True Hollywood Lies (19 page)

He reached for his wineglass, took a sip, then looked me right in the eye. “I took on Louis because I felt he had the potential to pull it off for the long haul. Now . . . well, I’m not so sure.”

“Don’t give up on him, Jasper.” I don’t know why I felt the need to plead Louis’s case for him, but I did. “He’s just new to it all. He hasn’t figured out yet what he shouldn’t be doing, or what things will blow it for him. He’s one of the most talented guys out there, and the camera just eats him up. That’s why so many directors want to work with him.”

“They’re
all
talented. The problem is that they’re not all smart enough to know how to play the game—or to appreciate those who play it for them.” He smiled knowingly. “I’ve always admired how you are able to keep all of this in perspective, to wade through the crap and come out the other end unscathed.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that I’m
unscathed
.”

He nodded. “I’m beginning to see that. So then, my dear, why have you chosen to stick it out? I thought you’d be out of there in a flash, focusing on your star project and other things that are more—well, permanent.” He laughed. “I hope you don’t feel you have to stick it out because of loyalty to me.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Jasper. In all honesty, though, I’m not.”

He held my gaze. “I can’t imagine that you find it any more thrilling than you did when Leo was alive.”

I laughed. “No, the one thing I’m
not
is star-struck, if that’s what you mean.”

“Ah. I see.” His wan smile made me blush.

Why, he thinks I’ve fallen for Louis.

“It’s not what you think. There’s nothing—nothing intimate—going on between Louis and me. That’s the only way in which a relationship like ours could work, and we both know it.”

“That’s good to hear. Still, I’ve always felt that a fulfilling relationship—professional or other—works on many levels.”

Many levels
.

“Well, whatever Louis and I have certainly fits that description, too. It’s a lot like a carnival fun house: many doorways leading nowhere.” I laughed, but there was no humor in it. “I don’t know, Jasper; I guess that it’s wishful thinking on my part to presume that at least one of those doors will lead to . . . well, I don’t know what.”

“Approval? Trust? Loyalty? Absolution, perhaps?”

“Yes. All of the above.”

“Hannah, Louis can’t give you what you didn’t get from Leo.”

It always came back to that.

Well, if Louis couldn’t, then who could?

“Maybe not. Then again, maybe I’m sticking around because right now Louis’s life is easier to deal with than focusing on my own.”

“If you say so.”

“You sound like Mick.”

“Smart guy, that Mick. By the way, how’s he doing these days anyway?”

While the question was asked innocently enough, I knew otherwise: the all-knowing all-seeing Jasper was very much aware that there was trouble in paradise. After all, he represented Mick, too.

“He’s fine, really he is,” I said brightly. “He doesn’t fully understand why I need this right now in my life, but he accepts it.”

In truth, my decision to stick it out with Louis had put my relationship with Mick in an odd place. It hadn’t dampened our appetites for each other: on the contrary, our sex was just as fresh and exciting as ever. In fact, lately it had had a sense of urgency.

As if both of us were waiting for the other shoe to drop.

At any moment, I expected to see some telltale sign that Louis’s predictions about Mick were true, while Mick was anticipating my permanent defection to Camp Louis any day now. So we both held off on the one thing we both needed to give and get from each other:

Approval. Trust. Loyalty. Perhaps, even absolution.

Not that I could say any of this to Jasper. So I said this instead: “We’re taking it one day at a time.”

“I think that’s a great idea. In fact, that’s a wonderful philosophy to have regarding everything in your life right now, including your job—particularly since you never really took the time to grieve for Leo . . . Hey, why not take some time off? Louis can survive for a few days without you, believe me. Besides, it might be the best thing that ever happened to you—and to Mick, if you allow him to tag along.”

As I bowed my head, a tear dropped onto one of my crab cakes. Jasper handed me his pocket square, which I used to wipe another salty drop off my cheek.

“You’re right, Jasper. I owe it to Leo. And I owe it to myself.”

And I owed it to Mick.

I couldn’t wait to see him, to tell him in person.

