Absolutely True Lies (11 page)

“I thought that didn’t come out until fall.” I’m not really a techie, but I’ve wanted—and been unable to afford—the iPhone since it
was first released. So every year I lie and tell myself I’ll get the next model. Some year I’m bound to be right.

“It doesn’t.” Axel rolled his eyes. “I love the bitch, but sometimes she gets out of control.”

Sometimes? From where I stood, it looked more and more like Daisy lived in an entirely alternate universe from the rest of us. “I suppose I should go see her.”

At this, Axel laughed. “Good luck, sweetheart. When you’re done, I have a bottle of Jack in my trailer—you might need it.”

•  •  •

I
could hear the exaggerated sobbing before I reached the front door of the bungalow. It didn’t even sound exactly like crying; it was more like a dying animal’s caterwauling.

“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you,” Daisy screamed. Just as I put my hand up to knock, I heard something shatter. I thought about turning around and walking away, but my curiosity got the better of me. I couldn’t wait to witness Daisy’s freak-out, so I went ahead and knocked.

“Come in,” responded a voice that was altogether too calm for the scene playing out inside the room.

I slowly opened the door and peered in. Daisy was balled up in an armchair, sobbing hysterically, the shards of what had once been a coffee mug (and its contents) in pieces on the floor. My heart skipped a beat as I realized that the two men with her were the show’s executives—and one of them was Vaughn. He winked, nodding for me to enter.

“The crew will be back from lunch in forty minutes, and they have nothing left to shoot today but your scenes,” he told her, maintaining an even temper.

“Now, we have calls in to Apple headquarters, but this will take longer than a day to resolve,” the other man added. It sounded like he was talking to a three-year-old; then again, Daisy was behaving
like one. “But I promise you, we’ll let you know as soon as we hear anything.”

This earned a new wail of despair from Daisy. “Call my daddy. He played golf with Steve Jobs a few times when I was a kid. Tell him he
needs
me. When the paparazzi take pictures of me with the phone, everybody’s gonna want one!”

The unnamed exec snickered, throwing a look to Vaughn. “Like Apple needs help selling those things.”

I’ve often thought that having TiVo in everyday life would be useful. We’ve all had that moment when we wish we could hop back eight seconds and say something other than the rampant stupidity that came flying out of our mouths. This was one of those personal TiVo moments; the instant the words escaped from the man’s lips, the consequences were apparent. Vaughn’s face immediately went white, and it took Daisy about two seconds to screech, “
WHAT
did you say to me?”

She leapt out of her chair and somehow managed to avoid slivers of coffee mug in her bare feet. Daisy barreled toward the door, running right past me without even acknowledging my presence. “You are fired, you stupid son of a bitch,” she shouted venomously. “John, you’re the only one I’ll deal with. This asshole is
done
.”

Daisy flew through the door and slammed it shut, leaving me alone with the two men.

“Derek, this is Holly. She’s writing Daisy’s autobiography.”

Despite having just been fired, Derek waved to me genially. “Hello, Holly.”

“If this is a bad time . . .” It didn’t matter if they wanted me to leave, I clearly wasn’t going to get any work done with her today.

“Oh no,” Derek said, shaking his head. “Daisy fires me at least once a month. Luckily, she really doesn’t know or care who most of the producers are, so she’ll forget in a couple of days.”

I grinned at Vaughn. “I see she still thinks your name is John. I tried to correct her in Miami, I swear.”

Vaughn broke into a wide smile, rolling his eyes at me. “You are so wasting your breath, but I do appreciate it.”

The other man looked back and forth between the two of us, as though trying to figure something out. He finally gave up and started for the door. “I’ve got calls to make. I’ll see you on the stage.”

“Um . . . does she really not know that Steve Jobs has been dead for, like, years?” I asked.

“Oh, God, no.” Derek laughed. “We don’t let her anywhere near the news. Gossip sites are fine, but real-life concerns. . . . It’s better for everyone if we control her access to the outside world.”

