What I Did for Love

Chapter 12

Two more days passed. Georgie was in the kitchen, trying to figure out how to make one of Chaz’s delicious smoothies, when she heard a noise coming from the front of the house. Seconds later, Meg Koranda exploded into the room like a frisky young greyhound who’d been kicked out of obedience school so many times her owners had given up trying to train her. In this case, her owners were her adoring parents, screen legend Jake Koranda and Fleur Savagar Koranda, the Glitter Baby, a woman who’d once been America’s most famous cover girl and who was now the powerful head of the country’s most exclusive talent agency.

Meg hurled herself at Georgie, bringing the smell of incense with her. “Ohmygod, Georgie! I only heard the news when I called home two days ago, and I took the first plane out. I was at this fabulous ashram-totally isolated from the world-I even got head lice! But it was so worth it. Mom says you’ve lost your mind.”

As Georgie returned Meg’s fierce hug, she hoped the head lice were one of her twenty-six-year-old friend’s exaggerations, but Meg’s dark brown crew cut didn’t bode well. Still Meg’s hairstyles changed with the weather, and the addition of a red bindi between her eyebrows and dangling earrings that looked as though they were made from yak bone, led Georgie to suspect her friend might be going for a monastic-chic fashion statement. Meg’s chunky leather sandals and a gauzy brown top confirmed the impression. Only her jeans were 100 percent L.A.

Meg was a tall, slender reed who’d inherited her mother’s large hands and feet, but not her mother’s extravagant beauty. Instead, Meg had her father’s more irregular features, along with his brown hair and darker coloring. Depending on the light, Meg’s eyes were either blue, green, or brown, as changeable as her personality. Meg was the little sister Georgie had always wanted, and Georgie loved her dearly, but that didn’t make her blind to Meg’s faults. Her friend was spoiled and impulsive, five feet ten inches of good times, good intentions, good heart, and almost total irresponsibility in her quest to outrun her famous parents’ legacies.

Georgie squeezed her shoulders. “How could you disappear for so long without calling one of us? We’ve missed you.”

“I was cut off from civilization. Time got away from me.” Meg pulled back far enough to spot the blender with its messy, unprocessed pink contents. “If that has alcohol in it, I want some.”

“It’s ten o’clock in the morning.”

“Not in Punjab. Start at the beginning and tell me everything.”

Bram, who must have let her in the house, appeared in the doorway. “How’s the grand reunion going?”

Meg ran to him. They’d dated a few times, over the protests of Georgie, Sasha, April, and both of Meg’s parents. Meg swore they’d never had sex, but Georgie didn’t entirely believe her. Now Meg snaked her arm around his waist. “Sorry to ignore you when I came in.” She gazed back at Georgie. “We never hooked up. I swear. Tell her, Bram.”

“If we never hooked up,” Bram said in his huskiest, sexiest drawl, “how do I know you have a dragon tattooed on your ass?”

“Because I told you. Don’t believe him, Georgie. Really. You know I only went out with him because my parents gave me such a hard time about it.” She looked up at Bram, which, with her considerable height, only required lifting her eyes a few inches. “I have oppositional disorder. The minute somebody tells me not to do something, I’m all over it. It’s a character flaw.”

He ran his hand up her spine and dropped his voice to a sexy purr. “If I’d known about that when we went out, I’d have demanded you keep your clothes on.”

Meg’s eyes flashed from sea green to a stormy blue. “Are you hitting on me?”

“Make sure you tell Georgie.”

Meg pointed her finger. “She’s standing right there.”

“How do you know she’s paying attention? If you’re her friend, you won’t let her ignore what’s going on right under her nose.”

Georgie lifted an eyebrow at him, then drowned them both out by switching on the blender. Unfortunately, she’d forgotten to tighten the lid.

“Watch it!”

“Jeez, Georgie…”

She lunged for the blender controls, but the buttons were slippery, and the machine spewed its contents everywhere. Strawberries, banana, flaxseed, wheatgrass, and carrot juice flew across the pristine counter, down the cabinets, spattered the floor and Georgie’s exorbitantly expensive wheat-colored tunic top. Bram pushed her aside and found the right button, but not before he decorated himself and his white T-shirt with colorful glop. “Chaz is going to kill you,” he said, the sexy drawl forgotten. “Seriously.”

