“I’ve done the math. You’ll be long gone before anyone notices.”
“Viève, why are you doing this? You don’t have to do this. We broke up. Holden and I aren’t together any—”
“I know that. You think I don’t know that? I know everything.”
“Then he’s yours,” Mary Anne said.
“Mine? You’re kidding, right? Have you seen him? Have you talked to him?”
Mary Anne shook her head.
“Of course you haven’t, because you don’t love him like I do. I tolerated you. I knew he was fucking you, and I tolerated you. Because I knew he’d figure it out. I knew he’d figure out that he really loved me.”
“And he did,” Mary Anne said. “He figured it out. He fucked you. I let him go. He’s yours now.”
“Fucked me? Ha! He hasn’t fucked me since we broke up three years ago—because of you. No. He’s certainly not mine. He’s despondent.”
“Despondent?” Mary Anne asked.
“What, you didn’t know? He can’t eat, he can’t sleep, he doesn’t even work out. Holden Humphrey is getting pudgy because of you! You bitch.”
Even while fearful for her life, a tiny bit of pleasure rushed through Mary Anne at the idea of Holden’s being lost without her.
“Obviously I have to do this. Don’t you understand? You have to die. This is the only way he’ll ever get over you.” Viève walked to Mary Anne and opened the pill bottle. “If you’re dead, he can’t sit alone in his room staring at a blank wall anymore.” She thought for a moment. “Or, at least, not forever. Here, take these.” Viève counted out ten pills. “And I’m keeping count.”
*
Holden pulled his pickup to a stop outside Mary Anne’s house. He knew she was home; her car was parked on the drive. It was time for him to make his big play for her forgiveness. He’d tried to call before he came over, but she never answered his calls and had returned his flowers to the store. But he had to see her. He had to try.
He was embarrassed about sneaking around, following her home, feeling a bit like Viève, the stalker. Holden walked toward the front door. He’d try one last time, and if it didn’t work, he’d take his lumps like a man. Who was he kidding … he’d fall on his knees and beg if he had to.
He reached out his hand to ring the bell and noticed that the front door was ajar. A jolt of anxiety passed through him. Mary Anne’s front door was open? And she was home? He gave the door a gentle nudge. The kitchen lights were on, but no one was there. He stepped quietly down the hall toward the bedroom, pausing by the den. He heard voices coming from Mary Anne’s bedroom. Was she seeing someone already? He leaned forward to listen. No, both voices were too high-pitched for one of them to be male. One was Mary Anne and the other was … Viève? What did that psycho want with Mary Anne? Holden pressed on toward the bedroom until he could peek through Mary Anne’s door. He watched as Viève handed Mary Anne a glass of water.
“Now swallow,” Viève ordered. Mary Anne grimaced. “Good, just three more.” A wicked smile danced across the actress’s face. Mary Anne started to gag. “Stop that or I’ll have to use the bat,” Viève said.
The bat? Was that a gun? Viève was holding Mary Anne hostage in her bedroom and feeding her something? He needed to call the cops. Holden turned and quietly tiptoed down the hall toward the front door.
“And where do you think you’re going?”
*
“You people are not making this easy for me,” Viève said. She stood in the bedroom while Mary Anne and Holden sat on the bed. “I was doing this for you,” she said, pointing the gun at Holden. “You’ve lost your mind, okay? You’re completely going to pot over her.” Viève made a horrible face and nodded her head toward Mary Anne. “I mean, come on! A little exercise couldn’t hurt you, Holden, even if you’re heartbroken.”
“Hey,” Mary Anne said.
The overdose hadn’t yet kicked in, because when Viève turned toward Holden, Mary Anne spit out most of the pills and threw them under the bed.
“So, lover,” Viève purred. “As much as I adore you, since you’ve stumbled upon my little homicide, I’m afraid I need to rework my plan. Let’s see.” Viève tapped the revolver against her lips while she thought. “Oh, I know, let’s make it a Shakespearean tragedy, shall we? You, Holden, can be our Romeo. You stumble upon your Juliet having overdosed because of her broken heart. Completely bereft, you shoot yourself in the head, splattering your brains on the wall. Only in this one, Juliet never wakes up again. Oooh, I like it. You two will be in entertainment heaven forever. You may become legends. Thoughts?” There was a wild look in Viève’s eyes—wilder than normal.
“Viève, you can’t kill Holden,” Mary Anne said.
“And why not?”
