Hollywood Ending

by Kellye Garrett

  “I’m going for plausible deniability here. You’re making it really hard.”

  “Oh sorry! I won’t tell you about the coupon then. You’re coming, right?”

  “No.”

  “What! Why not? You scared of Nina? I got that covered. I’ve watched over 123 hours of E! Live From the Red Carpet specials. Trust me when I say the red carpet gets ridiculous about an hour before the show. That when the really big celebs finally show up and the D-listers drag their feet because they want to talk to as many news outlets as possible. Security will be so distracted, they’ll barely glance at our passes.”

  “Yeah, still no. They take trespassing seriously at these things. You’re going to get arrested. You can go if you want. I’ll watch from home and wait for your collect call from jail.”

  “Fine. Let me know if you change your mind.”

  Not happening. I went back to the bloset to stew. The only thing going well these past twenty-four hours was my skin being extremely moisturized. Gus’s release meant I was flush out of suspects and I had no clue why the police let him go. He’d admitted he was in contact with Junior. Of course, he didn’t cop to the blackmail or emails.

  Emails I hadn’t bothered to look at. I’d dropped the envelope from Z on my dresser without as much as a second glance. I decided to finally check them out.

  I read the first one. Despite what Gus had claimed, it was an email he sent to Mack from his SSO account. I glanced at a few more. Gus was out of jail, though, so there had to be something here. I kept looking. It took me an hour to figure it out.

  The message itself was short: You said the money order should be comming by 5 today. It has not arrived.

  I reread it, then checked others. “Comming” wasn’t a one-time typo. Gus wrote it in more than one email. He clearly didn’t know how to spell it. And he wasn’t the only one.

  I scrolled through my text messages until I found what I wanted. A text from Kitt. The one where she misspelled “coming” and even admitted she did it all the time.

  Bingo.

  I’d spent two months temping as the second assistant for a CEO. About the only good thing about the job was that it was always someone’s birthday. Yay free cake. I’d also learned that most assistants have way too much access to their boss’s life. Social security numbers. Credit cards. Email. Outlook even lets you add another email inbox on your account. I could check my boss’s email and, more important, send an email from him.

  Convenient when you were pretending to be your boss to blackmail the biggest country singer in the US. Of course, even if Kitt was in fact the blackmailer, she wasn’t in jail. Not yet. Did the cops not know? She clearly was blackmailing Mack, but did she kill Lyla?

  I needed to have a conversation with her. Stat. My first thought was to be ready and waiting when she showed up at work on Monday. But then I remembered something she’d mentioned during our lunch. She was going on vacation as soon as the show was over. At the time, I hadn’t given it much thought. But now, it seemed convenient.

  If I wanted to talk to her, I’d have to do it tonight. The good news was that at least I knew where to find her.

  I left a quick message with the tip line and ran to the living room where Sienna and Miss Erica were getting ready for the awards.

  “Is there still time to do my makeup before we go?”

  Twenty-Seven

  There are different types of traffic. Some you find anywhere, like backups related to construction, accidents, and weather. And some you can only find in LA, like awards show traffic. Sienna and I were in the back of a Lincoln in the drop-off line for the Silver Sphere red carpet. We inched along as I wished for a new superpower—the ability to jump to the front of any line. It would also do me well at Disneyland.

  I had to hand it to Sienna. We both looked great. Her Glam Squad had given me the full second-season-of-a-reality-show-makeover complete with clip-on hair extensions and enough nose and cheek contouring to make a Kardashian weep with joy. Clothing-wise, Sienna had opted for a low-cut Jessica Rabbit inspired number and I’d gone for an off-the-shoulder purple classic silhouette that flaunted way less boob and way more booty. We both wore our hair down. The hair stylist had opted for a stick-straight look for Sienna and flowy beach waves for me. I was impressed. So was Sienna.

  She was busying herself taking selfies when I got a text from Omari—a pic of him and his mom decked out in their awards show best. I loved it. I quickly texted back. You both look great!! Good luck tonight.

