Secrets of the Hollywood Girls Club (29 page)

“I will not enjoy anything. I’m not kidding, Terri, you tell me right now who tipped you or I will—”

“What? What will you do? Hmm?”

“Our friendship will be over,” Kiki sputtered.

“Oh, Kiki, don’t be silly. We both know too much about each other for our friendship ever to be finished,” Terri said. She lay back on the chaise to soak up the sun.

“I’m not kidding, Terri. You tell me now.”

“I’m not telling you anything, you crazy old broad,” Terri said. “No matter what you say.”

“Fine.” Kiki turned back toward the house and headed back to Terri’s room. She knew what she needed to do.

*

It felt like a giant Frisbee slipping from her fingertips. A five-pound Frisbee. The sun glinted off the computer’s silver top as it arced up over the Pacific’s waves, sailing through the air, much farther than Kiki thought she was capable of throwing. Pilates and yoga had made her stronger than she anticipated. Joy filled her as she watched the computer fly. That bitch. That horrible bitch of a woman whom she had pretended to be friends with for the last forty years. Terri had no idea what true friendship was, or how to keep things quiet. Discretion? Fuck, no. Terri wasn’t discreet. She was manipulative, she was mean, she was cunning. Terri was nothing like Kiki—a solid friend with true loyalty.

Kiki turned back toward the house. There’d be no way that Terri would ever file her story now.

“What did you just throw into the ocean?” Terri stood five feet from Kiki, her tree-trunk legs planted firmly in the sand. “I am a writer, and you just threw my laptop into the ocean,” Terri said. “A writer, Kiki, do you understand? And you threw my laptop into the ocean.” Terri walked slowly toward her. Kiki had never seen Terri’s eyes look so crazy, not even when they were dropping acid in the Haight with Tom.

“A writer, Kiki. Do you know what that means?” Terri asked. Kiki shook her head, glancing to her right and left for an escape route. Terri outweighed her by at least fifty pounds.

“It means I hope you’ve said your prayers, because I am going to kill you,” Terri said.

Kiki backed into the surf, trying to get around Terri. She bolted to the left, making a quick dash for the house, but Terri’s arms wrapped around Kiki’s knees. Kiki’s chin hit wet sand and she swallowed salty water as a wave crashed over her. She choked and spat as Terri grabbed her shoulders and pushed her under another wave. Her lungs burned; she couldn’t breathe. Blackness grabbed her as she sucked in saltwater.

*

Kiki choked and heaved. She rolled onto her side and vomited seawater.

“I am a writer!” Terri screamed. “She threw my laptop into the ocean!”

Kiki looked up at Carlos, leaning over her. “Kiki, you okay?” Carlos asked. Another wave of nausea bolted through her and she leaned to her right again and puked.

“A writer, do you understand? My laptop! My laptop in the ocean!”

Kiki slowly sat up and looked to her left. Terri strained against Robert’s well-muscled arm, trying to get to her. “You! You’re dead, do you hear me? Dead! I may have missed this time, but I know you, Kiki Dee. I’m coming for you.”

“Hey, stop,” Robert said. He pulled Terri toward the house.

“It was one laptop, Kiki,” Terri yelled. “I still have it all up here.” She tapped her head. “I’ll get another computer. I’ll file that story, and when I do, you and your clients, all of them, are dead. Dead! Even Steven. I’m not scared. It’s all coming out.”

Robert pulled Terri up the stairs.

“Do you hear me, you anorexic bitch? All of them, dead!” Terri screamed.

Kiki watched Robert push Terri into the house. Kiki looked at Carlos and inhaled fresh air. “Thanks for saving my life.”

Carlos pulled her slowly to her feet. “Glad we were here. Robert and I were on our way out for a walk. Two minutes later and it would have been just you and her,” he said.

Kiki shuddered. Her dead body could be drifting out to sea, never to be recovered. “Did you see the whole thing?” she asked.

“Oh yeah, from you walking down the steps with the computer to her tackling you in the ocean. Quite a scene. That old lady is strong. It took both of us to get her off you,” Carlos said. “Whatever was on that computer must have been pretty intense.”