“You love him, and he loves you. Right, Holden? Don’t you love Viève?” Mary Anne looked at Holden, willing him to go along with her.
“Right, yes,” Holden said. “I do.”
“He told me that when he broke up with me,” Mary Anne said.
“He broke up with you?” Viève asked. She paused her pacing and looked at Mary Anne. “No, Mary Anne, you broke up with him. Just as I planned.”
“No, he broke up with me. I went and begged him not to. But when he saw the cover of
US Weekly
, he knew he loved you.”
“You did?” She turned her fierce gaze to Holden. He nodded. “Then why have you avoided me?”
“Uh, I needed to—”
“He didn’t want the tabloids to blame you for our breakup. He knows how important your image is, and he wanted to let things settle. At least, that’s what he told me when we broke up. Right, Holden?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh lover, that’s so sweet. That makes me almost wish I didn’t have to kill you.”
“But you don’t,” Holden said. He stood and walked slowly toward Viève. “We can be together. Now that she’s gone. We don’t have to worry about anyone coming between us again.” Mary Anne watched Viève’s face grow softer with each step Holden took toward her. Viève obviously wanted to believe Holden. Surrender to it, just let go, Mary Anne thought. Holden held out his arms toward Viève. Viève’s eyes got wide; she looked hypnotized by the thought of reuniting with him. Almost, Mary Anne thought. She started to stand, ready to grab Viève when Holden grabbed the gun. Mary Anne glanced at Holden just as the gun exploded.
Rule 30: Remember What Sustains You
Jessica Caulfield-Fox, Manager-Producer
Jessica watched Mike lift Max and toss him high into the sky.
Max squealed and Mike laughed. This was her life. This was the important part of her life. Not film, not drama, not fighting on set, not Vieve. Not even Jessica’s close friends. The moments with Mike and Max eclipsed Hollywood and filmmaking and everything else. Jessica pressed her BlackBerry to her ear as she took one final look in her closet.
“Blanks?” Lydia asked from the other end.
“Blanks. She stole the gun from set,” Jessica said.
“Mary Anne is so lucky,” Lydia said.
“They didn’t even take Mary Anne to the hospital. You know how she hates hospitals. Seems that Mary Anne swallowed only two Vicodin. Nobody dies from two Vicodin.”
“And Holden?”
“Saved the day. Once they discovered the gun held blanks, Holden grabbed Viève just as she was lunging at Mary Anne. He held her while Mary Anne called the cops. They’ve already committed her,” Jessica said. She glanced across her room at Mike zipping up their suitcases. “So we’re leaving town for the next seven days. Thought you should know,” Jessica said.
“Go and enjoy,” Lydia said. “I think everyone needs a break after this fiasco.”
“
Vitriol
really took it out of us, didn’t it?” Jessica asked. “Where are you? It sounds so loud.”
“That’s the wind. We’re in Sedona,” Lydia said.
“You guys rode Zymar’s bike all the way to Sedona?” Jessica asked.
“Yeah, but I think I’m renting a car for the trip back. Either that or hopping on a plane. I’m not nearly as hard-core as he. Enjoy your trip,” Lydia said. “Once you get back you might get really busy.”
“We’re always busy,” Jessica replied.
“You and Mike might get even busier.”
“You’ve got another film for us?”
“Ted may have an entire slate for you two.”
“What?”
“He wants to talk to you and Mike about heading up the studio together,” Lydia said.
“Together?”
“Yeah, kind of like Walter and Laurie did at DreamWorks for a while.”
Jessica paused. She and Mike running a studio? Together? Co-presidents of production?
“You two always succeed. Mike is magic and you’re amazing. It’s really a no-fail situation for Ted,” Lydia said. “If you want it.”
Jessica couldn’t decide now. Her emotions felt raw with all the insanity lately. She needed a vacation. Right now the industry, with all its intrigue and politics, just made her tired. “I don’t know. After watching everything you went through, Lydia, I don’t know if I want it. And that’s even with Mike as co-president.”
“Think about it while you’re gone. Talk to Mike. I know Ted wants to have a conversation with you both once you’re back.”
“Okay,” Jessica said. “You know how to reach me—”
“Go,” Lydia interrupted, “enjoy.”
“Jess, come on, are you ready?” Mike called from their bedroom. She clicked off her BlackBerry and set it on her dresser. “You’re not taking your BlackBerry?” Mike asked, raising an eyebrow.
