Hollyweird (9 page)

ALY

“Think this is a Missmergency?” Des asked from the front passenger seat.

A Missmergency is when Missy sends out a dire page that really means “I want your attention. Now!” rather than an actual 911 sitch.

I shrugged. “Hard to say.” I'd tried calling my sister to find out what the deal was, but naturally she hadn't answered. “Knowing her, probably. Still, considering everything, we better check on her.”

Des twisted around to look back at me. “What about
… you know? Do we tell her everything?”

I thought about it for all of a second. “No, she'd never believe. Or she'd totally freak. Neither would be good.”

Turning her attention to Jameson, Des said, “Maybe your boss could call and convince her.”

“Not going to happen.” He shook his head as he whizzed past a pokey Pontiac. “I've never seen or spoken to him. Those texts were the first communication I've ever had from him.”

Des shrugged. “So we'll show her the texts.”

“She'll just think we're cranking her,” I said. “Not like we haven't done it before.”

“True 'nuff,” Des agreed with a little chuckle.

“Besides,” I admitted, “I don't want to disillusion her.”

Des chewed on her lip ring for a moment and then gave an understanding nod. “I get it.”

“I just couldn't do that to her,” I murmured. “She's a total PITA, but being an actress is all she's talked about since Mom died and I don't want to take that away from her. I'm afraid if we told her the truth, showed her the real Hollywood, she'd be crushed. To her it's all about making dreams a reality, not reality being the dream.”

I might not get along with Miss, or even like her most the time, but I couldn't strip away her tie to Mom. That would kill her. The truth about Dakota—about Hollyweird—would simply have to stay secret.

Des reached back and gave my hand a tight squeeze. “We'll stay mum, so she can stay a pain-in-the-ass diva.”

“Thanks,” I said with a light laugh.

When Des faced forward again, I caught Jameson's concerned gaze in the rear-view mirror and my stomach somersaulted. I held his look for three heartbeats, growing breathy with awareness, before I consciously snapped our connection.

Leaning my head against the cool glass of the car window, I stared up at the night sky. Not only had Jameson changed my entire perspective on life, on the very world, but he'd changed the way I looked at him.

Everything made sense now—why he'd seemed so conflicted about working for Dakota, his disgust with
Chastity,
his asking if I believed in angels, and his habit of watching over me so closely.

Wait … does he really only watch over me because of his job?

Sure, he looked out for both me and Des, as I'm sure he was duty-bound to do, but was I wrong in thinking he kept an extra-close eye on me? Without turning my head, I glanced back to the rear-view mirror and my gaze collided again with his.
Maybe not.
With a small smile on my face and a flush in my cheeks, I turned away and returned my gaze to heaven.

For the first time in two years I felt a sense of peace, of knowing, of not being alone. When Mom had first died, I'd felt so lost and lonely. Yes, I had Des and Dad, but my mom was a part of me, and me her; without her I felt incomplete. I'd wanted desperately to believe she was watching over me, but I couldn't. My faith had fizzled away. Now it had been restored. Sure, the world might be populated with vampires and demons, but it also had (fallen) angels and God.

And even Mom. Somewhere—a star winked at me—up there.

I still had questions, doubts, and fears, but I also had a new sense of security, hope, and even purpose. Whatever came next, and I had no doubt that Des and I had been
called
here for something, I would stand and face it.

The only thing that really worried me was that, like Jameson, I might be falling.

Falling for him.

Jameson

Aly had warned Missy about crying wolf, but that hadn't stopped her from raising a false alarm. Here we'd raced to the Wilshire only to discover her having a celebratory party-for-one.

“I rocked my auditions!” she squealed. “And they weren't just walk-ons. We're talking
real
roles with
real
dialogue. I've got another one tomorrow.”

Any other time her excitement would have been contagious, but we knew Dakota had ulterior motives for helping her. There would be no convincing Missy of that, though. Aly said she didn't want to disillusion her sister and I understood that—how could I not? For the most part, I'd already told Des and Aly that “I reject your reality and substitute my own.” I'd forever altered their world view, and, while they'd handled it shockingly well, that wasn't the kind of thing you wanted to repeat if you could help it.

