Chore Whore
Page 24
Yvonne, office queen, stands up as I enter. She holds in front of her the magazine with me on the cover.
“Care to give the scoop?” she asks.
“Uh, no. What’s the saying? A picture’s worth a thousand words. Is Shay in?”
“You know she is. Hold on a second.” Yvonne rings Shay’s line and announces my arrival. I am summoned back to her office.
“Miss Corki, this is too much dirt!” she says as she waves the magazine around.
“Who you telling?” I say in agreement.
“Girlfriend, I’m telling you, you need to write a book. Anyway, on to the here and now. Jock called out of the blue and asked me to cut you a check for fifteen thousand dollars. Said you’d know what it was for.”
“Maybe it’s a going-away present!”
“Maybe,” Shay says. “Maybe he’s just realizing how much you know. . . .”
On my trip home, I call Harvey and leave him a message that Luella wants to go home to her son, but her son still owes me money and Luella doesn’t feel good about that and neither do I. I also tell him I’m leaving the country and I’ve had enough of this. I’m ready to put a lien on the house Tommy Ray and Lucy just purchased if this doesn’t get straightened out quickly. I don’t know if I can legally do this, but at least it lets Harvey know that I have Tommy’s mama and I’m sick of playing games.
At home, I put Liam’s guns, ammunition and gun safe in the back of Bella and drive to his and Esther’s home in Pacific Palisades. I walk into the house and yell out hello. Shelly comes out of the dining room.
“Hey, Shell, you alone?” I ask softly.
“Yeah, you don’t have to whisper,” she says.
“I’m just cleaning out the last of the stuff and thought I’d drop off Liam’s guns.”
“Yeah, I heard,” she says. “Here it is my last week, nice and quiet, and then you call announcing you’re bringing the guns back. She threw a fit. She said you could drop off the safe, but the guns and bullets are not to enter this property. She said to donate them to charity.”
“Yeah, right! ‘Oh hi, Save the Children, would you guys like a shotgun complete with three hundred rounds of ammunition?’ What the hell am I supposed to do with a .357 Magnum and a pump shotgun? Donate it to the L.A.P.D.?” I ask desperately.
“I don’t know. Call the police?”
I do and am surprised. The L.A.P.D. gives me money for them, which I promptly donate to the Save Corki Brown Fund. Liam’s not pleased with his stuff being sold, but given the alternative (his wife being pissed off), peace in the house seems to be a better offer. I sell my gun, too, as I don’t think I’ll be needing it anymore.
Lucy calls me again and again.
“I need you, honey. Bobby Sue isn’t worth the birth certificate that was issued to her, and what am I supposed to do with this house? You and your sister did a beautiful job, but I need my stuff out of there before Tommy Ray gets back from shooting in Mexico. He’ll be back in two weeks. Help! Forgive me please. I lost control. I know that and I promise it will never ever happen again. For God’s sake, Corki, when I come home to L.A., I’ll be homeless. I’m going to have to live at the Four Seasons, do you have no sympathy?”
Tommy Ray has Jolene call and ask me for Luella.
“I want my back pay first,” I say.
“Are you holding his mother hostage? This is extortion, Corki.”
“Bug off! I’ve taken very good care of Luella. I even hand-carried her to Greece and back when he couldn’t bother to show up for his own wedding. I could have left her in her urn on a cliff overlooking a volcano. I could have had my own little ceremony and spread her ashes out at sea, but I didn’t do any of that. I brought her all the way back here and I expect to be paid what he owes me. Tell Harvey that I want the money in cash tomorrow morning because I’m leaving the country on Saturday. And if I don’t have it, Luella, whom I’ve become quite fond of, is coming with me for a proper burial at sea.”
“Luella was terrified of the water!” Jolene says in a panic.
“Tomorrow morning then. In cash.”
I disconnect and wait.
Saturday morning is here. I have sent the few possessions we want to arrive ahead of us by U.S. Postal Service. Blaise and I each have one large suitcase and a carry-on.
I hear a knock on the door and Shelly stands in the doorway.
“Ready, Freddy?”
“Ready!”
We haul our bags down and load one big one into the trunk and the rest into the back of her old broken-down convertible Mercedes. Blaise squeezes into the tiny bucket backseat next to the luggage.
Just as I go upstairs to lock up, a car screeches around the corner. Harvey pours out, in a huff, with an envelope in his hand. I can tell he’s not used to being commanded to work on Saturday mornings. His pudgy face is unshaven and an aroma of coffee lingers on his breath.
“Here’s your money. Count it, sign here”—he shoves a paper toward me—“and give me the urn.”
