Absolutely True Lies (22 page)

When I got back to my room, I realized with horror that I had a message from Ben. The light on the phone blinked so innocently I almost didn’t have the strength to play back the recording and listen to that man’s sweet, adoring tone. Especially when he said he hoped I “was fast asleep and having wonderful dreams.” He thought I hadn’t answered because I’d already gone to bed.

I’d just accused Vaughn of toying with me, but I was no better. I’d been so furious with him for playing the same game I was. I
threw myself on the bed and cried until I fell asleep. Things would be better tomorrow, I told myself. They had to be.

•  •  •

S
omeone was banging on my door. I managed to force one eye open long enough to catch a glimpse of the clock. It was just after three-thirty, which meant that I’d been asleep for a little over two hours. Judging from the way the numbers swam in front of my gaze, I was still mostly drunk.

And the banging just kept up, vibrating through the entire surface of the door. Or maybe the alcohol just made it seem that way. I wondered if Vaughn had continued drinking and was now doing his best
Streetcar
Stanley impression, and would soon start yelling my name from the hallway.

As if on cue, I heard a booming, “Holly!” Much to my surprise, it wasn’t Vaughn, or any voice I could recall having heard before. “Holly Gracin,” the voice repeated loudly. “Please answer the door.”

I scrambled off the bed, now a little scared. I had no idea who was on the other side of that door and I certainly didn’t want to open it to a complete stranger. I thought about calling Ben or the front desk, but then I remembered I had a peephole and figured I should at least see if I recognized the person before calling in the cavalry.

I crept to the door quietly, just in case I decided I wanted to pretend I wasn’t there. I instantly felt foolish when I peered out and realized that the man in the hallway was one of Daisy’s nameless bodyguards. Apparently, I’d never heard him speak before. I pulled off the chain and opened the door, wondering why the hell he was waking me up in the middle of the night.

“Yes?” If I’d looked like a character out of a horror film before going out, I couldn’t imagine what my current appearance was.

“I need you to get dressed and get your things ready,” he told me.

I racked my addled brain for any photo shoot, interview, or even helicopter tour of the city that Faith had warned me about,
but there was nothing. I hadn’t a clue where I was supposed to be right now or why.

“For what?” I asked, feeling foolish. “It’s three-thirty.”

“I know that, Ms. Gracin, and I’m sorry,” the bodyguard said apologetically. “But I need to have you at the airport in an hour. If you can’t get everything packed, one of the PAs can finish and have the rest sent to you in Los Angeles. Just get everything you need to get back home—money, toiletries, passport. Make sure you have your passport.”

I stared at him in shock, certain I must have heard incorrectly. “I thought we weren’t leaving until Monday night.” I wondered if maybe I’d slept through the entire weekend and not noticed. That was physically impossible, right?

“There’s been a change of plans. Mrs. Dixson will explain everything in the car. But please, it’s very important that we go
now
. You need to be at the service entrance by four.”

The bodyguards were always fairly humorless, but this guy looked like he was trying to prevent a bloody coup. I wanted to argue with him, tell him that I was going back to bed and that I wasn’t leaving this country without seeing the Colosseum, but his terrifying enforcer stare told me that something pretty bad had happened or was about to happen.

“Okay.” I nodded. “Do I need to check out? I don’t know where the service entrance is.”

“We’ll take care of the hotel paperwork.” The bodyguard pointed down the hall in the opposite direction from the main elevator bank. “Take the freight elevator at the back of building all the way to the basement level and it will let you out in the kitchen. Mrs. and Miss Dixson will be waiting for you there.”

So we were all leaving. Something really was very wrong. I almost didn’t want to know what it was. “Thank you,” I stammered, unsure what else to say.

Sensing my fear, the bodyguard reached out and touched my
arm. “Everything will be fine. We will get you out of here and back home.”

Before I could give myself an opportunity to become paralyzed with terror, I closed the door and got to work rounding up my belongings. It seemed like this happened all too often around Daisy and her menagerie.

