Absolutely True Lies (12 page)

For $70 million, I could start my own country and declare my
self the lord and unquestioned master of my subjects. And I could afford to pay those subjects in gold bullion. Jamie was off making a $70 million deal and he couldn’t pay me the several thousand he owed me?

“Do you know when he’ll be back?” I asked. Using Camille’s logic, I decided to bluff. “My, um . . . agent will be really upset if he doesn’t get his check this week.”

“No idea, sweetheart,” she told me. “But I’m sure he’ll call you back soon.”

“Thanks,” I replied, disappointed. I didn’t believe he’d call me back soon. In fact, I was fairly certain I would only hear from him when he needed something from me.

“Hey, listen,” Faith added quickly. “We’re having a dinner with some of the ladies from the Universal movie Daisy was in last year. Would you like to come over and join us? I’m sure they’d love to talk about Daisy.”

Crap.

In my initial research, I’d done a complete filmography for Daisy, and had even Netflixed the movie in question. Daisy had a tiny part, but she had been one of ten women from an ensemble cast filled out with some of the most powerful, successful actresses in Hollywood. And they were all having dinner together—tonight. The same night I was supposed to go hang out with Vaughn.

I knew what I needed to do, of course. This was just a movie (and a free one), and I hoped the opportunity would present itself again. As a responsible, hardworking adult, I knew the right answer was to respectfully bow out of the movie and spend the night listening to other disgustingly rich superstars talk about how wonderful my disgustingly rich client was. It would all be lies and platitudes, of course, but their quotes would help sell the book. A book I got half the revenue from.

Luckily, Faith’s next words made my decision much easier. “You can’t use any of what they tell you, of course.”

It was one of the most ridiculous things I’d ever heard Faith say, which was pretty telling. “And why is that?”

“Oh, honey-bunch. These are very private women, even more famous than our Daisy, if you can believe it. Now, we can’t have them feeling taken advantage of. Or worse, that we’re trying to eclipse their fame.”

What I couldn’t believe was that a group of grown women might be threatened by a teenage pop star writing the world’s tamest memoir. That there were people, however few, with higher star power than Daisy Mae—that was no great stretch. “Well, then . . .” I said, stalling for the proper way to word my refusal. “I would very much love to be a part of this, but I worry that if these women give me great information about Daisy, I might really want to use it. I don’t know what’s to be gained with conversations I have to pretend didn’t happen.”

“Oh, you are so right,” Faith agreed. “I hadn’t even thought of that. And I know you need to work with Daisy some more, but the show’s filming in Rome next week . . .”

I needed to work with Daisy a
lot
more. This book was supposed to be about three hundred pages and I still hadn’t found a way to start the first chapter. I desperately hoped that with more conversations with Daisy, a little bit of her public persona would shine through and onto the page. And Rome,
really
? I was twenty-five and had never even been to Canada. I was totally in the wrong business.

“That is a problem,” I couldn’t stop myself from saying. I wanted to be accommodating, but on Monday, I would have been on the project for a full four weeks. At this rate, the book would be done in seven to eight months, if ever.

“Hmmm . . .” Faith said again.

She paused for another interminable length of time, as though waiting for me to make some kind of suggestion. I wasn’t about to do that. They hired me, let them figure out the logistics of the job.

“Do you have a passport?”

The prospect of an impromptu Italian vacation absolutely thrilled
me—for about four and a half seconds. Then I remembered being left in Miami with an obscene hotel bill and no flight home. Not to mention, based on my current financial situation, I couldn’t afford to eat in Rome.

But I did have a passport. I had gotten it two years earlier while reading
The Secret.
The book said that to attract things to your life, you just needed to plan on them appearing. So I got a passport, anticipating a whirlwind jaunt around the globe. But I hadn’t gotten my European adventure and there still wasn’t a single stamp in the little booklet. Maybe
The Secret
had brought me that trip to a run-down Newark Radisson for my cousin Marie’s fourth wedding, but I refused to count that as a vacation. My uncle was mugged in the hotel parking lot and I got a case of food poisoning from a local Mexican restaurant during the rehearsal dinner.

“Yes,” I replied. Again, I wanted to accommodate their needs—and I sure as hell wanted my own Roman holiday—but I wasn’t going to stupidly walk into a repeat performance of Miami. If I fell for that again, it wouldn’t be the Dixsons’ fault, it would be mine. “And I’d love to come with you, but I do have a few concerns.”

“Of course, Holly. What do you need from us?”

I was beginning to think I’d been addressing my problems to the wrong people all this time. “Honestly, I’ll need a round-trip ticket, and my hotel room will have to be paid for up front.”

