A text came in from Winnie. “Blackie, you must help that woman!”
Something was wrong. Something was cluster-fucking wrong.
“That Dave guy called,” Gemma said. “He says he has a new idea you’d be interested in.”
Maddy stiffened.
“Not a chance,” Blue said, noting Maddy relax.
“And Ulani’s called me three times already this morning.” There was a note of annoyance in Gemma’s voice. “She’s upset. I think she left voicemail for you, too.”
“She did. I was on the other line when she called.” He’d been leaving a third message for Jack Gordon’s wife, Vivian. Blue turned casually to their receptionist. “Oh, and if you’re trying to help me, like Cora’s been trying to help me, I’ll sue you for breach of contract. Got it?”
Gemma scowled. “Just because you’re hungover doesn’t mean – ”
“We’re supposed to be discreet. Only clients and business associates are supposed to know where we are and what we’re doing.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Gemma’s scowl deepened. “And I wouldn’t do anything with Cora.”
There was something in her tone that rang true, but Blue was on full alert now, intent on finding out what shit he was facing.
“Accusing your staff of betrayal is a glorious way to start the morning.” Maddy followed Blue into his office, bending over to scratch Mr. Jiggles behind the ears.
Blue ignored the desire to have Maddy bend over him and listened to voicemail. All from Ulani.
“I’m going to crush you.” Click.
“I’m going to break every bone in your body.” Click.
“You’re dead to me.” Click.
“That’s not encouraging.” Blue dialed Ulani.
She picked up on the first ring. “How could you?” Her voice was loud enough that Maddy could probably hear her. “I trusted you.”
Blue had no clue what she was talking about. “Ulani, calm down. Start from the beginning and – ”
“Don’t tell me to calm down. Pictures and video from last night are on the Happenings blog. No one will ever love me. If I ever see you again, I’m going to crush you until you look like a bag of flattened potato chips. You’re fired!”
Maddy must have heard, because she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and started tapping on her phone. “She’s right. Lyle Lincoln posted an article about you. One of Hollywood’s most eligible bachelors was seen out on the town last night with a man-hungry mystery woman. And there’s a video…of you dancing with a…is that a woman?”
The humping dance.
Blue swore, anger carrying the curse like a battle cry until he stood, ready to slay Avengers and silence gossipers. “That’s a client of mine.” He wasn’t accepting Ulani’s dismissal. “A client who deserves more respect than she’s getting today. Gemma! Get in here.”
Her mouth set in a disapproving line, Gemma clumped into the office, another fashion statement gone awry – polyester orange flowered blouse, her crinkled magenta skirt dragged on the floor and almost hid the horrid Army boots she always wore.
Blue fixed his receptionist with a battle ready stare, which he then swung at Maddy. “You two are going to help me fix this.” Because despite his anger, Maddy was insightful and Gemma knew how to get shit done.
“Whatever.” Gemma rolled her eyes.
“As long as I can film it, I’ll help.” Maddy was way too chipper, like an arsonist giddily admiring her work.
Blue clung to what little patience he had left. “Fine. As long as you remember that the Dooley Foundation prides itself on client confidentiality. Ulani is a professional wrestler who’s looking for the right man, someone who’ll be faithful when she’s on the road, someone who respects a woman of her profession. What kind of man is that?”
Maddy stared at her phone again, presumably at his unusual client. “You need one of those computer nerds. You know, the ones that play those fantasy games? But not too young.”
Blue bared his teeth at Gemma in a poor attempt at a smile. “Who do you know that fits that description?”
Gemma spread her arms. “The entire IT department at UCLA.”
“I don’t have time for prescreening, Gemma. Give me a name.”
A put-upon sigh. “There was this one professor – ”
“Get me his number.”
“But I don’t even know if he’s married. Or gay. Or – ”
“We’ll get to the details later. First we need to get him on the phone. Go.”
Gemma clomped back to her desk.
