Hollywood Kids (41 page)

'In the gym with her trainer,' Suzy said, licking ice cream with a suggestive tongue. 'You'd better knock before you go in. Have you
seen
Mom's trainer? He's a hunk. Awesome body!
Big
pecs!'

The girls all thought this was hilarious. They collapsed in fits of giggles.

Mac walked to the back of the house where they'd converted a spare bedroom into a fully equipped gym. The door was closed. He considered Suzy's warning, but entered without knocking because he trusted Sharleen implicitly.

She was lying on the floor in a revealing white leotard, one leg in the air. Her leg was held aloft by Chip or Chuck or whatever her trainer's name was. As far as Mac was concerned he was nothing more than a twenty-five-year-old muscle-bound jerk. Certainly no threat.

'Hi, honey,' she greeted, blowing him a little kiss. 'Care to join us?'

'No, thank you, Sharleen. I play squash and I jog. It's enough already.'

'OK, sweetie.'

'When will you be finished?'

'I don't know.' She gazed up at Chip appealingly. 'How much more torture are you planning for me today?'

Chip grinned, displaying a dazzling row of extremely white teeth and a perfectly dimpled chin. 'Now, now, Mrs Brooks,' he said with an annoying wink, 'No shirking.'

'How long?' Mac asked brusquely, hating the bronzed and muscled trainer who probably had a two-inch dick.

'About fifteen minutes, Mr Brooks, sir,' Chip said, helping Sharleen stretch her leg high in the air.

What kind of an asshole called him sir? 'See if you can hurry it up,' he snapped. 'I need to talk to my wife.'

'Everything OK, honey?' Sharleen enquired solicitously.

'Why wouldn't it be?'

'You look kind of pale. What did the studio want?'

'What do you mean?'

They've called a dozen times.'

This woman could drive a man crazy. 'Sharleen,' he said patiently. 'How do I know they've called a dozen times if you don't tell me?'

Chip stretched her leg even higher. 'I'm telling you now, sweetheart,' she said, sharing her attention between him and Chip.

'Thank you,' he said tightly. 'I'll find out what they want right now.'

He went into his study and slammed the door, trying to drown out the relentless din of Guns 'N' Roses. Then he fixed himself a large Scotch on the rocks and sat down at his desk. His hand - still wrapped in a napkin - was beginning to throb. Nobody seemed to have noticed that he'd been hurt. Nobody gave a shit about anything any more, including his own family. What did they care as long as he was around to pay the bills?

He was not inclined to call the production office back, but the phone rang and he snatched it up anyway.

'Mac?'

'Yes.'

'It's Bobby. Where have you been?'

'You want I should fill in a report card?'

'I'm not trying to make this difficult,' Bobby said, ignoring his sarcasm. 'But I've been trying to reach you for three hours. We've got big problems.' There was always a fucking problem. His life was turning into one major problem after another. 'What is it now?' he asked shortly.

'Cedric Farrell died.'

'Oh, Jesus!'

'Heart attack.'

'I'm sorry to hear that. He was a nice man.'

'Look, Mac, our immediate problem is recasting Cedric's role. While you've been out we've been trying to figure out what to do. There's an idea floating around I wanted to run by you. Can you drive in? Or shall I come to you?'

'I've got a bitch of a headache, Bobby. Tell me your idea and I'll let you know what I think.'

'It's not exactly my idea. The studio came up with it, and everybody else seems to like it. I figured it could be a good way for us to dump Barbara. If we can get away with paying her off it might be the smartest way to go.'

'So you're telling me you want to lose our leading lady and that you don't have a replacement for Cedric, is that it?'

'No, that's not it, Mac. We might have a replacement.' He took a beat. 'They're after me to hire Jerry.'

'Jerry?'

'Jerry Rush. They've already got the publicity campaign mapped out.'

'How do
you
feel about that?'

'I'm not sure. I figured if you went for it, we'd give it a shot.'

'If it doesn't bother you, I'll agree.'

'In that case maybe I'll drop by the house and talk to him. If we go through his agent it'll take six months to make a deal.'

'Good idea.'

'I'll check with you later.'

