Rugged(88)

Oh, who am I kidding. This is Hollywood. It’s always an on-camera fight to the death.

“I can’t believe you turned Davis down,” Suze says, as we each sip a glass of rosé. Well, I don’t so much sip as I drink my wine through a straw. Desiree, the makeup technician, doesn’t want me smudging anything.

“It was just going to get stale anyway,” I say, waving my hand. That’s good. Pretend you didn’t really want it. “No reason to do another season.”

“I don’t like you giving up your dreams over some guy,” Suze says. She angrily pops a grape into her mouth.

“It’s not just about him,” I say. I shrug, which has Desiree instantly smoothing the smock she’s draped over my shoulders. “I don’t want to be anybody’s monkey, which is what I would be if I’d agreed. Would any of the other executives let themselves be dolled up to play sexy and giggle on television?” Suze sighs; she knows I’ve got a point. “Men don’t have to do anything. If they push back, it’s a sign of a good leader. If I do the same, I’m not a ‘team player.’ Screw that.” I look into my now empty glass. “Flint is just the sexily confusing icing on the cake.”

“Still don’t like it,” Suze mutters.

“Yeah. Me neither,” I say. “But that’s show business.”



The limo pulls up to the Roosevelt Hotel, located in the glittering heart of Hollywood. Lights are flashing as I maneuver myself out of the car, keeping my legs together, careful not to do any flashing of my own. I walk the red carpet alone, pasting a smile on my face. Granted, Desiree actually painted one on, so I could probably scowl and still look cheery. Normally no one cares about the producer, but because I’ve been all over the press recently, right alongside Flint McKay: New American Dreamboat, people actually recognize me.

“Laurel! Look over here!” a cheery paparazzo yells, and takes a picture right in my face. It’s so bright I blink and make a weird, grimacing expression. The laughter that accompanies the snapping of pictures all around me suggests that it’s going to make a pretty picture on page five of Star Weekly. Lucky me.

I walk into the hotel, my bedazzled clutch purse in hand, my poppy red Dior gown moving on my body like a dream. Perks of being the star of the show: designers offer to dress me. As soon as I’m inside, there’s life-giving champagne. I grab a glass and walk through the lobby, down the red velvet rope lined avenues to the ballroom. Everyone is there, in a mad buzz of show business elite and old friends.

Callie and David are next to me in a heartbeat, which is a relief. Callie’s beaming, hanging onto David’s arm while he sneaks adoring looks at her. Well, if I did nothing else right, at least I get to see the two of them happy.

“The twins keep asking about you,” Callie says as we walk to the side of the room. “It’s all ‘Auntie Laurel this, Auntie Laurel that.’”

“Well, by Auntie Laurel she means blah blaaahh,” David says, doing a stellar impression of his children’s shrieks. Callie giggles and kisses his cheek. Man, they really have made up. I just hope the making up doesn’t escalate, or I’m going to have to leave.

“Great party,” Ed French says, also popping up alongside us. He’s wearing a three-piece suit with—I think—a crimson cummerbund. He frowns at me. “It’s over budget, of course. I’ll have to talk to accounting in the morning.”

“Work later. Party tonight,” I tell him. Then, of all people, Jessa pops up alongside him. The contrast between them is huge; Ed’s tightly wound formal wear clashes with Jessa’s one hundred percent hemp, off the shoulder sundress trimmed with turquoise beads. Jessa pokes at the V crease in his forehead.

“You must learn to find your spiritual center,” she says.

He laughs at that. It’s such a startling sound, like a very excitable seal. “I’ve never heard anything like that before.”

Jessa grins. “I feel a great force that lives inside of you.” She waves her hands in front of his face, around his shoulders. “Your mental energy is astonishing. The strongest I’ve ever felt.”

“Well, I did graduate summa cum laude from Loyola Marymount,” he says, perking up considerably. “Economics, with a minor in art history. Do you like the Pre-Raphaelites?”

“You would be a good student,” she muses, taking his arm. “I can help you locate your spirit’s essence.”

“Oh. Is it like a class?” Ed looks interested.

“Yes. A private class.” Jessa smiles slowly and leads him away from us. Ed looks a little bemused. I can’t tell if he knows Jessa is flirting with him, but I’m not going to clue him in. I’ve spent enough time trafficking in the love lives of McKays.

“Er, pardon us. We’re going to keep an eye on my baby sister,” Callie says, tugging David after her. I sip my champagne, watching everyone as they walk around, chatting about the show, about how much money it’s going to make. I should be enjoying this. But I can’t find it in me.

“I think Davis is looking for you,” Suze says, appearing magically by my ear. She’s wearing a kickass black Chanel dress, and a sour expression. “Heads up, I think Kinley and Flint are in the meeting as well.” She nods at the other side of the room, where a gruff, black-tie Davis is having a close conversation with Tyler.