Damage Control

by Jae

  Before Grace could think of something to say, Nick walked past Lauren and pointedly wrapped one arm around Grace and the other around Jill. “Since I’m here, why don’t you ask me directly, Mr. …?”

  “Dinsmore,” the reporter said. His gaze drilled into Nick. “So, why did you move out?”

  “Who says I did?” Nick countered. “I’m just staying in the apartment in Silver City for a few weeks. It’s more convenient right now, since it’s so close to the studio where I’m shooting Hard as Steel III. I will continue to live in the villa in the future.”

  Which was true, since Grace would move out once they no longer needed to hold up appearances.

  Nick pressed a kiss to Grace’s cheek. “We love each other,” he said, radiating sincerity. “My wife never cheated on me, not with Jill and not with anyone else.” He paused and then grinned and winked at the reporters. “Even though these two would be damn hot to watch, don’t you think?”

  The reporters laughed and started to gather their notes.

  Grace didn’t know whether to kiss him or to kick him in the shin for that last remark. “I seriously underestimated your acting skills,” she whispered as the last of the journalists filed out of the room. “Thank you.”

  He let go of her and Jill and stepped back. “You’re welcome. I need to get back on set. We’re working on a new stunt.”

  “Be careful, please,” Grace said.

  “Will do.” He walked off, passing Lauren on the way to the door.

  “That went well,” Lauren said as she joined them. “Although I could have sworn there was a sentence or two about the symptoms of MS and how they affect you somewhere in that statement.” She gave Jill a pointed look.

  “Oops.” Jill grinned. “Guess I forgot to mention that. You do know that MS can affect people’s memory, right?”

  “Right.” Lauren looked at her for a moment longer before turning to Grace. “The media circus should settle down now, but try to lay low anyway.”

  “You mean no climbing walls in stilettos at midnight?”

  “None of that,” Lauren said sternly but then cracked a smile.

  Grace smiled in return. “Okay.” She wouldn’t miss the tabloid craziness and being hunted by the paparazzi. Still, she had enjoyed working so closely with Lauren the last three days. A strange feeling of regret washed over her, but she quickly shook it off.

  “Do you want me to drive you home now?” Lauren looked back and forth between Grace and Jill, who’d both driven to the CTP offices with her.

  “That’d be nice,” Grace said. “Can you drop me off at my mother’s? I still need to pick up my SUV from her.”

  “And tell her about the press conference,” Jill added.

  A groan escaped Grace before she could hold it back. Oh, God. She’d forgotten about that or maybe shoved it back into the recesses of her mind. But, of course, she had to face her mother sooner or later.

  “Is that going to be a problem?” Lauren asked.

  “No. I just forgot to tell her with all the chaos going on yesterday and this morning.”

  Lauren kept studying her with her much-too-perceptive gaze. “Do you want me to tell her?”

  “Thanks, but no.” This was something she had to do, or her mother would be even angrier with her.

  “Are you sure?” Lauren asked. “Remember we’re trying to avoid making headlines, including one about Grace Durand being clobbered to death with her mother’s makeup case.”

  Amazing how she could make Grace laugh even in the tensest of situations. Grace chuckled and put her hand on Lauren’s arm for a moment. “I’m sure. Thanks, though. I appreciate the offer.”

  Lauren looked down at the place on her arm where Grace’s hand had been a second ago, then cleared her throat and jingled her keys. “All right. Then let’s get going.”

  “I gave you the security code. Why do you keep ringing the doorbell?” her mother asked when she opened the door.

  Grace stepped into the Beverly Hills home. She’d lived here for a few years as a teenager, but it felt even less like a home than her mansion in the Hollywood Hills. “I didn’t want to give you a heart attack by walking into your home unannounced.” The way you keep doing, she mentally added.

  “Ah, pish-posh.” Her mother peered over Grace’s shoulder before closing the door. “How did you manage to lose the paparazzi?”

  “Um, why don’t we take a seat in the living room?”

  Her mother dug in her high heels and stopped in the middle of the tiled foyer. “What’s going on?”

  There was no way to delay the inevitable. She took a deep breath and said, “The paparazzi backed off because we just held a press conference and gave them the information they wanted.”

  Her mother’s mouth gaped open. She looked at Grace as if she’d just told her that aliens had landed in her backyard. “You…you held a press conference? Without me?”

  Grace bit her lip.

  “I have been there for every press conference, for every single event in your entire career, from the moment your backside became the official derriere of Dry ’n’ Tender Diapers! I changed all of those diapers too! I gave up my own life to get you where you are today, and now you suddenly no longer find it necessary to at least let me know or ask my opinion?”

  For a moment, Grace contemplated telling her that she hadn’t asked her to give up her life or to be dragged to cattle calls when she’d been a toddler and to spend her childhood in front of a camera, but, once again, she held back, not wanting to open that particular Pandora’s box. “I’m sorry, but we couldn’t wait—”

  “We?” Her mother’s voice went quiet. Dangerously quiet, like the silence settling over a town before a tornado blew through.

  Grace swallowed. “Jill, Nick, Lauren, and I.”

