Starlit: A Novel

by Lisa Rinna

  Susie arched an eyebrow. “She’s my costar on Dana Point. When someone runs to the bathroom every hour and sniffles all day long … well, let’s just put it this way, it’s not hard to figure out their drug of choice. But don’t take my word for it, ask Chase Bracken. Oh, but you can’t. He got fired by Burt Tillman. Burt’s got a little thing for Tally.”

  Richard shook his head. Although Tillman’s shows made his network a lot of money, he’d never been too fond of the old drunk.

  Susie did her best to look sympathetic. “I guess that’s what happens when your producer becomes enamored with the talent, isn’t it? Suddenly, the blinders go on. But you already know that, since the same thing has happened with Mac, too. His director, Jean-Claude Dumont, was having all that trouble with Tally on the set of Cloistered, then he got canned instead of her.” Susie sighed. “I guess that’s why Mac is working so hard to control the press around her. If anyone knew about her behavior, it could jeopardize all the money he and his investors have poured into the picture.”

  Investors like me, Richard thought. And if the film failed, Royalton’s stockholders would be calling for Richard’s head on a stake.

  Susie slipped the check into her white silk Chanel clutch and snapped it shut. “But Royalton will survive. What’s one more film in the red? The studio’s television division carries the company anyway, right?”

  Without waiting for his answer, Susie glided out the door.

  Richard looked at his calendar. Mac was expected over to the house for dinner tonight. Good, he thought, because my son has a lot of explaining to do.

  Chapter 23

  “YOU LOOK BEAUTIFUL.” Mac’s eyes opened wide as they took her in. Tally was dressed in a fuchsia-colored strapless silk dress, and her hair was pulled back into a loose bun, revealing her beautiful long neck and the diamond strand earrings he’d given her the week before.

  She did a slight bow, then took his hand as she maneuvered into the passenger seat of his Maserati GranCabrio. “Well, you said you had a surprise. I can’t wait to find out where we’re going.”

  He smiled, but that was it. He wasn’t going to give anything away just yet.

  He took the 110 out of Los Angeles toward Pasadena. “Let me guess,” Tally said. “The Parkway Grill, right? No? Then it’s got to be the Huntington—”

  Mac laughed. “It’s close to the hotel but not quite. Look, don’t even try to guess, because you won’t figure it out in a million years.”

  She realized why when they pulled up in front of the wrought-iron gates of a beautiful Italianate villa that looked as if it had been transported, stone by stone, from Tuscany. “Is this a private club? You must have to know someone to get in here!”

  “No—and yes. But don’t get too excited. The ambience might be the best thing about the night. Here’s hoping that’s not the case.”

  Mac punched in the security code, and the gates swung back silently. Italian cedars lined both sides of the driveway, which wound around for a hundred yards before reaching the estate’s home itself. When they pulled up to the villa, the large double doors were opened by a butler, who walked briskly out to the car. Noting that there was someone in the passenger side, he made his way there first and helped Tally from the car. She waited while he opened the door for Mac.

  The entry hall was circular and adorned with Impressionist paintings. The marble floors echoed at the tap of Tally’s heels as she followed Mac down the wide hallway into a large paneled room that was obviously the living room. Three large, elegant white sofas created a conversation pit around a fireplace large enough for a man to stand up inside it. A huge painting of a hunt scene hung over the mantel, and the walls flanking the fireplace were lined from floor to ceiling with heavily molded bookcases. A Steinway grand piano took up one corner of the room, along with an antique harp. Another had a large round table as its centerpiece that was perfect for playing bridge.

  Seated on one of the couches was Mac’s mother, Elizabeth Hayden Carlton. Tally recognized her immediately from her pictures, but despite the elegance of her Escada ensemble and the expertly applied makeup, Mac’s mother looked like a ghostly remnant of the vibrant actress she once was. It didn’t help that her hair was dyed jet black, that her skeletal frame looked fragile, that her forehead was devoid of lines, and that her skin was stretched so tautly against her unnaturally high cheeks that it gave her a ghostly pallor.

  Tally prayed that her own face did not reflect the disappointment in her eyes. Suddenly, she realized that Mac’s decision to keep their destination a surprise had to do with his discomfort regarding his parents. Had he tried to prepare her for meeting them, she would have only been more nervous.