“Of course,” she said again, sounding surprised. “I wouldn’t expect you to pay for yourself while you’re working. I’ll tell Jamie you need a per diem as well.”

My opinion of Faith shifted faster than the weather. One minute, she sounded like an idiot, and the next, she was the most reasonable boss I’d ever had. I was starting to get whiplash.

“All right, then,” I said, hoping I wouldn’t regret my decision. “I’ll go wherever you need me.”

“Daisy will be very happy to hear that,” Faith told me. “And by the way, Vaughn Royce is coming, too.”

I swear, the thought hadn’t even occurred to me. But now that it was there. . . . “Oh.”

“He actually asked me yesterday if we were bringing you along,” she added.

My throat felt stuffed with dry cotton balls. “Oh,” I croaked again.

“Anyway, I’ll make sure your travel arrangements get squared away,” Faith continued. “And I just know Jamie will call you back real soon.”

“And you’re going to Italy, too?” I asked. I would feel infinitely more comfortable with the trip if I knew Faith would be there to rein in her monster offspring.

“Are you kidding?” She laughed. “You think I’m passing up a trip to Rome?”

CHAPTER 11

I spend a lot of time in airports, which sounds annoying, but they’re among my favorite places. Of course I could take private jets, but then I wouldn’t get to see and meet my fans from all over the world. During concerts and on press tours, it’s so hard to find time to connect with the folks who’ve kept me on TV all these years. Running around the big airports of the world, there’s a weird sense of intimacy. There’s nothing greater than when a little girl stops me on her way to her seat and asks for my autograph. It’s a request I can never say no to.

I
parked at the Fox lot at ten after six, one of the only people pulling into the parking structure at that hour. I was thirty minutes early, but that’s inevitable in Los Angeles. Traffic is so unpredictable that the same trip can take seven minutes one day and forty the next. So I always err on the side of congestion; this was one of the few times I was wrong.

Security gave me a map, my first indication that the Fox lot was bigger than the one I’d visited the day before. There was a studio store and commissary, a medical department, and even a child development center. As I wound through the streets, I saw that most of the soundstages were occupied and running. A few network TV stars milled around while crew people moved lights and a frantic woman ran down the street with an armful of suits that were taller
than she was. I felt very small and insignificant, but not in a bad way. This studio lot had all the magic I’d been waiting to witness with Daisy.

I made my way to the correct theater (there were apparently several) and found I was still quite early. As I pulled out my phone, Camille called. This was not a moment of serendipity, as you might think. Camille doesn’t like to leave messages, so she calls again and again until you answer. This was just the first time I noticed, as my ringer broke about six months ago.

“Are you there? Is he there? What did you wear?”

“Why are you so excited?” I asked. “I don’t even know if this is a date.”

“It is. Of course it is.” I love how decisive Camille can be, but I don’t find it particularly reassuring, because she’s frequently wrong. Though she is always the first to admit when she’s wrong. “The guy came to your hotel room at ten
P.M
.
And he brought dinner. The last time Donnie brought home dinner it was a Whopper and it was because he was too full to eat it himself.”

Donnie, the prince among men. But I was sober, so I kept my mouth shut. “He didn’t kiss me.”

“He kissed your cheek. That’s way better.”

“He didn’t offer to drive me here.” We argued like this all the time. My mother loved Camille and often said that we were like Statler and Waldorf from the Muppets.

“Phhht. The man has a job. You don’t think he left work just to come see this movie with you?”

I hadn’t considered that. Looking back down the street, I again noticed how the lot was in full swing pretty close to 7:00
P.M.
No one was showing any sign of packing up for the night. “I bet you’re right, actually.”

“Of course I’m right. Just don’t mess this up. You get this weird, malfunctioning robot thing when you get nervous.”

If I wasn’t worried before, I was now. “I am not a robot.”

“Not a well-functioning one. You’re like one of those robots with loose wires that shocks people all the time.”

I saw Vaughn turn a corner and wave to me. “I have to go, Vaughn’s here.”

“Ooh, what’s he wearing?” Camille also doesn’t know when to quit. Which is probably why she’s still with Donnie.

I couldn’t have answered her even if I wanted to, as Vaughn was now right in front of me. I really wanted to get off the phone before he accidentally overheard Camille barking questions or, worse, advice. “Gotta go,” I said again.

“Call me later!” I heard these words as I pulled the phone away from my ear and shut it.

“Hi,” Vaughn said, smiling. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone looked so happy to see me—and that included my cat. “Glad you made it. Any trouble finding the studio?”

