Hollyweird

“Sounds like,” I said, refocusing on why he’d called. “Apparently Dakota is planning to whammy us with the seven deadly sins … just for fun.”

  “Niiice. What a prince. Prince of Darkness.”

  I gave a weak chuckle.

  “You still wanna keep all this quiet from Missy?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” I answered without hesitation. “Ignorance is bliss. Let her stay in her blond bubble.”

  “ ’Kay.” Des flopped down on her back next to me. “So what exactly does ‘whammying us’ mean?”

  “I’m not sure.” I shrugged. “Do you remember all seven sins? Jameson rattled them off so fast … ”

  “You’re the former Catholic,” Desi said with a snort. “But I might remember a few from Seven, that Brad Pitt movie. Let’s see … ” She started counting them off on her fingers. “There was the fat guy who bit it from eating too much, ha ha, bit it. Get it?”

  I gave her a disapproving frown.

  “Sorry,” she said with an unrepentant giggle. “Then the greedy attorney and the model whose nose was cut off and, of course, poor Gwen Paltrow lost her head to envy.”

  “Right!” I pointed to her. “Which made Brad turn into wrath. So that’s Wrath, Envy, Pride, Greed, and Gluttony. What’re we missing?” I tapped my fingers against my forehead to trigger my memory. “I know! Sloth and Lust.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Des said with a droll smile. “The two that could be my downfall. No wonder I forgot them.”

  “Selective memory,” I said with a nod. “Anyhow, that SOB—” I stopped and reconsidered whose son I spoke of. “Make that SOS, Son of Satan, is doing this for his own entertainment. How twisted is that?”

  Des winced as Missy hit a particularly painful note in the shower. “Even more twisted than that falsetto.”

  “Jameson said we should be extra vigilant because even something seemingly innocent could be—”

  “Evil in a clown suit?”

  I shuddered at the thought. “Seriously,” I whispered, after hearing Missy shut off the shower. “Jameson seemed really worried. I think we should stay here as much as possible. I know, I hate to say that,” I said at Des’s grimace. “But I imagine we’re a little more insulated from temptation here, and, I don’t know about you, but I feel like we’re waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop.”

  “Shoes?” Missy asked as she emerged from the bathroom in a fragrant steam cloud. She wore one of the hotel’s decadent white robes with a turbaned towel on her head. “Bestill my heart,” she said, her hand pressed to her chest. “Surely my ears deceive me because I thought I heard you two discussing shoes, and I would swear you couldn’t tell the difference between a Ked and a Kors, a Madden and a Manolo.”

  “Hmm,” Des said, hand to chin in mock contemplation. “The difference is about four hundred dollars.”

  Missy clapped in approval. “Hey!” Her eyes widened and she bounced on her toes. “Let’s go shoe shopping! There’s a pair of Louboutin heels I’ve been dyyyying to buy.”

  “NO!” Des and I shouted.

  “Er, that is,” I stammered, “we were thinking about hanging here. We’ve been running around so much, and—”

  “Saved by the bell,” Des muttered when someone knocked on our door. She scrambled off the bed and whipped open the door so fast my mouth gaped open with my unspoken warning.

  So much for vigilance.

  I pushed Missy toward her dresser and told her to get dressed while I went to see who’d arrived. If it were one of Dakota’s cronies would he have to be invited in before he could cross the threshold? Chances were, vampire rules didn’t apply to demons. Only instead of finding a fiend with Des I found—

  “Room service?”

  “Cool, huh?” she said as she locked the door behind her. “This way-hot waiter called it a special delivery, whatever that means. It smells positively diii-vine.” Silver lids covered the contents and Des grabbed the handle on one, about to peek underneath. “My nose knows chocolate.”

  “Wait.” I stayed her hand with my own. “I didn’t order it. Did you?”

  “No,” she said, then repeated it with a whine. “But I’m sure it’s—”

  “What’s this?” Missy asked. She’d thrown on a pair of Candie’s sweatshorts and a lace-trimmed tank. She looked like such an innocent, fresh-faced beauty that my instinct to protect her flared even higher.

  “Mis, did you order this?”

  “No,” she said, “but I bet I know who did.”

