Hollywood Hit (11 page)

At least the next reporter was someone Cici kind of knew. Hannah Hendricks had handled PR for Worldwide Studios for a decade before retiring from La-La Land to do celebrity news for some no-name nothing of a channel in Sarasota, Florida. Kiki skirted around the edges of the suite atop the Four Seasons. This half-hour break for hair, makeup, and some kind of lunch was nearly finished. Cici’s untouched salad greens lay limp upon a plate. Hunger sliced through Cici, but the need for her best-body sliced deeper.
Boundless Bound
would be green-lit as soon as Cici convinced Nikki that producing the film with her in the lead was a must. Then they would go into production if Cici could land the male star. She had one man on her list, one actor who could do the film justice and landing him—well that would be a coup.

Boundless Bound
would be her pièce de résistance. Adrenaline raced through her blood with the thought of the Oscars next year. She would be nominated. She would win. She closed her eyes and actually felt her hand grip the legs of that lovely gold man. She’d waited so long—gotten close only once before with a nomination when she was a nubile young starlet à la Jennifer Lawrence. Once Cici had become old news, there’d been no more noms from her fellow Academy members.

Some of her peers had garnered awards for the roles on which she’d passed. Specifically when her career had been fallow while she fucked around and married Damien Bruckner. Bile burned the back of her throat—she’d given up nearly three years of her career to that man, waiting for him to put his next film into production, only to be bumped and shamed by Damien’s notorious affair with Brie Ellison.

Cici hopped off the makeup chair and air-kissed Que a thank-you for making her look so good. He was magic with powders and brushes. She straightened her silk shirt and walked from the room into the attached suite. Lights burned hot and the cameramen were ready to begin the final round of interviews for the
Concession to Her Delight
junket.

“Cici, so good to see you!”

Hannah Hendricks, a tall, leggy brunette, still had her game. She sauntered across the room, both hands outstretched. Hannah looked quite glam for a woman slugging it out in Sarasota.

“Hannah,” Cici said and gave her the two-cheek greet. “It’s been ages.”

Hannah leaned in and clasped both of Cici’s hands. “I was so sorry to hear about your niece.” The faux concern in Hannah’s voice highlighted the false sincerity on her face.

With Hannah’s mention of Nikki, a tooth of anxiety bit into Cici’s gut. She settled her shoulders and took the director’s chair opposite Hannah. She maintained her smile, but her fingertips tingled. Something was not right. Something was quite off.

“Thank you,” Cici said. She scanned beyond the lights toward the far side of the room. Where was Kiki? The junket stipulations had been clear: no questions about Jeb, no mention of Nikki, and while Hannah’s comment was off-camera and off-mic, an unstoppable ball of fear congealed in Cici’s gut.

“Florida must be treating you well,” Cici said and shifted in her chair. She clasped her long, slim fingers in a tight knot upon her lap.

“Florida? Ha! I stayed for six months and couldn’t take it. The heat. The bugs. The absolute lack of culture.” Hannah leaned back in her chair and tilted her chin. A sly grin decorated her over-made-up face. “I’ve been at
The
Tattler
for nearly six months now.”

Cici’s lips tightened the tiniest bit, but she maintained her smile. Her nails dug into the backs of her hands.

The
Tattler
.

The
Tattler
was the newest, biggest celebrity news outlet eating up print rags and online distributors. With twenty-four hours a day of not only online celebrity news distribution but also a rich slate of reality shows à la
Housewives
they’d become the go-to for the worst kind of celebrity gossip.

“So tell me…” Hannah leaned forward as though they were besties sharing a latte and a scone. “How is Nikki doing?”

Iron bands closed around Cici’s rib cage.

“Nikki?” Cici’s plastered-on smile didn’t slip but instead tightened. She glanced past Hannah toward the giant camera devouring Cici’s every move, every gesture, every word. This question was definitely off-limits, but with the camera guy already rolling and appearing half-asleep and Kiki—where the fuck was Kiki?—absent, there was no way for Cici to safely exit.

Heat built in Cici’s chest. Rage over this moment, at the embarrassment and full-on fuckup by the studio PR team, by Kiki, even by Nikki. If Cici didn’t answer, she looked like an evasive bitch. If she told Hannah to stop the off-the-cuff questions and any portion of the tape leaked, she looked like a demanding bitch. And if she did what she really wanted to do and told Hannah Hendricks to fuck right off, then Cici looked like a prima-donna bitch. She was caught. Trapped. Without anyone to bail her ass out of this mess.