Kiki looked toward the house. “Intense? Yes, I guess intense is the right word.”

*

The end-of-year holiday wasn’t quite over, but Kiki sat in her office and waited for Celeste. She assumed Cici wanted to meet with her so that she could have the pleasure of firing her in person. Kiki’s right eye was a bright purple seen only on exotic birds and horrible bruises. She had phoned Cici from the maid’s quarters on the island and told her everything, including the slant of Terri’s Vanity Fair story. Kiki then boarded a plane, alone, and returned to L.A. She figured she had a forty-eight-hour lead time (if that) to try to do some damage control before Terri filed her story.

“Kiki, darling,” Cici said, breezing into the office. “Oh my. You weren’t lying. You two really did have a go, didn’t you?”

“The best of friends make the worst of enemies,” Kiki said.

“So true,” Cici said. “Our friends know all our dirty little secrets, don’t they?”

“Every single one,” Kiki said. “And I’m afraid this time it’s going to spill everyone’s blood. Cici, I am—”

“Not another word,” Cici said. She glanced at her watch. “What’s your new assistant’s name?” she asked.

“Jilly.”

“Jilly,” Celeste called out. “When Miss Seawell phones, put her through.”

“Celeste, I am the last person Terri will call,” Kiki said.

“Oh no, darling. She’s going to call.”

“What? Why do you think—”

“I sent her a note asking her to,” Cici said.

“Celeste, darling, I know you are a very big star, but this tiff between Terri and me, you aren’t going to fix it with a note.”

“Miss Solange,” Jilly called from her desk. “I have Terri Seawell on one.”

“Put her through, please,” Cici called back. “Kiki, put her on speakerphone.” Kiki pushed the button on her phone. “Terri? Are you there, Terri?” Cici asked.

“Cici, darling, yes of course I’m here. Thank you so much for your note,” Terri said.

“Oh Terri, my pleasure. Did you enjoy the house?” Cici asked.

“Loved the house. It was absolutely divine.”

“You liked it then?” Cici asked. She looked up at Kiki and smiled.

“Adored. So I’ve rewritten my article,” Terri said. “I don’t know if you heard, but I had a terrible accident with my laptop while I was on your island.”

“No? What happened?” Cici asked.

“Some water got on it. Scrambled my hard drive, absolutely destroyed the entire thing.”

“Oh Terri, I’m so sorry. I can only imagine how horrible that was for you.”

“Well, being a writer, one does become inordinately attached to one’s laptop. But fortunately for me, I back everything up. So the only thing that was lost was my article for Vanity Fair. Are you with your publicist now?”

“Kiki? Yes, she’s right here.”

“I’m e-mailing you a copy of the article.” Cici looked at Kiki, who glanced at her own computer screen.

“You should get it in just a few minutes,” Terri said. “The article is lovely. I hope it helps your Oscar campaign and maybe ticket sales for
Vitriol
.”

Kiki opened the e-mail from Terri with the attached article. Her jaw dropped as she scanned Terri’s story. How had Celeste managed to get Terri to write this? “It’s fantastic,” Kiki whispered to Cici.

“Kiki loves it,” Cici said. “I’m sure I will, too.”

“Thank you again for the house,” Terri said. “And the pictures, too.”

“Not a problem. Let me know when you want to go again.”

“I will, darling. Ciao,” Terri said, and the line went dead.

Kiki looked up from her computer screen and over at Cici. “How did you do this?”

“Do what?”

“This! This article! How did you get her to write this article?”

“Maybe it was the gift I sent her,” Cici said.

“Gift?”

“Some pictures, of Terri. From the house.”

“Pictures?”

“Last year Ted had security cameras installed in all our houses. I had no idea about Terri’s fascination with black latex, did you?”

Kiki swallowed.

“Cameras? In every room?” Kiki asked.

“Every room,” Cici said. She stood, picked up her Versace bag, and walked toward the door. “Oh, Kiki, Pilates looks very good on you,” Cici said. “And so does Carlos.”