The exec continued to chuckle as he walked outside. And though I know it was stupid, I got nervous the instant Vaughn and I were alone together. We were still across the room from each other, but even this proximity to him was making me a little hot and sweaty. I hadn’t talked to him since Miami, and I still didn’t know if his interest in me was merely friendly or something more. It sure felt like something more.

He unclipped a walkie-talkie from his belt. “I suppose I should call a PA to come clean this up.” He sighed. Vaughn looked around the cute little room that was bigger and nicer than my entire apartment. But instead of calling for help, he walked over and sank into the couch. “Eh, it can wait a few minutes. Come sit with me for a little while.”

“Are you sure Daisy’s not coming back?” I asked, eyeing the door. I didn’t think she’d appreciate finding us just hanging out in her dressing room. If that was what this cool little house could be called.

Vaughn made a face and waved me over. “When Daisy’s in this mood, she goes to find her mother. She won’t be back until she’s absolutely certain she’s ruined our production day and someone else has cleaned up her mess.”

Feeling my temperature rise with every step I took toward Vaughn, I made my way to the couch and took a seat. It wasn’t very wide, but I made sure I was as far from him as humanly possible.
I felt more in control of myself with that couple inches of space between us.

“Where is Faith?” I asked. “Does she have her own bungalow?”

“No, but she does have an office in the main building,” he told me. “Faith may not be that bright, but she is a hard worker.”

I suddenly recalled Jameson’s multiple tirades about Faith. “That’s not what Jamie thinks.”

Vaughn shrugged. “That attitude’s not about work. Jamie and Faith had a . . . less than professional relationship, once upon a time.”

Gross. I like to think of myself as fairly enlightened, but can’t any of these people keep it in their pants? “Oh man,” I groaned. “I didn’t need to hear that. Especially now that Jamie’s sleeping with Daisy.”

My revelation caused Vaughn to sit up with a start. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“He came out of her bedroom one morning in Miami,” I answered honestly. “I know, it’s disgusting.”

Vaughn suddenly looked relieved, exhaling deeply. “Okay, I’m sorry, I misunderstood you. I thought you were saying they were . . . you know . . . sleeping together, minus the actual sleeping.”

I stared back at Vaughn, feeling lost. “He was in her bedroom. Presumably all night. You really think they were just sleeping?”

He offered me one of his wry, wicked little grins and ruffled my hair affectionately. “I know it sounds bizarre. It is bizarre, really. But that girl is majorly screwed up. She really can’t sleep alone. And believe me, if she were involved with Jamie, we’d all know about it. Daisy can’t keep her mouth shut. It’s been a real challenge keeping her behavior out of the press.”

I didn’t care how much they were paying me, I was never getting into bed with Daisy. Not without Cipro and a hazmat suit. “But really, Jamie and Faith?” I figured I didn’t need to, but I asked, “Isn’t she married?”

“God, you’re cute,” he said, laughing (although I tried not to
react, I know I must have blushed). “Acting like we live in a society of morals instead of this empty celluloid wonderland.”

“Forgive me for believing in the sanctity of marriage,” I replied, sticking out my tongue.

“I don’t think fire-and-brimstone Deacon minds,” Vaughn said. “In fact, I’m sure he’s completely happy to have someone else deal with his wife.”

“Oh, the book I could write if I could actually tell the truth.” We’d done almost no work at all yet, and already I had enough to publicly crucify Daisy Mae Dixson and her entire, messed-up entourage.

“Except that you’ve signed an ironclad nondisclosure agreement and if one word got leaked to the press, you’d be sued within an inch of your life. It’s a powerful incentive to stay quiet.”

Not that the Dixsons or Jamie had been astute enough to recognize this when they hired me, but they’d never have to worry about me turning on them in the press, no matter how many lies they told about me. As revolting as I found this life of Daisy’s, it was hers to lead. But that didn’t mean I understood it.

