mother always told me to never start a fight unless you were sure you could win. Anything else was just plain stupidity.
Sighing heavily, I waded in trying to separate the two women. Neither of them seemed to pay attention to me as I tried to yell out for someone to help me. No one seemed all that interested and kept on filming. In that moment I truly hated the internet.
Trying to pull Eleanor away, I felt arms grab me from behind. Panicking, I flailed backwards and my elbow hit something solid. I heard a quick grunt and then I was flying backwards, thrown to the ground and put in handcuffs, before I knew what happened. Looking up, I saw Detective Griffin with a decidedly annoyed expression on his face and a red mark around his right eye. Oops, that might have been me. Detective Ramos, obviously with a great deal more skill then me, had managed to separate the two fighters and was barking orders about finding the two women some clothes. Oh did I fail to mention that the two of them had lost their towels during the fight. Emily’s PA was so much smarter than me. That footage was going to be pure gold.
Looking over, I saw Jorge had finally managed to make it past the reception doors, he must have come in with the cops. He was texting furiously, probably to Eleanor’s management. While Ramos was dealing with Emily and Eleanor, and Griffin was dealing with onlookers, Jorge rambled over to me. I had managed to get myself in a sitting position and was contemplating what this little incident meant for my career. I could see myself being blamed by management for this. Not Eleanor’s therapist for suggesting the woman leave the house, not Bliss for booking two women who should not be in the same building together, and not Emily and Eleanor for engaging in a schoolyard brawl.
“You okay, cupcake?” Jorge asked in that offhand way of his.
“Do I look okay?” I asked.
“Not really, you look kind of screwed,” he said.
“And not in a good way,” I replied.
He put a friendly arm around my shoulders. “Don’t worry, cupcake, I’m sure this will all be sorted out soon.”
“I would suggest you get the hell away from my prisoner,” a voice growled at us.
Looking up I could see Detective Griffin and his eyes were narrowed, focused on Jorge’s arm around me.
“Sorry, Detective,” Jorge said. “Seeya, cupcake,” he said to me and then, looking straight at Griffin, he dropped his head and kissed me on the cheek. “Later,” he whispered and sauntered off with a cocky grin at Griffin.
Griffin looked back at me and I could see he wasn’t amused. Usually I appreciate the humor in Jorge’s willingness to not just poke the bear, but slap it up the side of the head with a two by four. Today, not so much. I was the one in handcuffs with a displeased cop that I had, and I cannot emphasize this enough, accidentally hit in the eye with my elbow.