Impossible Glamour (8 page)

“What? Whoa, whoa, whoa! Ellen? Why so much hostility? I gave you a compliment.”

I spun on my heel, and teetered on the stair. The cool railing beneath my palm stopped me from tumbling down the staircase and falling on my rear. “If that is your idea of a compliment, then I completely understand why you’re here without a date.”

“What are you talking about?” He tugged on the cuffs of his dress shirt. “There are plenty of ladies who’d love to be here with the Webz. I simply prefer to go stag to weddings.”

“Really? You might be good at selling that story to your clients, but it’s not working on me.”

“Babe…” Webber lowered his voice to a whisper. “I’ll have you know the best and the easiest piece of ass is always found at a wedding. And that is not a word of a lie. Every single woman here will drink the Kool-Aid today.” He tilted his hand as though sucking down a glass of liquor.

What was he—a mime now too? I knew teenaged boys who were more sophisticated than this guy.

“The girlies all want to get married, and today they will remember why. Easy pickings for a guy like me.”

“Okay,
Webzie
, you go enjoy your easy pickings. I’m sure whomever you go home with tonight will wake up tomorrow morning feeling pretty darn proud that she went home with you. Of course, that is assuming there is someone here who is interested in your ‘Kool-Aid.’” With that I turned my back on Webzie.

“Thanks, babe!” Webber called after me. “I always appreciate a compliment.”

I just kept moving. “The Webz” might be great at being an agent, but he definitely didn’t understand an insult when he heard one.

I walked into the bridal suite, my lips pressed together as I tried not to cringe at the sickly-sweet smell of hairspray and body lotion.

“You look angry.” Amanda handed me a glass of champagne.

“Nope. Just shocked by the things that come out of Webber’s mouth.”

Amanda smiled and nodded her head. “He’s harmless. Actually, he’s sweet too. Poor guy. I’ve always thought if he’d find the right girl he’d be a completely different person.”

“Who are we gossiping about?” Lane walked toward us. She upended her glass of champagne and snagged another one.

“Webber, the Webz, Webzie if you know him,” I said.

“Oh yes, Webber. Friend to all women, hater of commitment.” Lane smiled. “One of these days he’s going to get hit so hard by love he isn’t going to be able to pick himself up off the floor.”

I took a drink of my champagne. “I can’t imagine what kind of woman would go for his line of bull, but I, for one, can’t wait to meet her.”

“To Webber’s future girlfriend.” Amanda lifted her glass and Lane and I joined her in the toast. “May we all get a chance to know her.” We clinked glasses and drank our champagne. None of us realized that Webber’s future girlfriend had been in the room with us all along.

Webber

“Steve, my man, I have the biggest series for you.” Steve was four bourbons and two scotches tight. He’d fallen off the AA wagon somewhere around the end of last year. I guessed he had another three months before he started his uphill hike back to sobriety. A blonde, maybe a quarter of Steve’s age, was molded to his side while two bouncing beauties eyed him from the bar. Damn, it must be good to be king.

“Did you see my girls, Webber?” He waved his drink toward the dance floor, and I turned to where arguably three of the hottest ladies in the world were rocking out to Maroon 5’s cover of Aerosmith.

“Yes. Yes, I did, sir. Might I compliment you on your outrageously good-looking gene pool. Beauty, talent…” My gaze landed on Ellen. Big Boy took notice. “And brains.”

Helloooo, nurse! Down Big Boy, what the hell? Ellen? My body was zinging for Ellen? Seriously a no-fly zone. Daddy dearest, who was a gun collector and world-class womanizer, would not look kindly on any dalliance that I and Big Boy might want to have with his brainiac daughter. No bueno. Mucho no bueno.

“A man’s children”—Steve took another pull on his bourbon—“they are his everything. Especially daughters. What is it about daughters, Webber?”

My eyes trailed over the gleesome threesome that now shook their “groove things, yeah, yeah” on the dance floor. “Well, sir, there are many fascinating things about your daughters.”

“Fascinating? Is that what they’re calling beauty these days? Those girls…ah my girls…they are
beyond
fascinating. There’s not a man in this room worthy of any one of them, and yet two men have stepped up to take two of my girls.” Another long swallow of bourbon. “I could do worse for sons-in-law. I like Sinclair. And Trick? Well, I’ve known him since he was a boy. They’ve both lived some life, so no worries there. Ready to settle down. Excellent providers. But my Ellen…” Steve sighed.

