Impossible Glamour (5 page)

“You’re telling me to keep sleeping with Marci so I can help you become partner?”

“Really, is it such a burden to bear? I mean the girl is gorge, what the hell? I’m doing you a favor by asking you to keep tapping that ass.”

Roger squinted as though he needed to think about what I’d just said.

“You know partners promote assistants to agents.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Okay, maybe for a while, but I’m not letting her get serious okay? We’re talking late-night booty calls and maybe a fast-food meal. Chicks get clingy once you start watching movies and shit with them.”

“Tell me about it, my man. Why you think I go to everything solo?”

“That’s the reason?”

“Get the fuck out, dude,” I said as he hightailed it out of my office. “And get those meetings on the books. Got it? I want all of them before the retreat.
Capisce
?” I called.

“On it.”

And so was I. There was no way I was signing that piece-of-shit deal. I couldn’t afford to. Mamacita needed my help to survive. I needed every contingency covered. Either those three holdouts voted me in as partner or I walked. I just needed to keep the walking part to myself, at least until after the company retreat, the vote, and after I convinced Steve Legend that he needed me as his agent and no one else. Ever. If CTA and Jeff discovered my contingency plan, I’d be out on my ass without my clients, scrambling to try to find a new agency and claim my client list. Choo’s wedding would be a good time to work on Steve and confirm that Dillon MacAvoy, my second biggest star and this generation’s next Steve Legend, would follow me wherever the hell I landed, whether it was CTA or whatever other shop would make my deal.

And he would. Right? Both of them would follow me because I was the Webz. Their guy. The guy who closed all their deals.

A cold sweat trickled down my back. This was fear. The cold clutch in my belly. Damn. Fear sucked. Because if I was so settled in my decision, why was my heart beating against my ribs like a time bomb ready to explode?

Ellen

“Ellen? Sweetheart?”

I jerked my head up. My cheek was tight. A dried drool puddle was next to my mouth. Gross. I turned toward the voice. “Mom?”

“You fell asleep with your books.”

Spread out in front of me on my dining room table was a pile of notes. I turned toward the windows and light streamed into the town house.

“Oh no! No, no, no, no.” I jumped up. “What time is it? If I’m late for rounds, oh my God—”

Mama reached out and grasped my shoulder. “Ellen, sweetheart, it’s Saturday.”

“Thank God.” My heart settled. I sat back into the dining room chair and Mama walked to the kitchen. “I’m making you
huevos
and fresh tortilla for breakfast.”

“No, Mama, really. I’m good. I should walk Drummond and shower and then get to the library.”

“Drummond is already walked. We had a lovely time. A beautiful day. Maybe no library today?”

“Next weekend is blown, and I need to get my work done before the wedding.” The coffee grinder shredded the silence. My fingers tangled through a clump of mussed hair. Once the noise stopped, I called to Mama, “What are you doing here?”

“I came in to see you and…” She poured the grounds into my coffee press and turned on the kettle, then walked out from the kitchen. So very beautiful. Mama with her thick black hair, large brown eyes, and body that even nearing sixty had a curve and a warmth, a lushness. I craved hugs from her even as a grown woman. “I needed to see your father.”

“Daddy?”

Mama nodded. A tiny smile curved over her lips. Mama didn’t come to Los Angeles to see Daddy. He drove north to Mama’s house, my childhood home, to see her. She preferred living her life far away from Daddy and his Hollywood existence. She’d worked as a housekeeper in his home for many years, even after his wife died. They still…what did they still do? I couldn’t begin to analyze my parents’ relationship. What was it? Daddy continued to see many many MANY young women, and yet he always went to see Mama every week. I placed the edge of my thumb in my mouth and pulled at a tiny piece of skin with my teeth. A sharp pain shot through my finger. Disgusting habit.

“He knows you’re coming, doesn’t he Mama?” I didn’t want Mama to walk in on Daddy with one of the actresses or models he so frequently bedded.

“You needn’t worry about me,
poquita
, I know your father. Have known him for a very long while. He cannot surprise me.”