Meg had been far enough away to escape unscathed, except for a bit of banana that she licked from her arm. “Who’s Chaz?”

Georgie snatched up a dish towel and started dabbing at her tunic. “Do you remember Mrs. Danvers, the scary housekeeper in Rebecca?”

Meg’s yak bone earrings bobbed. “I read the book in college.”

“Imagine her as a surly, twenty-year-old punk rocker who runs the place like Nurse Ratched in Cuckoo’s Nest, and you have Bram’s charming housekeeper, Chaz.”

Meg watched Bram pull his T-shirt over his head. “I’m not picking up a real strong love vibe between you two.”

Bram grabbed a dishcloth. “Then I guess you’re not as perceptive as you think. Why else would we have gotten married?”

“Because Georgie’s not accountable for her actions these days, and you’re after her money. Mom says you’re the kind of guy who never grows up.”

Georgie couldn’t hold back a smirk. “That might explain why Mommy Fleur refused to represent you.”

Bram’s expression of displeasure would have been more effective if his cheek hadn’t been smeared with gooey flaxseeds. “She wouldn’t represent you, either.”

“Only because I’m so close to Meg. It would have been a conflict of interest.”

“Not really,” Meg pointed out. “Mom loves you as a person, Georgie, but she wouldn’t be caught dead having to deal with your father. Do you guys mind if I crash here for a couple of days?”

“Yes!” Bram said.

“No, of course not.” Georgie regarded her with concern. “What’s up?”

“I want to spend some time with you, that’s all.”

Georgie didn’t entirely believe her, but who knew exactly what Meg was thinking? “You can stay in the guesthouse.”

Bram bristled. “No, she can’t. My office is in the guesthouse.”

“Only in half of it. You never go into the bedroom.”

Bram turned on Meg. “We haven’t even been married for three weeks. What kind of loser barges in on people who are practically on their honeymoon?”

Scatterbrained Meg Koranda disappeared, and in her place stood Jake Koranda’s daughter, her expression as steely as her father’s when he played the gunslinger Bird Dog Caliber. “The kind of loser who wants to make sure her friend’s best interests are being protected when she suspects that same friend might not be looking out for herself.”

“I’m fine,” Georgie said quickly. “Bram and I are passionately in love. We just have a weird way of showing it.”

Bram abandoned his clean-up efforts. “Have you told your parents you want to stay here? Because I swear to God, Meg, I don’t need Jake on my ass right now. Or your mother.”

“I’ll deal with Dad. And Mom already dislikes you, so she’s no problem.”

Chaz chose that moment to enter her kitchen. Today two tiny rubber bands made miniature devil horns out of the now fluorescent red hair on top of her head. She looked fourteen, but she cussed like a veteran sailor when she saw the condition of her kitchen. Until Bram stepped forward…

“I’m sorry, Chaz. The blender got away from me.”

Chaz immediately softened. “Wait for me next time, okay?”

“I sure will,” he said contritely.

She began ripping off squares of paper towel and handing them out. “Wipe your feet so you don’t track this shit all over the house.”

She refused any offers of help and began attacking the mess with single-minded focus. As they left the kitchen, Georgie remembered Chaz’s enthusiasm for cleaning up messes and wished she had her video camera handy.

She decided to settle for Meg instead, and later that afternoon as they sat around the pool, she turned the camera on her and began asking about her experiences in India. But unlike Chaz, Meg had grown up around cameras, and she answered only the questions she chose to. When Georgie tried to press her, she said she was bored talking about herself and wanted to swim.

Bram appeared not long after. He closed up his phone, sprawled on the chaise next to Georgie, and gazed at Meg in the pool. “Having your pal around isn’t a good idea. I still have the hots for her.”

“No, you don’t. You just want to annoy me.” He hadn’t put a shirt on, and lust shot right through her slutty little body. Bram thought she was playing games by holding him off, but it was more complicated. She’d never viewed sex as meaningless entertainment. She’d always needed for it to be important. Until now.