  “Who?” Des asked as she rubbed her hands in excitement.

  Missy plucked up a white envelope that had been tucked between two fancy-folded napkins and waved it as if to say “the answer’s right here.” The handwritten card inside read: From your friends at Rich & Famous. You’ll be hearing from us.

  Missy shrieked and jumped up and down before grabbing Des and me by the hands to join her. “That’s got to be good news!”

  Des and I couldn’t help but get caught up in her joy. “They really, really love you. They really, really love you,” we chanted as we bounced in time to our own little conga beat.

  Missy laughed, fluffed her hair, and took a toe-touching bow like only she could. “Let’s see what they sent,” she said and pulled the cart farther into the room.

  “The guy at the door said it was a special delivery,” Des said as she arranged two chairs around the cart and motioned to Missy to sit on the end of the bed for a third seat.

  “That means it came from outside the hotel,” Missy said. “Which means it must be really, really good.” She placed each of her hands on a silver lid and motioned to Des and me to do the same. “One, two, three!” she shouted and we all uncovered our dishes.

  Anyone hearing our squeals would think the three little piggies had moved into the Wilshire.

  “It’s, it’s—” I stammered, unable to find a word for the nirvana laid before us.

  “It’s chocstasy,” Des said in total reverence.

  Fondue and fudge, truffles and toffee. From exquisite candies—pralines, caramels, ganaches—to mouthwatering pastries and pies—cannolis, éclairs, Black Forest and Oreo cheesecake—it was a buffet of beauty. For just a second we stared in prayerful awe, and then we dove into the trays … fingers first.

  “Omwwwgd,” I groaned in bliss around a mocha truffle that melted like silk across my tongue.

  “I think,” Des said, between bites of her turtle brownie, “that I just had my first orgasm.”

  Missy never said a word. Her eyes were closed in rapture as she savored a plump éclair. Then she scooped up a handful of ganaches and pralines, making little appreciative sighs for every bite of candy she took.

  I dipped butter-rich pound cake and lush strawberries in a fondue that seduced my soul while Des swore she would gladly give up her firstborn if only she could have that Oreo cheesecake for the rest of her life.

  We ate, we sighed in bliss, and we ate some more. Never in my life have I tasted things so delectable, so luxuriant, so sinful.

  Screeeeech …

  Feeling like I’d snapped out of a cocoa coma, I peered at the toffee in my hand with suspicion and then eyed the tray before us. “This isn’t right,” I murmured, setting down my candy.

  “I know. Right,” Des said with a hazed look in her eye. “It’s wicked good.”

  “Exactly,” I said, as I tried to pry a caramel from her fingers. “Wicked ”—I finally managed to yank the candy from her and throw it on the tray—“being the operative word. This is Satan on a silver platter!”

  My fierceness broke through Desi’s bewitchment and she looked at me in befuddlement.

  I glanced down at my watch and then held it closer to my eyes to be sure I’d read it right. “Sweet Jesus! We’ve gone loco for cocoa.”

  “What’dya mean?” Des asked.

  “We’ve been scarfing chocolate for forty-five minutes.”

  Des’s eyes widened and she shook her head in denial. “No, no, no.”

  “Yes,” I s
aid and pointed to the trays. “And the trays haven’t grown emptier and I don’t even feel full.”

  Des placed her hands on her belly. “Neither do I and I must’ve eaten … ” She blanched as she realized just how many pounds of chocolate she’d inhaled.

  “Dakota!” we both yelled.

  “We’ve been served a heaping dose of Gluttony,” I moaned.

  Then my gaze snapped to Missy. She remained en-tranced, a chocolate-crème-filled cannoli clutched in her hand.

  Leaping up, I snatched the baked treat from her and got a baked stare in return.

  “She looks high,” Des said with alarm. “Did I look like that too?”

  Nodding, I said, “We were all under the influence of sinister sweets.” I pushed the tray away from Missy. “Please go hide that by the ice machines while I get Missy, uh, sober?”

  Des started pushing the cart away.

  “Don’t eat anything else!” I said.

  Des nodded and spread our napkins over everything to hide the temptation from herself and anyone else who came along.

