Authors: Havana Adams
“Angelina, what’s happened? You can tell me anything.” Talia
moved to put an arm around the girl’s shoulders but was surprised as Angelina
stood up, shaking her off.
“I thought you were my friend?” The confusion in Angelina’s
wide, tear-filled brown eyes shocked Talia.
“Of course I’m your friend. What do you mean?” But Talia’s
question would not be answered and with a strangled sob, Angelina dashed
towards her parked Mini Cooper. Jumping in, she fired the engine up, her tyres
spinning in the gravel before she raced away. Talia shook her head; the day
just kept getting stranger and stranger.
“Could
you get on to research, what was the exact cause of death of Jordan’s
stepfather in episode 467?”
Talia launched the question across the office at Olly who had
just come back in from lunch. He seemed surprised to see her back at her desk
and hard at work. Talia looked up at him, he really had been even stranger than
usual all day.
“What’s up with you today?” she asked curiously. Olly moved
towards her, hovering nervously and then he dumped a stack of daily newspapers
onto her desk.
“You should see these,” he muttered. Instinctively Talia felt
her stomach freeze.
“Dammit,” somebody hasn’t leaked the Christmas storyline have
they? Or lost a script on the tube?” Talia snapped. Leaks like these were the
nightmare of all storyliners and she felt her heart in her mouth.
“Just read,” Olly urged.
Talia glanced down at the familiar red top of the country’s
bestselling tabloid newspaper and she froze. Her attention riveted by the
blurred but unmistakeable image of Angelina Starling, the nation’s innocent
sweetheart, caught in what could tamely be described as a compromising
position.
“Oh fuck...” Talia sifted through the other front pages,
which also carried the same image. The headline screamed out at her.
Brief
Encounters of a Sex Kind
.
“What a
fucking mess.” Talia glanced up at Olly, he seemed to be watching her closely
to gauge her reaction. “Where are these from?” She demanded.
“Last night, after the party. Someone took the pictures on a
mobile phone and leaked it to the press,” Olly responded quietly.
“Poor Angelina, no wonder she was in tears.” Suddenly a
thought occurred to Talia. “You’ve known about this all morning and you didn’t
bloody tell me?” Olly paled but before Talia could launch into a tirade, the
door opened. Talia went cold; it was Rick Cole, their boss and as much as a
petite gay man with a taste for clothes in primary colours could, he looked
furious. His skin, always red and mottled from drink and too much St Tropez
tanning, was now puce with rage.
“Talia, in my fucking office now!” The bellowed words were
followed by a sharply slammed door, which rattled in its doorframe and shook
the awards hanging on the wall. With a gulp, Talia moved round her desk, to
follow her boss. Her eyes darted once again to the front cover of the
newspaper. With a sense of deep foreboding she recognised that this day had
just gone from bad to seriously worse.
“She’s
Fired. Tell her she’s fired if I don’t get a call back in five.”
Alex slammed the designer telephone back into the ornate
receiver with a wince. He’d been back from Mexico for less than 5 hours and he
wasn’t used to being kept waiting and yet five calls later, he’d still not
managed to speak to his agent. In the ten years since she’d approached him, as
he’d clutched his Oscar in his sweaty palm, Avital had been true to her word.
She’d promised to make him a star, and a star he was. His face was plastered
across Times Square in New York and on Sunset in LA. He’d had Royal Gala
Premieres at Leicester Square in London. He’d broken box office records and had
joined the elite rank of actors; Brad, Tom, George, Bruce, who were known only
by their first names and who could command millions just to advertise beer and
Cigars in Japan. He’d become that rare breed of actor, one who could open a
film. And yet doubts niggled at Alex as he lounged on the terrace, back in his
multi-million dollar Hollywood Hills home. Since he got back to LA, things had
gone from shit to worse. His assistant Shay, who’d been threatening to quit had
finally gone and walked out on him, while he was in Mexico and now Avital
seemed to be sidestepping him. He’d resolved to call his manager Johnny, when
he remembered that he’d fired Johnny and hadn’t yet got round to replacing him.
