No Facebook, no Twitter. Just an Instagram account that she maintained herself, teasing her nine hundred thousand followers with cute photos of places, and things, and oddities she noticed. Strangely, she didn’t include many photos of herself—a real rarity for a celebrity. No politics, no causes, no complaining, no calling out airlines for losing her luggage, no images of her, make-up free, trying to look like a normal person. Even though she had a robust sex life, she rarely went out in public with just one guy, always dragging along a girlfriend or two. That kept the paparazzi from tying her to anyone, which was Charlie’s firm plan. From the time she’d been young, she’d known there was a difference between her real self and the self she was trying to sell. One was no one’s business, and the other was an illusion she was determined to maintain.
Piper rode in a limo with Ted, trailing Charlie, who’d been saddled with Margot, undoubtedly now fussing with her dress and giving her a long list of marching orders. As they turned onto Westwood, Piper’s eyes widened when she spotted a string of long, black limos snaking down the boulevard.
“The game has changed,” Ted murmured, almost to himself. Then he gave Piper’s leg a squeeze and spoke more confidently. “She’s ready for it, Piper. Charlie’s got a good head on her shoulders.”
“Is that going to be enough?” she asked, knowing her question was rhetorical. No one could guess how a young actor would react to the spotlights landing on her shoulders for the first time.
“Oh, come on,” he urged, now sounding like his usual, buoyant self. “She’s been working forever!”
“Not at this level. Nowhere near this level,” she added, a little sick to her stomach. “Being a teenager on a sitcom doesn’t prepare you for this, Ted.”
“She’s got good reps, right? They’ll guide her.”
Piper swallowed, with the butterflies in her stomach growing by the thousands. “She still doesn’t have a manager,” she said quietly. “Just an agent.”
“What?”
He probably hadn’t realized how loud his voice would sound in the quiet car. She flinched, then said, “I’ve been picking up the slack when she’s unavailable.” A frustrated sigh escaped. “I keep telling her she’s got to hire someone, but she wants to be in control. She’s certain a manager will insulate her too much.”
“From the crap!” he said, looking at Piper like she’d lost her mind. “I know she’s not carrying this movie, but she’s going to be inundated with offers if this performs.”
“I know,” she said, even though she wasn’t at all sure of how things might change. She was certain they would, though. For better or worse, once you were the female lead of a wide-release movie, you were in a different league.
The driver hit the gas, snapping Piper’s head back as the car slid around the scrum and paused, well out of view of the dozens of photographers and reporters assembled.
It took a second to wade through the crowd, but Ted was an old hand at this, effortlessly elbowing his way through the street as if it were wide open. They flashed their VIP badges to the guys at security, got wanded, then hovered out of range, watching the film’s director, producers, and other bigwigs make an entrance. When an attendant opened the rear door of Charlie’s car, the photographers went crazy, yelling at her the second her foot hit the ground.
“Charlie! Over here! Charlie! Where’s Matt? Charlie! Smile for me!” If poor Charlie smiled any brighter, she’d sprain her lips. How she kept her eyes open amidst the onslaught of flashing lights was kind of amazing, but she did a great job of it for the entire three minutes she and her movie brother were in the limelight. Then the male star’s car pulled up, and the attention-deficit crowd switched their focus to him.
“Matt! Over here! Smile for me! Stand by Charlie!”
But Charlie had already been whisked away, letting the better known actor have his red-carpet moment alone. Piper checked him out, then leaned toward Margot, who’d wandered over after Charlie had gone inside the theater. “He looks awfully good, doesn’t he?”
Matt Bell was this year’s heartthrob. Devastatingly handsome, with a sly smile and a bit of devilish charm, he was seemingly every young woman’s crush.
“He looks like a fag,” Margot snapped, her eyes narrowing. “Sorry,” she added, without a whiff of sincerity when Ted scowled at her. “But he does. They should have butched him up. No one’s going to buy this movie if they think he’s gay. Which he is,” she added pointedly toward Ted.
