Hollywood Nights

by Sara Celi

  “I love it.” I paused. “And how many people are you making breakfast for this morning?”

  “Just two.” She stirred the eggs. “What makes you ask?”

  I thought about Heather and her bouncing boobs. “No reason.”

  “I don’t know if you’ve ever been on a diet before,” she said, talking more to herself than to me, “but the key to the whole thing is consistency, so I’m here to make sure Tanner doesn’t get tempted.”

  “Tempted?” Tanner said, as he walked into the kitchen. “Tempted by what?”

  I sucked in a deep breath. He wore a pair of low-slung tan sweatpants and a vintage LA Lakers T-shirt that hugged the contours of his chest. After a small nod in my direction, he walked over to Martha and kissed her on the cheek, then thanked her for the smoothie. This guy had sexy on lockdown. Search for the word man in the dictionary, and you’d find a photo of him.

  “I see you two have met,” Tanner said to me.

  “I am enjoying one of her smoothies.”

  Tanner picked up his own large glass from the marble counter. “She’s famous for these.”

  Martha demurred, clearly flattered by him, and said the eggs would be ready soon. Tanner then asked me to follow him into the living room so we could talk while the food finished cooking.

  “About last night—”

  “You don’t need to explain,” I said.

  “No, I do. First, Heather isn’t here anymore, if you were wondering,” Tanner said. “She left early this morning.”

  “A shame. And we were getting to know each other.” I raised my eyebrow. “I hope you two had fun.” I was needling him. We both knew it. He deserved it.

  “Second, I didn’t think you’d actually take me up on this offer,” he said in a low voice after a quick glance in the direction of the kitchen. “I hope you understand. A man like me—I have… needs.”

  I scoffed. “One way of putting it.”

  He raised a hand as if he couldn’t think of any other way to say it.

  “I understand perfectly,” I said, keeping my lips tight as I reminded myself yet again that Tanner wanted only a business transaction from me. “And I thought we could try this for a bit—see how it goes—and then decide if we want to move forward.”

  Tanner rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m open to that.”

  “Good.” I nodded at the kitchen. “Shall we start with breakfast?”

  “Yes. And then, tonight, would you like to go with me to dinner at Katsuna?”

  I drew in a sharp breath. “Just the two of us?”

  “No. They’re having an exclusive opening party. An industry thing. Would be nice to have someone with me.” Tanner looked me up and down. “Do you have anything to wear?”

  “I guess the job starts now,” I said.

  He smiled. “Maybe we’ll call this a probationary period. We’ll decide on Monday how we feel.”

  “That will be $1,456.83,” Janet, a raven-haired, pin-thin personal shopper at Barneys New York in Beverly Hills, said. I handed her Tanner’s black AmEx and she swiped it through the register. “Would you like the receipt with you, or in the bag?”

  “With me.” I took the card back from her and marveled at it for a moment. I’d heard of these cards before, but never seen one up close. That afternoon, Tanner had casually handed it to me with instructions to get whatever I needed in order to be ready for that night. In a haze, I found myself at Barneys with Janet, who offered me any outfit in the store in order to “keep Mr. Vance happy.” She showed me at least five dresses that each cost more than I made in three months. I had decided I wouldn’t spend more than $1,500.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  I took the garment bag Janet handed me, along with two other larger ones, and found my way to the parking lot. With one swipe, I’d spent more than a week’s salary on a black dress with silver weaving, a pair of strappy black Louboutins, a bespoke purse designed by Chloe, and a necklace to match it all. Once I placed it all in the trunk of the Corolla, I drove to Giovanni Salon and Day Spa on Santa Monica for a blowout, eyebrow wax, a facial, and makeup application.

  I hadn’t ever been this pushed, prodded, and picked. Actually, it felt good, and I had to hold myself in check as I wound the car back through the Hollywood Hills. Just because I could get used to this didn’t mean I should.

  “Did you find something?” Tanner asked when I arrived back at his house. He sat one of the large recliners rimming his pool deck; he peeled off his aviator sunglasses when he saw me walk into the back yard. “Looks like it.”