My gaze focused on Ellen. She danced between her two sisters, a giant smile decorating her face. Wow. Just wow. When she shredded the lack of self-confidence and actually lost herself in a good time, her smile, her joie de vivre, was bigger than Sophia’s or Amanda’s. How was that even possible? Hadn’t I
just
been commenting about her bag lady attire? Not tonight. Not now.

“My Ellen deserves a special man. Not anyone as cheap and shallow as all of us roustabouts and thieves that inhabit film and music. No, Ellen has the brains and the beauty and the opportunity to change the world. My God.” Steve turned to me with his eyes wide. “The woman could marry a future president, or an ambassador. Perhaps a Nobel laureate? Hell, Ellen, could
be
a Nobel laureate. There are no limits on what Ellen can accomplish, and I intend to put her every need first. Her every desire. She can do what no other Legend can—Ellen can be a success in the
real
world. Not this one of make-believe and pretend with movies and TV shows and agents.” He turned to me. “No offense, Webber.”

“None taken. I enjoy being a roustabout. Truly.”

Steve threw back his head and laughed. Score one for the Webzie. Yep, here in the industry we weren’t changing the world or curing cancer. Our work product was the choice between staying in and watching HBO or going wound for sound for the last action-adventure movie. Nope. Steve was right. Ellen, in that pretty little head of hers, had the potential to cure cancer, end world hunger, maybe even find world peace.

“Ellen is incredibly gifted. I feel privileged to know her.”

Steve’s face clouded. “Know her? What do you mean, you
know
her?”

“Through
you
, Steve-o. Through you and the family. I don’t
know
her know her in the biblical sense. No siree, Steve. Not in the biblical sense, come on.” I slapped my hand against Steve’s back. “I’m an agent, the king of thieves and a scum-sucking lowlife. Not only do I have no talent of my own, but my only pleasure in life is to cater to the needs of the talented. So yeah, me and Ellen? Hello in passing. Not even good enough to walk in her shadow.”

Again, Steve’s laugh boomed through the room. “Webber, you may be the funniest agent I know.” He shook his head and his vision cleared. The bourbon had taken him for a moment, that and thoughts of me with his precious brainiac. And while Big Boy might have other thoughts with regards to Miss Ellen Save-the-World Legend, Big Boy no longer ruled the show. Well, not since around when I turned twenty-two (okay twenty-five).

Down fella. Woof woof.

“What is this opportunity you mentioned?” Steve stood and slipped the blonde from his knee as though tossing a sweater onto a chair. He put his arm around my shoulder and we walked to the bar.

“Jameson Blake’s spy series just became available.”

We stopped at the long mahogany bar, and Steve waved three fingers toward the bartender who got out six shot glassed and filled each with bourbon.

“I’ve read those books,” Steve said. “Or the coverage. Didn’t they come out a while ago?” He handed me a shot.

“The first three, yes. But”—I leaned in to convey secrecy—“his agent just approached me and they only want you to play the lead. Said the deal at Worldwide was never good because Worldwide couldn’t get one of your slots. Now the books are available, and they want us to pick up the first three. Steve, it’s a steal. A gold mine. We could even fold the books into the Legend Series of films. I don’t know how we say no.”

Steve clinked his shot glass to mine and lifted it, and we tossed the bourbon back together.

My eyes watered. “Goddamn, Steve, it’s like lighter fluid going down.” I slammed my shot glass onto the bar.

Steve guffawed again and slapped my back.

“Get the books. Call Business Affairs and have Summit pick them up.”

Ruh ro. Business affairs would take weeks, maybe even months.

“Too slow,” I said.

Steve handed me another shot. Seriously? The shit I did for my career. We were doing all three, that was obvious, and knowing Steve we wouldn’t stop there. Oh no no no, once the Legend was on a roll? He rolled. We could end up in Vegas, or Tahiti, or Mozambique. The man had a private jet and he wasn’t afraid to use it.

“We have to move fast. We need to at least extend the offer by the end of next week.”

Steve clinked shot glasses with me again. And together we threw back shot number two.

“Damn! Hurts worse the second time.”

Steve laughed and slammed his shot glass onto the bar. He picked up the third set of shot glasses, handed one to me, and took one for himself. He lifted the shot and smiled.