Charlie hadn’t mentioned that, if it was even true. You never knew with Margot.
Piper watched as the press corps swooned over Matt. It honestly didn’t matter if he was gayer than laughter. If he and Charlie had chemistry, if the script held together, if the director told the story in an interesting way, if the editor had pieced it into a coherent whole, if the publicity department had whetted the public’s collective appetite, if the critics were kind, and if people were in the mood to watch a bromance about a zany bunch of post-college frat boys and the younger girl who loved them—the world would be Charlie’s oyster.
***
Two nights later, Piper and Charlie sat in the back of a big theater in Hollywood, with Charlie going incognito by pulling her hair into a ponytail and keeping a baseball cap low over her eyes. They’d caught the seven o’clock screening of her movie, and were now about halfway through the ten o’clock show. Amazingly, this audience liked it even more than the previous one had. Every time a laugh caught, Charlie squirmed in her seat or balled her hands into fists and made a “score” gesture, usually extending her hand for Piper to slap.
The studio had predicted an opening weekend of around $12 million, a high number for a comedy released in March. If reality matched that, the movie would be a success, and the offers would start rolling in. But Piper still had to be at work at nine o’clock on Tuesday, her sister’s success not pulling much weight when a client wanted a trim.
CHAPTER TWO
AN ADORABLE JACK RUSSELL TERRIER, just six months old, whined and pawed at his owner, desperate to be on the other side of the glass door, playing with his peers. He’d get there in a minute. But not until his owner finished signing the waivers.
Haley spoke slowly, waiting for Jillian, a skinny, nervous, high energy type, very much like her dog, to pay attention. “I’d like for you to take a minute to look this over. I can take Oliver on a tour while you’re doing that if you’d like.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” she said, hastily scribbling her signature on the form. “He doesn’t like to be away from me.”
Haley didn’t say the obvious. Oliver was entering day care—the very definition of being away from his owner. “I think you should read the waiver form carefully,” she said, refusing to gloss over this. She stood up and moved around her desk to stand close to Jillian. Instinctively, she reached down to scratch behind Oliver’s ears. He was a cute little thing. “I think Oliver will fit in just fine, but I want to make sure you understand this is a trial period. We’ll start him out with a small group, two or three other calm dogs, then slowly introduce him to the pack.”
“He gets along with everyone,” Jillian said, her hold on the little guy increasing, much to his annoyance. The poor pup wanted to go play with other dogs, not be held in a death-grip by his neurotic owner.
“I’m sure he does. But some dogs pick on a newcomer. They’re exactly like people in that way,” she added, hoping for a laugh—which she didn’t get from the humorless woman. “We’ll go slowly to make sure Oliver’s having fun here.” She held out her hands. “May I?”
“You’re taking him now?” Her eyes opened wide, like that was the last possibility she’d considered.
“Uh-huh.” Haley almost had to pry Jillian’s bony fingers from the dog’s bristly fur, but she managed to wrench him free. “We have two other newbies today, and they’re playing together well. Oliver will hang out with them for a while, then we’ll introduce them to the bigger group one at a time.”
Jillian open
ed her mouth to complain. You could almost see her list of worries ready to spill out.
“He’ll be fine,” Haley said, in the same reassuring tone she’d use for a neurotic dog. Oliver was doing his best to squirm out of her grip, but she had a lot of experience in holding and calming puppies. “Once he gets into the big room, probably in an hour, you can check our puppy cam to watch him play.”
The woman was a nervous wreck, biting her lip, gripping the handle on her very expensive tote bag, fingering the keys to her Porsche—all at once. “I think I’ll pick him up early. I’ve got to be at my office to listen to a pitch, but that won’t take long…”
Haley knew exactly how this would go. Jillian would reach her office, immediately get on her computer to check on the dog, spend a minute boasting to everyone around her that Oliver was in day care, then get involved in something and show up an hour late—incensed when she had to pay extra. Same script, different day.