* * *

Par for the course, the boys never showed up. Back at Louis’s, I spent the afternoon juggling the other appointments Louis had also blown off—his costume fitting for
Killer Instincts
; a meeting with one of last year’s Oscar-nominated directors to discuss if his and Louis’s work styles were “simpatico” (which, Louis just proved, was obviously not); and a guy-to-guy telephone Q&A with
Maxim
.

Where was Louis?

The phone rang and I leaped at it, assuming it was Randy returning one of the several messages I’d left since leaving Jasper. Instead, it was Ethan calling: He wanted to know why Louis had never shown up at the country club.

“You mean he wasn’t with you this morning? But Randy called and said that your tee-time got pushed back!”

Silence.

In Hollywood, either you’re a creative genius, or you’re a great bullshit artist who surrounds himself with creative geniuses and uses them to further your climb up the Tinseltown ladder. Leaving no doubt as to which talent he possessed, Ethan coughed nervously, then stuttered lamely, “Uh . . . well, I got called in to the studio. Gee, I guess they played without me . . . Um, I’m needed on the set, now. Just have him call me—” and rang off.

By the time the phone chimed again, I was at my wit’s end. Apparently so was Freddy, who, as predicted, was dealing with the fallout of Simone’s 15 minutes of infamy on
Chelsea Handler.

“The network is promoting the show as the ‘ultimate Hollywood horror story’! Chelsea goaded her into putting on all her diva moves, and she came off as a pathetic nutcase!” Freddy moaned. “Well, that’s the end of the road for milady Cavanaugh. Now, both she
and
the mutt will be eating Trader Joe’s cat food!”

“Look, Freddy, I’m sure it’s not all that bad. I mean, how many people watch the show? It’s late night, and it’s pay cable, right?”

“Yeah, you’re right. And it ain’t exactly
The Sopranos
.” He sighed. “Man, now
that
would have been sweet! Why couldn’t she have gotten knocked off by Tony Soprano instead?”

“Look, I’ve got to keep the lines clear. We’ve got a little emergency here, too. Why don’t we meet later tonight? We’ll think of some way to spin it differently.”

The “central casting” Denny’s on Sunset near Highland, so nicknamed because it catered mostly to aging B-movie and movie-of-the-week actors, was the Gang of Four’s usual hangout. “Can you call the others?”

“Hell yeah, I’ll make the calls,” said Freddy. “I’ll do anything to keep from having to inject the old lady’s ass with sheep placenta, which is the next item on
my
agenda.”

I blanched. “Doesn’t that have to be done in a doctor’s office?”

“Nah,” he answered airily. “Miss Simone paid for me to get my cosmetology license. She figures that’s cheaper than spending two hundred bucks a pop with the doc. And I figure, what the heck? It might become my fallback profession—if I can get used to staring at wrinkly old asses all day long.”

Enough said.

I was contemplating my own fate when I heard Randy’s car pull up. The car, a Corvette—a test-drive loaner from one of the many dealers who catered to Randy’s auto junkie habit—was low to the ground, which made it difficult for Louis, disheveled, distraught, and obviously stinking from too many scotch rocks, to uncoil himself and stand up without staggering. As Randy peeled off, Louis stumbled past me and out toward his bedroom, where he plopped down on his Cal King Dux. He ran a hand through his burnished curls just once then stared forlornly at the infinity pool undulating outside his window.

I followed him in but said nothing. For ten minutes I waited for him to acknowledge me first, but by minute eleven it was all too obvious that he was going to keep pretending that I wasn’t hovering overhead. I could live with that. But he couldn’t ignore his obligations to his career, too.

“We missed you at the Ivy.”

Annoyed, he growled, “Don’t worry about me. I’ve already had lunch.”

“I know. I can smell it on you.”

He gave me a bleary-eyed stare. “What of it? What’s it to you, Little Miss Goody Two-shoes?”

Why was he looking for an argument?
Personally, I wasn’t in the mood for his childish games. I opened my mouth to say something when he added venomously, “You know, Hannah, if only you’d been where you should have—”

“Where I—
what?
What are you talking about? With Jasper? Louis, I
was
there!”

He grabbed my hand and yanked me down beside him. “Not there, Hannah! Here! Beside
me!
”

There, with his face so close to mine that I could feel the heat of his warm, sour breath on me. I sat there quietly for a minute, then asked, “Louis, what’s wrong? What happened today?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. No. That’s not true, Hannah. Everything is—is so wrong.”