L.A. Happenings by Lyle Lincoln
…There’s more to falling in love than the attraction of one pretty face to another. Who would have guessed: Blue Rule and Ulani Mott? Jack Gordon and Kaya Anika? Cy Maxwell and a Starbucks barista? Will these odd couples last? I’m betting one out of three…if that.
…Everyone’s buzzing about a new reality television show set in Santa Monica. Not that we need another reality television show, but it appears it’s going to feature Blue Rule, relationship coach to the famous and heartbroken. The question is, will the famous and heartbroken want their love troubles put on air? History tells us the answer is yes.
Chapter 15
“It’s this one.” Maddy stepped off the walkway to the imposing UCLA building where Professor Quinby had an office. She slung her camera duffle to the ground and started unzipping pockets. “Give me a minute to get the camera ready and you wired.”
“You’re not coming with me.” Blue scanned the campus for lurking Avengers. “Let me clarify. Your camera is not coming with me.”
She squinted up at him. “It’s come this far.”
“So?”
“It’s bad enough that you went behind my back with Dave, but then you go on a date last night without me to film. I’m the only person in Hollywood with your best interests at heart. I mean, that would have been great fodder for your story.” She fiddled with the camera. “You love all women, not just the high maintenance, untouchably beautiful ones. That adds to your appeal.”
“No cameras up my ass 24/7, remember?” Blue stopped snapping at Maddy as he realized something. “Did you check the Avenger site this morning? Was the Ulani video up there, too?” If so, he was ruined.
“Nothing. No video. No announcement concerning you. And Lyle’s post doesn’t reference the Avengers at all.” She stood, hefting the duffle to one shoulder, holding the camera in her other hand.
Maddy walked toward the stairs, short hair and tantalizing hips swaying as she balanced herself. She didn’t wear man-hunting high heels or cleavage enhancing bras, but she still managed to grab his attention. He couldn’t figure out what it was about her that drew him.
“Why did you pawn your camera equipment?”
She stopped and turned on the step above him, their eyes on the same level. “Dave screwed me over on a deal and I needed rent money.”
“But this is what you love.”
Her expression turned guarded. “Sometimes your dreams have to take a back seat to your obligations.”
Very un-Maddy-like. When she would have turned, he touched her hand. “Wait. We didn’t front you any money. How’d you get it out of hock?”
She paled. “I used something else as collateral.”
“What’s more precious to you than your camera equipment?”
She turned and continued up the steps. “You’ve got to hand it to Kaya. She bent, but didn’t break, her promise as an Avenger. They didn’t post a thing on their site. She’s going to make one helluva lawyer someday.”
“Spare me the Kaya adulation.” He’d rather talk about Maddy.
“Trust me, I’m not a fan. Kaya got some blurry video with a cell phone and she spun the story her way.”
He needed a camera of his own and a venue to voice his version of events. And that camera didn’t belong to Dave.
The black cloud that had been hanging over Blue since he’d learned of the humping dance
video dissipated, leaving him with a tendril of hope, a ray of sunshine that warmed his face and soothed his nerves. He was fighting the wrong battle with Maddy. “If I let you film this, will you come with me tomorrow night? You and your camera?”
“Absolutely.” Maddy grinned at him as if he’d just invited her to prom. “But you were already going to let me film.”
“And you’ll protect your film with your life?”
“Settle down, cowboy. It’s not exactly easy to steal film.”
She was refreshingly naïve. Despite this being the land of hacked cell phones, she thought she could protect her files. “If someone wants your video bad enough, they’ll get it.”
“No, they won’t.”
He laughed and reached for her camera.
Maddy pulled back. “If you hold my camera, I can’t film when I want.”
“I’ll take the bag, then.” He eased the strap of her equipment bag off her shoulder.
They located the information board in the crowded lobby and proceeded to the basement where foot traffic was sparse.
“So, what’s your plan for Professor Quinby?”
“I need to know if exotic virgin whores are up Quinby’s alley. Ulani considers herself the Brittany Spears of women’s wrestling.”
“I’m assuming that’s Brittany pre K-Fed.” Maddy dodged a student walking and texting at the same time. “Aren’t virgin whores up every guy’s alley?”