  “I see.” Her mother stalked past her and strode into the living room, where she stood by the window and stared out.

  Grace squeezed her eyes shut, stood in the foyer with slumping shoulders for a moment, and then followed her. “Mom…”

  Her mother held up one hand but didn’t turn around. “No, that’s all right. I understand. You’re listening to other people’s advice now and don’t need me anymore.”

  God, how Grace hated that exact tone of voice. Still, it never failed to have its desired effect—making her feel guilty. “That’s not true.” She pulled her mother around by one shoulder. “I still value your advice and always will.”

  “Then why didn’t you talk this through with me? That’s not like you, Grace. You’ve never made any decision without consulting me first. At least not regarding something that could affect your career.”

  “I just forgot to tell you. Things were so crazy yesterday, and then we ended up staying at the cottage, where I don’t have cell phone reception most of the time, and this morning—”

  “We?” her mother repeated.

  “Um…” Shit. She’d jumped out of the frying pan, right into the fire. “Lauren drove me to the cottage and then stayed because you still had my SUV and she didn’t want to leave me without a car.”

  “How considerate of her,” her mother said, sounding anything but appreciative.

  Grace studied her mother’s face. What was it about Lauren that made her dislike her so much? Grace didn’t get it. Was it just the fact that she was a lesbian? Or was it that Lauren, unlike everyone else Grace’s mother surrounded herself with, told her straight out what she thought? Grace found it refreshing, but her mother apparently didn’t appreciate it. “Mom,” she said, treading carefully, “you were the one who fired Roberta and told George to find a new publicist.”

  “Yes, but I never meant for her to repl—” Her mother bit her lip and turned back toward the window.

  Was that what this was all about? Her mothe
r was jealous because she felt that Lauren was replacing her in Grace’s favor? Oh, for heaven’s sake. Not for the first time, Grace understood why Lauren initially hadn’t wanted to get involved in show business. The egos of many people in the entertainment industry were so unbelievably fragile. “Mom, she’s not replacing you.”

  Her mother didn’t answer.

  Again, Grace pulled her around.

  The tears in her mother’s eyes made her reach out and pull her close. “Oh, Mom.”

  Katherine clutched her with both hands, clinging to her the way she had after Grace’s father had died.

  Grace shoved that memory aside. She stroked her mother’s hair with one hand, even though the hair spray made it stiff and unyielding. “Lauren is my publicist, and I value her advice. That doesn’t mean I don’t value yours anymore. Where’s that sudden insecurity coming from?”

  “I just don’t want you to shut me out of your life,” her mother said in a near whisper. “You’re all I have.”

  “I won’t. I promise to involve you more in the future. Okay?”

  Her mother sniffed and nodded against her shoulder. “Okay.” After a few more moments, she pulled away and wrinkled her nose. “You smell like dog.”

  “Oh, that’s Tramp.”

  “You mean Jill’s dog?”

  “Yes. Let me tell you about my first meeting with Tramp.” Grace pulled her mother over to the uncomfortable white designer couch. She’d probably get an earful from her mother, but she’d promised to involve her more and not make her feel left out. A promise was a promise, after all.

  CHAPTER 12

  Lauren dragged her tired self out of bed at eight. She stared at her red eyes in the bathroom mirror. “What am I doing?” It was Sunday, and she’d worked late last night, getting some of the gossip rags to print retractions and admit that they’d jumped to conclusions about Grace and Jill. Why was she getting up instead of staying in her cozy bed for some much-needed sleep? Clearly, she’d worked in Hollywood for too long and all the craziness had rubbed off on her.

  Speaking of Hollywood craziness… She made herself a cup of coffee and settled on the couch with her laptop. A notification popped up on the screen when she opened the lid, informing her that she had new e-mail. What else is new? She always had new e-mail. Ignoring the notification, she opened her screenwriting program instead.

  It had been a while since she’d last found the time to work on her script, so she started by rereading the last few scenes. She liked the parts in which her characters struggled to survive the earthquake and then the fires destroying the city, but the scenes that came afterward somehow fell flat. Her third act wasn’t working, and she had no idea why. What was she missing?

  She reached for her mug and took a sip of coffee, making a face when she realized it had gotten cold. She got up to reheat it. While the mug rotated in the microwave, she poured chocolate cereal into a bowl and opened the fridge. Damn. She’d forgotten to buy milk during the media crisis of the last few days. Now she would have to do without.

  She carried her now-hot coffee and the bowl to the couch and made herself comfortable again. Inspiration still refused to strike. She typed a line of dialogue and then deleted it again when it didn’t ring true to her characters. In moments like this, she was tempted to delete the entire script and never write again. Why was she even bothering? Even if she finished this script at some point, it didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of ever being made into a movie. She wasn’t sure if that was what she wanted anyway. Becoming a screenwriter would make her a part of the Hollywood factory, something she’d sworn she’d never be. But every time her finger hovered over the delete button, she just couldn’t bring herself to press it.

  Writing called to her in a way that even working in PR didn’t, so she finally decided that she’d dabble in it just as a hobby, with no intention of ever letting anyone see one of her scripts. No harm in that, right?