  “The prodigal son returns,” Elizabeth said with a touch of bitterness. Instead of standing to greet her son, she waved her crystal tumbler at him, sending a bit of its clear liquid spilling over the sides. “And who do we have here? Seems our Malcolm brought company home with him tonight, Richard.”

  My goodness, she’s soused, Tally thought.

  Out of the corner of her eye, the young actress noticed some movement by the huge bay window. Richard Carlton turned around to face them, and the smile on his face—which was, really, just a forced grimace—disappeared completely when he noticed Tally. In fact, he frowned and gulped down the last of his drink.

  Obviously, Mac noticed this, too, because his voice had a false cheeriness Tally had never heard before when he said, “Mother, Father, I’d like to introduce you to Tally Jones. As you know, she’s the star of Cloistered.”

  The silence in the room was defeaning.

  When Richard finally spoke, it was as if he were commenting on something unpleasant on the bottom of his shoe. “Yes, we know of Tally. Her reputation precedes her.”

  He didn’t walk over to greet her or to shake her hand. Instead, he just glared at her.

  Finally, Elizabeth rose uneasily from her perch on the couch. “Well, this should be an interesting night. Shall we move into the dining room?”

  Despite Mac’s attempt to lighten the mood at dinner, nothing he could say warmed up the obvious chill that blanketed the room. Richard mustered all the politeness of someone who feels put upon to spend time with those he feels are beneath him, while Elizabeth, whose meal consisted of sucking on the olives that buoyed the many martini refills the butler poured generously into her Baccarat crystal tumbler, looked at Tally with pity.

  Tally didn’t know which was worse.

  With the appearance of dessert, the scales tipped in Richard’s favor. He had been ignoring Tally until then, but suddenly, he turned his attention to her. “Miss Jones, tell me, of all the wonderful actresses who grace our industry, how do you think you got the starring role in Mac’s picture?”

  The boldness of his question shocked her. Deciding that honesty was always the best policy, she said, “Well, Mr. Carlton, I was told by my agent, Josh Gold, that the director enjoyed my work on Dana Point. He found out I was available when the movie was scheduled to shoot, so he put in a call.” She gave a little nervous laugh. “I guess you can say the rest is history.”

  “So, you didn’t even audition?” Richard asked in mock wonder, then glanced at Mac. “How strange. I also find it curious that this very same director—one of the world’s most revered directors, at that—was fired because of some altercation involving you.”

  “What are you trying to imply?” Mac jumped in. “I happened to be on the set when he was berating Tally. If you must know, it wasn’t the first time Jean-Claude was abusive to the cast or crew.”

  The anger in Mac’s voice made Tally cringe.

  “And another thing,” he continued. “It wasn’t Jean-Claude’s decision to hire Tally, it was mine.”

  Richard shot daggers at his son with his eyes. “I’m not surprised. It was a stupid mistake to hire an untried nobody with a scandalous reputation. Damn it, Mac, what were you thinking? I can’t believe I let you talk me into putting Royalton’s money on the line for—
for this.” He practically spit the words at Tally.

  “What the hell are you talking about? Look, whatever you’ve read in the tabloids about Tally is just Hollywood gossip, complete and utter garbage! Hell, I can’t believe you would take any of that stuff seriously—”

  “For God’s sake, she works at my studio! Don’t you know I have people on the set whom I trust to tell me what I need to know about those who put our investments at risk?”

  “You’ve got people spying on Tally?” Mac asked. Too angry to sit any longer, he stood up, rattling the glasses on the table with the force of his movement. Before he could lunge at his father, Tally grabbed his arm to hold him back. “I suppose you spy on me, too!”

  “If I did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” Richard ran his hand through his steel-gray hair. “I would have known earlier about your plan to jeopardize the film.”

  “Granted, Tally wasn’t on the short list,” Mac conceded, though he was so angry the words were spoken through his teeth. “But Royalton’s production chief approved Tally for the lead. In fact, they welcomed the choice. She’s part of the Royalton family, and she’s an Emmy nominee, for God’s sake.”

