Breaking Hollywood Read online

  Only when their heartbeats were returning to post-coital normal did Mirren speak.

  ‘I don’t usually do that,’ she said, embarrassed.

  ‘Neither do I,’ he answered, smiling. She believed him.

  ‘I don’t want to be rude, but you should go before Logan gets back. I wouldn’t like him to see you here.’ She tried to make it sound as gentle as possible, but there was no getting away from the fact that it looked like he was being dismissed. Duty over. Job done. Thank you and goodnight.

  Mark’s face flinched with surprise, but he didn’t argue and she didn’t give him time to make other suggestions. She headed to the bathroom, returned when he was already gone.

  The thought of climbing into a bed in which she’d just had sex with a virtual stranger didn’t appeal, so she’d wandered through to Chloe’s old room, slipped under the covers and nodded off there, before waking in the morning and realizing that for the first time in months, she’d slept through the whole night.

  The next morning, when she’d reached the office, there had been a dozen roses waiting on her desk, no card, next to an assistant with an inquisitive expression.

  ‘Someone is popular this morning,’ Devlin sing-songed cheerfully.

  ‘I helped an old lady across the road,’ Mirren replied so coolly that she could see Devlin was actually wondering whether to believe her.

  At lunchtime, Devlin had called through to her, ‘Mark Bock is on the line for you.’

  The wave of cold dread was instant. She wasn’t ready for this. Couldn’t do it. Her emotions were still locked in a place that left her utterly numb. The thought of opening up to someone, embarking on a new relationship, filled her with a level of discomfort that she knew probably bordered on irrational.

  ‘Tell him I’m unavailable. And if he calls back, tell him the same thing.’

  That had been it. Contact severed. He’d taken the hint. There was, however, no getting away from the uncomfortable reality that they had to work together.

  This meeting in Bock’s office had been set up prior to the night of the Malibu dinner and she couldn’t pull out. The deadline for contract negotiations to be settled was fast approaching and the standoff had to be broken, thus this tête-à-tête – just Mirren, Mark, and the lawyers Euan and Perry.

  Performance time. Mirren conjured up another smile. ‘Good to see you too. OK, let’s get started, shall we?’

  There was a flicker of something she couldn’t read in Mark’s eyes, but he took her lead. Not for the first time this week, she realized, toes curling with embarrassment.

  ‘Euan, can you outline the situation?’

  Anderson cleared his throat and kicked off with a run-down of the main contract points already agreed. They were all on the same page on shooting schedules and timescales. The script had already been agreed, as had the casting. Distribution was in place. Every team in both Pictor and McLean Productions had submitted their plans and strategies, and all had been rubber-stamped. Which brought them to . . .

  ‘Merchandise,’ Euan finally announced. ‘We need to move it to twenty-five per cent. The deal should never have been done at ten per cent in the first place.’

  ‘But it was,’ Mirren said calmly.

  Mark casually adjusted the sleeves on his white shirt and then sat forward, hands clasped on the table in front of him. As he moved, Mirren immediately recognized the faint scent of Amouage Dia Pour Homme. She’d once bought it as a gift for Jack, and loved the blend of woody tones, herbs and leathers.

  ‘Mirren, we want to work this out, but we can’t stick at ten per cent. No other franchise out there works on that basis.’

  He was reasonable. Likable. Came over as genuinely sincere. But to Mirren, the choice was simple – the money went into her company’s bank account or Pictor’s bank account. She’d made the studio millions over the years, so she saw absolutely no reason to concede on this. If they wanted her loyalty, they were going to have to honour the terms of their original deal, because the fact was that Mirren hadn’t got to where she was today by allowing big studios to push her around.

  Perry took a breath, ready to step in and Mirren could see that she had a page of figures in front of her: projections, costs, profit. Mirren immediately realized that she didn’t have the patience to carry on with this. She wasn’t going to budge. Arguments were futile, so what was the point in wasting everyone’s time? She subtly put her hand on Perry’s arm to stop her.

  ‘I have worked with Pictor for a decade and it’s been mutually beneficial. I don’t appreciate your actions, or agree with them on any basis. Our terms remain the same.’