  Then I thought about Nina trying to pay for Omari’s win and it backfiring. I texted one more thing: It’s okay if you don’t win. It’s just a fancy doorstop anyway.

  He responded instantly. I’ll keep that in mind. See you there.

  Considering he’d probably be with Nina, I sure hoped not. I sent a few heart emojis, then turned to Sienna. “Okay, so you know the plan.”

  “Yep. Find Kitt. Learn why she was pretending to be Gus to blackmail Mack Christie. Confirm if she did or didn’t have Lyla killed. Don’t get arrested or hospitalized.”

  That was indeed the plan. I just hoped it would be as simple as she made it sound. We discussed a few more details just as Dante finally pulled the car to the front of the line. He’d been so quiet I’d forgotten he was there. “You ladies look great,” he said as a guard opened the Lincoln’s back door. “I’ll pick you up after the show.”

  “We might leave before it’s over.”

  “I’ll stick around then.”

  We thanked him and got out. I took in a lungful of air and tried to convince myself everything would go fine. I’d flash our bootlegged pass, breeze through the red carpet, find Kitt, and be back in bed by the time they gave out the “Best Picture” award. Easy, breezy. Or not.

  Our first stop was security. Everyone had to walk through a full-body airport-worthy scanner before being individually wanded by a guard. They were not playing games. Sienna was right. It was indeed a mess. I recognized tons of people, including the security guard from the other day. He held a Garrett security scanner wand. I just hoped he wouldn’t recognize me. And if he did, he’d at least forget I was supposed to have a ticket, not a badge.

  We made our way closer and closer until we were next. I stepped through the scanner and took it all in. It looked even busier on the “other side.” Sienna, of course, was barely wanded. The guard attempted to look at her pass but didn’t make it past her cleavage. I only hoped to be so lucky. He watched Sienna go and turned to me. “Hey! You tell your mom I said hi?”

  “Yes,” I said as he skimmed right past the cleavage and barely took in my pass. So far, so good. “She’s glad you’re doing so well.”

  He moved the wand up the side of my body. I continued. “She said she always knew you would.”

  He stopped to smile at me and his arm knocked my badge askew in the process. It swung side to side like a pendulum, the blank backside making an appearance with each circuit. If he glanced back down, he would know it was fake. I’d been free and clear, but of course I’d had to keep talking. If I’d just shut up, I would have been halfway down the red carpet by now.

  I immediately wanted to amend my superpower wishlist for the kajillionth time. Mind control jetted right to the top. Please don’t look down. Please don’t look down. Please don’t look down.

  His eyes started to slowly move down in what felt like slow motion. I needed to do something. My initial instinct—turn and run for my life—would not do. At all.

  “I always had a crush on you,” I blurted out.

  His eyes immediately went back to mine and he smiled. “I know.” He stepped to the side and waved me in. “Enjoy the show. Glad you finally got your pass.”

  And I was glad a man’s heathy ego finally worked to my benefit.

  I stepped past the guard and took it all in. Awards shows are primetime viewing for the entire country, meani
ng they usually air live. Great if you’re in New York or Georgia. But the East Coast’s eight p.m. is the West Coast’s five. Come awards season, you had a lot of people in tuxes and full-out ball gowns, all set for a night out on the town—at 3:30 in the afternoon.

  The red carpet itself was a beautiful chaos. I likened it to the world’s nicest obstacle course. Up first were the photographers. Dozens screaming your name at the top of their lungs, demanding you look “this way” and “over here” while you stood in front of the Step-and-Repeat, a photo backdrop featuring event and sponsor logos. The nickname also served as directions. Step on an assigned X and try not to look as scared as you felt in front of a kajillion flashbulbs. Move a few feet down and repeat the entire process.

  Once you survived that, you still had to deal with hundreds—and hundreds of feet—of journalists, bloggers, and news crews, all while avoiding tripping, stepping on someone else’s dress, and getting caught mid-grimace in the back of another person’s shot.

  Sienna was already in line for the Step-and-Repeat. Brave girl. A publicist manned the entrance with a small whiteboard and marker she used to write celebs’ names before they stepped in front of photographers. I bypassed it and went straight to the main part of the carpet.

