Absolutely True Lies (25 page)

I was watching a fantastically terrible, yet addicting, TV movie at ten that night when my cell phone rang. Even before I knew who was calling me, I didn’t want to answer. The list of people I didn’t want to talk to was growing ever longer. But I saw that it was Ben and I couldn’t ignore a second call.

“Are you all right?” he said, altogether bypassing hello. “By the time I got up yesterday, everything had gone to hell. I tried to call you as soon as I found out you were gone.”

“It’s a long story,” I replied, not sure what to say to him. I wouldn’t have put it past Vaughn to have told Ben that we’d kissed, to spite me or to make him crazy. Even if he didn’t know already, I’d have to be an adult and tell him myself. I just didn’t think it was appropriate to have that conversation over the phone. “But I’m fine. Are you back in L.A.?”

“No, I’m actually at the Fiumicino airport with the rest of the crew. They gave us a full day to pack up.”

“Wow, fancy. I got about fifteen minutes. And that’s fifteen minutes’ notice coming out of a dead sleep.”

“I’ll be back home tomorrow,” Ben said hopefully. “I’d like to see you.”

I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to see him or not. I felt like I did, like we had a real connection that might lead to something bigger. But I also knew I had just screwed things up, perhaps beyond fixing. And that made me want to avoid the situation until that became its own solution. Maybe I was a malfunctioning robot after all.

“Gee, I’d like to see you, too, but I’ll be down in Dana Point, working with Daisy. I probably won’t get home until late. And I’m sure you’ll need to sleep after trekking around the globe for half a day.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and I knew Ben wasn’t pleased with my response.

“You’re right,” he said finally. “But I want to see you soon.”

“Of course. Just travel safe and I’ll see you in L.A.”

There was another pause before he added, “I miss you, Holly.”

I put my head in my hands and sighed deeply, away from the handset. “See you soon, Ben.”

As I hung up the phone, I couldn’t decide if I was going to hell for my actions or if I was already there.

•  •  •

U
ltimately, I did have to rent a car the next day, and I chose a Dodge Charger because it was only four dollars more expensive and wouldn’t make me look like a pauper in front of the rich folks. Because of the traffic on the ever-nightmarish 405, it took me almost three hours to get to the rehab center, and I had to stop four times along the way to pee. It was, however, truly thrilling to drive a vehicle that smelled nice and had a working air conditioner.

Ten minutes inside the door, I was even more dubious about Dr. Chace’s methods. One of the brunette fem-bots settled me into a table in the “Zen Garden” just before Daisy ran out of the building, and directly toward me, at full speed.

“Holleeeeee,” she squealed, extending the last vowel far longer than anyone over the age of twelve ever should. “Oh, my freaking God! I have been missing you like crazy, crazy,
crazy
!” Daisy spoke so rapidly that she didn’t even pause to take a breath until after the third
crazy
.

“Hey, you,” I replied as she squeezed me into yet another extremely awkward hug. “You look . . . happy.”

Happy
wasn’t the word for what I was witnessing. Though Daisy was fortunately wearing a shirt that covered up her enormous breasts, she was still wearing far fewer clothes than I would have thought proper in a place like this. She actually looked pretty cute—that is, if she was about to head off to a high school gym class. Her jersey shorts were an inch below her ass, and her obscenely tight Rainbow Brite T-shirt showed off the bottom of her midriff.

And her behavior just seemed odd. I’d now seen Daisy in both the thrall of her medicine cabinet and the crash of narcotic withdrawal, and this didn’t look like a girl who was coming down off a serious addiction (or forty). In fact, she seemed just as high as ever. As soon as Daisy pulled away from the hug, she started bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet like she couldn’t stand still, even for a few seconds.

“Are we gonna talk today?” she said, bouncing harder. I didn’t get to answer before she rushed on. “Because I have learned so,
so
much in therapy and I can’t wait to talk all about it.” I started to reply, but again, motormouth outpaced me. “Holly Bear, I know now that God wants me to help kids all over the world with addiction. That’s my calling and I need to listen to Him.”