  “And because you—and that old sod Burt Tillman—have done such a superb job in covering up for her, my studio will be out its investment in your film.” Richard’s rage showed in his shortness of breath. “I finally gave you a shot to bring it all home for Royalton—for us—and you blew it on some little tramp! Well, I hope she’s good enough in bed that this was all worth it for you.”

  Mac, who had been clenching his napkin tightly, suddenly tossed it down on the table in anger. As it hit the table, Tally bolted straight up in her chair. What on earth is going on? And what can Richard possibly think about me that would cause him to act this way?

  Calmly, Mac addressed his father. “Don’t worry about Royalton’s investment. I’ll have it replaced by the close of business on Friday.” With that, Mac grabbed Tally’s hand and pulled her up out of her chair.

  Mac didn’t say one word on the drive out of Pasadena. When they arrived at his Pacific Palisades driveway, Tally found the nerve to ask, “Mac, won’t replacing Royalton mean coming up with ten million dollars or so?”

  He laughed derisively. “More like twenty, if you want the truth.”

  “But … where will you get that kind of money?”

  “That’s a very good question. Let’s hope I find the answer to it before five o’clock Friday. Otherwise, I’ll lose everything I’ve invested in Cloistered, and both of us can kiss our careers good-bye.”

  Chapter 24

  “OK, DON’T OPEN your eyes until I tell you.”

  Tally nodded reluctantly but did as Sadie commanded. They were standing in her newly decorated living room, and she was eager to see how Sadie had made it over. In fact, she desperately needed something to lift her spirits. It was already Wednesday evening, and the cavalry—in the way of an investor—had yet to come to Mac’s rescue.

  Unless someone showed up with a fat checkbook in the next forty-eight hours, the film wouldn’t be finished in time for the upcoming round of festivals, where it could attract a possible distributor, now that Royalton wouldn’t be performing that function—or any other—for the film. Even worse, without new money to replace Royalton’s investment, the movie might have to be shelved altogether.

  But Tally didn’t want to think about that just now. The excitement in Sadie’s voice was contagious as she shouted, “Voilá!”

  Tally opened her eyes, and what she saw took her breath away. While the living room had been previously devoid of any color, it was now painted a beautiful sunny yellow that contrasted perfectly with the stark white of its deep moldings. Sheer white drapes hung on high rods, encasing the long, low windows and French doors leading out to the terrace and the pool. A berry-colored patterned kilim rug softened the wide-planked oak floor.

  The furniture Sadie had chosen was French country in flavor: lots of whitewashed knotty pine and elegant oval-backed chairs upholstered in a soft blue toile pattern that played well off the red, yellow, and blue stripes on the Louis XV cane-backed Canapé sofa. An intricate crewel tapestry hung on one wall, and a large, square, ornate coffee table showcased two large white stone candlesticks shaped like cherubs. The plain fireplace mantel had been replaced with an ornate one boasting a subtle gargoyle on each side.

  Tally’s eyes welled up with tears. “I feel like I’m back in Paris. Thank you, Sadie! It’s so beautiful.”

  “Oh, honey, I enjoyed doing it.” A tear dotted Sadie’s cheek, but she started to laugh as she wiped it away. “Hey, just wait until you see your new screening room! Every movie star needs one, right?”

  Tally nodded. “Sadie, I don’t know what to say.”

  “Well, I do know one way you can make it up to me. Would you mind if I invited a few people over to see what I’ve done?” she asked hopefully. “One of my neighbors in Malibu has been begging me to give her some advice on how she can redo her ballroom before her next gala—”

  “Ballroom? Wow! Just how big is her place?”

  “Let me put it this way: it makes the Montage BH look like a shed. I’m talking about her Bel Air estate, of course. Her Malibu place is only half that size.” Sadie chuckled. “Believe me, with the number of parties she throws, she certainly needs a ballroom. Her name is Elena Hahn, and she’s a billionairess from Russia. I know you’ll recognize her when you see her—she’s on every charity’s hit list. Her husband is a big oil mogul over in Moscow. In fact, I think her Fabergé egg collection once belonged to the tsar.” Sadie shook her head in wonder. “She dabbles in everything, art, antiques, and the other day, she bought a race horse just because it won some charity race she attended at Hollywood Park. The horse hasn’t lost since! I tell you, everything that woman touches turns to gold.”