'Do that,' Mac said, putting down the phone. He took two hearty gulps of Scotch and slumped over with his head on the desk, which is exactly how Sharleen found him when she entered his study a few minutes later. 'What's the matter, sweetheart?' she asked, rushing over. 'Something's wrong - what is it?'

He looked up at her with bloodshot eyes. 'You ever had something happen to you where your whole world falls apart?'

She was alarmed, her eyes widened. 'What?'

'Sharleen...' He shook his head. 'There's so much to tell you...'

Now she was genuinely concerned. 'Baby, you know you can tell me anything.'

Before he could answer, his son, Kyle, burst into the study - all lanky six feet three inches of him. 'Dad, can we talk? Like we
really
gotta have a car conversation. Like, I'm
really
bummed by that major piece of crap you're forcing me to drive.'

Sharleen glared at him. 'Can't you see we're in the middle of a conversation. Haven't you heard of knocking?'

'All I wanna do is speak to my dad,' Kyle mumbled sulkily. 'Big deal.'

'We'll talk about your car tomorrow,' Mac said, sitting up straight.

'I gotta leave the house early tomorrow,' Kyle whined.

'Sorry I can't fit into your busy schedule,' Mac said sarcastically.

'Don't get pissed, Dad. When I was in Hawaii, Mom told me my car's not
safe
to drive. She said I should get a new one like right now.'

'I don't give a horse's ass what your mother said!' Mac said, pulling himself together. 'Now vanish. And next time you want to talk to me, knock before you barge in.'

Kyle backed out. '
You're
in a pissy mood,' he muttered, slamming the door behind him.

'I've got to get out of here tonight, Sharleen,' Mac said urgently, shaking his head. 'Let's book into a hotel.'

Her face lit up. There was nothing she'd like better.

Grant took the call from Bosco Nanni and jotted down his requests. A buxom blonde and a short redhead with big tits.

'This is a late order,' Grant said, enjoying his new role as super pimp. 'I'm afraid it'll cost you.'

'What are we talkin' here?' Bosco demanded. 'A grand? Two?'

'We only have the best available. Five thousand apiece.'

Bosco let out a long low whistle. 'Five fuckin' thou'!'

'Believe me,' Grant assured him. 'They're worth it.'

'
Sheeit!'

But Grant noticed he didn't cancel the order. They made arrangements and Grant replaced the receiver, then he quickly checked through Cheryl's files to see who wasn't busy.

Sissy would do for the blonde, he'd taught her well - for an amateur she certainly knew her stuff. Of course, she wasn't exactly buxom, but they'd never had any complaints about her.

The redhead was more difficult to come up with - they only had three on their books and all three were booked for the night. Goddamn it! He'd just scored them a record price and now he had no redhead to fill the order.

Cheryl was at the beauty parlour. He called her there, but the receptionist informed him she'd already left.

He waited impatiently, thinking about the consequences if his famous father ever found out what he was doing now - movie stars hated scandal unless it was good for their careers.

What did their parents care anyway? Sometimes Grant thought he'd been brought into this world to be used as nothing more than a good photo opportunity. Childhood memories. His mother's dulcet tones.

Daddy's being photographed for
Life.

Daddy's going to be on the cover
of Time.

Daddy's being photographed for
Newsweek.

And every so often they'd required little Grant to be in the pictures with Daddy, showing what a wonderful, caring family man Grant Lennon, Senior, was. This was to counteract the gossip magazines who were constantly exposing him as the biggest cocksman in town.

Being a celebrity in Hollywood meant creating an illusion, and the public liked that illusion to remain intact. Grant Lennon, Senior, gave great illusion.

Bullshit. It was all bullshit. That's why Grant had hung out with Cheryl, Jordanna and Shep. Because they'd all shared the same bullshit. They'd all grown up experiencing identical lifestyles. And it wasn't the most secure lifestyle in the world, although Grant had done a pretty good job of pretending it was.

It wasn't easy having Grant Lennon, Senior, as a father. It wasn't easy carrying the same name. Booze and recreational drugs had soothed the way most of his life, but sometimes it was impossible to avoid reality. And the reality was that he was a mere shadow of his famous father, and had achieved exactly nothing on his own.

When Cheryl arrived home, he took one look at her, and with a sudden blinding flash of inspiration came up with the answer to his problem.