“Come back whenever you want,” Haley said, still speaking softly and slowly, hoping some of her calmness would rub off. “Just remember that day care ends at six. Any time after that is at our boarding rates.”
“Six!” She looked like she was about to faint. “I won’t be able to leave him for an hour, much less all day!”
“He’ll be fine,” Haley said. “Come with me to the reception room. You can see how he does with the other new guys.”
“Oh.” She stopped on a dime, took a look at the very expensive gold watch dangling from her emaciated wrist, and started for the front door. “I’m desperate to stay. But this meeting…” She was nearly out the door, then ran back to paste kisses all over Oliver’s head, riling him up once again. He whined and fought, trying to get away, but Haley held him firmly. Then Jillian started speaking in that high-pitched, whiny voice that invariably made dogs anxious. “Mommy loves you, Ollie. I miss you already.” She was waving and whining all the way out, finally exiting to Oliver’s demanding barks.
“You’re going to have fun today,” Haley soothed. “You’re going to find that dogs are much easier to get along with than humans.” She dipped her head to nuzzle his neck, always enamored by the smell of a puppy. “Much, much easier.”
***
As expected, Jillian was late, but only by fifteen minutes. Not too bad. Haley let her slide—this time only. If you gave people like Jillian too much leeway, Oliver would be living at the kennel for free.
By 6:45, all of the day care dogs had departed, as well as the day care staff. Haley spent a few minutes with Derrick, her usual overnight guy, who’d also been late. “We’ve got fifteen overnighters,” she said, showing him the list. “No one’s on medication. No special diets. There’s a chow who’s fine with humans but can’t be trusted with other dogs, but that’s the only blip.”
“Okay.” He shoved the sleeves of his knit shirt up, revealing some pretty gruesome tattoos, all black and white, mostly of skulls and demons. Those barely registered, but the piercing red eyes that peeked out from his shirt collar truly gave her the creeps. He was a nice guy, very good with dogs, and he never covered the camera so she couldn’t check on him. That alone made him unique, and valuable. “Can I take the chow for a walk, since he can’t play with the other guys?”
“Take him into the reception room for some attention if you have time. You’re going to be alone until the cleaning crew gets here, and that won’t be until well after midnight.”
“I meant we’d go out when the cleaning crew came. I know the rules,” he said, his man-bun wiggling as he nodded. “Never leave the dogs alone.”
“Never,” she stressed for the hundredth time. “Don’t think of them as dogs. Think of them as lawsuits.” She patted him on his bony shoulder and went to get her bag. “Call me if you need anything.”
“I’m good. See you.”
She exited the building for the first time in almost thirteen hours, hit by the scent of something delicious coming from the new Mediterranean tapas bar next door. The neighborhood had changed so much in the nine years she’d been there, it sometimes baffled her. At first she’d run to her car at night, always sure some of the more obstreperous street guys would, at best, harass her. Now she only had to worry about the multitudes trying to get into the very trendy restaurants on the block.
She pulled her phone from her pocket and instructed it. “Call Lolita.” She texted most people, but her roommate had to be pinned down, something Haley could more easily do if she heard her voice.
“Hey kid,” Lolita said. “What’s up?”
“The Korean taco truck is parked by my shop. Want anything?”
“Korean, huh?”
It would take a minute for her to make up her mind. It always did. While she waited, Haley thought about the food, already able to taste it. Even though she’d never been to Korea, she’d developed a real love for kimchi quesadillas. Though she’d gotten started eating spicy food late in life, she’d definitely gained momentum. Her mouth started to water, thinking of the tang of the kimchi. Just the thing to clear out her sinuses.
“What are you getting?” Lolita asked.
“Kimchi quesadilla. My usual. Are you home?”
“Not yet. Bradley Reynolds pulled up just after closing, and I made the guys turn the whole system back on.” She let out a longing sigh. “He’s standing out there, watching Manny blacken the tires on his Maserati. So cute!”