“Not at all,” I told him, standing up.

He leaned in for a hug and I was momentarily caught off guard. I must not hug that many people. As he pulled me close, I caught a whiff of what was either aftershave or a very appealing natural musk. I could feel myself getting nervous again, perhaps owing to how few dates I’d been on in the last several years.

“Let’s get inside before all the good seats are taken!” Much to my surprise, Vaughn grabbed my hand and lightly pulled me into the building. Maybe it was a date, after all.

•  •  •

T
he movie was only two hours, but it took so long to check in everyone’s cell phones and tablets (the movie had just opened to the public that day), it was nearly ten o’clock before we finally escaped back into the open air.

“Are you hungry?” Vaughn asked me.

“You didn’t see me gnawing on my arm during the twenty-­minute balcony fight sequence?”

Vaughn laughed out loud. “How about dinner?”

About twenty-five minutes later, I was having an X-rated love affair with the pulled pork at SmithHouse on Santa Monica Boulevard. I’d been there a couple of times before, and it was a great restaurant with fairly good food and a small price tag given its tony Century City address. I was no less terribly nervous and fluttery with Vaughn, but when I’m hungry, I’ll step over grandmothers and adorable little children to get to my meal. Camille still thinks I’m making this up, but I swear that when my stomach is empty, my hearing is dulled considerably. It wasn’t until I’d wolfed down several bites of barbecue that I finally noticed Vaughn was jabbering away about something.

“I’ve never really understood that fixation. I mean, I like his movies, but I don’t get the hype. You know?” He looked at me inquisitively, waiting for my opinion.

I had no idea how long he’d been talking, but I’d missed everything. I thought about lying my way out of this, but that’s not my style. Instead, I shrugged and offered him a sheepish smile. “Ummm . . . I’m sorry, who are you talking about? I was a little busy making eyes at my food.”

I thought he might be upset or at least offended, but Vaughn laughed. “I didn’t want to say anything, but I wondered if I should leave you two alone. I felt a little voyeuristic.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” I assured him. “It’s an open relationship.”

“Speaking of relationships . . .” he said, trailing off.

My head snapped up so fast I think it almost detached from my neck.

“You’re not . . . you know . . .” Vaughn looked at me expectantly. “Pregnant, are you?”

Of course. “Not unless I’ve been abducted and impregnated by aliens. Or really rude fertility specialists.” I should have known he’d heard the rumor. Not only did he work closely with the Dixsons,
but if part of his job was controlling Daisy’s image with the public, he must have been aware of all of their press releases.

“I didn’t think so,” he said. I may have misinterpreted the expression, but it looked like relief to me. “Though why Jamie didn’t come up with a simpler explanation, like you’re diabetic and had low blood sugar, I don’t know. He’s always making things needlessly complicated.”

“Wow, that is a better explanation,” I agreed. “And closer to the truth. We just hadn’t eaten all day and they strapped me into a dress that was way too small.”

“Did Jamie make you wear one of Daisy’s dresses?” Vaughn asked.

I stared at him for a few seconds, wondering if he was kidding or just really clueless about weight and clothing. I’m five-ten and wear a size 8; Daisy is five feet even and swims in a size 0. I was starting to think she shopped in the children’s section or appropriated doll clothes into her wardrobe. I’m pretty sure adult human beings ­aren’t supposed to be that size, and I had trouble believing Vaughn couldn’t see that.

“I think I could maybe fit my arm into one of Daisy’s pant legs,” I finally answered, a little dumbfounded. “She’s like a sluttier version of Tinker Bell.”

“She is way too skinny,” Vaughn agreed. “I hate that little girls watch our show and think that’s how they’re supposed to look. It’s not normal.”

“To be fair, that idea didn’t come from actresses, it came from producers. If you look back at the seventies and eighties, women on TV weren’t nearly as skeletal as they are now,” I pointed out. “So some of the fault lies with your job, not hers.”

Vaughn speared a piece of brisket and held it up proudly. “Do you really think I advocate eating nothing but tomatoes and onions? I think frozen pizza is its own food group.”

“Oh, how I wish that were true,” I replied. “After a particularly bad breakup, I decided that only frozen burritos and Klondike bars would heal my pain. I gained ten pounds, but I was never more excited to eat dinner.”

Vaughn laughed out loud and nearly choked on his brisket. “Then you know the miracle of food. So don’t even tell me that you’re going to let Daisy warp you into not experiencing the best Italian cuisine in the world next week,” he continued, playfully staring me down. “I won’t have it. I’ll stuff you full of lasagna and tiramisu myself if I have to.”

