Mary Anne padded down the hall. She wanted her coffee so badly she thought she smelled it brewing. She turned the corner to her kitchen and stopped.
“Good morning, darling,” Mitsy said. She held a cantaloupe rind in one hand and a knife in the other. Mitsy walked over and kissed Mary Anne on the cheek. “Darling,” she whispered into Mary Anne’s ear, “you really should put on a robe when you have company.” Mary Anne looked down at her see-through lace-trimmed tank top and tiny shorts.
“But I didn’t know I had company,” she whispered. Was she sleepwalking? She glanced at her sister, Michelle, unloading groceries onto the kitchen counter.
“Don’t be silly, darling,” Mitsy said. “All these people can’t stay at my town house.”
“But what are they doing—”
“Don’t you remember? Gavin’s birthday? We’re having the celebration out here? Disneyland? Knott’s Berry Farm? SeaWorld?”
“But that’s …” Mary Anne walked toward the refrigerator and glanced at the calendar taped to the door.
“This week,” Mitsy said and tapped the box in which months before Mary Anne had written Meyers Family Arrives.
“Today,” Mary Anne whispered. She leaned against the counter, dazed.
“Hey, sis,” Michelle said, and wrapped her arms around Mary Anne. Mary Anne smiled at her sister. No one ever guessed that Mary Anne and Michelle were related. Michelle wore her blond hair bobbed, and her electric blue eyes always appeared to contain laughter. Her skin never burned and, even in the Minnesota winters, maintained a golden hue.
“William wanted me to tell you he’s sorry he couldn’t make it. Right now is his busy time at the store.”
“December is busy for patio furniture sales?” Mary Anne asked.
“You’d be amazed how many people give patio furniture for Christmas,” Michelle continued to unload groceries. “Hey, I brought you a present.” She reached into the grocery bag and pulled out Star magazine. “Nice picture.” She nudged her sister in the ribs. “I usually buy a copy if I see it in the store, but now since you’ll be a regular, I’ll have to get a subscription.”
Mary Anne blushed, but gave her sister a tiny smile. She pulled open the cabinet for a coffee cup. She felt as if a pack of raccoons had attacked her kitchen as she slept.
“The coffee cups are on the kitchen table, as well as a new carafe of coffee,” Mitsy said. “My breakfast quiche should be finished in fifteen minutes. Are you hungry?” Mitsy reached for the US magazine and perused it over the tops of her glasses “He’s a nice-looking boy.”
“Mitsy, where do you want these?” Marvin, Mary Anne’s dad, walked in from the garage holding three pieces of luggage.
“Two in the guest room and one in the den,” Mitsy said. She returned to cutting cantaloupe at the kitchen island. “Now, Mary Anne, the grandchildren are staying with your father and me at the townhouse. I’m leaving the adults with you.”
“Michael and Sue, too?” Mary Anne asked, referring to her brother and his wife.
“I gave them a key. They wanted to stop at Costco.”
“You were all over the news this morning when we left St. Paul,” Michelle said, disappearing into the adjoining great room.
“Darling, do you even know what time it is?” Mitsy asked, eyeing Mary Anne’s clothes again. “I thought you’d left for the studio. Don’t you have some movie you’re working on right now?”
“
Vitriol
,” Mary Anne said. She glanced toward her great room, where she heard the sound of her plasma television being switched on.
“Look, look, there you are!” Michelle called, aiming the remote and turning up the sound. “I saw this earlier. Nice outfit, by the way. And who did your makeup? I know you didn’t.”
“Darling, that dress was a little low-cut, don’t you think?” Mitsy asked. “Perhaps you’re sending the wrong message to the young girls in America by wearing it—now that you’re setting an example.”
An example? For whom? She was dating an actor. What kind of example could she be expected to set?
“You know, Lauren and her friends watch these shows religiously. She tells me that they look for makeup and clothing tips,” Misty said.
“Right, Mother, I’m sure it has nothing to do with Orlando Bloom or Brad Pitt,” Michelle said.
“Hello, hello, hello!” Mary Anne heard the familiar baritone of her brother, Michael’s, voice, followed by the high-pitched squeal of her sister-in-law, Sue’s, laugh. Mary Anne turned and watched as Michael entered carrying Costco bags. “There’s more in the car,” he said.
“Michael, where are the children?” Mitsy called.
“Pool,” Michael called, just as two yells and a splash came from the backyard.