  ‘Mirren, we appreciate the history, and trust me, we do not want to damage what has been an extremely profitable relationship. But the terms are unreasonable. You have to give something here.’

  ‘I really don’t,’ she answered calmly, before rising to her feet. ‘Please have the contracts drafted, original terms, before the end of the month. Otherwise I’ll take the Clansman franchise elsewhere. Thank you for your time.’

  No one said a word as she left Bock’s office. Twenty minutes later, she was back behind her own desk when Perry knocked and entered, her face a mask of amusement. ‘Anytime I need someone’s ass kicked, remind me to call you.’

  Mirren smiled wearily. ‘Sorry if I stole your thunder this morning. I know you were prepared to make the arguments, but I just preferred to cut to the chase.’

  Perry leaned on the back of the chintz-covered seat on her side of the desk. ‘You certainly did that. I thought Mark Bock was gonna bust his gut when you left. He didn’t look happy at all. Dismissed the two of us and then there was a loud banging sound. I think he kicked the desk.’

  ‘I’m sure he didn’t,’ Mirren replied, laughing at Perry’s flair for the dramatic.

  ‘Anyway, I think there will be hell to pay over at Pictor this afternoon,’ Perry concluded.

  ‘I can imagine.’ Actually, Mirren wasn’t sure that she could. Her entire experience of him in the few hours she’d spent with him fully clothed were of a pretty straightforward guy. ‘Did you set up the meeting with Lomax?’

  ‘Monday. The patio at the Ivy.’

  ‘Great.’ Her gaze went to the clock on the wall next to the door. ‘Damn, look at the time. I have to go. Let me know when they come back to you.’

  ‘Oh, I will.’ Perry headed out, clearly satisfied with her working day.

  An hour later, Mirren was sitting across from her best friend and editor of the Hollywood Post, Lou Cole, for their weekly dinner date.

  ‘Oh, girl. Rookie mistake number one: do not have alcohol with attractive man when you’re feeling vulnerable. Rookie mistake number two: do not ever sleep with studio head while in negotiation over terms of contract.’

  Mirren gave Lou her best deadpan expression. ‘I bought the first one, but you made the second one up.’

  Lou let out her glorious cackle, turning the heads of the other diners at Giorgio Baldi on West Channel Road in Santa Monica. The couple having a romantic dinner at the next table didn’t look entirely impressed. Thankfully, no one could overhear the conversation, because Lou was always given the same round table in the corner of one of the most intimate restaurants in the city. It was perfect for watching the action, but offered privacy for passing on salacious gossip to her dinner companions.

  The dining area was dimly lit, small, almost like a beautiful room in a welcoming home. One that Paul McCartney, Rihanna, George Clooney and Gary Barlow liked to visit when they were in town.

  But in this restaurant it was all about the food. When the waiter described the specials, it was almost lyrical. Succulent. Enticing. Exquisite temptation. And they lived up to the promise. The Dover sole was to die for. The Maine lobster with warm sorano beans was sensational. The agnolotti with white truffle sauce was cooked somewhere close to heaven.

  Mirren held up her hands. ‘Look, you have to cut me some slack. Other than Mark, I’ve slept with two men in my life: Da
vie and Jack. My experience is limited, and my understanding of the niceties of sexual politics needs some work.’

  She groaned out loud and covered her face with her hands, finally opening them when Lou’s laughter became contagious enough to make her shoulders shake.

  ‘Don’t mock. Take pity. Rescue me.’

  ‘Honey, you don’t need rescuing; you need a twelve-step plan to get you back in the game.’ Mirren speared the olive in her Martini and bit into it.

  ‘I have no game.’

  ‘Exactly. You have no game. This is why you need me. So how was it?’

  ‘What are we, fifteen?’

  ‘I’m serious. How was it?’

  ‘Lou, it was a mistake. A one-off, not to be repeated, definite mistake. My head was just in a really weird place.’

  ‘Is that a description of the action?’

  The romantic couple at the next table shot them synchronized evil glares as laughter cut into their doe-eyed moment for a second time.

  ‘So what happens now?’ Lou asked, mischief written all over her face.

