Hollywood Strip

by Shamron Moore

  “This is great. Now I really feel like I’m in England,” Callie said. She sat at a heavy wooden table while he ordered two pints from the bartender. The dozen patrons were buried in their Boddingtons and fish-and-chips and didn’t so much as even glance Evan’s way. “I have a question for you. It seems out of the blue but I’ve always been curious.…” She sipped the frothy lager.

  “I’m all ears,” replied Evan lightheartedly.

  “That girl, Rachel O’Connor. If you weren’t dating her and you didn’t want to deal with the paparazzi, why were you seen at nightclubs together? And shopping on Robertson Boulevard, of all places?”

  “Look, Rachel and I dated a little—although it’s hardly what she made it out to be in those awful interviews she gave. She’s pretty, young, Miss November.… Come on, Callie—I am a man, after all. But she always wanted to go where she knew she’d get photographed, which is really what ended it for me. A publicity whore is obnoxious. Why does she bother you so much?” He propped his elbows on the table.

  “Because when I met her, she was a frigid, partied-out bitch,” said Callie. “I couldn’t understand why, of all the girls panting at your feet, you liked her.”

  “Rachel was wild—a true party girl. I couldn’t keep up with her, to be honest. This is rather amusing, actually; I never pegged you as the jealous type. It’s kind of cute.” His bright eyes glinted.

  “Jealous? Please. You deserve better, that’s all, and she seems so trashy. Is it true she was a hooker?”

  He laughed. “I don’t know, but I wouldn’t be surprised. She was a good time. It was noncommittal, totally casual.”

  “Like you and me?” She regretted blurting the words as soon as she uttered them. Evan stared at her with an intensity that turned her already rosy cheeks a shade darker.

  “I don’t recall ever inviting Rachel to visit me in another country.” He grasped her face with both hands and kissed her. She responded by clenching the back of his hair and stroking her tongue against his.

  “Someone get these birds a bloody room!” shouted a man.

  They pawed and nibbled a minute longer before leaving. Raw sex beckoned.

  32

  Life with Evan was one spontaneous romp after another, like unwrapping a shiny, sugary treat every minute. She’d ask for a dish of ice cream and he’d offer her a chocolate-sprinkle-covered waffle cone of dulce de leche. Unending invites to private parties besieged them. “Dinner at Supperclub tonight, doll? Or would you prefer Italian? If so, I’ll ring up Cecconi’s and make sure they save us a seat. I’ve got first-row tickets to see Elton John, as well. I personally don’t care, it’s all the same to me, so take your pick.” He meant it. Every day with Bedroom Eyes was a Saturday night. If they missed the opening of a new club or a music mogul’s cocktail party, they made up for it by going to an event more magnificent the following evening. Heavy on glamour, high on octane, Callie was smitten with the excitement.

  Prancing around with her famous tour guide had its pitfalls; Evan rarely went unnoticed and it often wasn’t possible to squire around his American visitor without assistance. Bodyguards accompanied the couple but Evan found them cumbersome. He liked as little fuss as possible, an unpretentious attribute that appealed to Callie. The scenario was typical; a romantic dinner at a chic eatery or table service at the nightclub-of-the-moment—in the VIP section with the best view in the house, of course—before, inevitably, a group of fans discovered his presence. They gawked and pointed and salivated if Evan so much as raised a napkin to his mouth. He was gracious—even after security had to shoo overzealous women away—but explained, when pushed, “If I’m with my girl, I’m off the clock.”

  Callie tagged closely behind a bodyguard as they exited Sketch. The burly man, calm and impenetrable, pushed through the camera-infested mob. Flashes illuminated the inky sky and made it difficult to see farther than a foot ahead. “And you think L.A. is worse?” she yelled into Evan’s ear.

  “By far!” Evan shouted back, and took her hand in his. “The Brits are tame in comparison.”

  “Evan! Keep it sexy with my sister and me! We want to have your babies!” shouted a stout woman with pocked skin. Callie shot her a demonic look.