  My goal was simple. Don’t stop. Don’t make eye contact. Don’t run into Nina.

  It almost worked.

  She was midway down the carpet with Miss Erica and Omari, watching him get interviewed by a news crew. Mother and publicist stood a few feet away so they wouldn’t be in the shot. I stopped, trying to figure out the best course of action. The area was a madhouse. As long as she didn’t glance back, I could walk behind them unnoticed and be on my merry little way.

  I was about five feet away when I heard the voice. “Sweetie, you made it after all!”

  Erica waved at me like she was Miss USA. I waved back, all the while staying on the move. But then both Nina and Omari glanced over to see who was causing Miss Erica to act a fool. Omari immediately turned back to the interview. Nina? Not so much.

  Her eyes narrowed and she mouthed one word. “You … ”

  Omari never stopped talking. I, on the other hand, froze. The only way to get inside was to walk directly by Nina. But that was not happening. At all. She spoke into a walkie attached to her dress. “Security, we have a trespasser.”

  Clearly not wanting to wait for backup, she then started toward me. That’s when Omari reached out and put his arm around her. He pulled her in so she was in the camera shot. “And I couldn’t do any of it without my publicist, Nina Flynn. She’s amazing.”

  Nina ripped her eyes away from me and automatically smiled for the camera. “He’s being modest.”

  “I’m not. I wouldn’t have this nomination without you.” As Omari spoke, he used the arm around Nina to motion for me to go.

  An hour later and I’d only seen Kitt once. It was on a lobby monitor at that, one blasting the show for those desperate for a smoke, a bathroom, or a drink but who didn’t want to risk missing their category. Sienna and I hovered in a corner since we no longer had seats inside the auditorium.

  The show started right on time, opening with a wide shot of Mack Christie’s ubiquitous tour bus. The one he admitted to me was only for show. The next cut was inside it, a close shot of a Silver Sphere Award that zoomed out to include Mack and J. Chris “getting ready.” After some playful back-and-forth banter about how excited they were to host, they broke out in song to prove it.

  The camera followed them as they left their bus conveniently parked right outside a backstage door and then sang and danced their way inside, passing backstage crew as they did so. I spotted Kitt right before they went onstage.

  Tasking Sienna to keep an eye out if Kitt made it to the lobby, I ran backstage. I was so intent on finding Kitt I barely paid the security guy standing guard much mind, flashing him my faux pass and hurrying by.

  Backstage was akin to Oz. Pull back the curtain and it’s just a bunch of white guys standing around pretending to be more important than they are. Lots of women too. Some in suits. Some in dresses. Some in shorts and sturdy boots. Almost all rocking walkie talkies and headsets. No one questioned what anyone was doing back there. Worked for me.

  By the time I found the hallway where Kitt had been on camera, she was long gone. I wandered aimlessly for a good sixty minutes before finally stopping a young woman wearing a headset. “Have you seen the SSO assistant, Kitt?”

  She barely acknowledged me, shaking her head while simultaneously talking into her walkie. “Anyone have eyes on Mack Christie? He needs to be back onstage in ten.”

  So much for that. I kept on the hunt, finally giving up on the idea I’d ever find her inside and headed out a stray door. I found a couple of people sneaking a cigarette and lots of parked cars, but that was about it.

  I glanced around and spied Mack’s tour bus off to the left, still parked a few feet from another entrance but no longer awash in lights, cameras, or action.

  There was a car parked behind it with gold hubcaps and window etchings that looked familiar. It took me a second to place it, but I finally figured it out. It was the same car I’d seen when I went to talk to Regina at her job. I didn’t know who it belonged to then, but now I wondered if it belonged to Mack. I casually walked over and peered inside, but the windows were too dark to see anything. The non-vanity license plate also didn’t give any clues to the owner.

  I was about to head back inside the Shrine when I heard something smash against the back window of Mack’s tour bus. Of course, the mirror finish on those windows made it impossible to see inside.

