Caroline was also not above trying to make a seven-year-old child jealous. Siena glared at her from beneath her tangled mop of curls as she gave Duke a lingering kiss on the mouth, her expert tongue probing hungrily and obscenely for his own, one red-taloned hand burrowing furtively under his shirt, the other dangerously close to his crotch. Duke gave a primitive groan of arousal. Man, she still did it for him.
Hunter squirmed in his seat at this public display of affection between his parents, and wished the ground would open up and swallow him.
“Have a good day, darling,” said Caroline, looking triumphantly over her shoulder at Siena, who was murderously stirring her soggy cereal at the other end of the table. That would teach the spoiled little brat. “Don’t let her tire you out completely before tonight.” Her eyes locked lasciviously with Duke’s and he smiled.
“Oh, don’t you worry, baby,” he said as she slipped back into her own seat. “I still have more than enough energy for the both of you.”
CHAPTER TEN
Fairfax Studios was a ramshackle collection of ugly sixties warehouses and temporary-looking sheds tucked away off Benedict Canyon in North Hollywood. To call the place unprepossessing would have been a gross understatement, but there was a frenzied flurry of activity around the lot that morning that lent an undeniable air of excitement to the dull, practical buildings.
Runners scurried to and fro, laden with mysterious boxes, clipboards, or armfuls of clothing. Harassed-looking makeup artists dashed between the various trailers, huge silver mobile homes on ugly concrete stilts where the film’s stars “rested” between takes. All too often, they “rested” together, and the entire extended crew was treated to the sight of a ton and a half of aluminum shaking and shuddering while the leading lady “rehearsed” with various extras. A few jaded journalists, instantly recognizable by their bright green press badges, skulked dejectedly around the set, knowing from bitter experience that they might have to hang around all day before being granted their promised interview, and that even then the PRs would guard their celebrity charges like rottweilers, refusing to let them answer any interesting personal questions.
Siena had been to Fairfax only once before, despite repeatedly begging her grandfather to let her tag along. There was nowhere on earth she preferred to be than on a movie set with Duke. It was like Christmas Eve, her birthday, and Disneyland all rolled into one. She was excited by every aspect of filmmaking: the huge furry boom microphones that zoomed back and forth on their enormous cranes; the great coiled firemen’s hoses, waiting to pump gallons of foam onto the blazing backs of the stuntmen, resplendent in their red-and-white flame-retardant suits. Siena was intoxicated by it all.
Most of all, though, she longed to catch a glimpse of the actors themselves: Sylvester Stallone, Sigourney Weaver, Ali Sheedy, Andrew McCarthy, Mel Gibson—they were her idols, her pantheon of gods and goddesses. They all carried with them an almost tangible magic, a glowing, magnetic aura that made the little girl catch her breath in their presence, despite her own long familiarity with fame.
Her whole body would swell with pride as she watched her grandpa mingle with them, being greeted with affection and respect by each of her heroes in turn. Duke was a god among gods, and Siena felt special and uniquely powerful to be his chosen companion as they roamed the set together.
“You’ve met my granddaughter, Siena?” Duke accosted Mel Gibson as he emerged from his trailer, a battered script in one hand and a huge paper cup of coffee in the other.
Siena’s eyes were on stalks as the star squatted down on his haunches so that his eyes were level with hers. His face looked slightly orange under his makeup, but his long, shaggy mane of hair and twinkling blue-green eyes looked just like they did on-screen. Siena felt her heart thump so loudly she feared he might hear it.
“I don’t believe I have,” he said in his deep, gravelly Australian accent. “Hello, Siena. Do you know you’re about the same age as my daughter Hannah?” Siena shook her head mutely, still gazing at him adoringly. “So what do you reckon about the set? It’s kinda cool, isn’t it?”
“I love it!” she said, suddenly emboldened. “When I grow up, I’m going to be a movie star, just like you and Grandpa!”
Mel Gibson laughed good-naturedly. “Is that so? Well, I can let you in on a secret. Your grandpa here is a much, much bigger star than I’ll ever be. You’ve got a tough act to follow there, Siena.”