“This town,” I said, shaking my head. I laughed a little, but it wasn’t because I found any of this funny. Quite the opposite. My miserable mood suddenly returned with a vengeance, and I felt a little hopeless. “I don’t know why we all live here. It’s not real. It’s not . . .”

“It’s not life,” Vaughn finished quietly. “It’s a blockbuster movie. All flash and drama, and very little substance.” We both mulled this over quietly for a few seconds before he added, “You know what I don’t understand? Why does anyone live here if they’re not in the entertainment industry? I mean, we’re trapped here by our ambitions, but why the hell does L.A. have a single plumber or mechanic?”

I considered this for a moment. “Because they have this awesome, groundbreaking script that would be just perfect for Channing Tatum?”

This caused both of us to break into a fit of giggles that lasted far longer than it should have. It was the first time I’d really heard Vaughn laugh, and it was quite endearing. His laugh was loud, deep, and sounded one hundred percent sincere. I was really going to have to start searching for things to dislike about him.

When we finally calmed down, he sighed in frustration and reluctantly picked up the walkie-talkie. “I suppose I’ve avoided my job long enough.”

“I’m sorry to distract you.” I wasn’t sorry. Not even a little bit.

Vaughn shook his head, giving me another dazzling, genuine smile. “Please. This is the best conversation I’ve had in months.”

“So our marathon confab in Miami wasn’t up to snuff? I apologize, I’ll have to brush up on my late-night talking points.”

At this, Vaughn blushed and I knew for certain that he wasn’t just being friendly. My heart gave a great big thump in my chest. “Let me rephrase. I meant that this conversation with you—in the larger sense—was more fun than with anyone I’ve talked to in months.”

I knew what he’d meant the first time. “All right, then.”

“Hey,” Vaughn said, touching my knee briefly as he stood up, “I was going to call you. What are you doing tomorrow night?”

Wearing sweatpants and a ratty T-shirt while eating ice cream from the container and watching a terrible MTV reality show? “I don’t think I have anything planned,” I replied. “Why?”

“There’s a new female action comedy screening over at the Fox lot, if you’re interested. I’m allowed a plus-one.”

“That sounds great.” Not that I planned to turn down any invitation from Vaughn (the first normal person to ask me out in forever), but I was relieved it was an action comedy. Some guys seem to think women want to watch drippy romances on dates. Personally, I’d rather watch a guy get his arm blown off than see two people canoodle in Central Park with autumn leaves falling everywhere, hinting at the lovers’ inevitable demise.

“Awesome. I’ll call ahead and give them your name. Just meet
me on the lot around six-thirty.” Then someone called for him over the walkie, and Vaughn instantly shifted into work mode. “Copy that, on my way,” he responded. He patted me on the shoulder as he headed toward the door, saying, “See you tomorrow night.”

So . . . I was going with him to a screening but he wasn’t picking me up.
Was
this a date or just two friends hanging out? I truly hated elementary school, but at that moment, I would’ve loved a little piece of paper with one question and three possible answers.
Do you like me—yes, no, or maybe?

CHAPTER 10

My mom really is, and always has been, my best friend. She was young when she had me, so we’ve always had a bond that was closer than your average mom and daughter. But this isn’t to say that she lets me get away with everything. Faith Dixson knows me better than anyone else, and she’s the first one to call me out when I’m doing wrong. I feel it’s made me a stronger, better person, and if I can be half the woman my mom is, I’ll be able to take over the world!

A
fter leaving the bungalow, I asked for directions and made my way to Faith’s office, where I found a surprisingly happy Daisy playing a game on her apparently outdated iPhone.

“You’re not mad anymore?” I asked, wondering if she had perhaps already forgotten and I was going to be labeled an idiot for bringing it up again.

“Whatevs.” Daisy shrugged, her eyes trained on the screen. “Even if that dumb-ass producer can’t fix things, my daddy will. He always does.”