“Aw, Missy,” Aly said to her hiccupping sister, “that's wonderful. How much
real
champagne have you been drinking?”

“Only one glass, sissy-poo,” Missy trilled, lounging sideways across an office chair in Hello Kitty pajamas and pink sponge rollers. “Or three,” she said as she held up four fingers.

Des giggled. “I like her better this way.”

“And I like you too, Desi-doo,” Missy said in a baby voice as she held her arms out for a hug she'd never ask for when sober.

Des rolled her eyes, went in for the embrace, and lifted Missy from the chair. “I'm gonna pour you into bed.”

“Good idea.” Missy nodded like a bobblehead. “Big day tomorrow and I want to be my best.”

“Next time you might want to skip the bubbly,” Aly suggested.

“Bubbly?” Missy repeated with a sloppy smile. “Yes, I feel bubbly. Oh, so bubbly … ” She suddenly broke into song, butchering
West Side Story'
s “
I Feel Pretty”
lyrics. “And I pity—”

“Your poor head come morning light.” Des improvised her own lyrics and wrapped one of Missy's arms across her shoulders, shifting her weight.

“Let me—” I said, stepping forward.

“No worries, Jameson. I've got Maria here,” Des said as she tugged Missy upright. “Why don't you two go out on the balcony? You need to figure out what comes next. If Dakota's got auditions lined up, he's one step ahead of us.”

“Oh, no.” Aly thunked herself in the forehead. “You're totally right. He's giving her exactly what she wants. If she lands a part, we may never get her away from him or convince her to go home.”

“No go home,” Missy murmured, her head lolling on Desi's shoulder. “Go to sleep.”

Des yawned in answer. “Sounds good to me.”

As they hitched and slid their way toward the bed, Aly grabbed my shirt and tugged me outside. “Got a plan?” she asked.

I didn't, but I felt ridiculously glad she wasn't leaving. I shouldn't, of course. An angel falling for a human is strictly forbidden, and I knew I'd never get my halo reinstated if I broke that rule.

“No plan yet,” I told her, breaking off my thoughts. “But I'll come up with something.”

She nodded and then gave me an impish smile. “You know how you get a song stuck in your head?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, all evening I've been singing Elvis's ‘
Devil in Disguise.' ”

Laughing, I said, “
Perfect
theme song for Dakota.”

She dropped onto a lounge chair, kicking off her black All Stars and tucking her feet beneath her. I figured she had to be emotionally and physically exhausted. Sitting in the seat next to her, I thought about wrapping my arm around her and tucking her head on my shoulder where I could stroke her hair—bad idea.

“I'm still having a hard time wrapping my brain around everything and I should be ready to bolt, but”—she gave me a small, embarrassed smile—“I'm glad we're not going.”

Giving in to a little temptation, I tucked a piece of hair around her ear and wished I could lean in to kiss her. “Me too,” I said hoarsely.

Glory be, I am in such deep sh—

She licked her sweet lips and my hungry gaze traced the motion.

“Uh, it's not going to be ea-easy, though,” she stammered. “We've still got three more days to get through before we fly out on Sunday.”

Three days of torturous heaven and hell with her.

“There's nothing else on the agenda from
EnterTEENment Magazine
,” she said. “They gave us some free passes and stuff, but that's obviously out, so … ” Her gaze locked with mine. “I'm—I mean, we're—all yours.”

I wish.

I cleared my throat so it wouldn't sound gruff with desire, but it did nothing to ease the intense awareness I felt for her. Rubbing my chin, I tried to re-center my thoughts.

Aly helped by saying, “We need to do everything in our power to keep Missy out of trouble.”

“You can't let her out of your sight,” I agreed. “I'll try to spend as much time with you as I can, but I still have to report to work and Dakota's sneaky, quick. One of you has to be with her at all times.”