Duke lifted her up into his arms, his face alight with love. “I’m telling you, man, one of these days this girl is gonna be huge. She’s got that old McMahon magic in bucketloads, don’t you, princess?”
Siena felt she had never known true happiness until that moment.
The rest of the day passed as if in a dream. Did Grandpa really think she could make it in the movies, that she had what it took to be like he was? If he did, then there could be no doubt about it. If Grandpa said that something was going to happen, then it did, it always did. Not even the future could defy Duke McMahon.
She followed Duke like an overexcited puppy through the maze of huts, hangars, and trailers, while he spoke to the director and various key members of the crew, breaking off frequently to take calls from his lawyer on his state-of-the-art new mobile phone. Siena was incredibly impressed, watching him bellow angrily into what looked like a rather heavy black brick with buttons. “I don’t care how you find out, David, just do it. That’s what I pay you fuckers for,” he roared.
Siena wondered what he was trying to find out about, but was too enthralled by her surroundings to waste much mental energy on anything else. One of the costume ladies, a laughing Korean woman who wore hundreds of clattering bangles on each arm, gave her a beautiful red satin shawl with white lace trim for dressing up. Siena wrapped herself in it gleefully and was about to go skipping off after Duke when she suddenly felt a stab of guilt.
“I wonder,” she said, “do you think you might be able to swap it for something a bit more boyish?”
“Of course.” The costume lady gave her a puzzled smile. “But why would you want to do that?”
“It’s just my uncle Hunter wasn’t able to come today,” explained Siena, “and I’d really like to bring him something back as a present. To make up for it, you know?”
The woman assured her that she could keep the scarf, but they would find something nice for Hunter as well. After a few minutes of rummaging, she pulled out a futuristic model of a phaser gun from an old plywood crate. It was an exact replica of the ones Siena had seen on Star Trek, and she knew Hunter would love it.
“Oh, it’s perfect, thank you,” said Siena. She knew that deep down, Hunter was disappointed to have missed today. Maybe, in some small way, this would make it up to him.
Running out of the costume trailer, she gazed at the hustle and bustle of the set around her. She was determined to make herself remember every detail of the day so she could play it back for herself in bed this evening, and so she could tell Hunter everything after supper, as long as horrible Max had gone home by then.
Siena hated Max De Seville with a passion. He always said her stories were boring, even when they weren’t at all, even when she had met Mel Gibson and Duke had told him that she was going to be famous one day.
She couldn’t tell what Hunter saw in Max. They weren’t a bit alike. Hunter always listened to her. He never said she was lying when she’d only exaggerated just the tiniest bit, to make something sound more interesting. And he never laughed at her in the infuriating, patronizing way that Max did, treating her like a stupid little kid, even though she was nearly eight and everyone said she was very precocious for her age, which Grandpa had told her meant grown up.
In the end, Duke decided to take her for an In-N-Out burger after they left the studios, and it was after ten o’clock when they got home, far too late for her to be allowed to see Hunter or Max. Claire and Suzanna had both swooped on her the moment she walked through the door, complaining that it was way past her bedtime and unde
r no circumstances could she stay up another minute. Even Siena could see that resistance was futile. It would have to wait until tomorrow.
Tucked up in bed twenty minutes later, smelling of toothpaste and soap, she gave Duke an ecstatic good-night kiss. “Oh, Grandpa, I had the best day ever. All the kids at school are gonna be so totally jealous!”
“I should think they are, sweetheart, and so they should be,” said Duke. “You’re worth a hundred of any of those kids, and don’t you ever forget it.”
He kissed her softly on the cheek and turned out her Star Wars nightlight. She looked so perfect, so innocent and unspoiled, with her thick hair tumbling across the pillow, a ragged old Kermit the Frog clutched tightly to her chest. Duke didn’t think he had ever felt so much love for another human being.
“Grandpa?” Her voice was soft and tentative in the darkness. “Why didn’t you want Hunter to come with us today?”
