Hollywood Girls Club by Maggie Marr Read Free Book Online Page B

forward and air-kissed Jessica on both cheeks.
    “So how’d it go?” Jessica asked, taking off her sunglasses.
    Celeste cocked her right eyebrow (a signature Celeste Solange look that could stop men dead). “Aside from no director or costar, I’d say pretty good.”
    “No,” Jessica said, horrified.
    “As I live and breathe, I swear this girl is not telling a lie.”
    “Lydia must be pissed.”
    “Pissed is an understatement.” As if on cue, Lydia arrived, pulled out the chair next to Jessica, and sat. “Do you know where my director is? Have you heard?” Lydia’s voice crested near a decibel that caused other diners to glance toward their table.
    “Still in Bali,” Jessica said.
    “I need him back here now,” Lydia said.
    “Zymar always goes to Bali between films,” Jessica said. She reached for the bottle of Pellegrino and poured some into her glass.
    “Between Arnold, Zymar, and Bradford Madison, there won’t be a film. What the fuck is wrong with these guys? Isn’t Zymar repped at CTA? Doesn’t one of your hotshot lit guys have him?”
    “I’ll get you an address,” Jessica offered, “but I don’t think Zymar takes his cell.”
    Lydia looked toward the heavens. “How do these people function?”
    “They don’t, that’s why they’re here,” Celeste said, a smile crept across her lips. “The land of broken toys, wayside waifs, and dysfunctional divas; some talented, most not. They all made the pilgrimage to movieland seeking to fill the void within.”
    “Order?” Lydia asked, skimming the menu.
    “Done,” Jessica said. “I had Kim phone it in.”
    “How do you know—”
    “She called Toddy,” Jessica said, interrupting and silencing Lydia. “And she”—Jessica nodded toward Celeste—“if I’m not mistaken, is on her preproduction greens-with-lemon-juice-tuna-on-the-side diet?”
    Celeste smiled. “Am I that predictable?”
    “Only with your diet. With everything else you’re still a surprise.”
    It was good to be known so well. These two were perhaps the only two left who didn’t blow smoke up Celeste’s rear (even her family in Tennessee was a bunch of ass kissers).
    “So the director and the costar were a no-show. How’s our baby writer holding up?” Jessica asked, taking a bite of bagel chip. “You know, Lydia, you’re putting a whole lot of faith in a first-timer.”
    “She can hang.” Celeste eyed her agent. “She won’t crack.”
    “Really?” Jessica leaned back in her chair. “That’s strong praise from one Ms. Solange, who has in fact seen it all.”
    “She’ll be good. Today she even called me Cici.”
    “Only took four meetings, but yes, we have broken Mary Anne of the habit of calling you Ms. Solange,” Lydia said as the waiter set down her chopped Cobb salad with blue cheese dressing on the side.
    “What?” Jessica asked.
    “Starstruck,” Lydia said. “No more than normal, right, Cici?”
    “She’s a pro. A little Midwestern, but a pro. Hasn’t asked me for an autograph.”
    “It’s early. Just wait till the family in Minnesota wants something signed.”
    “She’s sweet and genuine and as yet unjaded. Do you remember your first gig in this town? How exciting that was?” Celeste asked, squeezing lemon over her undressed salad and looking at her friends. She knew from experience that transplanted optimism withered quickly in the Southern California sunshine.
    “I do. It was Mike Fox,” Jessica said.
    Celeste watched as Jessica’s eyes drifted past her in a faraway gaze, a gaze reserved for long-ago travels or lost loves.
    Mike and Jessica’s torrid love affair left a big mark on Jessica. A mark, Celeste believed, that affected Jessica’s current choice of mate. It’s not that Phil was a bad guy; he was easy for Jessica. He was gone all week, letting Jess concentrate on work, and then on the weekends he provided her with a dinner date. Phil for Jessica, Celeste believed, was not a love match but a convenience.
    “Learned a