•  •  •

T
he scene in the kitchen was chaos. The bodyguards and several members of the hotel staff were there, herding me, Daisy, and Faith toward a loading area at the rear of the hotel. We were practically shoved into one of the crew passenger vans, and without having to be told, all of the occupants (except for the driver) sank down in their seats, out of sight of the windows.

I still hadn’t had a chance to ask what was going on, but there was such an urgency to everyone’s movements that I knew better than to open my mouth. As we pulled out onto the street, I saw Daisy lean in to her mother, clutching Faith’s wrist tightly. She whispered “Mama” before burying her head in Faith’s shoulder.

As we navigated past the front of the hotel, part of me expected to see the fans protesting with lit torches or screaming obscenities, but it was relatively quiet. There was nothing to indicate that all hell had broken loose.

My first real clue as to the nature of the emergency came at the airport check-in. When the person at the luggage desk asked for Daisy’s passport, she passed it over the counter but grasped Faith with her free hand. The teenager’s grip was so strong that her knuckles were white. The mother and daughter exchanged silent looks of worry as the airline attendant entered the information into the computer and I realized Daisy thought she was going to be stopped by the authorities.

But after about a minute, the man handed the ID back to Daisy. “Have a safe flight, Miss Dixson,” he told her in accented English.

Faith, the bodyguards, and I similarly got through check-in and security without incident, and there was no waiting at all when we arrived at the gate. Our two burly protectors went right to the desk and the entire group was escorted on even before they announced boarding. Up to this point, neither of the ladies had so much as said “good morning” to me.

It wasn’t until we had taken off that Faith leaned into the aisle to tell me quietly, “I’m sorry for all the craziness.”

“What happened?”

Faith threw a questioning look back at Daisy, who was skulking in the window seat with a baseball cap hiding her long, blond hair. I didn’t think the look made her any less conspicuous, but if it made her feel better, that was all that mattered. “Go ahead and tell her,” Daisy said. “She’s going to find out when we land, anyway.”

Faith nodded and then hopped the aisle to take the empty seat next to me. “We’re in a little bit of legal trouble.”

First of all, how was that news? I was discombobulated from the sudden and unexpected traveling and lack of sleep (not to mention the amount of alcohol that probably still coursed through my veins), but I knew that it was Friday morning. Which meant Daisy had been arrested more than two days ago, giving us all plenty of time to adjust to the shock. And second, I wasn’t sure what the penalty would be for cocaine possession and possible sale, but I didn’t think there was anything “little” about this run-in with the law.

“Isn’t that what your lawyer was flying in to take care of?” I’d just realized that we had taken off three hours before the damage control squad was due to land. Deacon and his minions probably had no idea that they had just flown across the world for nothing.

“Things are more complicated than we thought,” Faith said. “Just after eleven last night, a tabloid found Sharla’s phone number and called her for comment on the Italian government revoking Daisy’s bail. Of course, the little darlin’ came right over to the hotel and told us.”

“Sharla?” I couldn’t believe a tabloid had gotten her phone number. I wondered if someone had sold it. Then I selfishly wondered if someone would sell mine. “If the press is hounding her, why isn’t she on our flight?” I would have thought Faith would want the makeup artist as far away from the debacle as possible to prevent any further leaks.

Faith’s gaze flicked nervously over to Daisy, who was deliberately staring out the window. But when the momager turned back to me, her usual smile was plastered to her face. “Well, Sharla had a long night with us, I just thought she could use a little rest. She’ll be along shortly with the rest of the crew.”

“I didn’t want her here,” Daisy announced loudly, her face still turned away.

I’d given my petulant teenage client more leeway than the rest, but I was too tired and irritated to indulge her just then. “And why is that? What exactly did Sharla do to make you so mad? You’ve been treating her like dirt all week.”

“It was just a tiny squabble,” Faith told me, patting my hand.

“She always wants to be around me, it’s so annoying,” Daisy continued. “I’m sick to death of her.” During this entire exchange, she kept her eyes trained out the window. “And she yelled at me for trying to cut my hair. . . . She yelled—at
me
.”

I remembered the lunchtime freak-out in Piazza Navona. At the time, I hadn’t considered why Daisy was so mad at Sharla, or even if there was a reason other than the weather or the day of the week. “She was trying to be your friend,” I replied.