“I was thinking you could use your discretionary fund,” I said.

Steve’s smile slid from his face. “The production company’s discretionary fund?”

I nodded. “Right. That’s why it’s there. So you can move faster than Business Affairs. I’m pretty certain we can get Summit to buy out the option once it’s approved. We just need to front the money from the fund.”

Steve’s forehead tightened and he lifted one brow. “Why the rush? If they want me so badly, then why can’t they wait for the studio that has my deal to make them an offer? I don’t get it. Are they shopping it somewhere else?”

Heat coiled in my belly. Damn, damn, damn. Steve might be drunk, but he’d been in this business since before I was a sperm and an egg. I’d misplayed my hand. I should have fronted the whole damn deal to him. The partnership track, how me being a partner would help us, how he was helping me… But my ego, my damn ego, hadn’t wanted to go that route. What if Steve decided that I was too junior an agent? That he needed a more senior agent with partnership stripes to be his guy?

“No, Steve.” I set the shot glass onto the bar. Time to get honest and humble. “So here’s the thing—”

“Daddy, come dance with us!” While Sophia was Ellen’s twin, Big Boy could tell them apart. They were both beautiful, but there was a keen sharpness in Ellen’s eyes that Sophia didn’t have. Ellen smelled of magnolias. Magnolias and mint. She smelled like…what the fuck…she smelled good, and it was my kind of heaven. I leaned forward, closed my eyes, and took another whiff. I…how many shots?

Ellen grasped her father’s shot of whiskey that still rested on the bar and tossed it back. Amanda and Sophia each grabbed one of Steve’s arms and pulled him toward the dance floor.

“I didn’t know you drank.” I upended my shot and shivered.

“I do. When I’m not doctoring or studying or imitating a bag lady.”

Heat crept into my face. Ellen waved to the bartender. “Can we get four more?”

He nodded and grabbed the shot glasses.

“Sometimes my mouth runs on a different speed than my brain.”

“Sometimes?” Ellen’s smile was huge, giddy. She leaned forward, close to my face. Too close. Damn. Heat sizzled between us. Heat and this kind of impulse that throbbed through my chest. What the fuck was that?

“Your mouth is kind of pretty.” Ellen raised an eyebrow and leaned back onto the barstool. “I like your mouth. I also like the smart things that come out of your mouth. You’ve got a good sense of humor, Webber. Sharp-tongued devil that you are.”

Four shots were lined up in front of us.

“Did Ellen Legend just give me a compliment?”

“She did. The Legend gave the Webzie a compliment.”

I cringed. “Okay hearing that repeated back to me sounds like the douchiest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Ellen lifted her shot glass. “To douchey sayings.” She laughed a giant laugh.

“To douchey sayings.”

Our glasses clinked and we downed our shots.

“Now”—Ellen spun toward me—“it’s time for you, Mr. I Am the Biggest Baddest Agent in Town, to get your ass onto the dance floor.”

I shook my head and tried to clear my thoughts. “You will not have to ask me twice.”

Ellen grasped my hand and pulled me out onto the dance floor, where I proceeded to let her shake me all night long.

Ellen

“You will not be driving.” Daddy grabbed the car keys from my hand. “Where is your sister?” He turned in a circle like a dog chasing his tail.

“Daddy? She left with Trick like two hours ago. Give me my keys.”

“Absolutely not. I have cars for everyone. Come see.”

I followed Daddy to the circle drive in front of his Malibu manse where Choo and Jackson had said their I Dos. There was, in fact, a town car ready and waiting.

“See, one for you,” Daddy said. “Sheila will be staying here.” A redhead in high heels jiggled across the driveway and clutched Daddy’s side. I was thankful that Mama had left earlier, long before Daddy started with the shots and the girls. I swallowed. Shots. I’d had a few. I pressed my hand to my belly. My stomach didn’t feel awesome, but I had tomorrow off and the next day and the day after.

“Don’t forget, doll, the car will be at your house by ten a.m. tomorrow. Be ready to vamoose! Your mama and I are adamant you get a little R & R. You deserve it, my little Nobel laureate.”

“Wait! Wait! Yo, I need a ride!”

Webber stumbled out the front of the Malibu pad, trying to zip his fly. He took two steps back. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, put it in lock there, Big Boy.”