Aly shook her head. “She is going to have a complete cow. Seriously. There's a reason why she hasn't been around. There's no way she'll let Des and me tag along. I can totally hear her: ‘Get lost! You're cramping my style.' ”

“Unless … ” I mused, thinking maybe we could twist Missy's perception.

“Unless what?” Aly asked anxiously.

“She's all about image and looks, right?”

“Um, yeah. To an extreme.”

“Then let's make her look important.”

“How do you propose we do that?”

“What does every self-important celeb have?”

“An ego?”

I laughed. “There is that, but I was thinking of something a little more
personal
.”
I pointed my thumb to my chest.

Aly's eyes lit with understanding. “A personal assistant! You. Are. Brilliant. If we tell her we want to help her nail her audition and offer to be her PAs so she can focus on herself, she'll totally buy it and we'll be able to follow her.”

“Like any good PA would,” I said with a smirk. “While you do that, I'll keep tabs on Dakota.”

“Excellent!” Aly slapped me a high five and declared Operation Entourage in effect, but just as quick her expression went from excited to dread.

“What's wrong?”

“I just realized what I've agreed to do,” she moaned. “We're going to be Missy's PAs. That's like giving TMZ an investigative reporter award. Given the least bit of recognition, they'd lose all control—now we're about to
encourage
Missy's diva behavior. Do you have any idea what kind of fresh hell she's going to put us through?”

“Do
I
have any idea?” I asked with heavy sarcasm.

“Oh, yeah.” She snickered. “Sorry. Well, at least we'll be able to compare war stories.”

“Can't wait.”

She shoved my shoulder. “All right, Mr. Undercover PA Angel. You got any advice for this newbie?”

“Kiss your pride goodbye and be prepared for anything.”

She frowned. “Gee, that's not at all negative.”

“Just truthful,” I pointed out. “Welcome to Hollyweird.”

ALY

I said I wanted a half-caf, double-short, four-pump, sugar-free vanilla, half-soy, half-breve, extra hot, no-foam latte, not this … this atrocity,” Missy snapped, rubbing her temples beneath the arms of her ultra-dark Tom Ford sunglasses. “Now pleeease get me a new one.” She rummaged around in her gold Louis Vuitton handbag, which she'd thunked down on the outdoor café seat next to her, before dry-swallowing two Advils. Then she shoved the offending Starbucks cup back into Desi's hands. “I cannot concentrate until I have my morning java.”

Desi's gripped the cup so tight I feared the lid would pop off in a geyser, that or she'd just dump the entire thing over Missy's sleek ponytail and white Roberto Cavalli pleated dress. Sitting in a chair opposite of our darling diva, I caught Desi's rage-filled gaze and gave her a “I know she's a bitch, but we have to do this” look.

Desi tilted her head and speared me with a dark “not on your life” glare.

“She said please,” I mouthed, trying to demonstrate that Missy wasn't entirely reprehensible.

Desi rolled her eyes and gave a low warning growl, which I took as bitter acquiescence.

“You really should take something for that indigestion,” Missy told her absently as she thumbed through a script.

A vindictive glint entered Des's eyes and she leaned toward Missy. “Sorry, just hungry. I was thinking about getting some ruuunny, oooozy, sunny-side-up eggs with extra-spicy, deliciously greasy chorizo sausage smothered with green chile, jalapeños, loads of onions, and gobs of melted cheddar cheese. Doesn't that sound—”

“Stop,” Missy pleaded before slamming one hand over her mouth and the other over her stomach. She closed her eyes and took deep breaths to stave off her post party-for-one nausea.

Desi waggled her eyebrows at me in satisfaction, then straightened and headed back into the coffee shop whistling a jaunty tune.

That was mean … but funny as hell.

I sucked my lips in to hide my threatening smirk. After Missy successfully fought off the queasies, she gave her script one last read-through and then slid it across the table.