Duke sighed. He hadn’t thought she’d noticed his lack of enthusiasm at breakfast about the boy joining them. She was sharper than he gave her credit for.
“Don’t you like him?”
It was funny. All of Caroline’s ranting at him over the years, pleading with him to show more affection to his son—it hadn’t made the slightest bit of difference. He didn’t know why he didn’t love the boy. He just didn’t, and that fact had never troubled his conscience any more than it had with Peter or Laurie. But being questioned, challenged outright by Siena, his beloved, innocent little girl, made him feel sorry that he could not be the loving father to Hunter that everyone wanted and expected him to be.
“Of course I like him,” he assured her, the deep cadences of his lingering Irish accent soothing her, as always. “He can come along with us next time, okay? I promise.”
Siena beamed at him happily. He could see her tiny milk teeth glinting at him through the darkness. “Okay.”
“Sleep tight now, Siena,” he whispered as her eyes began to close. “Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”
“Oh, Grandpa,” she murmured drowsily, “there’s no such thing as bedbugs.”
And soon she had drifted into a deep, contented sleep.
“Cut it out, Max! Leave her alone!”
It was a month after her triumphant visit to the studios, and Siena, Max, and Hunter were out in the tree house, playing.
Reluctantly, Max released Siena’s arms. She spun around to face him, her eyes blazing with fury, and was about to hurl her little body at him in a second assault when Hunter gently but firmly wrapped his own arms around her.
“Get off me!” she screamed at him, still struggling for all she was worth.
“Siena, just calm down and I will.”
“For God’s sake, hold on to her, Hunter, she’s a psycho,” said Max.
The tree house had begun to shake ominously. If it broke now, after all Hunter’s hard work, he really would murder the pair of them. “No more fighting, please,” he said, exasperated. “I’m sick of it, even if you two aren’t.”
Hunter had spent the better part of the morning trying and failing to make peace between his niece and his best friend. They were always at each other’s throats, and both of them expected him to play referee. It drove him nuts. Max was the worst, forever winding Siena up, teasing her and baiting her until she totally flipped out. The fact that she was only a baby, not even eight years old, seemed to make no difference to him. If anything, Max was tougher on Siena than he was with the kids he didn’t like in seventh grade. Hunter found it baffling.
Today it had all started over the tree house he and Max had been building behind the orangery on the estate. They had been working on it for weeks over the summer, blissfully ignored by their respective parents, who were only too happy to have the boys out of their hair. It became their den, their secret project, and they were both inordinately proud of it.
At first Siena had been too preoccupied with Duke to pay their little camp much attention. For the last two weeks, she and her grandfather had spent almost every day together, either watching old movies at home or hanging out at the studios. When Claire and Pete had insisted on taking her to Santa Barbara last weekend to visit some family friends, Siena had screamed the house down and had to be literally prised away from Duke’s legs and bundled into Pete’s Jaguar. The love affair between grandfather and granddaughter seemed stronger than ever.
Practically the only time the boys saw Siena at all was when she came home triumphant from one of her trips with Duke, bursting excitedly with stories about all the stars she’d seen and how everyone made such a fuss over her.
Max couldn’t stomach her when she was in this sort of mood, yabbering away at high speed like a broken record, and it always ended in a fight. Even Hunter had to admit Siena could get pretty tiring, with all her “Grandpa said this” and “Grandpa did that.”
But then about a week ago, Duke had decided to take Caroline down to Mexico for a week’s vacation.
“Am I coming?” Siena had asked him excitedly when he announced the trip one lunchtime.
“Absolutely not,” said Caroline firmly, and for once Duke backed her up.
“Not this time, princess,” he said to his indignant grandchild. “It’s more of a grown-up thing. Just for adults.”
“That’s right,” Caroline couldn’t resist adding. “The focus is going to be very much on adult entertainment.” Duke grinned.
“But I really want to come!” whined Siena. “Oh, Grandpa, pleeeease, I’ll be so good. I’ll be really grown up, I promise. I’ll be precocious!”
Duke laughed. But he stood his ground.