Never mind that Daisy had only been in rehab for about forty-­two hours now and couldn’t have possibly had more than two therapy sessions. Never mind that she was
clearly
on some form of chemical substance. What I wanted to know was when, in the last two days, little Miss Nymphomania had found religion.

“Okay . . .” I said, blindsided by this somehow shinier version of Daisy. “Then let’s sit back down and get to it.”

“Do you like iced tea?” she asked, making no move to take a seat. “Because I didn’t think I liked iced tea, but then I came here and they try to get you to lower your sugar intake—I think to help detox your body or whatever. And the first time I tried it I was like, yeah, whatever. But then the second time I was like, whoa, this is de-
lish
.”

I stared at Daisy, thinking that if I had to endure this manic behavior for the next several hours I might use the award-winning crème brûlée torch to light myself on fire. “I do like iced tea very much.”

“Then we should totally get them to bring a pitcher of it out here,” Daisy replied. “But first Mama says you gotta go talk to her and Dr. Chace about boring business stuff. I’ve gotta go do medi
tation for a little while and then we can work and you can meet my new boyfriend!”

I had no idea how Daisy could possibly make it through a meditation session without vibrating her way out of the room. I was also more than a little astonished by her comment about the new “boyfriend.” Ben was my first real date in two years and Daisy had a boyfriend after a day and a half? And who in their right mind would want to date a fellow drug addict?

I left Daisy to her meditation and headed back to the lobby to see if I could find Faith and, I hoped, get paid. Or have a conversation that didn’t move at the speed of light.

•  •  •

“T
hat can’t be,” she said, shocked. I also noticed that she threw an embarrassed glance toward Dr. Chace. I hadn’t wanted to bring this up in front of the doctor, but Faith insisted that Chace needed to hear “everything” that was going on, good or bad. “That’s the incidentals account, we always keep half a million in there. You know, for emergencies.”

I abhor those must-be-nice people, but in this case, it really
must
be nice. My emergency fund was two twenty-dollar bills stuffed into an old sardine can in one of my kitchen cabinets. “I’m sorry, Faith, but I went to the bank myself. There was only a few hundred dollars left.”

“And Jamie called and left you that message?” Faith started pacing the room, biting her nails. “What do you think he meant by that?”

“I don’t know. But I can tell you, he was pretty drunk.”

“Well, that’s unacceptable. I’ll make sure he takes care of this today. How much have we paid you so far?”

This was not a conversation I was hoping to have with her directly. One of the reasons people have agents and managers is so that they don’t have to make these deals for themselves. The closer your
relationships to your clients, the less effective you are in negotiating with them. But Faith had asked me a direct question and it wasn’t like I could just ignore her.

“Based on the first payment and the Miami expenses that were never reimbursed, I’ve cleared about three thousand dollars,” I said, trying to remain strong. I really didn’t want to upset Faith, but I wasn’t going to relegate myself to the poorhouse to make her feel better.

“Three thousand? Out of how much?” An expression of horror was beginning to dawn on her face.

“Fifty,” I replied, looking down at my feet.

Faith didn’t speak for another few seconds. She anxiously walked the length of the room several times, then went over to her purse and pulled out her cell phone. “I’m so sorry, Holly. I’ll get this settled right now.”

Faith’s cell was off, and as she booted it up, I came to a mortifying realization—she didn’t know about Jamie representing Ariceli. I didn’t know what to do, if I should say something or keep my mouth shut. It wasn’t my place to deliver that kind of news, but she deserved to know, didn’t she? How could Faith or Daisy begin to rebuild a career without all the information? Dammit, I hated that man.

“Jamie’s got a new client,” I blurted out.

Faith and Dr. Chace shared a look, and I was instantly sorry I’d opened my mouth. I was also irritated that these two were already bosom buddies considering they’d never met each other until two days ago. Again, I couldn’t shake the feeling that membership in the fame club comes with a decoder ring and a secret handshake.

“Daisy has been Jamie’s only client since she was ten,” Faith replied, offering me a patronizing smile. She glanced back to Dr. Chace for support, but this time, he look troubled. Well, as troubled as he could look with the limited movement of his facial muscles.