I’d had that conversation with Faith maybe five hours ago. How did Vaughn already know about my decision? “So you know I’m going to Rome,” I said.

“Faith called me as soon as she hung up with you. She said she needed my approval to have you along during filming.”

I didn’t believe
that
for a second. Faith said that Vaughn had been asking
her
all week if I was accompanying Daisy overseas. So I doubted that she suddenly felt the need to ask his permission. Not to mention that the Dixsons weren’t the type of people who sought approval for any one of their harebrained decisions. But if Vaughn didn’t want to admit to pestering Faith about me, I would be nice and not call him on it. Though it was difficult.

“Thank you for letting me tag along, then. I’m sure it will be an interesting week.”

“Have you ever been there?” Vaughn asked.

I raised an eyebrow and shook my head. “I’ve never been
anywhere
.”

“But you do have a passport, right? If not, it’s probably a little too late to get one.”

“I do. I’ve just never had to use it before.”

Vaughn studied me thoughtfully. “For someone about to take their first trip to Europe—and an unexpected, first-class trip at that—you don’t look too excited.”

“Miami didn’t end so well,” I said. “And Jamie still hasn’t paid me back for the hotel or the car.”

“Shocker,” Vaughn replied. “We have a ten percent overage written into the budget for all of the ‘expenses’ Jamie never gets around to covering.”

Suddenly, shoveling all of that pulled pork into my mouth didn’t seem like such a good idea. I hoped I wasn’t about to vomit all over Vaughn’s dinner. “He doesn’t pay his bills?”

Vaughn’s expression went sour, and I knew he regretted his words. “Listen, I’m sure he’ll pay you.” He paused, probably trying to choose words that would soothe my mind without having to tell a lie. “You just need to keep on him about it. If I were you, I wouldn’t do any more work for them until the check clears.”

I appreciated that he was trying to make me feel better, but that was a stupid thing to say. It’s easier said than done to simply refuse to do work; it was essentially a strike or work stoppage, and it would very likely result in my immediate dismissal. Not to mention, I was about to fly six thousand miles to a foreign country with these people. Nothing like being stranded in a strange land and pissing off the people who feed and house you.

Then I realized Faith hadn’t called me back with any details of the trip, and the last thing I wanted was another 6:00
A.M.
wake-up call. My heart had had enough shocks in these last few weeks.

“I’ll get the money out of him, don’t worry,” I said, feigning confidence. I was practicing for my direct dealings with Jamie. “Do you know when we’re leaving? Faith said she’d make the arrangements but didn’t get back to me with specifics.” It was an increasing wonder to me that these people ever ended up where they were supposed to be at any given time.

Vaughn’s eyes widened in surprise. “You’re kidding me, right? The travel office didn’t call you?”

There’s a travel office?

“No one has told me anything.”

Vaughn shook his head, still seeming remarkably astonished for someone who had worked with the Dixsons for so long. “Tomorrow night.” He laughed. “We’ve had the show’s tickets booked for months. Actually, when you called to ask for Faith’s number, I thought you were going to back out of tonight so you could pack.” He turned a little red and added, “I was really glad when you didn’t.”

I’m sure my own face went red. I liked the thought that he was a little nervous around me, too. It made me feel better about being a malfunctioning robot with exposed wires. A large part of me was now thrilled with the thought of spending a week in Italy alongside Vaughn, but the worrywart part of my brain said that I should stay home writing and watching HGTV on my couch. Voluntarily putting myself in the hands of the Dixsons was an invitation for all sorts of disasters.

“You have access to all of the travel details, right?” I asked, choosing to leave my neurosis inside my head.

“Everything.” He nodded. “I get e-mail updates with all new info, including yours. I knew five minutes after the travel office booked your ticket.”

“Then can you forward me what I need to know?” I asked. “And I probably should get home. I’ve got to pack, find someone to watch my cat, and manage to pay my rent before tomorrow night.”

“You never told me your cat’s name,” Vaughn said as he pulled out his phone and started scrolling through e-mails. “I feel like I should know it, since I’ve heard all about him and his hatred of gardeners and mail carriers.”

“Smitty.” I nodded. “He is kind of an asshole. But I think that’s what I like about him.”

“Smitty?” Vaughn laughed, briefly glancing up from his phone. “Where’d you get that name?”

I was a little embarrassed to admit this, especially to a man. “Um . . . well, I’ve never really liked cats, but when I found Smitty, he was just a few days old and curled up outside my building, practi
cally starving to death. I only meant to take care of him for a couple of weeks and then find him a home, but by then I was smitten.”