“Good morning to you, too, Harvey,” I say.
“Good morning. Sorry for the lack of civility, but I was told to deliver this to you on the double,” he says breathing heavily.
“Thank you, Harvey. I’m sorry Tommy Ray only came to his senses this late in the game and had to wake you up on a Saturday morning.”
I dig Luella out of my carry-on and hand her to him.
“Bye, Harvey! Bye, Luella! I’ll miss you!”
I stand at the front door, sorting through my keys. I lock the door, but can’t leave. I stand there for a long time.
Shelly toots the horn.
“C’mon, sister, the plane isn’t going to wait,” she yells.
“I’m sorry,” I yell down. “I forgot one thing.”
I open the front door and come back in, get the key to the gas starter in the fireplace and light it. Flames jump up wildly in the brick encasing. I dig in my purse, gather all the sex pictures of Lucy, Tommy and the girls and toss them in one by one. I watch my ties to the past go up in flames and wait for them to disintegrate into dusty ashes, then turn the flames off.
I’m hopping down the front staircase, taking two stairs at a time, when my cell phone rings.
“Corki, it’s Bob Caplan from the National—”
“I know where you’re from, Bob.”
“The public is dying to hear the real story. It’s over three weeks old. It’s becoming yesterday’s news. If you’re going to change your mind, the time to act is now. What do you say, Corki? You want to tell what really happened? Warn others interested in becoming an assistant what it’s really like? It could be like a public service announcement.”
I like his new spin.
“A PSA, huh?”
“Yeah.”
I’m silent for a moment as I negotiate my way through the gate and into Shelly’s car.
“Call me in an hour,” I say. “I’ll think about it.”
Acknowledgments
Thank you, God!!!
I thank my mom, Patti, and sister Melissa for six long and drawn-out years of reading, re-reading and editing my book again and again. And then, just when you thought you couldn’t edit it one more time, doing it again. Your editing skills and dedication are astounding. I couldn’t have done it without you! Merci beaucoup, grazie mille, mucho gracias and efharisto poli. I also deeply thank my sister Laura for having a fresh pair of eyes to look at my book and fine-tune it. And of course, my wonder boy Cayman, thank you for encouraging me to “hurry up and write.”
I owe a very big and grand thank you to my editor, Josh Behar, for believing in me and having a vision that I hope I stepped up to the plate and delivered. You’re brilliant.
My attorney/agent and friend, Martin Groothuis—thanks for the “papa” lectures, reality chats and your encouragement.
A huge thank you to my publicist, Seale Ballenger, who steps lightly, eyes wide open with kindness and insight. You provide fabulous guidance!
A round of appla
use from me to the crew at HarperCollins Publishers: Michael Morrison, Libby Jordan, Will Hinton, Judith Stagnitto Abbate, Betty Lew, Shubhani Sarkar, Julia Bannon, Susan Kosko, Tim Bower and Susan Sanguily. I truly cherish all you’ve done. Thank you.
A special round of applause to Andrea Molitor at Harper for explaining the process, the “word of mouth” and your kind spirit. You’re an angel.
To Kristen Green, thank you for starting me out with your “fishing” techniques. You rock!
To one of my best and most courageous friends ever, Dan Rastorfer, I owe you tremendously. Thank you for every ounce of your love, help and friendship. Viva Jamaica!
My super good friend Stacy Cheriff—you’ve rescued me innumerable times and I value you. Our dinners at Spumoni on Montana—unforgettable!
I thank my dear friend Marla Rubin, you’re a pillar, unstoppable, and you brought Paris alive. The food, God, the food! Marilyn and Bob Goldman, very clever you two are!
For Twyla Heckard—thank you for the times you’ve let me just write! You’re a good friend . . . and your fried chicken ain’t bad either!
Michelle Forbes and big sister Danielle Forbes, you’re great friends and troopers and your mothering skills are right on the mark. I’ve learned a lot from you two. Papa John—you’ve done well!
Dr. Judith Perez, thank you for your professional insight. I appreciate the time you gave me.
Laura Kulsik and Bart Yasso, thank you for reading the book in the middle of the L.A. Marathon!
To Cheri Mancuso, who set me straight and instructed me on making the most important decision of my life, a big hug.
A special note of gratitude to the folks at Chipman-United Moving Lines—Bob Ensign, Amalia Espinoza, Mike Foreman and of course, Ron Quinn. You move me! Over and over. Nelson, I miss you!
A big hug to my Beverly Hills “family,” Virginia Hirsh, Barbara Barrett, Arnold Clements, Kevin, Beth and Hannah Hirsh, Brian, Cathy and Liah Hirsh, Dean, Tammy and Brooke Clements.