  “I had trouble choosing.” I patted the garment bag. “But I think this one will do.”

  “And you didn’t have any problems using my card?”

  “They seemed to know you pretty well at Barneys.”

  He laughed once. “They do. And what about your phone?”

  I held up a different plastic bag. “Verizon was happy to oblige me in the purchase of a new iPhone. Already set it up with Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and Snapchat.”

  “Good.” Tanner nodded at me a few times. “The party starts at eight, so I’m thinking we’ll leave here around eight fifteen. Don’t want to get there too early.”

  Three hours later, I reemerged from the pool house in the black dress. I had to admit I liked what I saw in the bathroom mirror—the entire ensemble made me appear skinnier, and the outfit would stand up to anything else I encountered; no one had to tell me that.

  I found Tanner in the main house, nursing a short glass of thick, brown liquor

  “Maybe I should drive,” I said.

  He looked up from the glass. “Nonsense. We have James to take us, remember?” Then he broke into a wide grin. “Nice outfit.”

  I turned around to show off the entire designer ensemble. “You know, I can spend some money when given the chance.”

  “I’ll have to remember that.” Tanner grabbed his cell phone off the kitchen counter. “Let’s go.”

  I’d seen parties like this before, but they always happened with me standing on the outside, watching people prettier and more successful than me living a better life on the inside. More than once, I’d walked out of Twisted and heard music coming from the nightclub across the street, or saw traces of a red carpet and loads of security in front of one of the buildings a few doors down. These kinds of parties wound up with full page spreads in LA Weekly and all over various lifestyle Instagram accounts hyper-focused on posting the most gorgeous shots of the life only a few people lived.

  But when the Mercedes pulled up to Katsuna’s entrance, I wasn’t on the outside anymore. I was on the inside. Just like that.

  “I’ll come around to the passenger door and help you out of the car,” Tanner said when the car stopped. “Wait for me, and whatever you do, no matter what anyone says to you, smile demurely and act shy.”

  “Got it.”

  “Think of this as one big role. Tonight’s scene one: A new romance blossoms.”

  “Sounds like the title of a bad romance novel.”

  He winked at me, got out of the car without another word, and made his way to the passenger side while he buttoned his sports jacket. The kind of car exit that could have been in a slick car commercial.

  I took a deep breath. Showtime.

  After seven years in Hollywood, I had learned one big lesson: go big. Go big and go bold. It was the only way to make fame stick around. And I didn’t want her to leave. Fame made me rich. Powerful. Fame could also be one alluring, promising, cold-hearted bitch.

  I fed her anyway.

  I waved at a few of the shouting photographers and opened the passenger side of the town car. Behind me, shutters clicked a dozen times a minute as freelancers and tabloid journalists rushed to get the perfect shot of me, my ass, and the woman who stepped out of the car one red-bottomed Louboutin pump at a time.

  I took Brynn’s hand and muttered, “You okay?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Brynn pasted on a tight smile,
and showcased her rows of gleaming white teeth. Together, we walked down a small, plush red carpet to an awaiting step-and-repeat where we’d pose for more official photos. Sponsorship logos for Red Queen Bourbon, Katsuna, LA Unlimited, and FaceIt! Makeup decorated the placards. As Brynn and I posed together in the center of the display, photographers shouted questions our way.

  “Tanner, who’s the brunette?”

  “Is that your new assistant, or the mystery woman you were seen with last week at Haberdash?”

  “Have you talked to Lana lately? What do you think about her new girlfriend?”

  “Any new roles on the horizon you want to talk about?”

  “Did you hear Variety voted The Flash Returns the worst action movie so far this year?”

  We hadn’t discussed it, but somehow Brynn knew what to do. She linked her arm with mine and leaned away in the perfect position, one tailor-made for the party photo spreads in magazines, gossip blog write-ups, and Pinterest boards of Hollywood gossip. After a few clicks, she turned and posed another way, one that put the camera’s attention back on me. She angled her head and looked up at me adoringly, as if she hadn’t met anyone more wonderful in her life. And when we were safely inside the restaurant a few moments later, she clasped my hand in hers.