“No. It’s an archetype, like the hag and the crone.”
“Archetypes. That’s a little deep. In my experience, guys – ”
“Don’t go for you like flies on honey. I know. It’s your balls-to-the-wall attitude. Makes a guy wonder if you can fight better than they can.”
Her cheeks flushed and her mouth set stubbornly. “That’s harsh.”
“Not really. You’re a huntress, a classic, like Sigourney Weaver in Alien.” Only sexier.
Maddy blinked at him as if he’d just pronounced her the next messiah. And then she laughed, the sound chasing every dark and dingy shadow out of the hallway. “I’d prefer something less violent. How about Alice from Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland? She was a nice girl.” She clipped a microphone on the collar of his button down.
Blue shook his head as he knocked on Quinby’s door. “I hate to disappoint you, but Alice was a bloodthirsty huntress. She cut off the jabberwocky’s head. Now, shut up and film.”
“I suppose I should be flattered. You didn’t call me a dumb blonde,” Maddy mumbled, readying the second microphone for Quinby.
He grinned. “You’re a brunette, and determined, not dumb.”
The door swung open to reveal an average looking man, of average height and average hair color. But that’s where average ended. Professor Quinby wore a T-shirt proclaiming I ♥ Avatars, black Velcro tennis shoes, ill-fitting khaki shorts and thick glasses. He seemed the exact man Maddy had described for Ulani: a member of the Geek Patrol.
“Perfect,” Blue murmured, unable to contain a grin. Intelligent, down-to-earth, but with an appreciation of all things fantasy. Ulani was going to love him. He introduced himself. “My secretary called earlier about meeting to discuss your work. Can we have a few minutes of your time?”
He blinked behind his thick glasses. “Yes.”
“It’s a personal matter,” Blue said. “Best not discussed in the hall.”
Quinby shrugged and let Maddy mic him up. Then he led them into his cluttered lair. Maddy’s camera didn’t seem to faze him, as if he hosted strangers with cameras every day. Hell, this was UCLA, maybe he did.
They had to wend their way through a narrow path to get to the office in the back. There were books, manuals and reams of paper stacked on every available space, including the floor. The fire marshal probably hadn’t been down here in years.
Quinby sat in a chair behind his desk. He gestured to the one empty guest chair across from him. Blue set down the dog carrier and camera bag.
“Professor Quinby,” Blue began as Maddy perched on the arm of a couch capturing it all. “We’re here on a quest of sorts for the Dooley Foundation. A quest for true love.”
“Of course, you are,” Quinby said, making Blue wonder exactly what Gemma had said to arrange this meeting.
“Let’s start with the basics. How old are you?”
“Thirty-four.”
“Are you single?”
“Yes.”
“Ever been married?”
“No.”
Better and better. “What’s your ideal woman?”
“Didn’t you see my press release? I thought that’s what this interview was about.” Quinby preened. “I spent years programming her. Would you like to see?”
Blue hid his confusion, and inched his way through stacks of computer magazines and around Quinby’s desk so that he could see the screen.
“She’s my virtual honey.” Quinby voice swelled with pride at the image he’d pulled up. “And she’s interactive. She responds to my mood when I wear an electrode device. See?” He donned a plastic headband with tiny metal probes that dangled over his forehead. Nerd on high setting – mildly alarming. “No need for real marriages, real divorces. This woman is perfect.” He clicked a computer icon. An image filled the screen.
“It’s Tinkerbell.” Hope for a quick victory dwindled, shriveled, died. Blue stared at the cracked ceiling.
“Looks can be deceiving.” Quinby punched a few more keys. “This is her alter ego. She usually doesn’t show up unless I’m…well, you know…in the Saturday night mood,” he whispered.
Tinkerbell morphed into an Amazon woman of color, complete with Roman warrior helmet, short skirt and spear.
Winner, winner, chicken dinner.
Blue wanted to hug Quinby. Instead, he clapped the academic on the shoulder. “Professor Quinby, I want you to meet a real woman. This woman.” He pointed to the avatar.