“We haven’t seen him here yet,” Chace pointed out. “Jamie did say he’d come down as soon as he landed . . .”

“You don’t know how these things work. He’s just busy. Whenever we’re putting together a new deal, I don’t see him for days. And with this mess . . .” Faith’s smile faded from patronizing to pained, but she managed to keep it for at least a few more seconds. “He knows we’re fine and he doesn’t have a spare minute to drive all the way down here.”

“I saw him interviewed on
E! News,
” I said, keeping my tone quiet but firm. “He said he’d just signed that YouTube girl, Ariceli.” I had to stop Faith; I couldn’t keep watching her rationalize Jamie’s betrayal.

Her façade crumbled. As she spoke, I could see her lower lip quaver. “The one who sang that ballad version of ‘Pour Some Sugar on Me’?” Faith whispered, crushed.

So
that’s
the song Ariceli sang at her talent show. Of course every man over the age of five had logged on to YouTube to watch a sixteen-­year-old cutie croon about being “hot, sticky, sweet.” “I think so,” I said.

Faith slowly walked over and sat down, burying her face in her hands. She was still holding her phone, and just as she hid her face, I saw the screen light up. It dinged, signaling that she had voice mails, but Faith ignored the sound.

Dr. Botox crossed over and put a hand on her back. “Now, Faith. We discussed the possibility that Daisy’s age might pose a problem. She’s not fifteen anymore, there are a lot of people who won’t be as interested in her.”

First of all, gross. Second of all, how was that the issue at hand? Faith just found out there was no one steering the ship and that the last captain had made off with at least half a million dollars. I couldn’t see how calling an eighteen-year-old a used-up has-been was part of a constructive dialogue.

“Forget about that,” I said, unable to stop myself. “The more important thing is cutting off Jamie from your bank accounts. Right now.”

Faith waved me away without looking up. “I’ll get you paid, Holly. I really will.”

I didn’t want to say this, but I had to be honest. “I’m not as concerned with fifty thousand dollars as I am with the millions that Jamie has unfettered access to. You need to shut him down as soon as possible.” As the words came out of my mouth, I knew I’d pretty much just suggested that Faith hold on to her cash for as long as she wanted. I wondered if the melted Hershey’s miniatures on Camille and Donnie’s couch would stain my clothes if I was forced to take up residence on it.

“You’re right,” Faith replied, standing up. “I need to call Deacon and our lawyer.”

“Where is Deacon? Shouldn’t he be back by now?” We’d flown back two days ago; he could have turned right around and arrived just a few hours later.

“Oh, he’ll be in Europe for a little while longer,” Faith said, scrolling through her phone. “Fashion Week is coming up, and Milan’s not that far from Rome.”

Seriously? What is wrong with these people?
“In that case, you can’t wait for Deacon,” I pressed. “You need to take care of this yourself.”

“How?” I couldn’t tell if Faith’s tone was defensive or just bewildered. “Jamie set up those accounts.”

With this kind of oversight, I was sure Jamie had been stealing from the Dixsons for years. “Your name is on all of them, right?”

Faith shrugged, throwing another look up at Dr. Chace. “Sure . . . I mean, my name and Daisy’s name are on all of the checks and credit cards.”

I glanced at my watch, trying to add up how many working hours were left in the day. “Okay,” I said, wondering how this had suddenly become my responsibility. “Change of plans. Faith, you and I are going to the bank. I’ll work with Daisy this afternoon.”

“Maybe I should go, too,” Dr. Chace said.

I hope he knew from my expression that I wanted to stab him
in the neck. “That won’t be necessary. It’s time only Faith and Daisy were in charge of the money.”

“Okay,” Faith said, putting a shaky hand against the wall to steady herself. “But we’re going all the way back to Beverly Hills?”

I almost asked why we would do that, but then I realized what she meant. It scared me that the Dixson thought process now came so easily to me. “No, Faith. Every bank has branches all over the area. We’ll find the closest one.”

Chace started to follow us out of the room. “Really, maybe it’s better if I—”

I held out my hand, preventing him from touching Faith. “You’ve done enough,” I said. “I’ll handle things from here.”

