Hollywood Hit

by Maggie Marr

  Rush stopped breathing. This was ever so bad. The woman was Nikki Solange.

  *

  Lydia hadn't wanted to believe the call she'd received. She'd been shocked and surprised. She'd asked her driver to make an unscheduled stop between the movie-premiere for Concession To Her Delight and the premiere party. Lydia had to see him. She had to know that Jay was all right and alive. He'd risked his life for her, the least she could do was show up at the hospital.

  A beaten man would get the best medical care in the world on the eighth floor of Cedars-Sinai. Lydia’s eyes roamed over Jay. He was a human pincushion. IVs splayed from his arms, wires snaked to beeping machines. Lydia recognized the morphine pump by his side. His beautiful dark skin was battered and bruised. Sutures showed under butterfly stitches on his cheekbones and above both eyebrows. Nighttime lights trickled through the slit in the curtains and the slow drip of drugs glistened through the clear tube.

  A sour, sick feeling coiled through Lydia’s belly. Jay was a good man. A man who protected people for a living. A man who had once, when she was president of production at Worldwide Studios, protected her when some nutjob sent her threatening letters.

  “Lydia?” Jay rasped out. His throat sounded dry. “What are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same question.” Lydia reached for the water glass and settled the straw between Jay's lips. In addition to the bandages and stitches above both eyebrows, his hands were in big white bandages. She’d gotten the lowdown from the Cedars-Sinai eighth-floor specialty nurse. Jay had arrived days before and had recently been taken off a respirator and emerged from his medically induced coma. He was lucky to be alive.

  Lydia’s gaze roved over Jay. A sick feel settled into her belly. Jay had been one of the Studio’s security guys for years. Now, Lydia knew from her sources, he was on Ted’s private detail, a detail that was wrapped in secrecy but protected Cici, and Lydia guessed whether Nikki knew it or not, the younger Solange too.

  “Lydia, you know it’s always good to see you,” Jay whispered out, “but you’re not doing either of us any favors by being here.”

  Lydia had survived the Hollywood meat grinder and she wasn’t worried about Ted Robinoff.

  “I’m not afraid.” She reached out and settled her hand on Jay’s forearm. “When are you getting out of here?”

  Jay held up both his hands. “I got rehab first. The feeling is coming back and it’s not too pleasant.”

  “They’ve got good drugs here,” Lydia quipped. She didn’t do well with tragedy and pain. Her chosen venue was pretend beatings, car chases, and explosions—not the real deal.

  “I’ve been using them.” A small smile played around Jay’s lips. “With pleasure.”

  Silence settled around them. Lydia wouldn’t ask Jay where he’d been or who he was looking after. His presence on the celeb-only floor at Cedars was testament that he’d been working for Ted when he got hurt.

  “I know you won’t tell me what happened, and I’m not going to ask. But I want you to know if you need anything…” Lydia looked away. Her eyes filled up. She sucked in her cheeks and pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth. She willed away her tears and looked back at Jay. “But if you need anything or if there’s anything I can do…”

  Gratitude and understanding shone through Jay’s eyes as though entwined with Lydia’s emotions. “I’ll be out of here soon,” Jay said. “Maybe following you around again. Who knows?”

  Lydia stood. Yeah, who knew?

  Chapter 32

  No Recognition Required

  “Did you bring the nail clippers?” BAM rolled down the back window, snorted snot from his throat cavity, and hawked a loogie onto the street.

  Liam maintained his stoic facial expression and contained the sudden and violent urge to vomit. BAM was particularly repugnant when well dressed, as though when putting on a beautiful façade he needed to offset any attempt to make himself appear human with his foulest behavior.

  Liam opened the bag that BAM required he carry at all times. He searched for the plastic protective wrap that contained a pair of nail clippers. Not just any nail clippers, but nail clippers that could cut the troll-like nails attached to BAM’s toes.

  “Mr. Shasta,” Liam said and unzipped the pouch containing BAM’s required medicines and toiletries. “I wanted to discuss my credit on the upcoming film, Boundless Bound.” Liam held his breath after the release of his words. He waited for some slap akin to a physical one, only instead were BAM’s words—words that shredded and tore and ate at Liam’s insides much like shards of tiny tiny glass could eat at BAM’s.