  But even with that resolution, the words wouldn’t come today. She stared down into the dry cereal. I might as well pretend it’s popcorn and see what’s on the tube. Maybe watching a few lines of a good movie would inspire her. Yeah, right. Even knowing she was procrastinating, she reached for the remote control. Her laptop still open next to her and the bowl on her lap, she flicked through the channels and crunched a handful of her improvised popcorn.

  She nearly choked on the cereal when Grace’s face appeared on her TV screen. It seemed there was no getting away from her clients, even on a Sunday. Still, she didn’t change the channel. Glued to the scene on the screen, she popped a handful of the chocolate-flavored cereal into her mouth without looking at the food.

  It had to be one of Grace’s many romantic comedies, probably an early one, because she appeared to be several years younger. In this scene, Grace—or rather the character she played in this movie—walked down the aisle in a dream of a wedding dress that enhanced her generous curves and revealed just a hint of cleavage.

  Lauren stopped chewing. Beautiful. She rolled her eyes at herself. Of course Grace was beautiful, but so was every other person in the movie. They made a living looking good for the camera, after all. Still, Grace stood out. She was also the most talented actress in the movie by far. The tears in her eyes looked real as she repeated the marriage vows. Lauren wondered what she’d been thinking of to make herself cry. Grace’s fingers even trembled as she pushed the wedding ring on her fictional groom’s finger. Her acting skills were totally wasted on the type of movies she made, Lauren decided.

  The happy couple on her TV screen met in a kiss, Grace’s full lips moving against those of the lucky guy who played her new husband. Lauren swallowed against her suddenly dry mouth. With a grunt, she dragged her gaze away and flicked off the TV. She didn’t need that kind of inspiration; she wasn’t writing a love story after all, and she certainly didn’t need any more erotic thoughts about Grace.

  She reached for the laptop and tried to immerse herself into her own fictional world, imagining her characters wandering the streets of their burned-down city. They would stop at the top of a hill, look down at the smoldering ruins of San Francisco, and then…

  Yeah, what then? The only image flickering through her mind was of the two women kissing. One of them suddenly looked suspiciously like Grace, even though Lauren had described her as having red hair in the opening scene, and the other one—

  The phone rang, making her jump.

  With a sense of relief, Lauren reached for it and accepted the call without even glancing at the display. “Lauren Pearce.”

  “This is Grace. Grace Durand. I’m so, so sorry to disturb you this early, especially on a Sunday, but Jill just called me and now I have a question and I think I already know the answer, but…”

  Lauren laughed. So even world-famous actresses sometimes rambled. Cute. “Don’t worry about it. You saved me from…”

  “From what?”

  My bad writing. “Getting bored,” Lauren said. She hadn’t told anyone about her writing and intended to keep it that way. “I was just hanging out on the couch, watching sappy movies. So, what can I do for you?”

  Grace was silent for a moment and then said, “I’m thinking about walking in the gay pride parade today.”

  Lauren shook her head. She hadn’t expected that. Grace was certainly keeping her on her toes. “So this is the call you promised me?”

  “Uh, I promised you a call?”

  “Yeah, informing me when you got involved with someone, especially a woman.”

  “What? No, no, I’m not…”

  “Relax,” Lauren said. “I’m just joking.”

  “That’s so not funny,” Grace grumbled. “You’d better keep your day job.”

  Yeah, she’s got that right. Lauren looked down at her script and then reached out with one hand to close the program. “O
kay, seriously, what’s this all about?”

  “Jill called me an hour ago,” Grace said. “Now that she’s out, they asked her to march in the parade, and she’s thinking about going, but she doesn’t want to do it alone, so I was thinking about going with her. It’s set to start at eleven, so I need to make a decision fast. What do you think?”

  Resolutely, Lauren closed the laptop with a slap of her hand. “I’m thinking there’s no way in hell I’d agree to that.”

  Grace sighed. “I told Jill you’d say that.”

  “Grace, as a lesbian, I really appreciate your willingness to support Jill and the rest of the LGBT community, but do you honestly think being photographed marching between a guy in a studded leather thong and a woman in assless chaps is a good idea?”

  “Thanks for that lovely mental image,” Grace said dryly. The phone speaker crackled as she blew out a long breath. “I know you’re right. I just hate to tell Jill she’ll have to go alone.”

  Lauren understood more and more how little freedom Grace really had, despite all her money and fame. “I’m sorry. Maybe in a few years, things will be different for you, but right now, it would only make all the rumors start up again.”

  “I know. Thanks for setting me straight…so to speak.”

  Lauren gave a faint smile. “You’re welcome. Is everything else okay at your house? The paparazzi are gone, right?”

  “I think one or two are still hanging out, but most of them are gone,” Grace said. “There are rumors that Amanda Clark is pregnant, so they’re probably camped out in front of her house, hoping for a snapshot of the baby bump.”

  Well, if that was true, then Amanda’s partner was more talented than Lauren had given her credit for, because she was fairly sure Central Precinct’s leading lady was gay. She wasn’t in the habit of outing one actress to another, though, so all she said was, “Good.”