CHAPTER 18

When dealing with the paparazzi, it’s better to pretend they’re not really people. Because if you acknowledge that the guys and girls chasing you down the street are someone’s husband, father, sister, daughter, you have to question everything you think about humanity. I’d never cause a traffic accident and risk the lives of other people just to get a picture of a teenage actress eating an ice cream cone—would you?

I
t took two hours, but by 1:00
P.M.
, only the Dixsons had access to the Dixson money. Although if I hadn’t been there, Faith probably would have signed over power of attorney to the personal banker who helped us. Jamie had indeed stolen the half million from them (he was nice enough to leave $219), which posed big problems for Faith and Daisy in the short term. While they technically had millions of dollars to their name, only $500,000 was liquid at any given time. This made sense to me, as a checking account earns little to no interest, but it baffled Faith. She couldn’t grasp the rules and regulations of CDs and mutual funds and why she couldn’t just pull the money out right then. The immediate solution was for the ladies to live off their black American Express cards for the next month, which, incredibly, had no limit. In front of the nice, middle-class banker, Mr. Roach, Faith told an adorable little anecdote about once buying an Aston Martin with that card. I don’t think he was amused.

As we left, I caught Faith eyeing me with something resembling admiration. I don’t know that anyone’s ever looked at me that way before.

“How do you know all of this money stuff?” she asked, incredulous. “I didn’t understand half of what he was talking about . . . CDs and mutual funds and interest penalties.”

“Um, I don’t know.” How could she not know “this money stuff”? The woman was nearing forty.

As we got back into the car, Faith whistled. “All I can say is, I hope Daisy grows up to have as good a head on her shoulders as you do.”

The comment disturbed me, though I couldn’t figure out just why.

•  •  •

A
fter I returned with her to Rehabilication, Faith ran off to speak with the family lawyer and I finally found time to work with Daisy. Though I didn’t exactly get a lot of work done. I more or less sat in silence while she and her new boyfriend made out for three hours. One of Daisy’s only contributions to the afternoon was giggling, “Isn’t he just so smart?” As “he” never spoke to me, I wouldn’t know.

The boyfriend was an actor (shocking, I know); a hulking, highlighted-blond Adonis who starred on a CW show about sexy superheroes. The producers had written him out of the first few episodes so that he could get a “sobriety tune-up.” Because blond actor superhero just happened to be a not-so-recovered heroin addict.

“It’s totally fine,” Daisy whispered to me when Lee stepped away to take a phone call. “He only snorts the heroin. He’s completely terrified of needles. So there’s nothing to worry about.”

I can’t even tell you why I stayed the entire three hours, especially since it meant my end time placed me smack in the middle of afternoon traffic. But I was desperate to get any information that might help me finish this so-called book by my rapidly approaching
deadline. Though why I was continuing to work without getting paid, I also can’t tell you.

I couldn’t return the car until the next morning, so I drove back toward my apartment, excited that my only roommate was incapable of speech. Meowing is so much easier to interact with sometimes.

But as I turned onto my street, I saw a bunch of guys hanging out in front of my building and I was immediately nervous. It was dark enough that I couldn’t see exactly what they were doing. And while I don’t live in the worst neighborhood in L.A., the sight of ten loitering men on my street at near 8:00
P.M.
definitely gave me pause.

I had already decided to keep driving past and turn on the first available street when I finally realized what was going on. The men in front of my building weren’t the usual neighborhood suspects—they were photographers. And that could only mean someone had finally discovered my name. The only question left was whether they knew my actual job title or if they still thought I was the pregnant, alcoholic cousin.

I’d passed through the throngs of paparazzi a number of times now, but they’d never been interested in me before. It was bad enough being along for the ride as Daisy was interrogated by shouting and flashbulbs; I didn’t think I could handle the questions being directed at me. So I kept going, turned onto the next block, and pulled over at the curb. I put in a call to Faith, who didn’t answer immediately. I had to call back a second and then a third time in quick succession before she finally picked up.