  “Credit?” BAM screwed up the monstrous thing attached to his neck with a fleshy nose and doughy lips that passed as a face. “What the fuck do you think you’ll get a credit for?”

  Again BAM snorted the phlegm from his throat, pressed the button on the car door, waited for the window to recede, and then hawked his vileness out the window and into the wind.

  “Sir,” Liam said, coming up with the clippers enclosed in a hermetically sealed case, “I did in fact find the script and secure a copy for your perusal.”

  BAM kept his eyes firmly secured to the passing scenery.

  “Then, sir, I did convince Mr. Schmaltzer to allow you to option the screenplay.”

  “Allow?” BAM’s face formed into something he might consider a smile but looked more like a creature ready to eat something still living.

  “Yes, sir,” Liam said, maintaining his courage. Nothing was ever gained from fear—except more fear. He was, after all, the captain of his ship, the master of his destiny. “And it was my information regarding JP Anderson’s desire to do an erotic thriller that allowed you to attach him to the film.”

  “Again with the fucking word allow.” The window slid down yet again and a gelatinous loogie flew from BAM’s thick lips into the air.

  “Then, sir, if you remember, it was my bit of information that allowed us to attach Cici Solange.”

  “Us?” BAM now turned his face—his viper eyes locked onto Liam as though he were a boa constrictor ready to devour a frog. “There is no fucking us, you dumbfuck. There is me. There is Shasta! Productions. Which has my fucking name. There is no you. There is no Liam. You don’t even fucking exist in this town.”

  Liam’s eyes remained fixed, his face neutral. Anger raged within his chest. Heat boiled to a near-volcanic point. His mouth held tight to many vulgar yet descriptive words. Words appropriate for only BAM. Liam stifled the heat and the vocabulary and fixed firmly within his mind that BAM would not, could not, see Liam’s imperative contribution to the making of Boundless Bound, the film that would be Shasta! Productions’s crowning achievement. A film that would firmly place BAM back into the good graces of the studio system—a system that provided luxurious filmmaking. No more would BAM be subject to riding a rusted bicycle with a flat tire and no horn through the crazy-driver-infested streets of Bangladesh—all of which felt surprisingly similar to the experience of putting together an independent film.

  Yes, it was Liam and his taste, his vision, even his connections that had given BAM his rope to climb back on top of the Hollywood shit heap and yet… and yet… BAM refused to acknowledge Liam’s contribution.

  “Pistachio?” Liam asked and held out the cracked and shucked nuts to which he’d dedicated an hour earlier in the day. What appeared to be salt glittered over the naked legumes.

  BAM’s meaty hand fisted into the bowl and took a large handful. BAM had been eating a number of nuts as of late. Liam had made certain that they were always available and plentiful and already shelled.

  BAM dropped half a handful into his gaping maw. Satisfaction coursed through Liam.

  “You’re a fucking assistant. You’re my fucking assistant,” BAM said, letting spittle and bits of chewed nuts fly from his mouth.

  Liam took one finger and swiped under his own left eye where a piece of BAM’s half-eaten nut had landed.

  A cough—a rough co
ugh—pulsed from BAM. Liam’s lips curved into a smile. Without a word he handed BAM a water bottle and watched as he slugged the bottle back, stilling his hack. He coughed up more phlegm and spat out a red loogie onto the 405.

  He slipped his eggplant foot out of his shoe and twiddled his toes. “Get started,” BAM said and dropped more sparkle-covered nuts into this mouth. “My fucking toenails won’t clip themselves.”

  Chapter 33

  Concession to Her Delight

  Concession to Her Delight was a tight thriller and Worldwide would make bank. Lydia slipped into the premiere party. She nodded and smiled and shook hands with all the right people—all the executives and agents and managers and actors congratulating her—knowing that again, Lydia Albright had succeeded. Concession to Her Delight would not win any awards nor would it be a critic’s darling, but the film would win the weekend, earn back its P & A, and was tracking to open at forty-five million. Solid box office. Lydia, as a producer with an overall deal at Worldwide Pictures, lived for yet another day.