  While she took the cart away, I lightly slapped Missy’s cheeks. She seemed even more affected than we were, maybe because we’d had a warning to watch for devil’s snares.

  “Missy. You okay?”

  She gave me a loopy smile. “Soooo gooooood,” she drawled.

  Could coffee clear away choxication? Figuring it couldn’t hurt, I pushed Missy back onto the bed and ran into the bathroom to brew some complimentary Starbucks coffee from those handy-dandy pre-portioned sealed filters. A fuming mad Des returned from ditching the cart.

  “Death by chocolate!” she snapped. “Do you realize what could’ve happened if you hadn’t snapped out of it? We either would’ve exploded in a grotesque fountain of melted chocolate or become paralyzed by our own obscenely obese bodies. Talk about overindulgence.”

  “I’m sure a diabetic coma would’ve hit first,” I said as I poured out two cups of coffee. I handed Des one and took the other out to Missy. Propping her up, I made her take several sips and watched her blue eyes slowly clear from their sugar shock.

  “Whoa,” she finally said, clutching her head. “What happened?”

  “What do you remember?” I asked.

  “Chocolate. Lots and lots of chocolate.”

  “Let’s just say you ate too much and made yourself sick.”

  “The crash freakin’ sucks,” she said. “Thanks for the coffee. I don’t want to see anything sugary for at least another week.” She drained her cup and headed to the bathroom for a refill and some Advil.

  Des shook her head and I got the sense she wasn’t only mad at Dakota, but herself, too. “I shouldn’t have answered the door,” she said.

  “It’s okay.” I gave her arm a comforting pat. “Dude didn’t waste any time. And there was that note on the tray. I thought it was okay after we read that.”

  Des picked up the hotel phone. “May I speak with the manager, please?”

  I looked at her questioningly.

  “Yes, sir. This is Missy King’s assistant in room 312. A short time ago someone delivered a cart full of chocolate and now Miss King is ill. Please put a note on her account that no deliveries should be made to this room. You don’t? Uh huh. Then I think security has been breached. Yes, thank you. We’d definitely like that. Okay, okay, we’ll be looking for you.”

  Des hung up with a smug grin of satisfaction.

  I folded my arms over my chest and raised my eyebrows. “Well?”

  “The manager said they don’t show anyone on their delivery log for Miss King and he can’t imagine how someone got our room number. He’s personally going to escort us to the Presidential Suite and he profusely apologizes for the transgression.”

  “When he knocks on the door, how will we know it’s him?”

  “He’ll be wearing a black suit and his nametag says ‘Armond.’ ”

  “Thanks, Des. I know I’ll feel a little better when we get into a different room.”

  To call it a room would be like calling the Twilight novels and movies popular … a gross understatement. We’d been upgraded to a dream palace!

  Designed after a Park Avenue penthouse, the Presidential Suite, with its white roman columns, high sculptured ceilings, and mix of antiques and chic modern furniture made me feel like both an A-list celebrity and a clumsy bull in a china shop. Petrified of breaking anything or leaving a permanent smudge, I padded across the shiny hardwood floors on bare feet and silently squeed about staying in the exact same room as Julia Roberts’ vivacious hooker, Vivian Ward. I thought our Deluxe Room had been living it up, but now we had two bedrooms with king-sized beds, a living room, library, formal dining room, kitchen, and three, count ’em 1-2-3, Italian marble bathrooms. And get this: the master bath had a sunken tub big enough for a whale, a steam shower (for two), a bidet (not trying it!), and mirrors with TVs integrated into them. We also had an amazing view of Rodeo Drive from our eighth-floor windows. The entire suite was four thousand square feet—that’s over three times the size of my entire house!

  Funny enough, our geekiest delight came from the remote control.

  “Look at this!” Des squealed as she started pressing buttons. “The whole place is wired.” She opened and closed the drapes, blasted the stereo system, goggled at the fifty-five inch flat-screen television with stations from around the world, and toyed with the lights. “All of this over chocolate,” she marveled.

  “And this place runs over five grand a night,” Missy said out of the corner of her mouth.