“It’s winter,” Mary Anne said and kissed her brother on the cheek.
“Not here. In St. Paul it’s fifteen degrees. In Los Angeles it’s summer every day.”
Mary Anne remembered the first December she lived in L.A., she wore shorts all winter and couldn’t understand why people gave her funny looks.
Michelle set Mitsy’s breakfast quiche on the table. With the loud banter of her family, Mary Anne felt the familiar cloak of invisibility settle around her. As she listened to Marvin and Michael discuss real estate and Michelle chastise Mitsy, she felt suddenly as if she were at home in Minnesota and no one could see her. But then she glanced at the television and watched herself standing next to Holden as Leeza shoved a microphone in her face.
“Michelle, do you think—” Mitsy stopped midsentence, and silence emanated from the kitchen. Mary Anne looked toward her family, and there stood Holden, looking surprised and confused. Mary Anne guessed she’d worn a similar expression twenty minutes before when she wandered into the chaos of her family. His blond hair stuck out at odd angles and thankfully, he wore his boxers—though they didn’t hide much, and from this angle it appeared that Holden had come to the kitchen for something other than breakfast.
Michelle leaned over to Mary Anne. “I shared my Malibu Barbie doll with you,” she whispered. “Will you share your Ken doll with me?”
Mary Anne’s giggle broke the silence. She walked toward Holden. “So everyone, this is Holden.” She stood at his side. “And Holden, this is everyone.” Mary Anne glanced around the room. “Well, everyone but the boys and my niece; they’re in the pool. And, well, William, Michelle’s husband, my brother-in-law; he couldn’t make it. It’s his busy time at the store. And—” Mary Anne stopped. She knew her nervous energy caused her to babble.
Looking at her family standing around the kitchen, Mary Anne attempted to see them through Holden’s eyes. Her father, six-three and fairly thin for a man pushing seventy, stood next to blond-haired Michael, who was barely six feet with an athletic body. Sue, Mary Anne’s sister-in-law, was short and a little round but had a happy face. And then there was Mitsy, with her flat shoes, sweater set, and football-helmet hair, standing at the kitchen island with her mouth agape. Seeing a semi-naked man in her daughter’s kitchen had actually struck her mother speechless.
Anticipation hovered over the kitchen. Mary Anne hoped Holden responded well—you met someone’s family for the first time only once, and Mary Anne knew from experience that that first meeting often set the tone for the entire relationship. She knew her family could be overwhelming, and this morning meeting wasn’t the optimal first introduction for Holden. She wished she could have introduced him to the family after months of preparing him and warning him about the Meyerses’ idiosyncrasies.
“Well, Holden, it’s so nice to meet you,” Mitsy said, finally breaking the silence. “Are you hungry? I made quiche.”
Holden’s face broke into a dazzling smile. “I love quiche.” He walked toward Mary Anne’s mother. “Are you Mitsy?” he asked, towering over her.
“I am,” Mitsy said. She looked up, her eyes wide.
“You’re about the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” Holden said. He reached down and gave her a hug.
Mary Anne watched Mitsy’s face as Holden hugged her. Her expression changed from shock to surprise to a bright shade of red. Mary Anne looked at Michelle, who started to giggle. Neither she nor her sister had ever witnessed Mitsy look so flustered.
Holden released her from his embrace, and Mitsy inhaled quickly, patting her hair with her hand. “Well,” she said. “Thank you. Now sit and I’ll get you some quiche and some juice.” Mitsy scurried around the kitchen. “And Mary Anne, why don’t you go get Holden some pants.”
*
Mary Anne’s family reminded Holden of his parents in Indiana. He hadn’t visited his mom in almost five years. She refused his invitations to Los Angeles. She didn’t want to come to L.A., she told him every time they spoke; she wanted him to come home to Indiana. But there was never time. Now, after spending the last three days with Mary Anne’s family, Holden realized he needed to make a trip home, and Mary Anne would go with him. She’d understand where he came from: the trucks, the trailer park, even his uncle without front teeth.
After his first action movie, Holden took a girl home with him—an actress he’d met on set. His mom, Holden knew, cooked and cleaned for days before they arrived. The actress didn’t eat anything and threw her dirty clothes around the house as if Holden’s mother were her maid. Holden finally drove her over to Terre Haute and put her on a return flight to Los Angeles four days early.