  She plastered a faux smile to her face while a slick, oily feeling rolled through her stomach. Seeing Jay beaten and bandaged created a fear in her gut. Plus Christina had recently requested security be posted at her town house. Something bad circled them. Something on the perimeter, just outside of Lydia's grasp. She'd gotten this feeling before when she worked on Vitriol.

  Lydia’s eyes swept the room and her gaze landed on Ted. Ted would know what was going on and what had happened to Jay. Ted stood beside the rich boy- turned-producer Rush Nelson. Both men held a drink and watched Cici and Nikki speak to a producer from Summit. Lydia kept her face placid as Nikki walked to Rush. He reached out his arm and rested it around her waist.

  Celeste squinted. Rush Nelson and Nikki Solange were a thing?

  Nikki turned her head and Rush whispered into her ear. A smile danced across Nikki’s lips. The look on Cici’s face—the peaked eyebrow and the smile—seemed to indicate that Cici was pleased with this match.

  “Why so serious?” Jessica sidled up beside Lydia. “You scored another hit.”

  Lydia took a deep breath but couldn’t smile. “It would seem we’ll win the weekend.”

  Jessica upended her glass of soda. They stood next to each other but faced out at the crowd. Their eyes scanned the groups of people merging, meeting, chatting, doing business. Jessica finally broke the strategy analysis of all the players in the room that was taking place in both their brains.

  “What’s up, Lydia?”

  Lydia leaned toward Jessica. She wouldn’t share this info with anyone other than Jessica, Mary Anne, or perhaps Cici. “You remember the bodyguard that Briggs Montgomery assigned me when I was president of production and we were doing Vitriol and getting those nasty letters?”

  Jessica’s face twitched with the reminder of what had been one of the more unpleasant episodes in their Hollywood Life.

  “The gorgeous guy? Tall. Black. Looked like a male model? Came to Toronto with you for your set visit?”

  Lydia nodded. Her gaze shot up toward the ceiling. Her pause was for the words she was trying to say without choking on them. “He’s in ICU at Cedars-Sinai,” Lydia whispered.

  “What?” Jessica squinted.

  “He still works security for Worldwide,” Lydia said. “But he’s been promoted to Ted’s security team. The team that does personal security for Cici and”—Lydia leaned closer—“Nikki.”

  Jessica shook her head. “Nikki won’t let Cici and Ted give her security. They’ve gone round and round about that since before she got to Los Angeles.”

  “I understand what Nikki wants,” Lydia said. Her gaze broke away from Jessica and skipped over the crowd toward where Nikki, Rush, Cici, and Ted stood talking. A smile even breached Ted’s implacable face.

  “But we both know what Nikki wants is absolutely irrelevant if—”

  Jessica interrupted, her voice soft and low. “Ted wants something different.”

  “Do you think Cici knows?”

  “About Jay or about security for Nikki?”

  “Either,” Jessica asked.

  “I’m guessing she doesn’t know about Jay because while Cici is a great actress and a hardcore warrior in the screen trade, she isn’t heartless, and she’d be over at Cedars right now. As for Nikki having security?” Lydia nodded. “I bet Ted offered the information but Cici declined.”

  “Plausible deniability,” Jessica said.

  “Exactly.” Lydia said.

  “Because Nikki will find out.”

  Lydia nodded again. “And she’ll be pissed.”

  “There are no secrets in this town,” Jessica said.

  Lydia turned her razor-sharp gaze toward her friend. “Haven’t we found that out time and time again?”

  Lydia watched Ted. She respected him, sometimes she even liked him, but she definitely never underestimated him. He adored Cici and he would do anything to protect her and keep her happy, and if that meant siccing security on Cici’s obstinate niece without Nikki knowing, then yes, Ted would do so.

  “Do you think something happened to Jay while he was covering Nikki?”

  “I don’t know,” Lydia said. “I can’t dig that deep. I’m shocked I even heard about Jay. Usually when Ted wants to keep something private then we don’t hear a thing.”