  Me being me, I decided to check anyway, especially since no one else seemed to notice. A lone security guard was a few hundred feet up. He paid me no mind as I walked to the bus’s door on the other side—he was too busy flirting with USC coeds. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing. Reaching for the door handle, I was surprised when it turned. I guessed Mack and J. Chris hadn’t had time to lock up after their song and dance number earlier. I inched the door open just enough to slip inside. I waited a beat, but no one noticed my arrival.

  The décor was ultimate man cave. Lots of dark leather. Lots of shiny surfaces. And lots of beer. The Silver Sphere Award they’d used in their opening number was still on a table next to me. A ginormous flat-screen hung on the lone interior wall, tuned in to the show going on a mere hundred feet away. J. Chris was onstage. Mack wasn’t with her.

  For a second, I didn’t think he was on the tour bus either. Then I heard voices coming from what had to be the bedroom in the back.

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting any of this. I’ll give you money. Anything you want. Just don’t shoot me.”

  That was definitely Kitt.

  “It’s too late. You’re not giving me much choice.”

  And that was Mack.

  Fudge.

  I had a choice to make. Eavesdrop or find help. For once, I decided not to be stupid. I would just find someone way better equipped to handle the situation. When I peered out the window, I spied the guard still stuck in position. The coeds at least were gone.

  “Please. I’ll do whatever you want,” Kitt said.

  I turned to leave, catching a glimpse of the TV as I did. J. Chris was onstage and Mack was coming out to join her. But that didn’t make any sense. If he was onstage, he couldn’t be on the bus.

  His voice, however, definitely was.

  At that moment, I realized exactly where I’d gone wrong. My investigation had focused on Anani, then on Mack, then on the Silver Sphere Organization. What it hadn’t focused on was the guy who was providing the literal soundtrack to Mack’s career. He’d been just as invisible to me as he was to the rest of the world. He could have been anyone. I’d never given it much thought.

  But he was clearly around and not happy at the recent turn of events. I was sure Mack had paid hi
m a pretty penny to shut up and sing. And the blind item had threatened to end that.

  I reminded myself it was a problem for the police, or at least a security guard. I was getting out of Dodge.

  But when I turned to leave, I bumped into the Silver Sphere Award on the table next to me. The crash rang out at what felt like a thousand decibels. The voices immediately shut up.

  The door opened just as I instinctively bent down to pick the award back up. I should’ve been hauling butt out of there. Talk about a really bad time for good manners.

  I straightened up, gripping it, just as Dante stepped out.

  His hands were behind his back and Kitt peered out from behind him. Like I said, the guy providing Mack’s vocals could have been anyone. In actuality, he was a driver. One who looked ready to kill me. I didn’t even have time to process the revelation. Instead I went into survival mode. For me, that didn’t mean fighting. It meant trying to talk myself out of the situation.

  “Dante!” I said. “What are you doing here?” I walked past him into the bedroom, leaving the door cracked behind me, and pointed at Kitt. “You need to get away from her. She hired Junior to kill Lyla. Let’s get out of here.”

  Dante had no reaction. Kitt, on the other hand …

  “He’s the one who killed Lyla,” she screamed. “He’s going to kill me!”

  I knew that. I just wanted her to shut up about it so I could prevent it from happening. I tried to grab his arm with my one free hand. The other still held the award. He wouldn’t budge. “We need to go and find a security guard.”

  That’s when he pulled the gun from behind his back. “Shut the door, put the award down, and give me your purse. You’re not gonna need it or your phone.”

  I did just that, placing the award on the bed while Dante threw my bag into the front room. There went any chance to call for help. I needed to figure out another way out of there. Pronto. I apprised the situation. The room wasn’t big enough to avoid a bullet. It was lined with windows but they were windows you couldn’t open. There were drawers built into the walls on both sides of the door and above the bed, which also was bookended by two small nightstands. I zeroed in on the one on the complete opposite side of the room. It held a photo of Mack and J. Chris. Next to it were a few random odds and ends, including a pair of Focals.