Holden parallel-parked his pickup. He wanted to do a quick run to the top of Runyon Canyon and then sprint down. A run always worked him out better than anything Liam wanted him to do, and after three days of Mitsy’s cooking he needed a heavy sweat if he wanted to be ready for tomorrow.
The early-morning air felt crisp against his legs. At six a.m. on a Sunday, he’d have Runyon Canyon to himself. He started the uphill walk from his parking spot to the beginning of the path, and just as he passed the gates and started a light jog uphill, he noticed a flash of red.
“What the fu—” Holden stopped short.
Viève jumped from behind a clump of bushes. “Where have you been?”
Holden gave the tiny creature a disgusted look and tried to keep going on the run. He knew from experience that, in public, there were no guarantees that a paparazzo wasn’t snapping photos somewhere.
“Don’t walk away from me,” Viève said. “I asked you a question.”
“Busy,” Holden said. “You know we’ve got a film starting tomorrow.”
“I’m not the one going to premieres,” Viève said, nipping at Holden’s heels.
Holden stopped running. “Look, this thing, with us, it’s over,” he said. He was trying to be gentle.
“Over?” Viève screeched. “Over?! You think you can fuck me and then tell me it’s over?”
“Hey, hey, hold it down,” Holden said, looking around. “Viève, we haven’t had sex in, like, three years.”
“You think this is loud, just wait until I go to the press,” Viève said. “How will your precious Mary Anne like knowing you’ve been seeing me since Toronto?”
Rage rattled through his chest. He didn’t want this crazy bitch anywhere near Mary Anne. “Viève,” he said, his voice low, “this doesn’t have anything to do with Mary Anne.”
“What? This has everything to do with Mary Anne.”
Holden looked at the wicked creature standing before him. “You’re crazy,” he said. He watched Viève’s expression change from insane to aroused. Her lips softened and her eyes grew wide. The transformation frightened him.
She stepped forward and pressed herself against him. “Baby, you want me to wait for you? At your truck?” Viève whispered. “I know how much you like me post-workout.”
“Stop,” Holden said. He grabbed her hand and pushed her away. “Don’t you get it? We’re done.” He brushed past her and started running uphill.
“Oh no, we’re not,” Viève called.
Holden ran faster. He turned back and looked at Viève standing on the hiking path watching him. A sinking sensation fell through his body—he knew he couldn’t outrun Viève Dyson. She was insane, and she was vindictive—and for the next two months she would be his costar.
Rule 20: Act Like Their Friend, Even If You’re Faking It
Jessica Caulfield-Fox, Manager-Producer
As per Hollywood custom, upon entering Worldwide’s executive dining room, Jessica scanned the room for producers, managers, agents, executives, and celebrities. Pockets of people dined together. Jessica could determine what projects would go into production by the inhabitants at each table. A big star sitting with a big director? Green-light a film. A has-been dining with a wannabe? Not so much.
Jessica’s nerves killed her hunger as she followed the hostess to the table where Terri Seawell sat waiting. Terri had built her reputation in Hollywood as a reporter who often exposed the unexposable. Jessica surveyed the crusty old journalist who wore an orange pantsuit and had unnaturally blond hair.
Of course, Terri didn’t print every nasty secret she uncovered. She hadn’t remained an entertainment reporter for more than thirty-five years without knowing what secrets to keep. But Terri needed a story.
Mike warned Jessica that morning before she left the house. “Babe, be prepared; Terri Seawell doesn’t suffer fools,” he’d said, picking Max up and swinging him around.
“Daddy,” Maxi screamed, giggling.
“She ruined Jill and Brian’s marriage. Terri printed the entire off-the-record conversation with Jill. They never recovered,” Mike said.
“Lydia gave her total access,” Jessica pulled on her black cashmere top.
“Not sure what’s up with Lydia. She’s making some dangerous decisions.”
“Such as?” Jessica asked.
“Giving a first-time director a sixty-million-dollar movie on a below-average script. Putting Viève and Holden on the same film set with Mary Anne,” Mike said. “Should I continue?”
“No,” Jessica said.
“So, what is going on?”
Jessica shrugged. She turned from the mirror and looked at Mike. She considered omission a type of falsehood, but she didn’t want to tell him about Cici’s sex tape.
“Come on, Jess, you’ve never been a good liar. And Lydia is no dummy. She knows something about the letters. Are you going to tell me or just keep me in the dark?”
“It’s not my secret to tell I—”
Mike held up his hand and halted her. “Okay, if that’s how you want to play it.” He picked up Max and headed down the hall.