  The first taste of the nasty side of celebrity came when Callie saw her face thrown in the daily tabloids. Marquardt and Mystery Brunette Elope read one headline; Identity of Evan’s New Girl Revealed! proclaimed another. The interest was unsettling. Like any performer, she enjoyed attention, but it wasn’t the adulation she had envisioned, and it certainly wasn’t on her terms. Messages from friends—mostly acquaintances—who caught her on entertainment shows and blogs clogged her voice mail, including one from her mother.

  “Your phone doesn’t work overseas, I’m guessing. I didn’t know you were in London, why didn’t you tell me? Tony and I were watching Hollywood Hotspot and all of a sudden, there you were! I couldn’t believe it. They showed a clip of you leaving a party with that singer, Edmond or Edwin, something like that. My girlfriends called to tell me they saw it, too; everyone’s talking about it here. It’s kind of exciting, I have to admit. Anyhow, the reporter said there’s a rumor you’re going to be in Coquette and I’m wondering what this is all about. As usual, you’ve left me in the dark.…”

  Paul Angers had given Callie the news a few days into the New Year: Coquette wanted her and Gabrielle for a pictorial and the cover—thirty thousand apiece with the signing of the contract and an additional thirty after completing a weeklong photo shoot in February. The issue was slated to coincide with the theatrical release of Nympho Cheerleaders Attack! in September. The paperwork was faxed to Evan’s and, before her signature was dry, Callie rang Gabrielle to revel in the news.

  “Didn’t I tell you Sherri Finstad would work her magic?” Gabby said.

  “You did, but I’m still shocked! The first thing I’m doing when I get back to L.A. is look for a new apartment. Moving out of the Valley will feel better than sex!”

  Gabby laughed. “I got your message, by the way. Thanks for worrying about me but everything’s fine.”

  “Did Tom really hit you?”

  “No, no, things totally got blown out of proportion and I overreacted. I’m not pressing any charges. It was silly of me to call the cops in the first place.”

  “But, Gabby—”

  “I’m busy moving forward with the wedding. I’ve forgotten how much work it is to plan one! May eighth, so save the date.”

  “But if he really did hit you—”

  “Trust me, Callie,” she said sternly, “I’m fine. I’m a big girl, you know, I can take care of myself. The press made it out to look much worse than it actually was, so let’s just drop it, okay?”

  “Fine. Subject dropped,” she said with frustration.

  “Let’s focus on the positive: you’re having the time of your life with Evan, we’re shooting the cover of Coquette in a few weeks, I’m getting married, and before you know it, the movie will be out. This year is really starting off with a bang!”

  Callie grimaced at Gabby’s choice of words. “It certainly is.”

  33

  “Are you going to just stare at it or are you going to open it?” Evan teased. He snuggled with Callie underneath the blankets of his California king. Chinese takeout containers littered his-and-her end tables as Goodfellas, his favorite movie, played on television. A robin’s egg blue box was perched on top of her stomach. The trademark color was unmistakable.

  “Tiffany!” she gasped, untying the silky white ribbon. “Oooooh … Are these emeralds?” She sat up in bed and inspected the baubles.

  “And diamonds. What do you think?”

  “They’re the most beautiful earrings I’ve ever seen. Just gorgeous. And my birthstone, too.”

  “I know. Why do you think I chose them? Congratulations on Coquette, baby.” He leaned in for a kiss and she planted a giant smooch on his lips. “Go ahead, put them on.… Yes, I’d say I definitely made the right choice.” His eye
s twinkled with satisfaction while she made the chandeliers dance by swinging her head from side to side. A somber thought struck her—what did this mean? Was he her boyfriend? Only boyfriends and husbands gave presents like this. Were they an exclusive item, a monogamous couple? They hadn’t discussed the exact nature of their relationship in the ten days she’d spent with him. She knew without a shadow of a doubt she could be a faithful partner but wasn’t so sure about Evan.…

  “What’s the matter?” he asked. “Since when did jewels make a girl so sad?”

  “I don’t want to leave tomorrow; I want to stay with you.”

  “Then stay. We’ll reschedule your flight.”

  She shook her head regretfully. “I can’t. Paul has a few auditions lined up for me later this week. I have to get back to the real world.”

  “Since when is L.A. the real world? Come on, stay with me a few more days. Go back at the end of the week.” She hesitated and his eyes bored into hers with a conviction he hadn’t displayed before. “Look,” he said, “I want to be with you. I only want to be with you.”