Alex moved towards the golf clubs that he’d dragged out of the guest bedroom that
morning. He tee’d up a shot, setting a distant tree in his sights when his
phone began ringing.
“Yes,” he barked curtly.
“Alex, darling, why so brusque?” Avital’s New York drawl
grated down the line and Alex was reminded of the sound of a cement mixer.
“Avital, darling, I’m not feeling the love,” he replied
tersely.
“Oh Alex, you know I love all my children equally.” Alex
gritted his teeth, he didn’t like the sound of that. The fact was, when he’d
been her biggest client, Avi had lavished attention on him, but since a recent
batch of new signings poached from a rival agency, he had sensed that he didn’t
have Avital’s undivided attention the way he used to. Alex sighed deeply. He
loved LA, had grown to love it, but days like today, he hated the bullshit and
the fakery.
“Cut the bullshit. What’s going on?” There was a moment’s
silence on the line and then the sound of a deep breath being taken. Alex
allowed himself to imagine that he was just being another paranoid actor, that
Avital would reassure him and they’d get back to business.
“Darling, the thing is, the studio are having doubts.”
His blood ran cold.
“Doubts about what?” He barked the words out, any attempt at
calm forgotten.
“It’s been a bad year for the business, sequels aren’t doing
what they used to, the big guns aren’t firing at the box office and some
two-bit schmuck from Wichita makes a horror movie with his Ma and Pa’s camera
and takes home $100 million.”
“What does that mean for me?” Alex asked fighting to master
the cauldron of rage and anxiety that was building in him.
“The thing is everybody’s being cautious. They love you at
Centurion, but studios have been hit hard by this recession, no one can afford
to take a risk and miss, not if they want to keep their job.” Alex gritted his
teeth wishing Avital would get to the point. “Look, your last film,
under-performed, but who knew so many kids would want to see a 3D dog find his
way home. Everyone knows that wasn’t your fault. I’ve got some great scripts
and offers on the table.”
Losing patience Alex barked out the burning, unspoken
question. “Avi, what about Defender, that’s my movie, I brought it to the
studio, I got Milo on board to produce, I talked with Cole...” In Avi's deep
indrawn breath Alex knew he had his answer.
“They’ve decided to go with Max Maguire.” Avital said the
words quietly without inflexion. “Alex, Alex…” But Avital was talking to thin
air because almost without thought, Alex had flung the phone high and far into
the air so that two streets away it clattered onto the sidewalk a mangled
broken mess.
Three
hours later, when a session on the treadmill and a round with the punch bag in
his home gym had failed to diminish his fury, Alex drifted round the house,
still at a loss about what to do with himself. Wandering through a kitchen that
he’d rarely ever been into, Alex spotted a wine rack. He grabbed a bottle
barely glancing at the label and worked the top open, after spending several
minutes figuring out how to work the fancy corkscrew. He was tempted to hit a
bar, but if news of Max Maguire signing on to do Defender had broken, Alex had
no desire to be seen drowning his sorrows publicly. In LA there were always
eyes watching. As he tipped the contents of the bottle into his mouth, he
flicked on the television but as he caught a glimpse of Isabella on the arm of
Max Maguire, apparently Hollywood’s latest “IT” couple, he snorted a sound of
contempt. Christ that bitch worked fast. Tossing the remote aside, Alex prowled
about the house. He’d bought it two years ago but what with being on location
and the extensive remodelling, he’d spent less than a month in the place and
now he paced like a caged tiger, a stranger in his own home. In the home
office, Alex powered up the Mac computer, that he’d seen Shay working on, but which
he himself had never actually used. He stared blankly at the massive screen as
it promoted him for a password. Christ, how was he supposed to function? Fine
he thought, he’d have to get Shay back.