“So kind of you to ask,” Cici said with her most genuine fake smile. “I love having her in Los Angeles.”

Hannah shook her head from side to side and her eyes widened while the corners of her mouth turned down. “This thing with Jeb Schmaltzer must be so hard for her, especially after losing her mother not long ago.”

Cici’s mouth went dry and her throat thickened. She didn’t speak of her sister Lacey, not in public—this was a well-known rule.

“It was a difficult time for our family,” Cici said. She took a deep breath, and while willing her face to remain calm, she tried with her eyes to scream “Back off, bitch” to Hannah.

“Was Nikki shocked when she discovered you were her aunt? Wasn’t that around the time she was arrested for assault with a deadly weapon?”

The steel around Cici’s chest tightened. How had this woman discovered Nikki’s past? She and Ted had done everything in their power to make certain those facts would never be spilled.

“Hannah, your concern for my niece is so kind. As you know from your research, those charges were dropped. It was self-defense against a dangerous man who—”

“Was dating your sister at the time? He tried to assault Nikki while your sister was passed-out drunk, isn’t that true?”

Cici’s breath shortened. The lights were so bright and sweat trickled behind her ear. She couldn’t breathe. Pain, as if from a white-hot fire poker, seared into the space behind Cici’s left eye. Hannah glanced down at a pad of paper on her lap.

“Calvin Geckler is his name.” Hannah’s eyes darted up, beady little viperous eyes. “Do I have that correct?”

Cici didn’t answer. She’d never met the beast of a man. She’d merely hired the lawyer to protect Nikki and Lacey and done everything within her power to get the bastard put away.

“It seems Mr. Geckler got a prison stint in Tennessee after his attempted assault.” Hannah lifted her eyes from her horrible page of notes. “When is he out on parole?”

“I have no idea,” Cici said. “My family is my priority.”

“Indeed,” Hannah said and glanced down at the pad of paper on her lap. “I wonder if perhaps something similar might have happened in Jeb Schmaltzer’s backyard?”

Cici wanted to reach across the two feet separating them and wrap her hands around the bitch’s neck.

“Nikki is not a suspect in the Schmaltzer case,” Cici said with her voice firm but a smile on her face. She would fire Kiki after she kicked this bitch to the curb. Kiki was probably next door in the sitting area of Cici’s suite, chugging a bottle of wine. She’d become old and lazy and how had she let this happen?

“Right,” Hannah said, innuendo laced her voice. Innuendo that implied 'you are such a good aunt, but I know that’s what you have to say.' “Not a suspect. But she’s not supposed to leave Los Angeles, right? I mean, the police department is most definitely classifying her as a person of interest, aren’t they?”

“Hannah, our family will do anything and everything the police ask of us. It is imperative that Jeb’s killer be found. I appreciate your concern for my family, but truly, Hannah, I don’t want to take all your time on my personal life. Don’t you have anything you’d like to ask me about the film?”

“Actually, Cici, I do. After the release of
Concession to Her Delight,
is it true you plan on starring in Jeb Schmaltzer’s last script? The script he was working on with your niece, Nikki? What’s it called?” Hannah did a fake head duck toward her notes. “Oh right,
Boundless Bound?
”

Cici pulled a smile from the depths. “Hannah," she said, "I never know for sure what my next film might be.”

*

“Kiki, what the fuck happened in there? Where were you? I’m done with you and I’m done with this junket.”

Kiki slouched on the chaise lounge in the suite delegated to Cici and her team.

“Darling, I’m sorry. The woman completely bushwhacked me, and I—”

“You what, Kiki? What did you do? You knew she was coming in, you knew when the interview was meant to begin. What you didn’t know was what outlet she represented.
The
Tattler
, Kiki? How did they even get a slot on this junket?”

“Darling, that is a question for your husband’s studio PR department.”

“Ted? You want to lay this on Ted?”

“No,” Kiki said and squinted. “Not directly on him, but on that incompetent flack he has running the studio PR department.”

“Incompetence seems to be the theme of the day,” Cici shot out.