“What? What is it?”

He turned to face me. “I’m an ass—a complete sod! You don’t think I know that?”

“I don’t think—listen, Louis, Jasper wasn’t
that
upset—”

“Screw Jasper! This isn’t about Jasper!” His eyes widened in disbelief that I couldn’t read his mind. At the same time that his words poured out in a torrent of broken thoughts, he gasped for air: “My father did exactly the same thing! And me mum always said that I’d . . . ah, crap! My fans! When they—they’ll hate my guts—Ha! What do I care if they think I’m a bastard, a fraud . . .
Bollocks!
I don’t deserve—”

He’s having a breakdown!

Should I get him a glass of water?
Should I call an ambulance?

Damn it, why didn’t I fill that prescription for Valium that Dr. Manny had forced on me?

Why didn’t I take those damn restraints?

Unconsciously, I put my arm around Louis and stroked his hair.

“Oh, Louis, Louis,” I whispered. “Listen, whatever it is—whatever you’re feeling, it will work itself out!
It will be okay.”

As his gasps slowed down, I felt him collapse into my arms. Soon we were breathing as one. Without raising his head, which was now nestled on my shoulder, he murmured, “Thank God you’re here. I’ve never really told you how much—how much you mean to me.”

I felt his arms go around me. Gently, he pushed me down onto the bed’s Anichini cashmere throw, all the while showering me with gentle kisses until, finally, his tongue parted my lips.

My heart leaped in my chest. He must have felt it, too, because he opened his eyes. No longer were they filled with doubt.
Au contraire
—he knew exactly what he wanted:

Me. On a platter.

But for right now, the Cal King would do.

How easy it would have been: I could have leaned back, closed my eyes and let his fingers do the walking—up and under my Anna Sui silk cami. Then, having discovered that my Damaris lace bra had a front snap, his long, thick fingers could have meandered, ever so gently between my breasts and freed them from their lacy lair. Once my nipples were freed, his tongue could have titillated them into a frenzy. Then those ever-industrious hands of his could have begun the arduous process of untying my Frankie B. lace-up jeans (
Dammit! Dammit! I might as well have been wearing a chastity belt! Why, oh why did I have to wear those, today of all days?)
, so that his lips could once again follow suit—

Then, in the morning, he could find a reason to let me down easy.

Despite all the wonderful claims he’d made just now.

And with absolutely no recognition of all I’d done for him these past few months.

And completely dismissing the torrid sex we’d had for sixteen or so hours prior to his grand announcement.

I shoved him away, hard.

“Louis,
NO
. We—we can’t.”

“Dammit, Hannah!
Why not
?” He was a petulant little boy whose brand new toy had just been taken away.

“Because it won’t work! You know that! We both know that! We have to stick to the pact and keep things between us totally professional.”

I jumped off the bed. He looked as if he was going to pounce after me, so I took two steps back.

How he read that as an invitation for more of the same I’ll never know, but somehow he did. He moved in until I was cornered up against the wall. “I can’t. The truth is—Hannah, I’m falling in love with you.”

“Oh, Louis,
puh-leez
.”

Placing his hands on either side of my face, he murmured, “I mean it, love! Truly, I do. I’ve never met anyone like you, who takes care of me like you do. But it can’t go on—
just like that.”

With a hand, he pressed one of my own against the wall and held it there while he leaned in to kiss me—

—So I slapped him with the other.

Hard.

Rubbing his jaw, he cried out in pain. “Dammit, Hannah! What the hell!”

“How could you do that to me?” I spat out. “Or—or to Mick?”

How could
I
do that to Mick?

Louis just stared at me. Then he started to laugh uncontrollably.

“What’s so funny?” I asked indignantly.

“Mick. That’s what.” His mouth twisted into a cruel smile.

“What about Mick?”

“Your Mr. High-and-Mighty, your Mr. Great Gentleman. I’ll just bet you don’t know where he is right now—and with whom!”

“Why—what would I—why is that so important?” Just talking about Mick made me want to hide my head in shame. I could only imagine what he would have thought if he’d seen me with Louis just moments ago—and could have deduced how much I had enjoyed it.