Hollyweird

  Both Aly and Des shook their heads, their own eyes wide in wonder.

  “Okay, okay,” Missy said. “This doesn’t prove anything. Yet.” She looked at me in steely study. “What about The Grooves?”

  I totally tanked that first audition. Too nervous. But I don’t think I’m a good fit for a retro punk chick running a record store.

  “Hmm,” I murmured as I stared into her palm again. “Don’t think so. Rocky audition. Plus, you don’t strike me as a punk record-store clerk.”

  “Whoa,” she breathed as Des snorted at the idea of Missy in a role better suited to Des herself.

  “I don’t know,” Missy hedged, shaking her head. “You’re in the industry. You could’ve dug around.”

  She yanked her hand away and grabbed her sister’s. “Read Aly,” she demanded.

  Aly flinched. “Miss, I—”

  “What’re you afraid of?” Missy asked with a knowing look. “That I’ll see through your little prank? Didn’t rehearse this part, did you?”

  “We didn’t rehearse a thing,” Aly said with a frown, but she pulled her hand from Missy and laid it in my own. She bit her lip, a nervous gesture I’d come to recognize and like too much.

  “Ask him something only you and I would know,” Missy coached. “Something you haven’t even told Des.”

  “Okay,” Aly said and then furrowed her brow in thought before a devilish twinkle entered her eyes.

  This ought to be good. I could hardly wait to see what that sparkle meant.

  “Missy was once given a nickname she loathes and I’ve been forbidden to ever speak it.”

  “Allllly,” Missy growled in warning.

  “What?” Aly asked with mock innocence. “You told me to ask him something only you and I could know. I’ve never told another living soul. Not after you forced me take a blood-and-spit oath.”

  Missy’s cheeks grew blotchy with a mix of anger and embarrassment, but she let the question stand.

  I looked Aly in the eye, silently asking her for permission to read her mind. She gave me a subtle nod and I pretended to study her palm while I gently pressed into her consciousness and wondered if she could feel the tickle of my presence, like a butterfly across her mind.

  They called her Pissy Missy, because she wet her cot at Girl Scout camp. She was so horrified she made Mom and Dad pick her up a week early.

  My lips quirked, but I managed not to laugh. For a second I felt tempted to dig deeper into Aly’s thoughts, to find out how she really felt about me. For just a second—until honor won over selfish curiosity. Clearing my throat, I gave Aly’s hand a soft squeeze before releasing it. Then I somberly repeated what I’d heard to Missy.

  Des didn’t bother to mirror my reserve; she squealed with laughter until Missy hucked a throw pillow at her head.

  “I was ten and too scared to walk to the bathroom in the dark by myself. There were bears and snakes! I thought I could hold it ’til the sun came up,” Missy protested with a pout.

  Des snickered.

  “Do you believe him now?” Aly asked her sister with remarkable composure, although the corners of her eyes crinkled with suppressed humor.

  “Yeah, he is good,” Missy answered with admiration. “That’s been a take-it-to-your-grave family secret. So,” she said to me as she plucked at her fingernails, “do you think … do you think I’ll ever make it?”

  I want it with every fiber of my being. For me. For Mom. I know I’ve got it. I just need someone else to recognize it.

  Hearing this softer, more vulnerable side of Missy made me want her dreams to come true as much as she did.

  “You will,” I said, with a certainty I felt deep in my gut. “Just be persistent. Someone smart will discover you. You’re too hot for them not to,” I added with a wink.

  Missy smiled. “Maybe that someone is Dakota,” she said excitedly. “He’s really giving me a chance here.”

  I slid my gaze to Aly and gave her a “here we go” look. Shaking my head, I said, “No, it’s not Dakota.”

  “It’s not?” she asked in shock.

  “No. I saw something else when I did your reading.” She raised her eyebrows and gave me an expectant look, so I just spit it out. “Dakota’s trouble.”

  “Please,” she huffed in outrage. “How can you say that? He’s your boss.”

  “But Jameson is warning you anyhow,” Aly pointed out. “That says a lot, don’t you think?”

  Missy gave her little sis a thoughtful look. “Dakota’s been nothing but nice to me.”