  “Everyone here will get the message,” she said, when I regarded our entwined fingers. “Just go with it.”

  “How’d you know what to do?”

  “Reading tabloids isn’t all bad.” A smile pulled at her lips. “It’s not always about who is in them, but what they are doing.”

  A tuxedoed server handed us glasses of champagne, and we downed them in a few gulps before another server arrived with samples of the restaurant’s signature craft cocktail. Hollywood’s elite, wealthy, well connected and well preserved moved through the party like small schools of fish, sizing each other up over samples of expensive sushi and appetizers wrapped in flaky dough. Tomorrow, they’d rehash the party over mimosa-soaked lunches and gossip about the attendees during sessions with their personal trainers.

  I knew about ninety percent of the people in the room. To my left stood that supermodel, to my right, that director had his hand on the thigh of that actress. Across the room, those musicians flirted with that Playboy bunny while that producer looked on in jealousy. And so on, and so on…

  Typical Los Angeles. So many somebodies and no one who wanted to be a nobody. Names, faces, and projects blended together in the room. If I hadn’t been with Brynn, I’d be bored already.

  “So I’m thinking here—next scene, right? How all over you should I be?” Brynn said under her breath after we finished the second cocktail and moved onto the third. “Do you want me to turn it up a notch?”

  Good girl.

  “Not too much,” I said, and then looked down again at her hand, still wrapped with mine. Lana had never liked to hold hands. “Too sentimental,” Lana had always said whenever I’d tried. Not that I ever had much of a chance to hold her hand. At parties, Lana had never stuck by my side long enough. She liked to work a crowd, not observe one.

  “Let’s find a place to sit down,” I told Brynn. “I think I see some spots over there.” I led her to a large velvet booth on a platform slightly above the other tables. From there, the rest of the restaurant and the people at the party lay in full view. She slid into the seat and I followed, taking off my jacket as I did.

  “People are noticing,” she said. “I saw a couple of glances our way when we walked over here.”

  “Most of these people know me, but they don’t know me. One of those events.” I shrugged and waved a server over to our booth, then ordered another round of cocktails and a few items off Katsuna’s complementary grand opening menu. “Are you having a good time?” I said to Brynn, once we were alone again.

  “Haven’t been here long enough to know.”

  “I’m not talking about this party. I mean in general.” I glanced at the crowd to see if anyone paid attention to us. No one at that second. “With this—ahem—arrangement.”

  “So far. I had fun at Barneys today. Thank you for offering to pay for the outfit.”

  She leaned back in the booth and shifted her weight. When she did, I got a better view of her cleavage. She had real breasts; the cleavage line showed them off. Damn, it had been so long since a woman in my life had real breasts.

  But Brynn isn’t a woman in my life… is she?

  “I’m willing to provide anything you need while you’re my—employee, of sorts,” I said, and forced myself to switch back to business so I wouldn’t focus on the finer points of her body. “And what I mean is, that’s in addition to what we’ll hammer out on Monday in the contract and the prenuptial agreement. You can ask for whatever you want.”

  “You sound so confident I’m going to stick around.”

  “I hope you do,” I said.

  “I have to admit, this whole thing is pretty unconventional.”

  “So is my life.” I shrugged. “But I don’t know how to live any other way.”

  Brynn’s attention shifted around the room, and I didn’t blame her for it. When you were new to them, good Hollywood parties could seem so glamorous and exciting. It would be interesting to hear what she thought of them after a few, when the sheen had worn off and the harsh, gritty reality of Hollywood showed itself.

  “All of these people”—she waved her hand—“are people you want to go out of your way to impress?”

  “No. Not these people. The public.” I put my elbows on the table and leaned closer to her. “All of these people are fake, but they love to gossip. And what they say, the American public will hear.”

  “Sounds like a lot of effort.”

  “This is how I make money. Being a celebrity is a business.”

  “Don’t you make most of your money in films?”

  “It’s more complicated.” I sighed. “You wouldn’t understand. You’re not famous.”

  She examined her fingernails. “No, I’m not.”

  Great. I’d sounded like a bigger asshole than usual.