“They’re freaking extensions. So what if I cut them, Axel can just put in some more.”

It can take all day to put in individual extensions, and I’m told it’s remarkably tedious work for hairstylists. Sharla was just trying to prevent more work for Axel. “Be as sick of her as you want, but she just saved your ass.”

“And we are
so
grateful for that,” Faith said. Maybe her “we”
was meant in the royal sense because clearly Daisy wasn’t grateful for shit.

“Why is Italy revoking Daisy’s bail? Is that even legal?”

“I don’t really understand it myself, Holly,” Faith said, finally putting away her fake, beauty pageant expression. “After Sharla came to see us, it took a few more calls to figure out what was really going on. I guess the government decided they wanted to make an example of Daisy and revoked her bail so that they could rearrest her and hold her until the trial.”

“What?” About fifty percent of my brain had been asleep since we’d first taken our seats on the plane, but this shook me wide awake. “When would they hold the trial?”

Faith hesitated for a moment, and I could tell she was fighting tears. “They could delay it from six months up to a year. We’re actually pretty lucky. The police knew our lawyer would be landing around nine; they were going to arrest Daisy at eight, right when the courts opened for the day. If the tabloid reporter hadn’t tipped off Sharla, we wouldn’t have been able to get away.”

Usually I’m of the opinion that Hollywood types are given a free pass for their indiscretions, but this level of vengeance didn’t seem normal. It felt more like persecution than prosecution. I’m not an expert on drug offenses, but I didn’t think the sentence would extend to a year, let alone the time just waiting for trial. Although, perhaps that was the point. The government wanted to send a message but knew that Daisy would likely get a slap on the wrist. This could be a back-door way to publicly flog her. Still, we had just fled the country. I didn’t imagine that would help Daisy much, either legally or with public perception.

“Won’t she just be arrested when we land in Los Angeles?”

“No, there are extradition laws. They would have to petition the U.S. government and prove that their case is strong and worthy of all the trouble. Since the case is pretty weak, they’ll probably just drop it. But Daisy will be banned from Italy.”

With every passing day, I was increasingly happy that I wasn’t famous. I might never be able to afford to go back to Italy, but at least I wasn’t legally prohibited from doing so. A few unanswered questions lingered in my mind. “How did the reporter find out about the arrest, anyway?”

Faith gave me the same warm, yet slightly condescending smile that I’d given her many times. It was the oh-sweetie-you’re-cute-but-so-stupid look. Now that I was on the receiving end of that expression, I realized just how irritating and obvious it was. Not to mention, a little bit arrogant. I’d have to restrain myself in the future. It also finally made me realize that Faith wasn’t as dim-witted as she seemed. Maybe she was sweet and cute like a fox.

“Reporters are creative, Holly,” she said. “If they managed to bug our hotel room, don’t you think they probably have an inside source at the police station?”

I’d completely forgotten about the recording devices. Well, in all honesty, even at the time I’d thought Faith was being paranoid. I had convinced myself that the tiny little “microphones” were probably just pieces of metal or foam feet for lamps or vases. Now I wasn’t so sure. I thought back to all of the people who had traipsed in and out of that suite in the last couple of days. All of them were co-workers, police, or service people. It depressed me to think that a cop might have bugged a pop star’s room to make a few extra bucks.

I didn’t respond to Faith’s comment. I couldn’t think of anything to say. This wasn’t my reality and I had no right to offer my ill-­informed opinions. Instead, I merely shrugged and shook my head. It seemed as good an answer as any.

“I’ve contacted the doctor from
Rehabilication,
” Faith continued, casting a forlorn glance across the aisle at Daisy, who had either fallen asleep or passed out. “He’s made an offer to help us through this. I think we should take it.”

Rehabilication
,
the popular reality show where D-list methed-up celebrities went to dry out and try to make a little more money
before they became completely unemployable. I was pretty sure that was the show Jamie and Deacon wanted Daisy to join, but Faith had seemed so against the possibility just twelve hours ago. Apparently, things had changed. And so much the better—the girl definitely needed rehab.