  “”I’m sorry, Missy,” I said. “The guy’s a dirt bag. He’s got an ulterior motive and he’s dangerous.”

  “I don’t understand,” Missy said.

  “Trust me.” I leaned forward and locked my gaze with hers. “He’s not what he appears. He uses people.”

  “You mean for sex?” she snapped. “Well, he’s not getting anything from me.” Then her eyes sorta crossed and went cloudy while her fingers twirled her hair. “Even if he did look positively delicious and divine on the beach. Did you see the way those water droplets cascaded down the length of his—”

  I cleared my throat—twice—until she snapped out of her lusty daydream.

  “Oh, heh heh,” she giggled self-consciously. “Sorry. But I would never—”

  “Right,” I said, knowing the likelihood of her not jumping Dakota, given the opportunity, was the same as Simon Cowell’s ever wearing a striped rugby shirt. “You need to understand, I’m talking about more than his being a—”

  “Hympho, mimbo, Cock Ness Monster,” Des supplied with gritty glee, while Aly stifled giggles.

  “Uh, yeah,” I said. “He’s definitely those and worse. Basically, he tends to abuse people for his own entertainment.”

  Missy fisted her hands. “Well, that’s just sick and wrong. Getting into this business is hard enough without depraved leeches like that!”

  “He’s a real Sleazamanjaro,” Desi said with a toothy smile.

  “Des.” I shot her an impatient look. “Serious.”

  She nodded. “Okay, okay, just one more. I know what business he should buy up next: Hump Towers. Get it? Instead of Trump—”

  “Deeesss,” Aly said with something between a groan and a laugh.

  Des shrugged her shoulders. “Sorry, back to operation Destroy Dakota. Cause that’s exactly what we need to do. Destroy that douche nozzle.”

  “If we can’t nail him for one thing, we will for another,” I vowed.

  “Dude’s got that many skeletons in his closet?” Missy asked, clearly aghast.

  “You’ve got no idea,” I said, rubbing my hands over my face at the sheer understatement.

  “God,” she moaned. “It’s always the sexy, successful ones.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “What do you suggest we do, Jameson?”

  “For now I’m staying with you guys,” I said authoritatively while hoping I hadn’t hedged my bet too soon. I gave Aly and Des a “back me up if I need it” look. “I want to make sure you’re all safe.”

  “You really think he’s a threat to us?” Missy asked. I knew she felt genuinely worried because she’d allowed her forehead to furrow. Aly had told me that even though her sister hadn’t botoxed herself immobile yet, she made a practice of keeping her face smooth at all times.

  “Yeah, I really think he’s a threat,” I said grimly.

  “Okay then, you can stay here,” she said with a little chaperonish disapproval in her voice. “But I’ll be keeping my eye on you. Dad would fuh-lip if he knew I’d let a guy stay with us. You better be a perfect gentleman.”

  “Of course,” I readily agreed, never meeting Aly’s gaze.

  “Then I think we better start digging for skeletons,” Des suggested as she pressed the stud on her nose back into place.

  “Yeah,” Missy said, ready to jump into the fray. “Let’s get a juicy scoop and feed it to the paparazzi piranhas.”

  “I like the way you think, sis,” Aly said with a rel
ieved smile.

  Whew! I’d done it. I’d managed to warn Missy, and convince her Dakota was dangerous, without rocking the entire foundation of her world, just as Aly had wanted. I slid my gaze to Aly and she mouthed a thank you. Giving her a subtle nod, I realized in that moment that I’d probably give her anything she asked for.

  Before I could make a fool of myself by offering Aly the world, Missy said, “That’s right—mess with me and the claws come out.” Pawing the air, she gave a menacing hiss that made us all laugh and broke the tension I’d been hogtied in.

  “So what do we do next?” Des asked.

  Aly shrugged. “Stalk him like the paparazzi, I guess. Go through his trash. Learn everything we can about him.”

  Missy snorted. “Why would we do that when there’s a ton of people already doing that for us?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Hullo!” she said like she was speaking to a trio of troglodytes. She of the bleached brain. “Just bring me six months of trash mags. You guys cyberstalk websites like Perez Hilton, Page Six, and Just Jared. They’ll tell us everything we need to know.”

