Damage Control (The Hollywood Series Book 2) (16 page)

She turned toward Jill, who was so pale that her freckles stood out in stark contrast.

Jill leaned closer to the microphone, shifting some of her weight onto Grace. “I found out last year that I suffer from MS—multiple sclerosis.”

A collective murmur went through the conference room. One or two of the reporters even had the decency to look ashamed for the bullshit they’d been writing.

Jill lifted one hand, asking for silence. “Most of the time, I manage just fine,” she continued, skipping over the list of symptoms in Lauren’s original statement, “but the long days on set take their toll, so Grace helped me when I was too exhausted to make it back to the trailer alone.” She turned her head to look at Grace.

To Grace’s surprise, tears shimmered in Jill’s green eyes.

“She has been a good friend to me throughout a very difficult time in my life, and I ask you not to repay her kindness by spreading lies about her. Thank you.”

Lauren stepped up behind them. “We will now take a handful of questions, but we ask you not to tax Ms. Corrigan’s energy too much, so please stick to relevant topics.”

Every reporter in the room raised his or her hand. A few waved like overeager students.

A lump formed in Grace’s throat as she waited for the first question. She was grateful for Lauren’s soothing presence behind her.

Lauren pointed past Grace to one of the reporters in the first row. “Mr. Abner, right?”

“Yes.”

“Go ahead and ask your question,” Lauren said.

The man stood. “How long have you known about Ms. Corrigan’s…condition?”

Grace relaxed a little. She glanced at Jill, who gave her a nod. “She told me right before we started shooting
Ava’s Heart
.”

“Will you give up acting?” another reporter asked, addressing Jill.

“Hell, no,” Jill said.

Several journalists laughed at the energetic response.

“Seriously, I will continue to act for as long as possible. The kind of MS I have is called relapsing-remitting, which means that I get episodes of symptoms and then fairly long periods of remission.”

“But won’t your symptoms get worse over time?” another journalist asked.

Jill shrugged. “They do for about fifty percent of patients with relapsing-remitting MS, but I don’t know yet if that’s true for me too. I’m hoping for the best, but I’m prepared to muddle through even if the symptoms get worse.”

Grace squeezed her softly, once again impressed with her friend’s braveness. She didn’t want to even imagine how she would handle having a disease like MS.

“Ms. Corrigan, can you confirm what you said about your sexual orientation yesterday?” another reporter asked.

Jill lifted her head and looked directly at the man who’d asked the question. “Yes. I’m a lesbian.”

After Jill had answered two other questions, Lauren said, “All right, ladies and gentlemen. One more question, then let’s wrap this up.”

Before any other reporter could step in, a man in a tweed suit rose in the last row.

Grace knew him. He had followed her career for various magazines and newspapers over the last twenty plus years and had practically watched her grow up. While they weren’t exactly friends, the articles he wrote about her had always been favorable, so she breathed a sigh of relief and nodded at him to ask his question.

“Ms. Durand, while I commend you for your loyalty toward Ms. Corrigan, isn’t it true that your relationship with your husband is less loving?”

It stung that this probing question came from him. Forcing down her anger, she looked him straight in the eyes. “If you’re asking whether I’m having an affair, the answer is no.”

“What about Mr. Sinclair?” Abner asked. “Is he having an affair?”

Grace’s mind reeled. How could she answer that without lying? “Nick would never cheat on me behind my back.” Technically, it was the truth. While Nick was with someone else now, it had happened after their separation and he’d been up-front about it.

“So everything’s fine between you and Mr. Sinclair?” Abner asked. “He didn’t move out of your villa and into an apartment in Silver City?”

Damn.
How had he found out about that? The apartment in Silver City wasn’t even in Nick’s name. She glanced at Lauren, hoping she’d step in and end the press conference, but Lauren almost imperceptibly shook her head. Grace understood. If Lauren cut off the reporter’s question, it would have the same effect as saying “no comment.” It would make the media even more suspicious, so they would dig deeper to find out what was going on.