I leaned my head onto my hand. Mama poured the hot water into the coffee press. “He is a unique man, your father. His love knows no limit. Even his fidelity. But he cannot be with only one.” She walked to the table with the coffee press and two cups. “My darling, do you think I’ve not known this since before you were born?”

“Mama, I can’t…”

Mama nodded. “Nor should you. I only say this so you don’t worry about me or about your papa and our relationship. All is how we anticipated it would be.” She reached out and placed her hand under my chin. “You worry so desperately, my
poquita
. You always have.”

I pressed the plunger down through the loose and swirling coffee grounds. I poured a cup of coffee for Mama and for myself. Yes, I worried. Anxiety and worry were in my nature, and my fingers were a direct result.

“I also wanted to see you. Sophia returns this week?”

“Wednesday,” I said. “Just before the wedding.”

“I am excited to see all of my and Steve’s children together and looking well next weekend. We’ll have a glorious time.”

“Glorious? Mama, you remember Amanda’s wedding, right? When Rhett and Sterling beat the hell out of each other?”

Mama waved her hand in the air. “A different time. Everything was too fresh. Now they’ve all found love.” She took a sip of her coffee. “All but one.”

My heart thwapped against my ribs.

“Mama,” I said, a tiny, whining lilt to my voice. “You know I’m in med school, third year, and I’m not looking and it isn’t the right time and—”

“It will never be the right time, my darling. And especially for you. You race through life as though you have something to prove. What is it, my love? Why? You know that you are loved simply for being you.”

I looked away. Drummond was curled in a tight ball and his snout hung over the edge of the couch. His eyes met mine. What to say? How to respond? Mama’s intentions were good.

“Mama, not everyone has to get married.”

“You say this to me? The mother of three children all born without a wedding? I am not here about you wedding or even falling in love, what I’m here for is to ask you to take better care of you.”

I pulled at the ends of my hair and ran my fingers through the rat’s nest on my head. These people. My family. So easy for them to judge, wasn’t it? Had any one of them ever tried to get through college and then med school? No. My famous family just landed in the careers that were best for them. Whereas I actually had to work to get to my career of choice. Work that seemed now to have been all for nothing.

“
Poquita
, please. You sleep at the table. You do not eat. The only reason you exercise is because of Drummond. You are first in your class, perhaps you could be tenth and you would be healthier?” She grasped my hand and turned it over. She pressed her fingertips to the back of my hand. “And this, my love, this breaks my heart. These red sores are a symptom of your anxiety. Forever when you were a child, I knew when you worried or had exams.” Her fingers rubbed mine, careful not to touch the red angry wounds around my nails. “This is what you’ve always done.”

I didn’t pull my hand away. This was Mama. She was fully aware of my bad habits and my anxieties and my drive to succeed.

“Mama, I’m almost there. The residency I want—”

“Then you will be struggling to be the best resident ever. I know you, my darling, I do. I am asking you to be as kind to you as you are to all those around you. As you would be to your own patients, the children you want to help.”

Mama didn’t understand. How could she? She didn’t know how long, how hard, how much I had fought to get where I wanted to be. Or that Kazowski had killed my dream. I looked into her warm eyes. I couldn’t tell her. I simply couldn’t.

“You have a break the week after the wedding?”

I nodded. Spring break, and I planned on spending the entire week in the library.

“I want you to spend part of that week taking care of yourself. I have made several appointments for you. Your father and I have agreed, you are going away.”

“What?”

“We’ve arranged it. You are going and there will be no fighting us on this. You will go and you will rest and relax. The car will pick you up here the day after the wedding.”

“Mama, I can’t. I have too much work.”

Her gaze hardened. I sat back in my chair. I’d seen this look on Mama’s face twice before. Once when Rhett was suspended from high school and another time when Sophia came home drunk out of her mind. There would be no arguing with the hardened face and piercing eyes. The look silenced me.

“Okay,” I said softly. I could take books with me. I could study at a hotel or resort or beach or wherever she and Daddy were sending me. I stood and stretched my arms over my head. “Since I agreed to go, I really need to get to the library.”

