Zander and Mirren were already there and got up to greet the new arrivals, looking expectant.

  In the story of his life, this was going to be one crazy-ass chapter. They’d been up here for three days now and he could see they’d all reacted to it in completely different ways. Mirren was still concerned, stressed, but there was definitely an edge of irritation in there too. Zander? He was broody but seemed to relish the peace. What was wrong with that guy? He got up with the sun every morning, stayed out with the horses until sunset, and no matter what anyone threw at him, he just shrugged it off. Lost a million-dollar endorsement deal? No biggie. Your assistant is pissed with you? It’s all smooth, man. Psycho-killer bitch is on your tail? Just roll with the punches. When they were kids, Zander had been the deep one, the strong, silent type. Davie always figured it was because he couldn’t be happy, couldn’t show emotion. If Zander loved something, whether it was a toy or a cigarette or, later, a bottle of Scotch, Jono took it away just for fun. No surprise, then, that over the years, Zander retreated, showed less emotion, until he was this man of stone on the outside and a fucked-up mass of chaos on the inside.

  This time had been good for them, though. They’d reconnected, hung out. He wouldn’t put them back in the close friends category yet, but he was beginning to think maybe they’d get there.

  Mirren opened it up and got straight to it. ‘OK, gentlemen, where do we stand?’

  Brad Bernson was the first to pitch in with a reply.

  ‘Here’s what we know. Marilyn McLean entered the country on 10th January. She hired a black GMC, stayed in a motel on Robertson, then moved to another hotel in Santa Monica for a week.’

  ‘Past tense?’ Mirren asked. Davie felt the optimism rise. Yes! Past tense. She’d done the Hollywood Walk of Fame, the bus tour of the stars’ homes and then fucked off back to Liverpool, or Glasgow, or wherever she’d dug her hole now.

  ‘She checked out four days ago,’ Mark replied. ‘Handed the rental car back, left the motel.’

  ‘So she’s gone?’ Davie clarified.

  Mark shook his head.

  Damn.

  ‘To be honest, we’re not sure yet. We don’t have a record of her on a flight leaving the country, but that doesn’t mean she’s still here. We’ve managed to get hold of the manifests for all the American airlines, but we’ve got nothing on Iceland Air and British Airways. Both had flights departing around the time she handed back the car. And of course, she could have travelled somewhere inland. Also, two cruises left Los Angeles Port that morning, one for Hawaii and one for Mexico.

  ‘So she could be anywhere?’ Mirren asked, clearly furious. ‘How the fuck can a sixty-year-old woman go on the run and two agencies combined can’t find her?’

  Both men looked deeply uncomfortable, and Davie felt his own sense of frustration coming into play. He had to get out of there. Needed to get back to the city, back to work. It was only three days until the Oscars, and there were run-throughs booked for tomorrow and the day after. He’d already decided he was leaving tonight no matter what they said, but the fact that Marilyn could still be around was going to make it a harder sell to Sarah. ‘What about Raymo and the girl from the plane?’ Zander asked. ‘If they were involved, Marilyn had to have connected with them.’

  Mark nodded. ‘Absolutely. We’ve interviewed Raymo and he’s standing by his story that it was a spontaneous attack.’

  ‘He’s lying,’ Zander replied.

  ‘In fairness, I think you’re probably right, but we’ve got no proof.’

  ‘And the girl? Wendy?’ Zander probed.

  Brad Bernson sighed, obviously uncomfortable. ‘We called the number she put in your phone but it’s dead now. She’s quit her job and there’s no sign of her at her apartment. She’s in the wind.’ There was a silence as this was processed.

  ‘We have to warn you,’ Mark Bock spoke again, ‘that it’s not advisable for any of you to attend the Oscars.’

  Before Zander or Mirren could reply, Davie laughed as if it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. In truth, it probably was. ‘No way am I missing that. I’m co-hosting the show, and I don’t care if I have to commando-crawl on my knees carrying an AK47 and a SWAT shield, I’m going.’

  ‘Your own risk, Davie,’ Mark answered. ‘But I’m saying it’s too big a risk to take.’

  ‘And I’m telling you I’ll take it.’

  52

  MIRREN

  ‘Stronger’ – Cher

  Mirren had been reluctant to leave the ranch, but what choice was there? What were they to do – just hang out up in Santa Barbara until the end of time? It wasn’t realistic. The Oscars were crucial to her career, not just because of the nomination, but because they kept her stock high and she needed to keep the dollars coming in to support Chloe’s Care. Especially since negotiations had stalled with Pictor.

  But her determination to go was more than just for her image. She refused to be a victim. No way. She hadn’t let Jono Leith make her a victim back then, and she’d be damned if she’d let Marilyn do that to her now.

  Where the fuck was she?

  And why hadn’t Brad and Mark come up with anything yet? What the hell was she paying them for? They were her hope for putting an end to this and they’d failed.

  So what now?

  Now they were all back in LA, they’d ramped up security around their houses. None of them were going anywhere without an armed bodyguard – Logan included - and they weren’t making any unnecessary journeys.

  Mirren didn’t mind that bit. Gave her an excuse not to go into the office. The thought of running into Mike Feechan didn’t fill her with joy. It had been different this time – no phone calls, no emails, no flowers. It struck her that she should probably be the one to make a move, but frankly, she had other things on her mind.

  ‘You OK, Mom?’ Logan asked her, as he wandered in wearing just a pair of board shorts and carried out his normal morning regime – kitchen, fridge open, orange juice, straight from carton until finished.

  ‘Morning, son. I’m good. You?’