From her desk, I saw Faith silently make a sour face. Apparently, she didn’t share the same opinion of her husband. I suddenly realized just how off I’d been in my initial assessment of this family.
As lovely and perfect as they seemed from the outside, in reality they had the market cornered on dysfunction.

“So do you want to work a little bit today?” We needed to work
a lot,
but I didn’t want to scare her off.

Daisy sighed, dropping her iPhone to the desk with a thud. “Do we have to?” she whined.

Before I had to invent something diplomatic to say, Faith spoke up. “Sweetheart, your birthday’s in three months. If you want Holly to have the book finished in time, you’re going to have to help her.”

“But I’m tired and I’ve got three scenes left to shoot,” Daisy fired back, pouting. “Can’t you work with her today?”

Honestly, it wasn’t a bad idea. I did have pages full of notes and questions for Faith, and I hoped I could get more thorough information from her than from her daughter.

“Does that mean you’ll go and finish your work on set?” Faith replied.

At this, Daisy sighed dramatically. “All right, Mama.” She stood up and stretched, then yawned. “But then I only have one more day this week, right?”

“That’s right.” Faith smiled. “Now you go on and apologize to the crew for being a touch late. Tell them I have a coffee cart coming at four o’clock.”

“’Kay, Mama,” Daisy said happily, almost skipping out of the office. If I hadn’t been there to see an eighteen-year-old skipping, I wouldn’t have believed it. “See ya later, Holly!”

As soon as Daisy was gone, Faith clucked under her breath. “That child . . . she works so hard.”

I wondered where Faith got her work ethic. And how many coffee and sweet treat trucks it took to keep the crew from stringing Daisy up with the lights.

“I don’t know how much help I can be”—Faith shrugged—“but I’ll tell you anything I know.”

“Then let’s get started,” I answered as brightly as I could manage.

•  •  •

T
he amount of information Faith was able to provide over the next three hours was nothing short of staggering. Everything I’d tried to poke and prod out of Daisy (and with no success, I might add) came freely flowing out of her mother. She also turned out to be a very sweet, if somewhat dim-witted and trusting, person. By the close of our afternoon, I realized that Faith really did think Daisy was hardworking and well intentioned. I worried for her.

At a little after four, we walked by Stage 3 so Faith could check that the coffee cart had arrived. A line of crew members wound from the truck window all the way back onto the stage. We’d been standing there for about three seconds when a very young guy with a CIA-looking earpiece rushed over and deposited drinks in both of our hands. I looked up at Faith in surprise, especially since mine was clearly an ice-blended mocha (the only kind of coffee I like has been bludgeoned to death by chocolate and whipped cream—but how could she know that?).

“How did you do that?” I asked, not sure if I was impressed or disturbed.

Faith shrugged. “You seem like the type of person who’s into dairy and chocolate.”

I stared at her for a second, recognizing the insult but not quite understanding it. “Um . . . you mean, human?” I took a long sip from the mocha; it was obscenely good.

As we drifted back toward the stage entrance, Faith gave me a sweet smile and laughed. “We haven’t had dairy in years. You know, the human body wasn’t designed for cow’s milk.”

I couldn’t help but survey Faith’s slight frame. In my opinion, she needed about a month’s worth of dairy and a couple hundred pounds of steak. But I couldn’t exactly say that to my employer. “Speak for yourself, Faith. If I gave up milk and chocolate, I’d lose the will to live inside a week.”

From the look on Faith’s face, I recognized that she was about to
carry this over into a food indoctrination, and I knew that would lead to nothing good. I needed to change the subject. Luckily, just then I caught sight of Daisy’s “living room.” The one that matched the Dixsons’ almost exactly.

“I have a question: Is there a reason you have so much of the same furniture as on the set?”

Faith glanced through to the fake living room and laughed. “Oh, that? It’s because Benji’s an interior design genius. I swear, that man should be an interior decorator to the stars. My girlfriends keep trying to hire him to redo their houses, but he claims he’s happy with his job.”