This was not going to end well. If Lolita wasn’t at home, and hungry, and in the right mood for the food Haley offered, she’d undoubtedly get stuck with it. “Ooh, they just put out a sign that they’re out of the quesadillas. We’ll have to do it another night. Gotta go!” Then she cut the connection, confident Lolita wouldn’t be offended.
As she stood in the long line, waiting to order, she reflected on how easy it had been to start tossing off lies. They were minor ones, and usually employed only to avoid hurting a friend’s feelings, but the ease with which she let them fly still troubled her a little. But a white lie was preferable to having to pay for two quesadillas, one of which she’d have to eat tomorrow, when it was kind of soggy. Sometimes her wallet had a more prominent role in her moral choices than she was comfortable with….
A guy behind her in line gave her a little push, clearly an accidental one, but she’d been standing on one foot, while reaching down to flick a prickly dog hair from her ankle. She almost tumbled over, but the guy grabbed her by the arm, holding her upright while she got her feet under herself again.
“Thanks,” she said, turning as her gaze traveled up to a billboard two guys were putting up. She was kind of fascinated by the signs, always amazed at how quickly they went up now that they were made from single sheets of some kind of vinyl. But her delight at watching one be smoothed into place died in seconds as it took shape. LOFGREN, the first name read in big, bold, block letters. Then two other names stretched across the bottom of the ad, both top-tier male actors.
Her appetite vanished, and Haley got out of line to walk over to her car and lean against it, watching raptly. Alicia’s body took shape, wearing some kind of 40s style suit, her perfectly formed mouth covered in bright red lipstick, along with dark eye shadow making her already sultry eyes particularly deadly.
How many times had Haley looked into those lying eyes, believing every single word that flowed from those traitorous lips? Way, way too many.
Her mind roamed as she watched the guys snap the ad fully into place. It looked like a dramatic detective story, probably some kind of noir film where Alicia would be either the killer or the woman the two guys fought over. Not usually her kind of movie, but Haley reasoned she’d had to finally grow out of playing the quirky loner who guys mooned over for the whole film before she finally gave them a reluctant nod at the end. Alicia was in her mid-thirties now, and an emotionally fragile depressive didn’t play as well as it did with a college-aged woman.
Rolling her eyes, Haley acknowledged that Alicia never had to work again if she didn’t want to. She’d made mas
sive coin on her third film, after earning hundreds of millions for the studio on her first two. But Haley knew her well enough to be certain Alicia would be working until the day she died, even if she had to drop down to playing character parts. She had a hunger to perform that few possessed. With a sigh, Haley took one last look at the face that had once held her in thrall. Next time she fell in love, she was going to aim for a nice, anonymous postal clerk. A woman who would never, ever appear on a billboard, effectively ruining her dinner.
CHAPTER THREE
PIPER HAD BEEN RIGHT ON THE MONEY.
One month after Delta Epsilon Forever opened at $15 million and dropped to a still excellent $12 million the following week, Charlie made an offer on a sweet three bedroom, three and a half bath ultra-modern home in Venice, the hip choice of young Hollywood.
Now, three months to the day after her movie opened, she’d moved into her new home. None of her furniture had been appropriate, so she’d given her designer a firm budget and an otherwise free hand. She was sometimes deeply involved in the minute details of her life, but she didn’t seem to care much for decorating, perfectly content to turn the whole project over to someone whose work she liked and simply move into a fully furnished house.
The new digs were in an odd little spot. The original developer of Venice had visions of recreating the great city right here in LA in the 1920s, even installing lagoons in addition to piers with carnival rides and sideshows. Abbot Kinney had pictured a tourist/homeowner mixture that would insure tranquility for all. But his dreams were largely never realized.
One spot that remained in somewhat the same layout as Kinney had intended was Charlie’s new neighborhood. The intention had been to limit vehicular traffic and promote a sense of community. The lots were deep, with two rows of houses facing each other across a pedestrian walkway. Behind each strip of houses, an alley provided access to private garages, making the neighborhood car-free.
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