  ‘Nothing! We’re still locked over the merchandise negotiations, so this couldn’t have happened at a worse time.’

  Lou nodded, feigning seriousness. ‘You’re right – probably thinks you fucked him to get some leverage on the deal.’

  Mirren groaned. ‘Thanks, chum. Just when I thought I had already reached an all-time low . . .’

  Her smile said differently. Where would she have been without Lou for the last few years? No matter how much crap had been thrown at her, the one constant in her life was the woman she could talk to, cry with, and who made her laugh until her jaw hurt – and often all three, alternated in the course of one evening. The truth was that sleeping with Mark had been a ridiculous error of judgement that she’d been beating herself up about all week. It was the first time she’d had a one-night stand, and it would be the last. And yet, in Lou’s utterly incorrigible hands, it had been reduced from a major fuck-up to a tiny blip. ‘Play up the good stuff, cope with the bad, ignore everything else’ was Lou’s motto. And she was right. So she’d had a one-night stand? So what? In the grand scheme of things, did it really matter?

  ‘Look who it is!’ Lou’s exclamation interrupted her thoughts. She turned, expecting to see Davie Johnston. He’d asked to meet her and she’d suggested he join them tonight for an early dinner before he went to the studio for tonight’s Here’s Davie Johnston. He was probably feeling lonely without Sarah around.

  Mirren turned and saw, to her surprise, that Lex Callaghan and his wife, Cara, were about to pass their table. They spotted her at exactly the same time.

  ‘Mirren! So good to see you,’ Cara exclaimed, her arms wide. The two women locked in a tight hug, while Lex greeted Lou with an affectionate kiss. ‘All my favourite women in the same place,’ he joked.

  ‘Yep, so you can run along and leave us to have a girls’ night,’ Lou quipped, then turned to Cara. ‘We have sex revelations and a large splash of scandal.’

  ‘Oooh, I’m in,’ Cara giggled.

  Lex feigned sorrow. ‘I know when I’m beat,’ he said mournfully.

  ‘You look incredible,’ Mirren told Cara. It wasn’t an empty compliment. Cara’s long black hair, a throwback to her Native American heritage, hung in one long, glossy, ebony sheet. Her dark skin and wide brown eyes gave her an exotic beauty; the simple white shift dress added a timeless elegance. She might spend most of her life in jeans and riding boots, with the wind in her hair and dirt under her nails, but she definitely knew how to pull off the formal look too.

  Mirren realized that this was an unusual place to meet them. They rarely came into the city, and they definitely didn’t do upmarket restaurants.

  ‘Special occasion?’ she asked.

  Cara shook her head. ‘Nope. I had to come into town for a couple of appointments, and Lex has an early call in the morning, so we just decided to make a night of it and stay up at the shack.’

  ‘The shack?’ Lou asked, horrified. Lou didn’t do ‘shacks’. She did five-star hotels with a concierge who could tend to her every whim.

  ‘It’s not actually a shack,’ Mirren said, calming her down. ‘It’s a little bit less rustic than it sounds.’

  The shack was where Lex stayed when he was in the city. Not for him the glitzy opulence of the grand West Hollywood chain hotels or the bijou boutiques. Instead, he’d bought a cabin in the hills of Topanga, half a mile from civilization. He’d made some concessions to modern life. There was electricity, hot and cold running water, comfortable furniture and a fifty-inch plasma TV on the wall, but that was about the extent of his modernizations.

  ‘Would you like to join us?’ Mirren asked automatically.

  Cara grinned. ‘Thank you, but we’ll leave you to it. Much as I’d love to hear those sexual revelations, I only get this man out a couple of times a year and I want to have a long chat to him to see if I still like him.’

  Another flurry of hugs and they were off to the table waiting for them on the other side of the room.

  ‘God, I love them,’ Mirren said as she sat back down.

  ‘They’re one of the elusive few,’ Lou added.

  ‘Few what?’

  ‘Few couples who’ve never had a single rumour of infidelity.’