“And what is his job?” I asked. I knew the names of about five crew positions, and most of those were courtesy of close friends who have those very jobs.

“He’s the show’s production designer,” she told me, as though it explained exactly what he did. It didn’t. I still had little idea of this man’s job description other than furniture buyer. I also wondered why she referred to a grown man as Benji.

Just as I was about to ask, Faith’s phone rang. She glanced down and saw it was Jamie, then rolled her eyes and pressed ignore. Suddenly my questions about their affair were ignited. “You aren’t going to answer that?” I asked.

“If he needs something, he can leave a message,” Faith replied, her tone curt. She steered us back toward the offices.

I shouldn’t ask. I knew it wasn’t my place. But damn if I wasn’t curious. “Is it true you were . . .
involved
with him?”

“It’s not that much of a secret,” she said, shrugging.

I lived in a culture where it didn’t need to be a secret that a married, publicly Christian woman cheated on her husband. “Can I ask . . . why him? You meet handsome, talented men every day. . . . Pick one of those dumb, shirtless guys from that HBO show.”

“Jamie was always just so sweet to me,” she said. “I swear, no one has ever treated me so well before.”

That poor woman,
I thought. “Really?” I couldn’t help asking. “He always seems so . . . brusque.”

Faith looked up at me in confusion. It took me a moment to realize that she didn’t know what the word meant.

“Umm, abrupt. He’s always so abrupt with everything.”

“Oh,” Faith drawled. “That’s just his way. He’s a very busy man. But he has a good heart.”

It’s funny, I’d drawn the conclusion that Jamie was lacking that organ entirely. “Then why did your relationship end?” We were really off the topic of the book at this point, but Faith’s life was far more interesting than Daisy’s. At least, the parts of Daisy’s life I was allowed to talk about. Plus, it was nice to connect with Faith on another level. It made me feel a little less like any old paid employee.

Faith looked away from me, and I thought she was about to cry. But she just shook her head and shrugged, her eyes dry. “I don’t remember exactly. One day we were crazy in love and the next. . . . Well, you know how these things go.”

I scanned my brain for a similar experience in my own life, but I couldn’t find one. I’m not sure I’d ever been “crazy in love” in my entire twenty-five years. “Of course,” I lied, too embarrassed to tell her the truth.

“I wish I was as strong as you,” Faith said. “Or as smart. You’ve got that amazing brain, people see it as soon as they meet you. Pretty’s all I’ve ever been, and I’m getting right up on my expiration date. At least Daisy has all that talent. I’ve got nothing but my face.”

I’d seen Daisy’s show; she didn’t have
that
much talent. Apparently Faith had never learned the power of her beauty, and she was right about one thing—she was approaching an age where that revelation was moot. But if she really was as hard a worker as Vaughn claimed, surely she could see the value in that? I was ashamed of whatever person/people were responsible for her belief that her self-worth began with her face and ended in her silicone double-Ds.

We finally reached the offices and found Daisy was out front
talking to a couple of other kids her age. As they were all smeared with ridiculous amounts of unnecessary makeup, I figured they must be her fellow actors. If you can call what they were doing acting. Faith and I were going to continue on when Daisy reached out and yanked me into her little group.

“Oh my God, this is Holly, the writer I’ve been telling you about,” she gushed, hugging me tightly. I still didn’t understand what about our limited relationship caused her to think we were in any way close, but I wasn’t going to argue with something that made my job easier. “It is so awesome writing an autobiography.”

Faith grinned at me, offering a reassuring thumbs-up.

“Hi,” I said meekly, waving to the gaggle of teenagers who were clearly in Daisy’s thrall.

“I’m telling you, if you work really hard, one day maybe you’ll get to write your own autobiography,” she said. “I mean, probably not, but why not reach for the stars!”