“This is a family vacation, and I’ve got everyone I need for a family vacation with me,” Jessica said.
She pulled the front door shut as Mike waited for her in their Range Rover. She hadn’t yet mentioned Lydia and their conversation to Mike. She knew he’d want the job, and he would be great as president of production at Worldwide. And she suspected that should she decline, Ted would give Mike the job without her as copresident. She needed to think. She needed this time alone with her husband and son to decide. To determine if she wanted to dive into Lydia’s job or maybe sit on the sideline, producing a film a year, repping clients … and being a mom.
“Ready?” Mike asked as Jessica fastened her seat belt.
“Ready.”
Rule 31: Old Friends Make the Deadliest Enemies
Kiki Dee, Publicist
The sun, the surf, the sand, and the sex. Kiki’s body felt relaxed and refreshed. She’d spent the entire holiday break indulging her every desire. Looking out the bedroom window of Ted and Cici’s house in Fiji, she turned her lustful eyes toward the beach below, where Carlos lay on a towel. Yummy! Why had she waited this long to acquire a friend like Carlos? He satisfied all her fantasies. And she knew. She knew that Carlos and Robert were lovers. They weren’t fooling anyone, wandering off every night down the beach for their post-dinner stroll. Those two boys were way too beautiful and way too close. Try as they might to fool her with their butch lingo and cigar smoking, Kiki knew the boys were a little light in the loafers. And she didn’t care. She didn’t care what or who Carlos did in his off-time. She didn’t ride bareback. As long as he was hard and attentive when he was with her and she was well satisfied, then forget it! He was worth every penny.
“Kiki?” She heard Terri wandering down the hall toward her room. “Kiki, are you in there?” Terri knocked on her door. “I’m going to the beach, but I’m almost done with my article and I need that file,” she said.
Kiki rushed into her private bathroom and turned the shower on full blast. She’d avoided this moment for the last ten days. She didn’t have the file. She peeked out the bathroom door and saw Terri retreating in her two-piece toward the beachfront deck. She knew that once she told Terri that she had lost the file, Terri would write whatever she wanted. And Terri had enough ammo to blast
Vitriol
, Cici, and all of Worldwide.
Kiki left the shower running and slipped into the hallway. She wanted to read Terri’s article, and now was the best time. Terri was being more than a little cagey about what she was writing, alluding to all kinds of possible story lines and bits of gossip—bits of gossip that although tolerable within Hollywood, were unacceptable if outed to the general public. Kiki glanced toward the beach; she could just make out Terri lying between the two beautiful boy toys. Now or never.
Kiki opened the door to Terri’s room. The woman was a slob. When they were roommates, Terri threw her clothes around, and even now, forty years later, her floor was covered with pants, shirts, lingerie. Hadn’t Terri ever heard of a hanger? Kiki glanced at the desk on the far side of the bedroom. There, like manna from heaven, sat Terri’s laptop. Terri wrote everything on her MacBook Pro … and it was still open. The screen saver was a fantastic Annie Leibovitz photo of Terri with David Bowie, taken two dozen years earlier. Kiki pulled the door to Terri’s bedroom shut and walked to the desk. She sat and touched the finger pad. The screen sprang to life. There was Terri’s yet-to-be-filed Vanity Fair article on
Vitriol
. Kiki sat, inhaled, and began to read.
*
“You bitch!” Kiki screamed.
She ran down the hall toward the beach as fast as her knobby knees would carry her. “How could you?” She burst onto the sand where Terri reclined on a chaise lounge. The boys were nowhere in sight.
“Kiki?” Terri looked up, shielding her eyes from the sun.
“You’ve always been envious! Just admit it, you fat cow. Ever since I did Mick and you were stuck with Keith.”
“What are you talking about?” Terri asked.
“Your fucking article, that’s what I’m talking about.”
“You read my article?”
“Of course I read it. What are you trying to do? Destroy me?”
“That article is my private property,” Terri said. “You broke into my room and read my article!”
“You traitorous bitch. I got you that gig. I gave you that information—all of it off the record, I might add—and you’ve put it into a piece that is going out just before the Oscars?”
“I have confirmation.”
“From whom?’
“An anonymous source,” Terri said, a wicked gleam in her eye.
“Bullshit,” Kiki said. “You’ve never used an anonymous source in your entire career. Who told you?”
“I’m not saying. Now sit down and enjoy the rest of our holiday.”