Before Grace could think of something to say, Nick walked past Lauren and pointedly wrapped one arm around Grace and the other around Jill. “Since I’m here, why don’t you ask me directly, Mr. …?”

“Dinsmore,” the reporter said. His gaze drilled into Nick. “So, why did you move out?”

“Who says I did?” Nick countered. “I’m just staying in the apartment in Silver City for a few weeks. It’s more convenient right now, since it’s so close to the studio where I’m shooting
Hard as Steel III.
I will continue to live in the villa in the future.”

Which was true, since Grace would move out once they no longer needed to hold up appearances.

Nick pressed a kiss to Grace’s cheek. “We love each other,” he said, radiating sincerity. “My wife never cheated on me, not with Jill and not with anyone else.” He paused and then grinned and winked at the reporters. “Even though these two would be damn hot to watch, don’t you think?”

The reporters laughed and started to gather their notes.

Grace didn’t know whether to kiss him or to kick him in the shin for that last remark. “I seriously underestimated your acting skills,” she whispered as the last of the journalists filed out of the room. “Thank you.”

He let go of her and Jill and stepped back. “You’re welcome. I need to get back on set. We’re working on a new stunt.”

“Be careful, please,” Grace said.

“Will do.” He walked off, passing Lauren on the way to the door.

“That went well,” Lauren said as she joined them. “Although I could have sworn there was a sentence or two about the symptoms of MS and how they affect you somewhere in that statement.” She gave Jill a pointed look.

“Oops.” Jill grinned. “Guess I forgot to mention that. You do know that MS can affect people’s memory, right?”

“Right.” Lauren looked at her for a moment longer before turning to Grace. “The media circus should settle down now, but try to lay low anyway.”

“You mean no climbing walls in stilettos at midnight?”

“None of that,” Lauren said sternly but then cracked a smile.

Grace smiled in return. “Okay.” She wouldn’t miss the tabloid craziness and being hunted by the paparazzi. Still, she had enjoyed working so closely with Lauren the last three days. A strange feeling of regret washed over her, but she quickly shook it off.

“Do you want me to drive you home now?” Lauren looked back and forth between Grace and Jill, who’d both driven to the CTP offices with her.

“That’d be nice,” Grace said. “Can you drop me off at my mother’s? I still need to pick up my SUV from her.”

“And tell her about the press conference,” Jill added.

A groan escaped Grace before she could hold it back.
Oh, God.
She’d forgotten about that or maybe shoved it back into the recesses of her mind. But, of course, she had to face her mother sooner or later.

“Is that going to be a problem?” Lauren asked.

“No. I just forgot to tell her with all the chaos going on yesterday and this morning.”

Lauren kept studying her with her much-too-perceptive gaze. “Do you want me to tell her?”

“Thanks, but no.” This was something she had to do, or her mother would be even angrier with her.

“Are you sure?” Lauren asked. “Remember we’re trying to avoid making headlines, including one about Grace Durand being clobbered to death with her mother’s makeup case.”

Amazing how she could make Grace laugh even in the tensest of situations. Grace chuckled and put her hand on Lauren’s arm for a moment. “I’m sure. Thanks, though. I appreciate the offer.”

Lauren looked down at the place on her arm where Grace’s hand had been a second ago, then cleared her throat and jingled her keys. “All right. Then let’s get going.”

“I gave you the security code. Why do you keep ringing the doorbell?” her mother asked when she opened the door.

Grace stepped into the Beverly Hills home. She’d lived here for a few years as a teenager, but it felt even less like a home than her mansion in the Hollywood Hills. “I didn’t want to give you a heart attack by walking into your home unannounced.”
The way you keep doing,
she mentally added.

“Ah, pish-posh.” Her mother peered over Grace’s shoulder before closing the door. “How did you manage to lose the paparazzi?”

“Um, why don’t we take a seat in the living room?”