“Run lines with me,” she said. Her tone didn't sound bitchy, but enough like an order that it set my teeth on edge. How were Desi and I going to survive being slaves to my sister?

“Please,” I said, unable to stop myself from prompting her toward good behavior.

She slid her sunglasses on top of her head and peered at me with pained baby blues.

“I'm sorry. I know I'm being a real pill this morning. I shouldn't have drunk so much last night. I'm just so … nervous.”

“You are?” I asked, unable to keep the surprise from my voice.

“Of course,” she said. “Dakota's given me a huge opportunity and I don't want to blow it. I was shaking in my stilettos yesterday.”

“I'm sure you'll do great,” I said.

“Great is not enough,” she said fiercely.

For the first time, I really looked at her. We didn't talk about Mom. We hadn't reached a point yet where we could talk about her without it feeling like we were opening a raw wound. But sometimes, maybe even most times, not talking about her felt worse. Now seemed like a good time to take that first step. I swallowed thickly and said, “I know you do this because of Mom.”

“You know, she did a lot of theater,” Missy told me with a soft smile as she toyed with the lattice tabletop. “Even some local commercials when we were little.”

I shook my head. “Wow, I wish we could see them.”

“You can! She had videotapes. I converted them all to DVD.”

“Show me when we get home.” I knew it would hurt to see Mom, but I really wanted to all the same.

“I used to watch them all the time. She loved to talk to me about her acting days, about the exhilaration of being in someone else's skin. The freedom she found in it. How she could be anyone, do anything.” Missy shot me a sly smile. “She told me I'd be a natural, probably because I'm a bit of a diva.”

I snorted my agreement and Missy grinned.

“But it wasn't until she died that I really, really considered acting. It makes me feel closer to her.” She shrugged her shoulders. “And I think she might be right.”

Silently, I picked up the pages for Missy's audition, a prime-time drama/soap called
Rich & Famous
, and nodded to her so she'd start.

“David,” she said with such yearning that I looked up from the script to make sure it was really Missy. “I love you, but this will never work.”

I stared at her as if she were a stranger until she waved her hand in a circle, motioning for me to read my lines.

“Oh. Uh, Kelsy, don't believe what Sammy told you. You know she's a drama queen.”

“It wasn't Sammy. It was your evil ex, Emma,” Missy spat.

“We have a history, you know that, but that's all it is,” I read, wincing at how stilted I sounded to my own ears.

“No,” Missy said with a sorrowful sigh. “I wish it were, but I sense something more between you two.”

“You're mistaken,” I said, getting drawn into the story. “There's only one woman for me. And that's YOU.” Okay, I might've put too much emphasis on that “you.”
Pull back a skosh on the overacting, Aly
.

“That's not what your sisters say,” Missy a.k.a. Kelsy said, with the perfect mix of accusation and anxiety.

“They're jealous,” I said, now mimicking a man's voice. “Amanda wants Alex, and since he refused her she thinks I shouldn't be happy.”

“And Ricki?” she asked, her brow pinched in doubt.

“She's scared about losing her older brother and being left alone.”

“She wouldn't have to be,” Kelsy said with heartfelt sympathy. “If only she'd see how much Chris loves her.”

“If only
you
would see how much I love you.”

“Ohhhhh, David,” she sighed in abandon. But at this point she got the giggles and totally broke character. “He's supposed to yank me into his arms and lay a big wet one on me. No way am I letting you do that.”

Remembering something from our childhood, I put my palms to either side of my mouth and made fishy kisses at her. “Come on, Miss. Kissy, kissy kiss.”

Her eyes widened and I could see the memory striking her like it had me. She squealed in laughter and I joined her, occasionally making new fishy faces. When I finally caught my breath, I was looking at her in a way I hadn't in a long, long time.

This was my sister.

“She was right,” I said with firm conviction.

“Who?” Missy laughingly asked.

“Mom.” My eyes teared up with the truth of my words and a new understanding of Missy. “You are a natural. And you're going to
kill
these auditions.”