  Lydia’s eyes glanced over Rush. He wore cashmere and worsted-wool, hand-cut slacks. He was smooth, tight, with a hint of an edge. Rush’s eyes glanced over the crowd and his gaze locked with Lydia’s.

  A jolt hammered through her neck. Something. Something in those eyes—there was more to Rush than Lydia knew. He tilted his head and smiled and Lydia returned the look.

  “That guy,” Lydia whispered to Jessica as Rush’s gaze returned to Nikki. “There is something about Rush Nelson that doesn’t sit right.”

  “Mike loves him. Just put one of Rush’s films into prep. It’ll go after Boundless Bound.”

  “What a coup for Ted,” Lydia said. “Nikki producing a film at his studio means she’ll be locked up tight on a soundstage fourteen hours a day for nearly four months. He can have every grip, gaffer, and PA on my set be security guards for Nikki and Cici.”

  “You really think Jay ending up in ICU has to do with Nikki?”

  “I don’t know,” Lydia said. “But I am certainly going to try to find out.”

  *

  Liam trailed BAM into the Concession to Her Delight premiere party as though he were a puppy flopping after a master. He wasn’t proud of his appearance behind BAM as BAM’s toady, but looking around the room Liam knew, as did every assistant, that the hands that currently clutched power in Hollywood had, once upon a time, swept up detritus from someone before them. Everyone paid their dues. Each person here had pushed a mail cart or delivered stool samples—each had paid with soul-sucking, sweat-inducing, bloodletting subservient tasks. While Liam might loathe the glances and looks that passed over him as he trailed in BAM’s wake, he accepted that this position would not last forever.

  Liam had insurance on BAM’s demise.

  “Lydia!” BAM yelled. Something akin to a smile, but that could also pass as a snarl, erupted on BAM’s face. Those near the bulbous beast parted. Even with his discovery of Boundless Bound, the stench of PA-fucking, litigation-causing, ex-studio-head still wafted about BAM.

  Lydia turned from speaking with Jessica Caulfield-Fox. The corners of Lydia’s lips lifted into the hint of a smile. You didn’t stay on top as a producer without being able to work with any type of personality and perfecting the I-love-you-so-much-even-though-I-truly-loathe-you smile.

  “Bikram, so happy you could make it.”

  “Wouldn’t miss seeing another one of your successful premieres and our star’s wonderful turn.” BAM’s gaze bounced from Lydia across the room toward Celeste.

  “Hello, Bikram,” Jessica said pointedly.

  Liam was well aware that BAM was ignoring Jessica. He hadn’t forgiven her or yet overlooked the fact t
hat Jessica had jammed Lydia down BAM’s gulf of a throat as a producer on Boundless Bound. As Cici’s manager and the sole negotiator of Cici’s film deals, Jessica had made Cici doing the film contingent upon two things: Nikki staying on as a producer and Lydia being added as a producer. Worldwide had also made their financing and distribution of Boundless Bound contingent on Bikram accepting Lydia as a producer. BAM had no leverage and could do nothing and that was what really stuck in his craw, both Cici and the studio essentially telling BAM “Lucky for your ass you optioned a piece of good material because otherwise we would never make a film with you.”

  Which was true.

  But BAM was back in the game and beside him, Liam.

  “JP called,” BAM said and snorted a gelatinous glob of goo up his throat.

  Lydia’s nostrils flared with the noise and Jessica cringed. They were probably looking forward to four months on set with that horrible noise. Try two years—Liam’s “hard time” with BAM. “He’s approved Cici’s niece.”

  “You mean Nikki,” Lydia said, “our co-producer?”

  “Right. Whatever you need to fucking tell yourself, Lydia, to sleep at night. That kid wouldn’t have shit if it wasn’t for her DNA.”

  Jessica shook her head and leaned a little bit closer to BAM, although it would seem her body resisted the nearness. “Bikram, you do realize that Nikki found this script first. Have you read the first draft that Jeb did? Do you know how much work Nikki did on the script?”