•  •  •

I
told myself that when I got home that night, I would finally start writing. Given the limited brainpower of my subject, I figured it couldn’t be altogether difficult to channel her folksy/ignorant persona. But as the minutes (and then hours) ticked away, I found myself listening to the same stretch of digital tape over and over again, with no idea what to put on the page. I had no starting point, no beginning to my story. I had only fragments of a teenager’s warped life, most of which I couldn’t even use. This was supposed to be a book about America’s Sweetheart, but that persona was completely an act. If I was supposed to channel the fake Daisy, I hadn’t seen enough of her to know the voice. I was writing about someone I had never met.

The sky outside my window was already starting to lighten when I finally gave up. I had been hunched over my laptop on my ancient couch with only two of its original springs, and when I straightened
up, I heard (and felt) a number of muscles attempt to snap back into place. A lot of writers have aspirations like Oscars and Pulitzers; at this point, I was bucking for an IKEA desk and an apartment big enough to hold it.

It wasn’t until I was brushing my teeth that I realized I hadn’t seen Jamie at all. Which meant I hadn’t gotten paid. And if someone demanded to see pages between now and the next check, I was screwed. As for my current money situation, I was pretty sure I still had enough to pay my rent the following Monday, but it would be tight. And forget about any trips to the grocery store until the Dixsons’ check cleared. They now owed me $16,500 and I was worried about $80 worth of groceries. I wasn’t scheduled to see Daisy that day, but I knew I’d have to do something. I couldn’t wait indefinitely for that check.

But I had to get it without ever letting them know just how dire the situation was. I figured it was unwise to tell my bread-and-butter (and only) client that I’d starve without their business. Then they’d have me over a barrel. Well,
even more
over a barrel.

•  •  •

J
amie didn’t answer his cell phone all day. I called three times, leaving two messages. I wanted to spend all day hitting redial on my cell, but I also didn’t want him to call the police and accuse me of stalking. His ego was enough out of whack that I was sure he’d believe just that.

It then occurred to me to call Faith, but I didn’t have her number. In fact, I didn’t have anyone’s number but Jamie’s. This struck me as odd, considering that I’d just spent a week practically living with these people, but I guess privacy is paramount in this industry. God knows how many little girls would die to have Daisy’s cell phone number.

By the afternoon, I remembered that I did have one more, very important, number—Vaughn’s. I immediately called him and,
after assuring him I wasn’t canceling our plans (little did he know I would’ve found a way to get there with a broken back), was given Faith’s contact info. Which turned out to be no help at all.

“Ohhhh,” she drawled. “Well, shucks, I don’t know anything about payments, Holly.”

First of all, who says
shucks
? Last I’d checked, the calendar had progressed well beyond 1955. And not even real 1955, but the parallel universe years chronicled in
Father Knows Best
.
Second, how could Faith not know anything about their money? I know every detail about every damn cent in my checking account and, usually, in my change bucket. I couldn’t fathom getting to a point where I didn’t have a clue how much money was going in or out.

“Do you happen to know where Jamie is, then?” I asked, forcing a polite tone I definitely didn’t feel.

“Hmmmm . . .” she mused, taking a maddeningly long pause to think about it. “He and Deacon might be golfing with Jeff today.”

Never mind that I didn’t have a clue who Jeff might be. What the hell was Jamie doing golfing with his ex-lover’s husband? I had already given up trying to understand this family dynamic, but it really got weirder by the day.

“Jeff?” I asked, not really caring but figuring that Faith wanted me to guess.

“Jeff King, the head of Idol Pictures. He’s a longtime family friend.”

Okay . . . I had never heard of either the man or the company. But then, every actor and writer has their own “production company” (also known as a scam to get more money on the back end), so it wasn’t that surprising.

“He wants to fund the movie De Niro has in mind for Daisy,” Faith said. “So far he’s not willing to go over forty mil, but I think Jamie and Deacon can talk him to seventy. We want to keep it small, after all. The Academy loves low-budget movies.”