“Sweetheart, is everything all right?” Faith asked. I could sense slight annoyance, but she kept it under control, apparently giving me the benefit of the doubt.

“No,” I told her, more upset than I’d even realized. “There are paparazzi in front of my house. I don’t know if they really know who I am or if they’re just trying to get more dirt on Daisy.”

“Oh, no, did you say anything?”

The Dixsons clearly do not hang out with the right people.
“Nothing,” I insisted, a little hurt that she’d think otherwise, “I didn’t even stop. I drove around the corner and called you.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. “I don’t suppose you have an overnight bag with you?”

“I don’t.”

Faith sighed, sounding tired. “Okay, sweetie, I want you to drive to our house. Do you remember where it is?”

I didn’t like this plan one bit. “I remember, Faith, but I can’t just run away. I have a cat. If I’m not there to feed him in the next couple of hours, he’ll start eating the couch.”

“Well, you can’t say anything to those bloodsuckers,” she shot back, momentarily abandoning her southern politeness. “You have a nondisclosure agreement. We’re paying you for your discretion.”

“You’re not paying me at all,” I couldn’t stop myself from saying. “And I wouldn’t give them a word, not a single word, with or without that contract. I’m just not used to being hunted down by parasites with cameras.”

“You can’t stay there, Holly. Those people don’t go away.”

“I don’t know what to do,” I admitted, my voice a little weepy.

“I’ll take care of everything. Do you think you can handle them just this once?”

I didn’t want to but I also didn’t really have a choice. “I guess so.”

“Okay, you run in there and grab your clothes and your kitty cat and head on over to the house. I’m staying down here in Dana Point, but I’ll call over and talk to our security. They’ll get you all settled in.”

“All right.”

“It’s gonna be fine. And I promise you, Holly, I’ll get you paid just as soon as I can. Now you go to the house and get some sleep, sugar, and we’ll see you down here tomorrow.”

I hung up and threw my phone on the seat before shifting into reverse. I reluctantly made a three-point turn, heading back toward the inevitable confrontation with the paparazzi. I managed to get
out of the car with little fanfare, but as soon as I stepped into the streetlight on the corner, the yelling commenced. Someone must have had a picture of me already, because a number of the paps recognized me immediately. It only took me a second to realize that being photographed with Daisy at LAX—my second time in public with her in just a few weeks—must have made me a target. My only moment of amusement came when they all took off running toward me, trying to meet me at the street corner. As though I wasn’t going to walk directly toward them on my way to my front door.

My good humor died when the first asshole bumped into me, almost knocking me to the ground. I had to force my way down the block as more and more of the photographers made physical contact with me. If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought a couple of them were attempting to pickpocket me. When one of them grabbed the back of my shirt, I very nearly pushed him away, but before I did I had the presence of mind to consider that they might be trying to bait me. I hadn’t seen them do this with Daisy (maybe because until recently, she was still a teenage media darling), but Camille once told me that the more ruthless freelance photographers will sometimes try to get the subject to hit them. It makes for great drama and there’s always the possibility the photog can sue and earn some extra cash.

I just trained my eyes on the ground and kept moving; with the constant flashbulbs, I couldn’t see any farther ahead, anyway. My phone rang again and I automatically answered, thinking it was Faith calling back.

“I’m hurrying, I swear,” I said, trying not to get all shaky in front of the photogs. I knew that everything I said was being recorded and would be analyzed by a million ears.

But it wasn’t Faith. “Holly, are you okay?” I heard.

With the crazy noise and questions and flashes going off in my face, it took me a moment to place the voice. I even glanced down at my caller ID to make sure I was right. It was my old boss from
Kragen Publishing, Susan. “Susan, this isn’t the best time,” I said, turning sideways to avoid a collision with a cameraman.

“I know that, honey. That’s actually why I called. Why don’t you come on down and tell us your story—as an unnamed source, of course. If you’re going to be followed like this, at least you should make money on the deal. Am I right?”

I could just make out the front door of my building beyond the sea of bodies, and I was relieved to see that it was locked for once. But I didn’t know what to do about Susan; I hadn’t a clue what she was talking about and I didn’t have the time to figure it out. “I’m sorry, what? Why would I do that?”