  She played with one of the window sheers until it gathered to her liking. “But Elena tells me all those society stiffs bore the heck out of her. I guess that’s why she’s a real celebrity hound. She says creative types are ‘wonderful creatures.’ Ha! She’d change her mind after one day in my old job. I guess what Josh does and the people he does it for fascinate her.”

  Tally laughed. “Lucky for her you know a lot of creative types.”

  “Well, you know what they say. Money and power draw people like bees to honey—even famous people.”

  Money is power, and both trump fame. It seemed to Tally that she’d heard that somewhere else before. Now that she was experiencing it firsthand in her own career, she had no doubt about how true it was.

  Sadie picked up one of the cushions on the couch and gave it a punch. In response, it puffed back out, and she nodded to herself, satisfied. “When Elena heard I was putting together the living room for the Tally Jones, star of her absolute favorite television show, Dana Point, she was pea green with envy. She’s just dying to see how this project turned out.”

  Tally shrugged. “Sure, bring her over.” She started to walk toward the dining room to see what changes awaited her there, when a thought suddenly hit her. “Sadie, why don’t you and Josh bring Elena over tomorrow evening, say, around seven? I want to throw a little dinner party in honor of my new screening room. In fact, Charles Fourret and Archer Conway, my costars in Cloistered, are in town doing some post-dubbing, and I’ll see if they’re free. Kent Whitman will come, too. Elena should enjoy meeting all of them.” Tally raised one of the candlesticks and touched the cheek of the cherub gently with her fingertip. “And of course, she’ll want to meet the Oscar-winning producer Mac Carlton. None of us will bore her. In fact, we might be her golden ticket into Hollywood.”

  “That sounds great,” Sadie said excitedly. “Let’s invite Mandy, too.”

  “I don’t know, Sadie,” Tally said, feeling guilty already. “Do you think Elena might be put off by a porn star?”

  “Just wait,” Sadie said with a short laugh. “You haven’t met Elena yet!”

  Mac didn’t wan
t to bring the rough cut of Cloistered to her house, but she reassured him that it would be worth it. “Sadie’s new rich friend might be our movie’s salvation. By the way, bring Charles and Archer, too. I’m sure they’ll appreciate a meal that isn’t delivered via room service.”

  Mac laughed. “Frankly, considering our new austerity plan, I’m sure they’d appreciate anything that didn’t come from In-N-Out Burger.”

  “Great, then we’re all set,” Tally said. “Just be at my place at seven and ready to make the pitch of your career.”

  “I guess you’re right, we’ve got nothing to lose. Besides, the clock is ticking.”

  Since Tally wouldn’t be done shooting until at least six, Sadie went ahead and arranged for a meal to be delivered from Spago and ordered enough flower arrangements from Eric Buterbaugh, the premier florist to the stars, to dot every room. She set everything up and made sure the lights were low and inviting. When Tally arrived home, she was relieved to see a full bar ready for her guests as well.

  She gave Sadie a kiss. “Wow, you are amazing! You thought of everything.”

  Guests started trickling in soon after, and Elena Hahn was the last to arrive. What with her tight, low-cut blouse, high boots, and short skirt, the chesty, brassy blonde could have passed for an extra in one of Mandy’s movies as opposed to the demure social butterfly Tally had envisioned, but the ten-karat D-class pink diamond ring on her finger certainly put things in perspective. She had a raucously heady laugh, and a deep Slavic accent laced her conversation. “Yooo are my favorite actress on TV, Meez Tally Jones! We now will be great friends, yah?”

  “I look forward to it, Elena. And please do meet my other guests: the actress Taylor Made and the French director Charles Fourret.”

  Elena’s eyes lit up when the illustrious French director bent down to kiss her hand.

  “Charles and Archer Conway are here dubbing the movie we all made together,” Tally explained. “In fact, at dinner, you’ll be sitting between our director, Kent Whitman, and our producer, Mac Carlton.” Mac’s handshake was less demonstrative than Charles’s but no less heartfelt.