Epilogue: Dreams Do Come True

Mary Anne Meyers, Screenwriter

“Mary Anne, wake up,” Holden said. He nudged her gently in the ribs.

“Uhhh. What time is it?” Mary Anne rubbed her eyes and turned toward her bedside clock.

“Six o’ clock. They’re announcing the nominees.”

Mary Anne pulled herself up in bed and looked over at the plasma screen on the far wall. The two celebrity announcers looked way too perky for this early in the morning.

“Have they announced Best Actress yet?”

“No. Screenplay is next,” Holden said.

“Mmm, wake me up when they get to Cici,” Mary Anne said sleepily. She turned over and snuggled into the covers, letting the warmth of the down surround her. Mary Anne heard “And the nominees …” as her eyes fluttered closed.

*

“Mary Anne, wake up, wake up!” Holden shook her. “You missed it! Did you miss it?”

Mary Anne opened her eyes and watched Holden jumping over her on the bed. “Cici got nominated! I knew it!” she said.

“You just got nominated for an Academy Award!”

“What? You mean Cici just got nominated.”

“No! You! You just got nominated for
California Girl
.”

“But how?”

“You wrote it,” Holden said. “Wait, that’s the phone. And there goes your BlackBerry. Are you ready for this? You’d better get up and get showered because this is a big day. You’re going to the Academy Awards.”

Mary Anne looked at the television. There was her picture plastered on the screen beside the other nominees.

“Hi, Jess. Yeah, she’s right here. No, she missed it! I woke her up, but she fell back asleep.” Holden held out the phone to Mary Anne. “It’s Jessica for you. And your BlackBerry keeps buzzing.”

Mary Anne placed the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

“Congratulations!” Jessica said. “Little Miss Academy Award Nominee.”

“Thanks. Have they announced Best Actress yet?” Mary Anne asked.

“They just did.”

“Cici?”

“Not this year,” Jessica said.

“She’s going to be so disappointed.”

“But you. You are going to the Academy Awards! How great is that?”

“I never even thought about it. I knew they were pushing the film, but I didn’t think that I’d get nominated,” Mary Anne said.

“Well, you have been! So get up and get showered and dressed. I want you to come over to the office today. Let’s sit down and talk about how you want to capitalize on this.”

“Capitalize?”

“What projects you want? Long-term goals? What script ideas you have? Now is the time to get all those favorite ideas of yours going at the studios,” Jessica said.

“Okay. What time?”

“How about ten?”

“See you then,” Mary Anne said. She pushed the off button on the cordless phone and glanced at the television screen. Her insides started to tickle and she broke into a smile. She was going to the Academy Awards. She, Mary Anne Meyers from St. Paul, Minnesota, would forever be known as Academy Award nominee Mary Anne Meyers. Her heart began to beat fast. She looked at Holden. He was typing a message on his BlackBerry. “I’m awake, right? This isn’t a dream?”

He looked at her and smiled. “You’re awake. It’s all real, baby. It’s all real. There’s the phone. You want to get it, or shall I?”

“I got it,” Mary Anne said. “I’m sure it’s my mom.” She reached over and grabbed the ringing phone from the bed. No, she was awake. Right now her life just felt like a dream.

About the Author

Maggie Marr began her career as an attorney in Chicago. She was a guardian-ad-litem for abused and neglected children in Cook County. She then became a prosecutor representing victims of domestic violence. She began her entertainment career in the mailroom at ICM. Promoted within two years, Maggie worked as a motion picture literary agent representing screenwriters and directors. Maggie is a partner and film producer at Dahooma Productions. She is married, lives in Los Angeles, and has children.

Please visit her at
http://www.maggiemarr.com
.

Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Maggie-Marr-Books/168071873226783?ref=ts

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An Excerpt from Can’t Buy Me Love

Available March 2012

Chapter One

“Is it always this hard?”

For Cole Jackson there was only one answer to Meg’s question: Yes.

Every conquest was the outcome of a hard-fought battle, every win the results of a decimated other side, every challenge more difficult than the last. Otherwise what was the point? With ease came softness and with softness a swift defeat.