Siena had sulked for three solid days but eventually resigned herself to the fact that she would be deprived of Duke’s company for over a week. It was about this time that she refocused her attention and affection on Hunter and started taking an interest in the grand tree-house project.
“Don’t you have some Barbies to go and play with?” Max sneered as Hunter cautiously released his hold of Siena.
Physical violence having failed her, she decided to give sarcasm a try. “No, Max, I don’t have any Baaar-bees,” she parodied his British accent. “But shouldn’t you be orf hunting and fishing in jolly old England? Oh, tallyho!” She began riding an imaginary horse around the tree house, shaking the fragile structure to its core. “Look at me, I’m so terribly, terribly English, darling!”
“Shut up!” said Max, who was surprisingly sensitive to taunts about his accent. All the kids at school gave him grief for it, but his parents went ballistic whenever the slightest hint of a California twang crept into his voice. He couldn’t win.
“Yeah, for God’s sake, Siena, knock it off,” said Hunter.
“Tallyho! Tallyho!” said Siena even more loudly, thrilled to have touched a nerve, galloping around Max like a hyperactive dwarf.
Before Hunter had a second to react, Max let out an almighty yell and threw himself at Siena, rugby-tackling her to the floor. The tree house gave a final creak before collapsing completely.
Wood, rope, and nails flew everywhere as the three children tumbled through the branches of the huge sycamore. Instinctively, Hunter and Max managed to grab hold of the slippery branches as they fell. But Siena seemed to have lost all coordination, flailing wildly for support as branch after branch cracked against her fragile limbs. The two boys watched in horror as she tumbled helplessly to the ground below. Her head hit the earth with a sturdy but muffled thud. She wasn’t moving.
For some reason, Hunter found himself rooted to the spot. His brain was telling his body to move, but his body didn’t seem to be getting the message. It was like one of those dreams where the murderer was chasing you, but every time you tried to run, your legs seemed to be knee-deep in cement. He stared in horror at Siena’s limp little body.
Oh Jesus, was she dead? How could he have let this happen?
It seemed to Hunter that Max was on the ground in an instant, swinging and jumping from branch to branch like Tarzan, his lithe torso twisting to
avoid the worst of the twigs and debris as he made his way down to Siena.
“Siena, wake up,” he said urgently. “It’s me, it’s Max. Can you hear me?”
He had bent low over her and was stroking her forehead with his right hand while his left felt gingerly around her neck and the top of her spine for any breakages. They had done some basic first-aid training with the Santa Monica lifeguard cadets, and he knew he must be careful not to move her. There didn’t seem to be any serious damage.
“Siena!” he shouted at her sharply, his mouth an inch from her ear.
The suddenness of his voice seemed to jolt her into consciousness. She gave an involuntary kick with her legs and opened her eyes blearily.
“Well, hello there.” Max grinned, relief and happiness flooding his face. Thank God she was okay. “You’re alive, then?”
Groggily, Siena tried to focus. Little by little, his face settled into view. She saw his thin lips splitting into the most enormous smile, revealing two rows of perfectly even white teeth. His eyes had disappeared into tiny twinkling crinkles, and his slightly floppy blond hair had fallen forward over his mud-streaked forehead. Next to Hunter, he had always looked so plain. But just for that moment, their enmity temporarily forgotten, she thought he looked . . . nice.
“Yes, Max, I’m alive,” she said hoarsely. “No thanks to you.”
But she completely forgot to scowl at him.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Minnie’s brow furrowed as she perused the menu a second time. She was sitting at her favorite table at the Ivy on Robertson, a strategically placed parasol protecting her eyes and delicate skin from the glare of the midday sun.
It was a Thursday in June, three years after Siena’s fall from the tree house, and Minnie had arranged to meet Pete for lunch. He was late, as usual. She knew that her son was working particularly hard at the moment, and had a slew of new movie projects in the pipeline. Only yesterday she and Claire had had a long conference on the subject of Pete’s crazy working hours, and what could be done to persuade him to spend a little more time at home. But as far as Minnie was concerned, there was never any excuse for tardiness.
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