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Laura Moody finished her salad and tossed the container into the trash basket by her desk, which was located in a glass-walled office on the third floor of Starlight Artists Management. She was forty-nine years old, single, and perpetually dieting in an attempt to lose the extra ten pounds that made her grossly obese by Hollywood standards. She had flyaway brown hair, still without a speck of gray; brandy-colored eyes; and a long nose balanced by a strong chin. She was neither pretty nor plain, which made her invisible in L.A. The designer suits and jackets that were a Hollywood agent’s required uniform never looked quite right on her short frame, and even when she was dressed in Armani, someone invariably asked her to get coffee.
“Hello, Laura.”
She nearly knocked over her Diet Pepsi at the sound of Paul York’s voice. A week of dodging his phone calls had finally caught up with her. Paul was a great-looking guy with his thick, steelgray hair and even features, but he had the personality of a prison warden. Today he wore his customary uniform: gray slacks and a powder-blue dress shirt with a pair of Ray-Bans hooked in the breast pocket. His easy, loose-jointed walk didn’t fool her. Paul York was as laid-back as a cobra. “You seem to be having trouble returning phone calls lately,” he said.
“It’s been crazy.” She felt around under her desk with her bare foot for the stilettos she’d kicked off earlier. “I was just getting ready to call you.”
“Five days too late.”
“Stomach flu.” As she located one shoe, she forced herself to remember everything she admired about him. He might be the stereotypical overbearing stage father, but he’d done a decent job raising Georgie. Unlike so many other child stars, Georgie had never needed a stint in rehab. She hadn’t changed boyfriends every week or “forgotten” she wasn’t wearing panties when she got out of a car. Paul had also been scrupulous about handling her money, taking only a modest management fee for himself so that he lived comfortably, but not ostentatiously. What he hadn’t done was protect her from his own ambition.
He wandered over to the wall behind her office couch and took his time studying the plaques and photos on display—civic commendations, professional certificates, shots of her with various celebrities, none of whom she actually represented. Georgie was her only high-profile client and the major source of her income.
“I want Georgie in the Greenberg project,” he said.
Somehow she kept her smile even. “The bimbo vampire story? An interesting idea.” A horrible idea.
“It’s a great script,” he said. “I was shocked at how clever it is.”
“Genuinely funny,” she agreed. “Everyone’s talking about it.”
“Georgie will bring a new dimension to the story.”
Once again, Paul was ignoring his daughter’s wishes. Revenge of the Bimbo Vampire, despite its funny premise and witty dialogue, represented exactly the kind of role Georgie wanted to get away from.
Laura tapped her fingernails on her desk. “The part could have been written for her. I just wish Greenberg weren’t so determined to have a dramatic actress play the lead.”
“He only thinks he knows what he wants.”
“You’re probably right.” She rolled her eyes. “He believes bringing in a serious dramatic actress will give the project more credibility.”
“I didn’t say this was going to be easy. Earn your fifteen percent and make him see her. Tell him she loves the script and wants to do it more than anything.”
“Absolutely. I’ll talk to him right away.” How the hell was she going to convince Greenberg to meet with Georgie? She had much more confidence in Paul’s ability to steamroll his daughter into going after a part she didn’t want.
“You know…” She’d only found one shoe, so she couldn’t stand, which gave Paul the advantage of being able to tower over her desk. “They start shooting next month, and Georgie’s demanded six months off.”
“I’ll take care of Georgie.”
“She’s basically on her honeymoon, and—”
“I said I’d take care of her. When you talk to Greenberg, don’t let him forget how perfect her comic timing is and how much female audience
s identify with her. You know the drill. And remind him about all the press she’s getting. That’s going to sell tickets.”
Not necessarily. Georgie’s success as a tabloid darling had never translated into big box office. She nudged the legal pad on her desk. “Yes, well…You know I’ll do my best, but we have to remember this is Hollywood.”
“No excuses. Make it happen, Laura. And make it happen quick.” He gave her a curt nod and walked out.
Her head ached. She’d been so thrilled six years ago when Paul had chosen her instead of one of the other agents at Starlight to represent Georgie. She’d viewed it as her big break, belated recognition for a decade of hard work during which she’d been passed over by a dozen young Ivy League hotshots with half her experience. She hadn’t understood that she’d made a deal with the devil, a devil named Paul York.
Her dreams of becoming a Hollywood power player seemed laughable now. She didn’t have the cockiness of the other agents, or their flash. The only reason Paul had hired her was because he wanted a mouthpiece he could control, and the top Starlight agents wouldn’t play his game. Her livelihood, which now included a luxury condo, depended on her ability to carry out Paul’s wishes.
She used to pride herself on her integrity. Now she barely remembered what the word meant.
Over the next four days, Bram met with another potential investor, who was no more willing to gamble on him than the rest had been. Georgie took two more dance classes, got an inch snipped off her hair, and worried about her future. When that became too depressing, she tried persuading Meg to go shopping. But Meg was wise to the ways of Hollywood.
“If I wanted my face plastered all over the pages of US Weekly, I’d go out with my parents. You guys chose this life. I didn’t.”
