Free Hollywood Girls Club by Maggie Marr Page A

anything.”
    “You are. I haven’t seen any dailies and you’re now six days into your shooting schedule.”
    “No, Arnold, we’re still in preproduction. Our start date got pushed back three weeks.”
    Another audible gasp from Josanne and this time Arnold’s face turned red. The crimson wave began at his neck, just above his collar, and rolled upward, emphasizing the vein in his right temple, which bulged and began to throb. He looked as if he might stroke out.
    “Liideeeaaa Albright, who the fuck at my studio gave you permission to push your start date?” Arnold screeched.
    Bad behavior was common in Hollywood. Name calling, screaming, hurtling phones across the room, all were considered very acceptable forms of stress release. And the whole town talked about the fights afterward. But almost always, disagreements took place behind closed doors, so this display of anger and animosity in such a public setting hushed conversations for ten rows all around them. Jessica saw people in the balcony shushing one another. Suddenly, Arnold Murphy and Lydia Albright (and their ongoing feud) were more important than the film that was meant to unspool. They were the entertainment. Jessica knew that Lydia knew that at this moment, she and Arnold were the center of the Hollywood Entertainment Universe, and how Lydia played her next card would determine her viability as a producer and the viability of her film. God, I hope she’s holding aces , Jessica thought.
    Lydia smiled. She again tilted her head toward Arnold as if addressing a petulant child who’d thrown himself to the floor in the checkout line at the grocery store when denied a chocolate bar.
    Very clearly and very loudly, Lydia said, “Arnold, it was Ted Robinoff, the chairman of your studio, and I do believe your boss, who approved the delay of my start date. Perhaps you should call me less and Ted more?”
    Royal flush.
    The vein in Arnold’s head throbbed as the snickers around them grew louder.
    “You bitch,” Arnold muttered under his breath. “This doesn’t end here.”
    “No, Arnold,” Lydia whispered. “I doubt that it does. But this moment must be very embarrassing for you.”
     
    *
     
    The glitteratti was out in full force. Everyone in Hollywood wanted to work with, sleep with, or just be near Mike Fox, and after watching his latest film, Jessica understood why. Stars and studio executives hoped he’d sprinkle them with his gold dust—the license to print money that Mike Fox seemed to have. My Way or the Highway was going to be another hit.
    Mike Fox sure could throw a party, especially on the studio’s dime. He’d rented out Havana Vin Vin. Jessica and the movie’s star, her client Maurice Banks, followed William White (the megastar) and Julie Jensen, megastar in her own right and William’s wife in name only (they both had same-sex partners on the side), into the club. The room was draped in blood red swaths of velvet. The lights glowed red. Even the Cristal and Absolut had a touch of red food coloring.
    “We were going for an Asian/James Bond feel,” Jessica overheard the party planner say to an interviewer for Entertainment Express . Sushi and proscuitto, Camembert and Thai dumplings—California fusion cuisine.
    “This thing is crazy. I’ve never been to a premiere party like this,” Maurice said as Taryn Reed, the film’s female lead, grabbed Maurice by the other arm and steered him toward the bar. Most premiere parties took place at the same tired restaurants where tepid egg rolls and over-iced drinks were served.
    Go-go dancers stood on tables, performing what looked like a cross between lesbian porno and a striptease from Girls, Girls, Girls Gentleman’s Club. But the trendiest bit (and the nearest to an X rating) was the sushi display. Six Maxim models wearing two tiny red strips of cloth lay in erotic poses on a buffet table. The sushi sat on their skin. Guests circled the table with chopsticks, lifting pieces of salmon