Kelly Gouldrick, thank you for your cheerleading.
To Morgan Stevens, the original, I send my best love.
A special thank you to Joseph Barba, a teacher, coach and friend. You’re an extraordinary human being and inspiration.
Jeanne Tripplehorn, Leland Orser and your gorgeous baby boy, August, I have deep gratitude. I treasure your honesty and trust.
Michael Abrams, thanks for your kindness, advice and peace.
To Mary Michiels at Almor Liquor, thanks for being a lifesaver during the holidays and every time I needed you to be one.
David Silberkliet, master chef, thanks for the foodie talks and friendship.
A huge thank you to Rebecca DeMornay, your generosity and insight astound me. At the wildest times, I pull your pearls of wisdom out of my memory banks. Sophia and Veronica—you’re lucky!
Barbara Birnbaum, Karen Hollis, Cecile Cabeen, Kathy Smith, Kate Mackie and Louise Wechsler, thanks for taking on the challenge!
To my neighbors and nighttime chat friends, Anika Jackson, Shirley McNair and Mark Berry. You’re good neighbors.
To Elaine Young and Barbara Eisner—you’re great friends! Café Roma at one?
My niece Joelle Wagner, brother Hollis Howard and my bro-in-law, Robert Caplan—I love you all.
Boyd Schulz of Victoria, B.C., your antics make my life look boring. Long live Milano!
The kidlets—Todahtiyah and Sundiata Forbes, Simeyon Forbes-Mays, Kobie Lee, Drew Cheriff, Miles Kneedler—you keep my place rocking!
Dr. Joshua Trabulus and Dr. Myles Cohen—thank you for keeping me functioning!
Thank you for being in my life! Elsa Lopez, Lina Parrillo and Pasquale Fabrizio of Pasquale Shoe Repair, Arthur Amaral, Robyn, Kennon and Andrew Pearson and Bob, Libby, Debbie and Ian Roseman, Imelda Colindres, Kristine and Eirick Haensheke, Rosalyn Myles, Marija Krstic-Chin, Shelby Marlo, Ann Martin, Karen Michaels, Hugo Nathan, Richie May, Lisa Nicholls, Laura and Melanie Parker, Marina Schlesinger, Mike Shen, Don Spina, Norma Snyder, David and Tor Strawderman, Edy Foglino, Cheryll Roberts, Linda, Josh, Dylan and Maeve Almos, Frank Galassi, Jeff Haas, Joan Howard, Michael Flynn, Shaunse Neighbors, John, Gloria, Veronica and Yvonne Wehrmann, and to Kate Svoboda-Spanbock thanks for the name suggestion. Good choice.
Tallia and Michael Amos, thanks for being the beautiful, insightful people.
To all the Quaker folks at the Visalia Friends’ Meeting—your community service and spirituality deeply inspire me.
My special thoughts and prayers go to those who have passed: my father, Melvin Howard, grandparents Florence and Harold Pimlott, my UCLA professor and good friend Dr. Erskine Peters, my client Anton Furst, friends Tony and Nancy Artley and my bro-in-law, Klaus Wagner—I love you and miss you all.
And thank you to the fifty-plus celebrities—actors, singers, musicians, producers, writers, directors and presidents—who have kept my life very, very interesting and busy for the past twenty years.
About the Author
HEATHER H. HOWARD’s experience as a personal assistant to some of the biggest names in Hollywood for more than two decades inspired this wickedly funny fictional exposé of her clients’ egotistical follies. She lives in Los Angeles with her eleven-year-old son, Cayman.
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Credits
Cover photograph by Benjamin Hill
Copyright
This novel is a work of fiction. Any references to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other names, characters, and places, and all dialogue and incidents portrayed in this book, are the product of the author’s imagination.
CHORE WHORE. Copyright © 2005 by Heather H. Howard. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
* * *
The Library of Congress has catalogued the hardcover edition as follows:
Howard, Heather H.
Chore whore : adventures of a celebrity personal assistant / by Heather H. Howard—1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN 0-06-072391-2 (acid-free paper)
1. Hollywood (Los Angeles, Calif.)—Fiction. 2. Administrative assistants—Fiction. 3. Motion picture industry—Fiction. 4. Celebrities—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3608.O923C48 2005
813'.6—dc22
2004054177
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ISBN-10: 0-06-072392-0 (pbk.)
ISBN-13: 978-0-06-072392-7 (pbk.)
EPub Edition © JUNE 2011 ISBN: 9780062109606
06 07 08 09 10 /RRD 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
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