“Sit.” The hardened look slipped from Mama’s face, replaced again with that openness that contained unconditional love. “You’ll eat and then you will go on your way.” Mama entered the kitchen.

I sat back in the chair. There was no use fighting Mama. She was an impenetrable, quiet force, and I would get nowhere until she’d had a chance to make certain I was fed.

Webber

“Yo, Gregory, how the hell do you do it? Twelve
New York Times
best-selling authors in the past eighteen months? You’re infuego!”

Gregory’s face was long and a grayish color that matched his short hair. He greeted my compliment on his career with a non-expression. He reminded me of a dead fish. Had I said the words out loud, nothing would have registered on his face. Gregory had nixed my suggestions of breakfast, lunch, dinner, or drinks, but had allowed me to accompany him to his morning workout at Equinox.

Six a.m. and I was on a treadmill putting in a stiff five miles. Gregory pushed the stop button and grabbed the towel he’d carefully laid over the display panel. He scrubbed it over the sweat on his face and then his eyes locked onto mine. “Webber, you haven’t read any of the books.”

I pressed the Off button and my treadmill came to a full stop. I turned to Gregory. “No, man, I haven’t. But I did get coverage, and I am still pretty damned impressed.”

The look in his eyes shifted. Maybe Gregory wasn’t used to honesty, but how was I going to bullshit my way through a conversation about his clients’ work even if the coverage on the books was thorough? He’d know within a few sentences of my fumbling my way through the story that I was lying to him, and then what? Better to front the bad with this guy. He was a New York transplant that still swam in the erudite world of publishing. He slummed with the likes of me, film agents, as a necessity. He indulged us plebeian movie people to try to get his clients’ books made into movies and TV shows. Nope, I would never be Gregory’s favorite, but I needed him to get my partner stripes, and Gregory could use me and my client list to get what he needed too.

“I know what you’re after.”

“I don’t think what I’m after is a secret.” I stepped off the treadmill. “I want to be a partner.” I took a long slug from my water bottle. Man, I was seriously getting out of shape even with the running with Agnes. Too many big lunches, fat dinners, and late-night parties with the stars and the ladies.

“I can appreciate honesty.” Gregory slung his towel over his shoulder. “Don’t get much of it in this business.”

I followed him toward the ellipticals. Smooth. Everything was smooth. My tactical assessment had been correct. Gregory climbed onto the equipment.

“More? Man, you are a friggin’ machine.”

“An hour a day, Webber. Only way with this job. Otherwise I’d lose my mind.” He pressed start and I hopped onto the elliptical beside his. After two minutes, when I felt like my heart might explode from my chest, he turned to me.

“So here’s the deal. I don’t like you.”

“I’m an acquired taste.”

“Right. Well, we’ve worked together now for five years, and Webber, much like blue cheese, I don’t think you’re a taste my palate will ever acquire.”

I kept moving, and panting, and taking the gut punches like a champ. There was a “but” coming in Gregory’s sentence, something he needed or wanted from me that would get me past the blue cheese metaphor and to a yes vote with the partners.

“Fair enough. I can live with not being liked.”

A smile cut across Gregory’s face. Seriously, a friggin’ smile. I didn’t even realize his lips could move in an upward direction.

“But I do respect you. I respect the list of actors you’ve built in such a short time. You have an ability to sign and to relate to high-level actors. While I don’t like you, they seem to really enjoy the Webz.”

Boom, and there it was. My in.

“Thank you. “ Why not just acknowledge the compliment within the backhanded slap? I wasn’t above it. I didn’t dig Gregory all that much either. We weren’t going to be besties hanging out at the Bellagio. No boys’ weekends to Singapore or Vegas. He was a stuffed shirt who was overly inflated and way out of touch, in my opinion, about the reality of the film industry. But film wasn’t his primary business, books were, and when it came to the publishing world I was a bull stomping through a shop of fine crystal. I got it. Really, I did.

“There are ways that your high-end celebrity clients can help my
New York Times
best sellers.”

Here came the ask. Damn, I sure hoped it wasn’t too painful. I could make a lot of magic with my list of clients, but hell, I wasn’t Harry Damned Houdini.