All
of his life, Alex had been good at coming up with plans, but his problem always
came in the execution. He’d backed his black Porsche out of the garage barely
aware of scraping the bodywork against the wrought iron gates as he exited his
driveway. He meandered around and around the winding hill roads for several
minutes before the GPS finally kicked in and he found himself on Sunset,
driving in what he hoped was the general direction of Shay’s apartment.
With the top of the Porsche down, Alex
allowed the cool night air to whip through his hair, the coolness awakening his
senses, which had been dulled by his solitary drinking session. As he hovered
at a traffic light, a girl in the adjacent car shot him an appraising look and
then he saw her double and then triple take as she registered the face in the
car next to her. Alex watched the look in her eyes, the lowering window, the
offer that would be there lurking and even as she opened her mouth to speak,
he’d roared off as the lights changed to green. Flicking the radio on, Alex
rested one hand loosely on the steering wheel, the other hand running
absentmindedly through his hair. LA was supposed to be easy he thought. His
eyes drifted to the groups of people walking down the sidewalk, queuing to get
into the hottest clubs – Viper Room, Shadow Lounge, Galore…. Everybody
jostling for their fifteen minutes of fame. And suddenly he was assailed by a
crippling fear
- his fifteen
minutes had lasted ten good years but were they now over? He’d always assumed
somehow that the gravy train would continue forever that he’d bow out on a high
somehow. He’d never liked those slow death scenes in books that went on for
pages, chapters even. He was a put a dog out of its misery kind of guy. But
what he hadn’t counted on was this fear that now gnawed at him. He was Alex
Golden, movie star, modeliser, screen god. He’d forgotten how to be anything
else… The shrill sharp sound of a horn startled him out of his maudlin train of
thoughts and Alex immediately steered the car back into his own lane but
moments later, in his rear-view mirror, he caught the flickering blue and white
of a squad car and then the siren pulling him over.
Alex steered the Porsche off the road. Shit, he thought as he
glanced down at the empty bottle on the floor by the passenger seat. What had
he been thinking? He took a deep breath and prayed that he wasn’t over the
limit, the bottle was still half full. Leaning his head back against the
headrest, Alex closed his eyes as he waited for the officer to reach his car.
“License and registration.” The voice was low and feminine,
sexy and Alex’s eyes flew open to come face to face with a stunning cop. She
was leaning down to peer at him through the window and from the look in her
eyes, Alex knew that she had recognised him. “Licence and registration.” She
repeated her demand with a knowing smile playing on her face.
“Right, I’m not entirely sure where... I mean I’ve not driven
this car in a while…” Alex trailed off and shot her one of those boyish smiles
that played so well with test audiences.
“Sir, do you realise you’ve been weaving across lanes.”
“I’m very sorry, I’ve been away and the jet lag.” He watched
as her eyes darted to the empty bottle. “Seriously.”
“Look I’m sure you’re just tired. So perhaps you just drive
on to where you’re going, carefully.” Alex could scarcely believe his luck.
“Thank you officer,” he said mustering up some sincerity. “Is
there anything I can do for you?” Now she leaned back and Alex’s eyes lingered
on the snugness of her uniform before he dragged his eyes back up to her face.
“Well a picture would be good. My girlfriend, she’s a big fan
of yours.” A girlfriend, Alex’s eyes widened with appreciation as possibilities
filtered through his brain, he caught the knowing smirk on the cop’s face and
he forced himself to rein his imagination in.
“Sure thing.” Alex nodded, as the cop snapped a photograph
with her phone. Back on firm ground, he smiled widely watching in the rear-view
mirror as she walked back into her squad car.
By
the time he finally pulled up outside Shay’s apartment, what little alcohol
there’d been in his system had dissipated leaving him stone cold sober. He left
the engine running looking up at the Art Deco block of apartments as it
occurred to him that he had no idea what number Shay’s apartment was. But short
of ringing all of the forty or so buzzers, he’d have to call her and hope she
was ready to talk to him. Alex flicked the engine off. Then he groaned a sigh
of frustration as he realised that he’d left his cell phone at the house.