“She doesn’t really exist. I made her up.” The professor frowned. “This is a joke, right?”
“No.” Blue wrote an address on the back of one of his business cards. “We help people’s dreams become reality. Your perfect woman exists and you can meet her. Tomorrow night. Seven-thirty.”
“Oooh. I don’t know.” He shook his head, sending electrodes quivering about his forehead. “There’s a World of Warcraft tournament on campus that evening.”
Blue lost his cool. Right there. In the middle of geek hoarder central. “I’m offering up your real life avatar and you still want to play virtual games? What are you? A virgin?”
Behind the camera, Maddy gasped.
Quinby blushed six consecutive shades of red. “I think you’d better leave.”
Blue didn’t care. Quinby’s life in a fantasy world was going to be a key contributor to the death of Blue’s career. He plucked the headband from Quinby’s head, tossing it on the desk. “And I think you should Google the Hawaiian Princess of the WFA. And then think about that avatar you created and which woman you’d rather spend the rest of your life with.”
Cora arrived a few minutes late for her lunch date in West Hollywood with Portia, who’d once again discovered where Cal Lazarus was having lunch. She was ushered to a table in the back.
When Cora saw it wasn’t a table for two, she stopped with a lame, “Hey.” It was her second response, after: What the hell is she doing here?
The she under consideration being Kaya Anika, whose short, spiky red hair clashed with Portia’s elegant, blond French twist. It was like seeing two women on a Hollywood set – one from a punk rock film, and one from a black and white Hitchcock movie.
But that wasn’t the real shocker. Kaya had replaced Cora as Jack’s fuck-buddy. They’d been paired in Lyle Lincoln’s column this morning, which meant that Jack had taken Kaya somewhere public, somewhere other than orgasmic heaven. So what if Cora had cut Jack loose? That didn’t mean she wanted Kaya to have him.
The beginnings of annoyance coiled in her mid-section like unwelcome indigestion.
There was a high probability that a bitch-slap would be occurring sometime before the end of lunch. The event would probably make Lyle Lincoln’s column. Amber wouldn’t approve. Blue would be mad. Cora didn’t give a shit.
Portia stood and air kissed her cheeks. “Sit down. Let’s split a salad and a three-some.” The three-some being three different kinds of French fries with five different ketchups on the side.
Cora debated leaving, debated telling Portia she was through with the Avengers, debated how many calories were in a serving of fries.
Cal Lazarus smiled at her from his table nearby.
She sat down.
“I wanted to thank you for all your help over the last few weeks.” Kaya’s smile wasn’t thankful. It said she wanted something else from Cora. “We couldn’t have made the Avengers what they are today without you. We kept Blue annoyed for longer than anyone expected.”
Cora was annoyed, too. “Good thing you don’t need me anymore.”
“But we do. We need to know where Blue’s living.” Kaya leaned forward until Cora could smell her cloying, musky perfume.
Cora had been taught early, in the chaos of her mother’s modeling world, not to show emotion. Outwardly, she was ice. Inside, she was in turmoil – shock, wonder, anger: She’d been replaced by this? Poor Jack. Who did this bitch think she was?
Cora shook out her napkin, then sat back and stared at Kaya. She didn’t know where Blue was living, but even if she did know, she wasn’t telling. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t talking to her or if he ever talked to her again. Cora wasn’t going to betray him again, especially not with her replacement bitch.
When Cora said nothing, Kaya swore.
Portia smiled sweetly. “Never mind her. What did you do last night?”
For once, Cora noticed the tension in Portia’s smile. Her friend was a great actress. Had their friendship just been for show? Why else would Kaya be here? Unless Kaya was using Portia, too. But Portia had been an Avenger all along, and she’d whined yesterday when Cora had been reluctant to tell her where Blue would be last night. She’d caved for so-called friendship before promising Blue she’d stop. Look where that got Blue – a video sensation. He may never forgive her. And she’d betrayed him for what? The Hollywood veneer of friendship?
On the Edge Page 91