  “Our hotel guests’ safety is of paramount concern,” Armond stated. He stood at the door, hands held behind his back, while two bellhops moved our luggage into the bedrooms.

  “Thank you, Armond,” I said. “We apprec—”

  “No, Ms. King. I take what happened as a personal affront to my reputation and that of my hotel. Please be assured that the remainder of your visit will be nothing short of perfection, starting with complimentary massages and facials.”

  “Sir, that’s really not necc—”

  “Aly,” Missy said behind a too-bright smile. “If he really wants to.”

  “I do, I really do,” he insisted. “It’ll make me feel better, and I hope to make you all feel that way as well.”

  I smiled my thanks. “You’re very kind.”

  He bowed his head. “Heath and his staff will be up shortly to take care of you. Good day, ladies.”

  What followed is really quite embarrassing.

  Merriam-Webster defines Sloth as (a) disinclination to action or labor: indolence (b) spiritual apathy and inactivity .

  That’s right … despite the fact that Des initiated the call to management, Dakota had somehow worked his devil-doo on poor Armond and his staff. Before we knew it we were massaged, pampered, spoiled, coddled, and catered to until we became boneless, languid slugabugs. Around the time I snapped my fingers (insert cringe of shame here) for someone to hand me my virgin piña colada, which sat less than arm’s reach away, we snapped out of it. This time, Des actually shook the spell off first. And I am mortified that I acted like one of those abusive, lazy, privileged people that I abhor because of their insulting sense of entitlement. I’ll be trying to make amends for this the rest of my life.

  “We need to get out of here,” I told Des after we politely, and with gobs of gratitude, asked the staff to leave.

  She looked around our palatial room and sighed. “I know. Let’s go to the beach.”

  “Good idea,” I said, “I’m going to ask Jameson if he can meet us.” My cheeks flamed as I made the call, still embarrassed by my behavior. Fortunately, or not, it went straight to voicemail.

  “Hey, Jameson. This is Aly. Things have been a little, er, um, challenging so we’re heading up to the Santa Monica pier. We’re gonna hit the beach for a while. Can you meet us there?”

  I hung up, feeling trampled by temptation.

  “It’s harder than we thought, is
n’t it?” Des asked.

  “Way.” I blew out a frustrated breath. “Come on. We’ve already been bambeezlebubed twice here. How much trouble can we get into on the beach?”

  Two words answered it all.

  Dakota. Naked.

  Jameson

  Aly’s message worried me, so I hustled my way down Santa Monica beach. The girls probably weren’t far from the pier and its carnie atmosphere. I wasn’t surprised they’d chosen to skip the roller coaster and Ferris wheel in favor of sun and waves, but Aly had sounded strained. Hopefully she’d found the beach relaxing, if a bit crowded. Now I just needed to figure out what was wrong. It couldn’t have anything to do with Dakota. Not yet, anyhow. I’d dogged his every move. I mean, I was the most frickin’ kiss-ass PA you ever saw, and I never caught him doing anything even remotely evil.

  Fortunately, we broke early from filming, and after I brought him an iced green tea, Dakota said he planned to meet a friend and I could have the rest of the day off. Surely he hadn’t been causing trouble already.

  “Hey!” I rushed over to Aly, who was leaning against the wall of one of the restrooms that dotted the beach, north and south of the pier. Her face looked drawn and tight. Without thinking, I tucked my hand in the hair above her ear and caressed her cheek with my thumb. “You okay?” I asked, leaning down to look into her eyes.

  Tilting her head up, she smiled. “I’m happy to see you.”

  “Yeah?”

  In answer she moved closer and wrapped her arms around me. I rested my chin on her head and held her tight, wondering if she’d realize she couldn’t hear my heart beat. Despite not having a pulse, I felt more alive than ever in her embrace.

  “Alyson,” I said softly. “What happened?”

  “Sorry,” she stammered, trying to pull away. I pressed her closer and stroked her hair. She gave a jittery sigh and settled back into me. “You were right to warn us. Today’s been hard, and—”

  “Are Missy and Des okay?” I asked with a jolt.

  “They’re fine. Missy’s in the bathroom and Des went to get us slushies.”

  “You shouldn’t split up!”