Her mother dug in her high heels and stopped in the middle of the tiled foyer. “What’s going on?”

There was no way to delay the inevitable. She took a deep breath and said, “The paparazzi backed off because we just held a press conference and gave them the information they wanted.”

Her mother’s mouth gaped open. She looked at Grace as if she’d just told her that aliens had landed in her backyard. “You…you held a press conference? Without me?”

Grace bit her lip.

“I have been there for every press conference, for every single event in your entire career, from the moment your backside became the official derriere of Dry ’n’ Tender Diapers! I changed all of those diapers too! I gave up my own life to get you where you are today, and now you suddenly no longer find it necessary to at least let me know or ask my opinion?”

For a moment, Grace contemplated telling her that she hadn’t asked her to give up her life or to be dragged to cattle calls when she’d been a toddler and to spend her childhood in front of a camera, but, once again, she held back, not wanting to open that particular Pandora’s box. “I’m sorry, but we couldn’t wait—”

“We?” Her mother’s voice went quiet. Dangerously quiet, like the silence settling over a town before a tornado blew through.

Grace swallowed. “Jill, Nick, Lauren, and I.”

“I see.” Her mother stalked past her and strode into the living room, where she stood by the window and stared out.

Grace squeezed her eyes shut, stood in the foyer with slumping shoulders for a moment, and then followed her. “Mom…”

Her mother held up one hand but didn’t turn around. “No, that’s all right. I understand. You’re listening to other people’s advice now and don’t need me anymore.”

God, how Grace hated that exact tone of voice. Still, it never failed to have its desired effect—making her feel guilty. “That’s not true.” She pulled her mother around by one shoulder. “I still value your advice and always will.”

“Then why didn’t you talk this through with me? That’s not like you, Grace. You’ve never made any decision without consulting me first. At least not regarding something that could affect your career.”

“I just forgot to tell you. Things were so crazy yesterday, and then we ended up staying at the cottage, where I don’t have cell phone reception most of the time, and this morning—”

“We?” her mother repeated.

“Um…”
Shit.
She’d jumped out of the frying pan, right into the fire. “Lauren drove me to the cottage and then stayed because you still had my SUV and she didn’t want to leave me without a car.”

“How considerate of her,” her mother said, sounding anything but appreciative.

Grace studied her mother’s face. What was it about Lauren that made her dislike her so much? Grace didn’t get it. Was it just the fact that she was a lesbian? Or was it that Lauren, unlike everyone else Grace’s mother surrounded herself with, told her straight out what she thought? Grace found it refreshing, but her mother apparently didn’t appreciate it. “Mom,” she said, treading carefully, “you were the one who fired Roberta and told George to find a new publicist.”

“Yes, but I never meant for her to repl—” Her mother bit her lip and turned back toward the window.

Was that what this was all about? Her mother was jealous because she felt that Lauren was replacing her in Grace’s favor?
Oh, for heaven’s sake.
Not for the first time, Grace understood why Lauren initially hadn’t wanted to get involved in show business. The egos of many people in the entertainment industry were so unbelievably fragile. “Mom, she’s not replacing you.”

Her mother didn’t answer.

Again, Grace pulled her around.

The tears in her mother’s eyes made her reach out and pull her close. “Oh, Mom.”

Katherine clutched her with both hands, clinging to her the way she had after Grace’s father had died.

Grace shoved that memory aside. She stroked her mother’s hair with one hand, even though the hair spray made it stiff and unyielding. “Lauren is my publicist, and I value her advice. That doesn’t mean I don’t value yours anymore. Where’s that sudden insecurity coming from?”

“I just don’t want you to shut me out of your life,” her mother said in a near whisper. “You’re all I have.”

“I won’t. I promise to involve you more in the future. Okay?”

Her mother sniffed and nodded against her shoulder. “Okay.” After a few more moments, she pulled away and wrinkled her nose. “You smell like dog.”