  “Do you know how long I’ve waited to hear you say that?” she whispered.

  “Really, now? You’ve always played it pretty cool. A relationship hasn’t been at the top of my list for a while. I didn’t think I had time for it, or that I was even ready. I can’t lie; it will be challenging with my schedule. This is the longest I’ve spent without a microphone in front of my face in eight months. Constant meetings with managers, interviewers, being hounded by the press, hopping from one plane to another—it’s all made me crave something real, something private I don’t have to share with the whole fucking universe. I finally realized a chunk was missing.”

  “And what was it?”

  “You, silly.”

  Callie’s saucer eyes moistened and Evan continued. “You make me feel sane. Balanced. You’re not chasing me for a cut like the rest of them. You don’t want your ten or twenty percent, you’re not looking to sell a picture or quote for a quick buck. Los Angeles hasn’t tarnished you yet and I hope it never will. There are thousands of Rachels out there—probably millions—but I’ve yet to meet another Callie Lambert.” Evan rolled on top of her and nuzzled her neck like a manic gorilla. She giggled and pushed him back.

  “Seriously, though. No one has ever told me what you’ve just said or been half as exciting or generous. I’ve wanted you all to myself the first second I laid eyes on you on set,” she said.

  “I’ll confess I only wanted in between your legs at that point.”

  “I figured as much. Do you realize how long it had been since I had sex? Six months! I felt like a cat in heat—a horny, howling pussy. I tried and tried to convince myself I didn’t want anything more, either, but I could never get you out of my head. Not for long, anyway.”

  “I have that effect on people—I spread through your subconscious like a mad rash. So, this means you’re going to keep me company a little while longer? I won’t be able to make it to L.A. for at least a month—the European leg of my tour kicks off at the end of January. And I’ve decided I want to introduce you to Riley; he’ll adore you. I implore you to stay.”

  “I love it when you beg,” she purred, and dialed a number on Evan’s phone. “Paul? I won’t be home in time to make those auditions. Yeah, I know, but something came up and I need to stay in London a few more days. No, nothing’s wrong. Yes, I’m positive. Everything’s fine. In fact, things couldn’t be more perfect.”

  34

  House music pumped in the makeup room as Callie relaxed in a chair. Tyler painted her face in between sporadically dancing. “I love this song!” he cried. He stood still long enough to apply a liberal dose of liquid liner. “Makes me want to dance all night and party my tuchus off.” Callie offered him her flute of bubbly but he declined. “If I drink, I’ll get sloppy and you’ll look like Helen Keller got ahold of you. But I’ll take you up on it when I’m done.”

  It was noon on a Monday and they were at Coquette’s Westside studio for the beginning of their five-day shoot. The company pulled out all the stops for their two cover girls—Dom, anything and everything to snack on, assistants at their beck and call (“Are those chocolate-covered strawberries you requested up to par, Callie?” a gofer asked. “If not, I’ll run out and grab something else.”) and whomever they desired for hair and makeup. Tyler, of course, was a no-brainer for Callie, but she wasn’t well acquainted with any hairstylists. At Gabrielle’s suggestion, she chose a Baton Rouge–bred cutie named Tessa. She was amazed with Tessa’s ability to create spectacular waves that put the b in bounce.

  “Don’t blink,” Tyler ordered. “Your lashes need to dry. I’m off to piss.” He returned with a grimace covering his boyish face.

  “You look like you just sucked off a lemon,” noted Callie.

  “There’s a huge, hairy guy wandering around,” he said. “Is he the director who got arrested? The one engaged to the hooker?”

  Callie scowled. “Gabby’s not a hooker, Ty. Maybe she fell on hard times in the past, but that doesn’t mean she’s a bad person or we should judge her.”

  “Sheesh, skank, calm your pussy before you sweat off your paint. I’m not trying to be nasty—just calling a spade a spade. This town is full of pay-for-play, guys and girls alike. Nothing new here. Gotta do what you gotta do.”

  “I’m just amazed she took him back,” sighed Callie.