Was she finally clear-eyed and self-assertive enough to indulge in a mindless fling? A few steamy romps and then, “Arrivederci, babe, and don’t let the door hit you on your way out.” But that scenario had a major flaw. How could she have a mindless fling with a man she couldn’t send home afterward? No matter which way she looked at it, living under the same roof was a complication she couldn’t get around.

“You haven’t mentioned your meeting at the Mandarin this morning,” she said to distract herself.

“Nothing to say. The guy mainly wanted the dirt on our marriage.” Bram shrugged. “Who cares? It’s a beautiful afternoon, and neither of us is miserable. You have to admit this is a great third date.”

“Nice try.”

“Give it up, Georgie. I’ve noticed the way you look at me. You do everything but lick your lips.”

“Unfortunately, I’m human, and you’re a lot hotter than you used to be. If only you were a real person instead of a male blow-up doll…”

He swung his legs over the lounge and stood above her like a golden Apollo who’d sauntered down from Mount Olympus to remind female mortals about the consequences of messing with the gods. “One more week, Georgie. That’s all you’ve got.”

“Or what?”

“You’ll see.”

Somehow it didn’t sound like an idle threat.

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 audiences 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.”

Meg went horseback riding instead, and Georgie endured a difficult lunch with her father at L.A.’s newest luncheon hot spot, where they sat in a leather booth beneath a sheet metal chandelier.

“Revenge of the Bimbo Vampire is brilliantly written and really funny,” he said, digging into his grilled steak salad. “You know how rare that is.”

He pushed the bread basket at her, but she didn’t have much appetite. For the past two weeks, Chaz had been feeding her mountains of mac and cheese, slabs of lasagna. True, the edges of her bones had begun to lose their sharpness, and her cheeks had stopped looking like fatal cave-ins, but she was fairly certain that wasn’t Chaz’s intent.

“I’m sure it’ll do amazingly well. But…” She poked at a bowl of lemon risotto and fought to hold on to her resolve. It was her life, her career, and she had to carve her own path. “I need a break from playing emotional lightweights. I’ve paid my dues, Dad, and I don’t want to sign on for another comedy. I want something that’ll challenge me, something I can get excited about.”

She didn’t bother bringing up the six-month vacation she’d fought for so fiercely. She needed to get back to work as soon as possible just to avoid spending so much time around Bram.

He leaned back in the booth. “Don’t be a cliché, Georgie-another comic actress who wants to play Lady Macbeth. Do what you’re good at.”

She couldn’t let herself cave. “How do I know I won’t be good at other kinds of parts when I’ve never had a chance?”

“Do you have any idea how hard Laura is working to get you a meeting with Greenberg?”

“She should have talked to me first.” As if Laura would even think about consulting her.

He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He looked tired, which made her feel guilty. It hadn’t been easy for him, widowed at twenty-five with a four-year-old to raise. He’d dedicated his life to her, and all she had to give him in return these days was resentment. He slipped his glasses back on and picked up his fork only to set it back down. “I’m guessing this laziness of yours-”

“That’s not fair.”

“This lack of focus, then, is Bram’s influence, and frankly, it scares me that he’s passing his unprofessional attitude on to you.”

“Bram doesn’t have anything to do with it.”

As she pushed around her risotto, she waited for him to point out how much more cooperative she’d been during her marriage to Lance. Her father and Lance had seen eye to eye about everything, so much so that she’d often thought Lance should have been his kid instead of her.

But Paul was picking his battles. “They’re planning to release Bimbo Vampire over the Fourth of July weekend next year. A perfect summer movie. It has blockbuster written all over it.”

“Not if I’m in it.”

“Don’t do that, Georgie. Negative thoughts bring negative results.”

“Cake Walk is going to tank. We both know it.”

“I agree they made some bad decisions, and that’s why you need to have your name linked with Bimbo Vampire as soon as possible. All this publicity has given you a window of opportunity that won’t come again. If you pass on this, you’ll regret it the rest of your life.”

She suppressed her anger by reminding herself that her father always looked out for her best interests. From the beginning, he’d been her staunchest champion. If she lost out on a part, he’d tell her the casting agents were the losers. That was the thing about him. He’d always done his best to protect her. He’d even refused to let her take the starring role of a child prostitute when she was twelve. If only his protectiveness had been rooted in love instead of ambition.