  Aly cocked her head to the side. “You might have a point there, Miss.”

  “Who’d ever think the razzis would be helpful?” I asked with a wry laugh, admittedly more than a little impressed with her idea. “All right, give me an hour and I’ll be back with magazines, mochas, and laptops.”

  “This is so exciting!” Missy said, clapping her hands. “We’re celebrity sleuths. Maybe I should pitch that as a show.”

  “Don’t let anyone in or answer the door,” I said as I stood up. “Do you guys want anything else while I’m out?”

  “Dinner,” Des answered, rubbing her tummy. “I need me some protein. Especially after all the sugar we inhaled.” She puffed her cheeks out in a barf face.

  “You got it. Now hang tight.” I gave Aly a hand up and led her to the door. “As long as you don’t answer any knocks you should be fine. I’ll hurry.”

  “Thanks.” She nodded and then shifted on her feet. “Uh, I need to ask you something before you go.”

  “Shoot,” I said, wondering what had suddenly made her nervous.

  “Have you ever, er, eavesdropped on me before?” she whispered.

  “No,” I said fiercely. “Never. I won’t lie and say I’ve never been tempted, but I only use my power for emergencies. I’d never take advantage of you, or anyone, that way.”

  “Good,” she said with a sunny smile.

  “Your thoughts are your own. I promise.” I gave the ends of her hair a little tug. “Now lock up behind me.”

  “Yessir,” she said, and gave me a mock salute. “Don’t worry, we’ll be just fine.”

  Aren’t those always famous last words?

  ALY

  When sin came knocking, we didn’t answer. Armond called our names from the other side of the door, so we did the only sensible thing we could think of … we hid in the bathroom. (Missy thought we should let him in, but I managed to distract her with a new MAC lipstick.)

  Armond had, after all, delivered Sloth to us with spa treatments and stone massages.

  “Shh,” Des hissed at a chattering Missy and then thumped her in the arm, which caused my narcissistic sister (or narcissister as Des called her) to draw a burgundy line of lip color across her face. “If we’re quiet he’ll go away.”

  “Ow, you bitch,” Missy cried, gripping her arm and trying to rub away the vibrant streak on her face. “I look like a clown and my arm’s going to bruise. I can’t be black and blue for my auditions.”

  “You’re also going to be purple, green, and yellow if you don’t shut up,” Des threatened with a raised fist.

  Sitting on the toilet lid, I watched them quarrel by the door with equal parts amusement and irritation. How heroic were we, hiding in the john?

  “Be quiet,” I told them. “I can’t hear what’s going on out there. You think he’ll let himself in? I’m sure he can get into our suite. He can get in anywhere in the hotel.”

  “Hopefully your boyfriend will get back soon,” Des said, looking as nervous as I felt.

  I thought about saying he wasn’t my boyfriend, but I knew Des would tease me no matter what. On our way back from the beach, we’d carried on a backseat text conversation where I confessed I’d fallen for the fallen. She said she’d guessed as much, but told me she was worried it wouldn’t end well.

  She was right. But I didn’t care.

  Once Missy caught on, she called me “common” and said she wasn’t at all surprised I’d crush on the “help.”

  Click. Squeak. Squeak. Thunk. Slam. Silence.

  “He was definitely in here,” Des said, pressing her ear to the door. “But it sounds quiet now.”

  “You guys are nuts, hiding from that nice man. Now he’s probably left.” Missy yanked the door open, smacking Des’s head on it as she bolted out of our hiding place.

  “Missy!” I whisper-yelled.

  “I’m gonna—” Des growled, then leapt to run after her. I threw my arm in front of Des and nearly clotheslined her to a stop.

  “We don’t know what’s out there,” I said between gritted teeth. What’s the matter with them?

  Des’s lips flattened, but she gave me a nod. Exiting the bathroom, we pressed our backs against the wall and inched our way down a short hallway, toward the front door of our suite, like nervous ninjas. I looked left, she looked right. Then we heard the ear-bleeding shriek of metal grating on metal and a high-pitched yelp from Missy.