“That man is the absolute worst. He scheduled the entire junket. He put Hannah on and also thought she was still with the Sarasota outlet, not with
The
Tattler
. Darling, I have the e-mail right here.” Kiki scrolled down her iPhone.

“Kiki, I don’t care if you have the entire e-mail tattooed to your ass. You are still meant to be in that room with me.” Cici’s arm shot out as she pointed toward the far wall. “You are meant to protect me from that shit, from that sideswiping, from my private life getting splayed all over the world.”

“Darling, I am one woman and I can only do so much. If Ted’s political persuasions and billions can’t seal Nikki’s criminal files, then what would you expect me to do?”

“I’d expect you to kick the camera man in the balls, knock over the camera, tell that bitch to get the fuck out and that the interview was finished.”

Cici took a deep breath and tried… tried… to rebalance her chi. She was yelling, she was emoting, and both caused wrinkles and lines.

“You knew you were going to have to get in front of this sometime,” Kiki said, her voice firm but soft. “Nikki’s past with her mother and with that horrible man was bound to come out.”

Cici closed her eyes. Maybe the unpleasant details would come out, but not now, most definitely not now.

“We won’t release the tape of the interview to her,” Cici said. “I know the studio has to sign off to release it and—”

“Too late, my darling, her assistant had an iPhone. She taped the whole thing from the back of the room.”

Nikki had been summoned. A summons she couldn’t ignore. She pulled her Toyota through the guard gate at Worldwide Pictures and past the palm trees and light brown stucco buildings. She angled toward Lydia Albright’s bungalow. Her aunt and her aunt’s powerful friends insisted that she come to the studio today because these infamous women were shipping her away from Hollywood. She’d caused a gargantuan amount of bad PR for Aunt Cici and now Nikki would be shuffled off somewhere far far away until the bad PR was no more.

Nikki parked her Toyota in front of the Albright Productions bungalow. Christina’s spotless white convertible glimmered in the sun. When was the last time Nikki’d had her Toyota washed? Seemed like an exercise in futility to wash such a battered car. She pushed open the squeaky car door. She stood and straightened her skirt. Crumbs from her scone rained from her shirt to the ground. Damn. She shouldn’t drink coffee and drive. She now wore a tiny mocha spot on her right boob. She tried—she truly did—to look put together and breezy. All the women who surrounded Nikki made looking good appear so effortless. Where Christina was all crisp linen and neatly upswept chignons, Nikki was crumpled sweaters and masses of unkempt, curly auburn hair. She shook her mane and patted her hand over her untamed locks.

Nikki rolled back her shoulders and leveled her chin. Fuck ’em. If these women wanted to kick her ass out of Hollywood, let them try. She wouldn’t get out of this town without at least giving them the semblance of her best fight.

Nikki entered the bungalow and cool processed air draped her body. The soothing noise of trickling water greeted her. Nikki sniffed… and sniffed again. The scent of eucalyptus wafted through the ductwork.

“Nikki!” Christina walked from her office, poised and polished. Her black skirt contained no wrinkles and her white silk blouse not one latte spot.

She gave Nikki the two-cheek greet. Nikki had always felt comfortable in the Albright Productions bungalow until today. The usual business of meetings and papers and phones felt oddly dulled.

“They’re all in Lydia’s office.”

Nikki’s belly lurched. All meant Aunt Cici and Aunt Cici’s former agent and now manager, Jessica Caulfield-Fox, and Aunt Cici’s best friend and Christina’s stepmother, Lydia Albright—all of them powerful, all of them real, all of them perfectly put together (no scone crumbs or coffee drips decorating their shirts), and all of them ready to throw Nikki out of LA.

Nikki followed Christina to Lydia’s office as if following an executioner to a firing squad. They wouldn’t be mean or unkind—she’d met all these women before and they were gentle with her, but they were… they were… formidable. They scared the fucking bejesus out of her. What with their multi-hyphenate success, and their cut and colored hair, and their Nanette Lepore suits, and their box-office-bashing films, they encapsulated everything Nikki wished to achieve.

She entered Lydia’s office behind Christina and where Christina glided across the floor, Nikki stumbled over the rug. Her hand shot out and clutched the chair beside the office door as she caught herself and prevented an imminent face-plant onto the floor.