Her red hair was striking, definitely her most valuable asset. In fact, Cheryl - since her new-found success - was looking decidedly attractive.

'You'll never guess -' he began.

'What?' she interrupted, throwing down her purse.

'Have a drink.'

'Will I need one?'

'Maybe,' he said, going over to the bar.

She flopped into a chair and kicked off her shoes, wiggling her toes. 'It's nice having you around, Grant. I can't imagine how I managed without you.'

'How's your sense of adventure?' he asked, pouring her a stiff shot of vodka.

'Fine. How's yours?'

He handed her the glass. 'Wanna do a line?'

'Why not,' she said, wanting to do whatever he wanted to do.

'How tall are you?' he questioned, tipping a phial of coke on to the glass-topped coffee table.

'Five four. Why?'

'Some people might consider that short, right?'

She took a gulp of vodka and got ready to snort some coke. Thanks a lot.'

'No offence.'

'None taken.'

Grant arranged the white powder in neat lines, rolled a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to her.

She bent over the table, put the bill to her left nostril and inhaled deeply. Almost immediately she felt peaceful and powerful and sensual - all the good things. Having Grant around to share with was fun.

'Any action while I was out?' she asked, leaning lazily back in her chair.

Grant's mind circled her like a predatory vulture. She had red hair. She was almost short. Her tits weren't enormous, but in the right outfit they could fake that. He knew it would work. All he had to do was convince her.

'Cheryl,' he said, crouching down beside her.

'Yes, Grant?'

'Uh... no, it doesn't matter.'

'
What
doesn't matter?'

'You wouldn't do it...'

'Wouldn't do
what
? she asked, exasperated.

'It was just that I had this insane idea, but it's too way out there, I'm not even going to say it.'

'Grant,' she said patiently. 'How long have we known each other?'

'For ever.'

'Exactly. So since when can't you tell me your insane ideas?'

He snorted a line and poured more vodka into her glass. 'Have I ever mentioned you're very sexy?'

'No, you've never mentioned that,' she said slowly.

'I should've.'

Was this the moment she'd waited for all these years? Was Grant actually coming on to her?

'You're not so bad yourself,' she managed.

He moved closer to her, sliding his arm around her shoulder. 'I got a proposition,' he said. 'And if you're half the girl I know you are, you're really going to go for it.'

'Why are we doing this?' Bobby asked, as he drove down Sunset.

'Cause you want him for your movie,' Jordanna replied logically.

'Yeah, but why are we doing this together?' he asked, genuinely puzzled. 'How come I've got you tagging along?'

'You need moral support,' she said crisply. 'And that's me. Don't forget I'm your personal assistant. I'm
supposed
to be here.'

He narrowed his blue eyes. 'You are, huh?'

'I am.'

He decided she was a good kid, and in spite of his early misgivings he was really beginning to like her. 'There's something I'd better warn you about,' he said, thinking of Jerry and his lecherous attitude.

'What's that?'

'Uh... Jerry may be an old guy, but he's a horny old guy. He's likely to hit on you.'

This amused her. 'Oh? He's likely to hit on me, is he?'

'Can you handle it?'

'Bobby, if there's one thing I've been handling all my life it's old guys hitting on me.'

'Your father's friends, huh?'

'Since I was twelve.'

'And let's not forget Charlie Dollar.'

'
I
can forget him - how about you?'

'That's another conversation.'

'It is?' She wondered why he was always bringing up Charlie. Could it be that he was the tiniest bit jealous? 'Anyway,' she added, 'I hope Jerry
does
come on to me.'

'Why's that?'

'Cause I'll enjoy playing his game.'

'Don't piss him off. As you just reminded me we're here to get him to do my movie.'

'Bobby, listen to me, he'll scale the Empire State Building to get in your movie. Realize your own strength.' She paused for a moment before adding, 'You're a very special person.'

He glanced at her quickly to see if she really meant it. Nobody had ever told him he was special before. Oh, sure, since becoming a movie star he'd received plenty of fan mail from women telling him he was handsome, sexy, gorgeous, fantastic, all of those things. But nobody had ever told him he was special.

'Hey, I'm not so special,' he said, waiting for her to take it back.