Once again, she considered how things might have been different if she hadn’t lost her mother. “Dad…If Mom hadn’t died, do you think you’d have gone on with your own acting career?”

“Who knows? It’s useless to speculate.”

“I know, but…” The risotto was too salty, and she pushed it aside. “Tell me again how you met.”

He sighed. “We met in college our senior year. I was playing Becket in Murder in the Cathedral, and she interviewed me for the college newspaper. Attraction of opposites. She was a complete scatterbrain.”

“Did you love her?”

“Georgie, it was a long time ago. We need to focus on now.”

“Did you?”

“Very much.” The impatient way he bit out the words told Georgie he was only saying what he knew she wanted to hear.

As she gazed down at her uneaten risotto, she found it ironic that she’d grown more comfortable with her disreputable husband than with her own father. But then she didn’t care about Bram’s opinion.

Maybe one of these days she’d stop caring about her father’s.

Before the end of their lunch, Georgie’s guilt got the better of her, and she invited him to dinner that weekend. She’d ask Trev, too, and make Meg stick around. Maybe she’d even call Laura. Her puppet agent was good at keeping conversations going, and with Bram and her father tossing darts at each other, she’d need a mediator.

Chaz threw a fit when Georgie told her she intended to hire a caterer. “My meals have always been good enough for Bram and his friends,” she declared, “but I guess you’re too high class.”

“Fine!” Georgie retorted. “If you want to cook, then cook. I was only trying to make it easy on you.”

“Then tell Aaron he has to help me serve.”

“I’ll do that.” She had to ask: “What friends of Bram’s did you cook for? He doesn’t seem to have a lot of people hanging around.”

“Sure he does. I cooked for his girlfriends. For Trevor. And he had that big director guy, that Mr. Peters, over a couple of months ago.”

Hank Peters really had met with him. Interesting.

The bad publicity from the balcony photos finally began to die down, but she and Bram needed to make another public appearance before it started up again. On Thursday, two days before the dinner party, they visited Pinkberry in West Hollywood. Bram hadn’t commented on their lack of a sex life in days. It was disconcerting. He behaved as if sex weren’t even an issue, except he couldn’t seem to keep his shirt on, and he touched her arm whenever he went by. Georgie had started to feel as if she were burning up.

He was playing her.

The West Hollywood Pinkberry had become a celebrity favorite, which meant the paps always hung around. Georgie chose navy slacks and a scooped-neck white blouse with a row of six retro red plastic buttons down the front. It had taken her an hour to get ready. Bram was still in the jeans and T-shirt he’d pulled on that morning.

Georgie ordered her frozen yogurt topped with fresh blueberries and mango. Bram grumbled about wanting a damned Dairy Queen and didn’t get anything. As they came out of the shop, the half a dozen photographers who’d gathered sprang to attention.

“Georgie! Bram! We haven’t seen you guys in a few days. Where have you been?”

“We’re newlyweds,” Bram shot back. “Where do you think?”

“Georgie, anything you want to say about Jade Gentry’s miscarriage?”

“Have you talked to Lance?”

“Are you two planning a family?”

The questions kept coming until a photographer with a pronounced Brooklyn accent called out, “Bram, are you still having trouble landing a decent job? I guess Georgie and her money came along just in time.”

Bram tensed, and Georgie snaked her arm through his. “I don’t know who you are”-she maintained her smile-“but Bram’s days of slugging photographers who act like worms aren’t all that far behind him. Or maybe that’s what you want?”

A few of the other paps regarded the man with disgust, but that didn’t prevent them from keeping their cameras ready in case Bram lost his temper. A shot of him throwing a punch would bring thousands of dollars, along with the possibility of a lucrative legal settlement for the photographer who’d provoked the attack.

“I wasn’t going to hit him,” Bram said as they finally broke clear. “I’m not stupid enough to fall for that crap.”

“Only because you fell for it so many times in the past.”

He cocked his head toward the paps, who were on their heels. “Let’s give them their money shot.”

“Which is…?”

“You’ll see.” He took her hand and pulled her down the sidewalk, the paps trailing close behind.