  WTF? Des and I stared at each other, and in her eyes I saw the alarm I felt pinballing through my nerve endings. Arming myself with a nearby bronze statuette of a rearing horse, whose value I refused to consider, I gave Des’s trembling hand a squeeze. Taking my lead, she looked around and found a basketball-sized marble globe. Removing it from its base, she held it before her and gave me an intense “locked and loaded” look. I had the insane urge to giggle and tell Des to shoot for three. Instead, I wrapped my hand around the back legs of my deadly stallion and slunk down the rest of the hallway until I could peer around the corner to the door.

  “What do you see?” Des whispered behind me.

  I saw a monstrous metal clothing rack on wheels with a large black trunk parked against one end. The metallic shriek had been hangers sliding across the rack’s rod. As for Missy’s yelp, it had been an ebullient gasp at the sight of designer duds.

  Thumping my horse down on a nearby table, I headed for Missy. She was holding a turquoise silk sheath dress up to herself and twirling in a circle.

  Armond had taped a note to the rack:

  Ladies,

  I tried knocking, but you’re obviously out on the town. All of this is yours for the taking. A couple of our esteemed guests, who shall remain nameless, took what they wanted from these designer samples but left the rest. I thought you might enjoy them. Please accept this gift with my humble apology, once again.

  Yours, Armond

  “Can you buh-lieve this?” Missy trilled. “I wonder who the esteemed guests were. Maybe Scarlett Johansson or Jennifer Aniston.”

  Des pulled a purple faux-leather Stella McCartney bomber jacket off the rack with a reverent sigh. “This has my name written all over it.”

  My own fingers trembled over a gorgeous black and blue kimono-style printed jersey top by Pucci.

  “I can’t believe designers just give their stuff away,” I said in awe.

  “It’s the best part of being a celebrity, and the most ironic,” Missy said as she piled two more blouses onto the growing heap of clothes draped over her left arm. “When you’re finally rich enough to actually afford these clothes, designers give them to you because they want their name associated with yours.”

  “Well, we’re nobodies,” Des said as she pulled a skull-and-crossbones Christian Audigier shirt from the rack. “They probably wouldn’t be happy if they knew we were pawing through their stuff.”

  “I’m not nobody,”
Missy sniffed. “And Armond owes us.”

  “The guy has bent over backwards to make amends,” I observed. It wasn’t like Armond himself had delivered the devil’s desserts to us. But he had delivered the masseurs and the room service that turned us into slothful slugs.

  I gave the blouse in my hands a suspicious look. Could this be another trap?

  “Fashion show!” Missy yelled. “Let’s try our outfits on and model them for each other,” she suggested with a girlish grin.

  “I don’t know … ” I hesitated.

  “Come on,” Des encouraged. “How’s playing dress-up going to hurt?”

  I tried and tried to think of some way we could fall prey to temptation by trying on clothes, and came up empty.

  “Okay,” I agreed, “but just until Jameson gets back, and then we’ve got to get back to business.”

  Des agreed and then scampered off with an armload of outfits to try on. I flipped through the clothes, marveling that some of them cost more than my entire wardrobe back home. Getting caught up in the excitement, I grabbed a few things for myself.

  Pretty soon we were strutting through the living room doing cheesy model turns and poses. Des sang Right Said Fred’s “I’m too Sexy” and I snapped pictures of our runway debut. Fashion Week had nothing on us! After Des sashayed her way across the room in a way that would make RuPaul proud, and sucked her cheeks in so far her eyes bulged and her lips looked like a pucker fish, the three of us collapsed on the couch in a gaggle of giggles.

  “The only thing that could make this better would be shoes,” Missy said.

  Shoes? I looked toward the clothes rack. Maybe we already had some. I leapt off the couch and dashed toward the trunk. Before I’d even unlatched the lock and thrown open the lid, Des and Missy were bending over my shoulder.

  “What’s the magic word?” I teased.

  “Open Sesame,” they both shouted.

  I shoved up the barrel-shaped lid and we gasped in unison at the treasure trove of shoes, handbags, and jewelry.

  “Cowabunga!” Des breathed, then dove over me to grab a Charm and Luck handbag. “Mine.”