On the other end of the line, Susan laughed. Or I think she did, I could barely hear. “I’m with Radar these days, Holly. I thought you knew that. When I saw those pics of you in Miami, I just knew I had the perfect source tucked up my sleeve.”

I hastily unlocked the gate and slid through, slamming it shut behind me. Hands and cameras were thrust through the bars like it was some kind of weird prison-break attempt. As I turned to flee up to my apartment, I suddenly knew what she meant. It was no accident that the vultures had descended upon me; Susan had leaked my name.

As soon as I turned a corner out of sight of the cameras, I pressed the phone to my mouth and said, “You did this to me.”

“Oh, come on, Holly,” she replied. “You would have killed for a scoop like this at
Westside
. And that wasn’t even the big leagues.”

At
Westside Weekly,
I’d written unnecessary movie reviews and talked about who looked terrible at the Oscars. It was a far cry from siccing money-thirsty wannabes with loose morals on every assistant and acquaintance with an easily accessible address. It would have never occurred to me to flash a few hundred (or grand, I don’t know) at anyone who could divulge celebrity dirt.

“You’re going to have to get your scoops from someone else. I’m not going to sell out my boss.”

Susan laughed again. “Hon, until a few days ago, it was your boss who called us.”

Still shaky from my encounter outside, I dropped my keys into the long-dead hedge to the side of my front door. “What?”

“Radar’s had a deal with Daisy for years. She or one of her people calls to say she’ll be at the Ivy or shopping at Saks and we send a photog out.”

“I don’t believe you.” Actually, I didn’t know what to believe anymore. Just because Susan had plenty of reason to lie to me didn’t necessarily mean she was. And Daisy and Faith had done some pretty bizarre things; I wouldn’t put it past them to have paps on retainer.

I finally located my keys, but my unsteady hands still had trouble maneuvering them into the lock.

“Ask her,” Susan said. “We even have a system. If she doesn’t want to be photographed, she wears the same clothes two or more days in a row. We don’t take any more pics because it looks like they were all taken on the same day.”

That was one of the most fucked up things I’d ever heard. “Then call her people and ask for information.”

“No one’s talking. I think you know that. And after everything that we’ve done for her.”

Yeah, I felt terrible for Susan and her paparazzi brigade. “Do me a favor and lose my number, okay?”

“Holly—” was all she managed to say before I hung up the phone. I was so furious, I nearly threw the phone at the door. The Holly of a few years ago would have, but I’ve learned the hard way that when you throw breakable things against a hard surface, you have to replace them and get down on your hands and knees to pick up the pieces. I really liked my new phone. Instead, I flung open the door and let it bang against the wall.

Smitty meowed at me and my phone rang again. For the third time. The caller ID read
JAMIE LLOYD
. I knew this would be good.

“What?” I asked. He wasn’t worthy of pleasantries.

“Hols, so glad you answered.”

“What’s up, Jamie?”

“I was kind of hoping you could help me out.” He instantly slipped into his charming mode, which had long since failed to move me. “I’m in a little bit of a pickle.”

I swear I don’t take pleasure in the misfortune of others, but I smiled to myself. “Is that a fact?”

“Yes, well . . .” Jamie paused, I’m sure waiting for me to ask, all a-flutter and panicked, what was wrong. Fat chance. “I don’t know what your plans are tonight.”

“Very busy right now,” I said as I struggled to get Smitty into the cat carrier.

“Oh . . . So I suppose you couldn’t take a few spare minutes and ride out to Temecula?”

I hesitated, still unable to figure out what sort of game Jamie was playing. I’d never been to Temecula, but I was aware that it was an area south of L.A. known for vineyards and bed-and-breakfasts. I also knew it was roughly two hours away, and I’d already spent five hours in the car today. I was curious to see what favor Jamie wanted, but not that curious.

“That’s not a few spare minutes, Jamie,” I replied. “What is it exactly you need?” Smitty leapt out of the carrier before I could latch it. I saw him shoot through the air and under my sagging couch. I’m sure he thought I was about to pack him off to Camille’s again.