  “But you will be famous,” I said, trying to soften my comments. “After tonight, people are going to wonder who you are. They’re going to talk about you. Things are going to start changing. The buzz about you is going to build, and faster than you think.” Instinctively, I took her hand in mine again, and I liked it when she didn’t recoil. “So you have to be prepared. It’s going to bring a lot of good… but it won’t all be.”

  The server arrived with fresh drinks and part of our food order. I barely noticed, but then the moment turned more perfect. A tall man with a camera in one hand and a larger one around his neck walked up to our booth.

  “May I get a photo of the happy couple?”

  Brynn and I stuck smiles on our faces and scooted together. She angled her body toward me and the camera clicked. Pure gold.

  Word traveled, and it traveled fast. Faster than Tanner had said it might, and much faster than I ever expected. Dating one of Hollywood’s hottest and most controversial stars did come with instant fame. Tanner hadn’t been wrong. By Monday morning, my phone log had fourteen missed calls and thirty-eight text messages. Everyone wanted to discuss Tanner Vance and our night at Katsuna—even my former roommates, who had already been quoted on a couple of tabloid websites, claiming that our romance had been brewing behind the scenes for “a few months.”

  Lying sycophants.

  I got out of bed, showered, fixed my hair, did my makeup, and pulled on a black skirt, blue top, lightweight jacket, and black velvet flats. I found the sliding glass door unlocked again, and Tanner in the kitchen of the main house with another green smoothie and a grin. Martha stood by the sink; she had a smile for me, too.

  “Would you like some breakfast?” Tanner said.

  “Just coffee. I’m not hungry.”

  Martha nodded and turned on the coffeemaker. “How would you like your coffee, Brynn?”

  “Cream, no sugar.” I sat down in one of the
barstools as Martha busied herself fixing a small pot. Tanner crossed the kitchen and took a seat beside me.

  “Have you considered any more what we talked about?” he said in a low voice. “The arrangement?”

  I nodded and pursed my lips. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it last night. Kept waking up. My mind wouldn’t shut off.”

  “I had a great time with you this weekend, Brynn.” He glanced at Martha, who had returned to the sink while the coffee brewed. She flipped on the faucet and grabbed a scrubbing brush. Tanner’s attention floated back to me, and his gaze locked with mine. “I’d like this to continue.”

  “Me, too,” I said after a pause. “I want to stay. I want to try this.”

  “Good.” Tanner drank the rest of his smoothie. “You ready?”

  I swallowed. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “We’ll take the coffee to go, Martha,” Tanner said. “And I’ll drive.”

  Lewis Hawes, Tanner’s attorney, had an office on Wilshire in a building with fifteen floors and a sweeping view of the city. Tanner and I didn’t talk on the drive over, and we rode the elevator to the top floor in silence, too. In the lobby of Lewis’s office, an overweight woman wearing a long blue skirt and thick glasses fawned over Tanner, treating him like he was Prince William on a rare visit to the US. She sneered at me and didn’t ask my name. I had to ask her three times for a glass of water.

  “I’ll admit, this is unusual,” Lewis said, after the woman showed us into his wide corner office. He shook my hand, then Tanner’s, and motioned for us to sit down in the two black leathers seats next to his desk. “But I guess I’ve come to expect that from you, Mr. Vance.”

  Tanner waved his hand. “You know me.”

  “At your request, I’ve drawn up a simple NDA and contract.” Lewis shuffled through a stack of file folders on the desk in front of him.

  I glanced at Tanner.

  “What are the terms?” I asked.

  “This NDA will prevent you from sharing proprietary information about the relationship between the two of you, and stop either of you from capitalizing on it, once it ends, for a period of five years from the date of breakup.” He handed both of us a sheet of paper. “Simple. Standard.” He took two thicker packets of paper from the folder. “This contract outlines basic details. Mr. Vance will pay five hundred thousand dollars to Ms. Price at the end of six months, or when the relationship ends, whichever one comes last, provided that Ms. Price fulfills all duties of this agreement, including but not limited to a convincing relationship that provides satisfactory public relations results for both parties.”