  Lou’s job on the Hollywood Post gave her an encyclopaedic knowledge of every failing, flirt and fuck in town. There was very little she didn’t know. Whether she chose to publish or not was a different story. It was Lou who’d uncovered Jack’s affair with Mercedes Dance the previous year. It was Lou who told Mirren that Mercedes was pregnant. And it was Lou who discovered that the DNA test showed the baby wasn’t Jack’s. Not that it mattered to Mirren. The point was that he’d broken their marriage, and no piece of paper with a negative DNA result could patch that wound.

  ‘Sorry, sorry, sorry!’ Davie announced as he burst in on her in a restaurant for the second time in just a few days.

  ‘No worries. We were just talking nonsense until you got here. You can take over doing that now,’ Mirren teased, between double kisses and hugs all round. Lou knew Davie from moving in the same circles over the last twenty years, but they hadn’t been friends until he and Mirren had rekindled their relationship.

  Mirren knew that Lou loved his cheek, his balls and his energy.

  They immediately launched into a flurry of orders and chat that took them well into their main courses. ‘So tell me, are you missing Sarah?’ Mirren asked.

  Davie nodded. ‘Look, I know I’m supposed to be all cool and macho, but man, I hate that she’s away. I’m not designed to be on my own,’ he admitted.

  ‘You never were,’ Mirren told him. ‘Remember when your mum was working nights? You practically moved in with Zander, and then when we were older, we had to come stay with you.’ Her words sparked a memory for both of them. The first time they’d slept together was when she’d been hanging out in his bedroom on a freezing winter night while his mum was at work. They were sixteen. It was no different from a hundred other nights, until the moment they had a cuddle to warm up and Mirren asked him to kiss her. She discovered later that he’d been in love with her for years, but at that moment, she’d been terrified. He was too. They kissed, made love and stayed together, convinced they were soulmates.

  They were – until Jono Leith’s death destroyed them all. In that single moment, their futures were jacked onto a different track. Not only by the scars of what they did and what they saw, but because they’d always know just how close love and hate really were. Marilyn had been Jono’s lover for years and adored him, was obsessed by him, lived her life for the moment he walked into a room and extinguished her spirit the moment he left. He was her king, until he committed the ultimate sin, and Marilyn snapped, plunged a knife into his chest and pulled it back out, and then left him to die on her kitchen floor.

  Love. Hate. Love. Hate. Madness. Death.

  Jono Leith was gone. Her mother had never been there in the f
irst place. But right then, that didn’t matter. Because the reason she plunged a knife into Jono Leith’s heart broke Mirren’s.

  ‘Hey, you OK? You’ve totally slipped into a dwam.’

  The sound of the old Scottish word made her smile as she remembered Davie’s mum using it regularly. That boy of mine. I swear to the Mother of God he spends his whole blessed life wandering about in a dwam.

  The memory jolted her back to the guy in front of her. Forget the past. It’s done. All that really matters is what’s happening right here and now.

  The rest of the meal was filled with indiscreet rumours and salacious chat, and Mirren realized that this was the most she’d smiled in a long time. It felt good. Gave her hope. She didn’t believe for a minute that time healed, but perhaps if she could occupy it with tranquillity, peace and laughter-filled nights like this one, then it would become bearable. At least, bearable enough to prevent her from having sex with men she barely knew.

  ‘So listen, I need to shoot off soon, but there’s something I have to talk to you about,’ Davie announced after the waiter had cleared their plates.

  Mirren eyed him with a smile and a raised eyebrow. ‘Ah, here it comes. And there was me thinking that you wanted to join us for my sparkling wit and personality.’

  ‘That too,’ Davie admitted.

  Was it Mirren’s imagination, or was his left eye twitching slightly, that telltale sign he’d had as a kid in times of stress, lies or trouble? Mirren’s stomach clenched with anxiety, her mind already going to the worst-case scenario. He’d found out about Marilyn. Damn, she should have told him. She should have been honest. He deserved that.

  His eye twitched again as he continued, ‘But other than that, there’s something else I really need to tell you . . .’

  31.

  ‘Love Runs Out’ – OneRepublic

  Davie

  In the busy dining room at Giorgio Baldi, Lou decided to make a diplomatic exit and rose from her seat. ‘Jennifer Garner is over there. Love that girl. I’m just gonna go for a quick chat.’