  “Happens all the time. I’ll tell you what it is—bitches love a rocked-out bank account. I don’t care how loaded or famous a guy is—no amount of money could make me stay with someone crazy. I wig out if a guy wants to spank me, let alone beats my ass. You wouldn’t think it to look at me, but this one likes it vanilla. Nice and easy, thank you very much. Throw some rose petals on the bed and I’m happy.”

  A sudden rap at the door made Tyler jump. It was Tom with his favorite bichon frise, Bardot, cradled in his arms. “Why, if it isn’t my Layla!” he said.

  Callie eyed him coldly. “Hello.”

  “Heavens to Betsy, is that thing even real?” Tyler scratched the dog’s head. “She looks like a stuffed animal.”

  “Bardot, here, is my baby. She treats me better than any of my own kids,” Tom said. “Thought I’d stop in to say hi. How’s it going, Callie? You nervous?”

  “Not really.”

  “Good. No reason to be. You’re a regular pro. You know the drill and you’re in great hands. Hank is one of the best. He’s getting some fantastic shots of my lady love right now. Smokes, look at those Bambi eyes on you! Fantastic.”

  Callie ignored the compliment.

  “She’s going to give every straight male from here to Maine a Matterhorn-size erection,” said Tyler.

  “Absolutely. I’ve always said, if you’re going to do it, do it big. All right, I’m going back on set. Nice seeing you, kid. Keep up the great work.” The moment Tom turned his back Callie rolled her eyes.

  “That dickhead thinks he can schmooze me,” she huffed.

  “Then he obviously doesn’t know you very well. You were cold as death but I’ve seen you much worse.” Tyler surveyed his handiwork. Come-hither, heavy-lidded peepers were his specialty. “Tell me what you think. Should we go smokier?”

  “A little, and can you wing it up more in the outer crease? You know how I love a good cat eye. I wish you could do my makeup every day, Ty.”

  He smudged the charcoal shadow with deft strokes. “And I wish I could find a husband built like Mr. Universe with a château in the south of France, but that’s not going to happen, either. There, I’d say you’re fully skankified.” He wiped his brushes clean and took a swig of bubbly. “Have you told your mother yet about Coquette?”

  “No need to. She found out from the press.”

  “Oh, snap! She must have had an absolute cow.”

  “Actually, I think she’s warming up to the fact that I just happen to make a living wearing fewer clothes than most people. Not that she’s given me her seal of approval, exa
ctly, but she wasn’t nearly as pissed as I thought she’d be.”

  “That’s progress, at least. Your mother is as uptight as they come. What’s going on with Evan? When’s that hot piece back in town?”

  Callie groaned dreamily. “Another two weeks. He’s playing Athens tonight.”

  “How grand is his place in London?”

  “Beautiful but not what you’d expect. It’s much smaller than I would have guessed, especially after seeing his house in the Hills. To tell you the truth, I actually like it a lot more. After a few weeks there, it felt like home. You know, I can see myself living there, Ty. That’s how much I adore him.”

  “What? Someone call a doctor! This coming from Miss I-Don’t-Want-a-Man, who was only about career this and career that?”

  “I know, I know. It’s not like we’ve said the three magic words yet.…”

  “The three magic words? You mean Dolce and Gabbana?” said a straight-faced Tyler. “Try to go slow, Cal—no reason to rush it. Rome wasn’t built in a day. Lordy, there’s plenty of dick on this earth to get wet over without drowning in the first pool of cum that floats your boat.”

  Callie smacked her lips. “But what a fabulous pool it is.”

  “To be honest, I’m a little jealous Bedroom Eyes has seen so much of you lately. You’ve been neglecting your gay. One of my clients—this Brazilian singer I made up for the Grammys—invited me to her birthday at the Abbey tonight. Why don’t we go?”

  “Tonight? Geez, I don’t know. It’s going to be a long week and I want to be fresh.”

  Tyler stamped his foot and shoved a hand on his hip. “It’s not like I’m asking you to swallow a bottle of Patrón. We’ll socialize for a few hours, get a little loosey-goosey, and then you can go home to ride your Great King—or whatever it is you do when Evan isn’t around.”

  Callie reluctantly gave in. “My call time isn’t until ten, anyway.”