  He shrugged. ‘Deeko called. They took Jonell to rehab this morning. Apparently he’s mad as hell and wants to kill me.’

  Mirren felt her heart go out to him. ‘You’re doing the right thing now, Logan. And it will pass. When he kicks it, he’ll see that you made the only good choice, for his sake.’

  Logan nodded. ‘I guess. Feels like crap right now, though.’

  ‘I know, honey,’ she said sadly. It was one of the feelings she wished she could forget. Every time she got Chloe to rehab, her daughter would lash out, cut her off. Every time she confiscated her stash, Chloe would scream that she was a fucker and a bitch. Every time she told Chloe she was doing it out of love, her daughter replied that she hated her.

  Being an addict was hard. Helping an addict was harder.

  Still, she’d still give anything, everything, to be fighting with her daughter right now instead of looking out on the ocean on which they’d scattered her ashes.

  On the counter, her cell phone rang. Logan was nearest, so he picked it up and tossed it over to her.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Mirren, it’s Hollie.’ Mirren automatically smiled. She liked Zander’s assistant and loved the fact that she took no crap from him. Although, there had definitely been a weird vibe between them up at the ranch. Not surprising, really. These were definitely stressful times.

  ‘Hollie, hi. Is everything OK?’

  ‘Been better.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound good.’

  She heard Hollie sigh. ‘Look, I’m probably way out of line calling you, and Zander would kill me if he knew…’

  ‘But?’

  ‘I need help. Mirren, he’s a nightmare. He’s so stubborn and unreasonable and proud, and I can’t get him to see that he’s in danger of screwing things up permanently.’

  Mirren almost smiled. Hollie had Zander down pat. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Wes Lomax. He’s being a prick and he won’t consider that the drug test wasn’t authentic. Zander won’t tell him what we know now. So it’s a standoff. Zander is saying he doesn’t care, that Wes can fuck off. Meanwhile, Wes is lining up a replacement. The thing is, Mirren, you know how this will play out. If it gets out that he failed a drugs test, even if we know that’s wrong, Zander’s career is over. If the stuff about the air hostess gets out, he’s screwed then too. He’s refusing to go to the Oscars because he says it’s all a load of crap. And if he doesn’t fight this, if he just let’s Wes sack him, then he’s done. No going back. Missing the ceremony tomorrow night will just get the rumour mill going and people will start digging and God knows what they’ll come up with. I get that he doesn’t care right now, but he will in the future, I know it. If he wants to quit the business, fine, but he can’t do it under a cloud of shame that destroys everything he’s achieved. I can’t let him.’

  Mirren inhaled deeply. For someone who was about as low maintenance as it got, that guy could be hard work. He was flawed, troubled, had his demons, but god, she loved him. More than that, she owed him. She should never have believed he was using again.

  ‘Leave it with me. I’ll call you back.’

  An hour later, she was dressed in a black roll-neck sweater and a white pencil skirt with co-ordinating Jimmy Choo mono-chrome heels. In the car, she put a call in to Wes Lomax’s office. ‘Monica, this is Mirren McLean. I need to see Wes in half an hour. Where will he be?’

  Wes Lomax might be one of most important men in the business, but there was never a question over whether he would see her. It had been a lot of years since anyone stalled or refused Mirren McLean.

  Monica came back on the line. ‘He’ll be here, Mirren. Are you OK to come in?’

  ‘I’ll be there.’

  Twenty-nine minutes later, she was standing in Wes Lomax’s office.

  ‘Go on in, Mirren,’ Monica told her warmly.

  ‘Thanks, Monica.’ Mirren returned the affection. Twenty years before, when she first arrived in Hollywood, Monica had helped her find an apartment and settle in. The fact that she was still working for Wes said that under that charming exterior there was a core of steel. Or a monumental pay cheque. Or both.

  Wes was sitting behind his legendary marble desk when she entered. There was a crack that ran all the way down the centre. Urban legend had it that he attacked it with an axe in a fit of rage after a deal went sour. The truth was, he’d had an energetic four-way with three generously proportioned ladies and it had proven too much for Italy’s finest marble.

  ‘Mirren, darling,’ Wes roared, greeting her like an old friend. Mirren had a sudden urge to roll her eyes. She was pissed at him, furious that he didn’t believe Zander, raging that he was being such a dick, when the truth was, Wes Lomax had way more vices than his leading actor. He just didn’t get caught. Ignoring the effusive welcome, Mirren sat down on the black leather chair opposite him. ‘I’ll get to the point,’ she told him.

  ‘We can do that,’ he agreed, sitting forward.

  ‘Zander Leith.’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘You’re going to put him back on the next Dunhill movie.’

  Wes laughed. ‘I don’t think so. Failed a drug test. The boy’s uninsurable. Toxic.’

  Mirren barely let him get the words out. She was busy, no time for this bullshit.

  ‘The test was faked. I’m not going to explain how or why right now, but trust me, it was. So here’s what’s going to happen: you’re going to put him back in the next Dunhill, and I’m going to cover his insurance bond.’

  ‘Are you crazy? It’s millions.’

  ‘I have millions, Wes,’ she pointed out the obvious.

  ‘But if he fucks up, the money is gone. Mirren, I know you can write this cheque, but you could lose it all.’

  ‘I won’t. He’s clean. Always will be.’

  ‘Mirren, I can’t—’

  She cut him off. ‘Also, you need to call him and persuade him to come back on board. Don’t tell him I’m covering it. Don’t tell him I had anything to do with it. Just make it happen.’

  ‘Mirren, you know I’d do anything for you, darlin’, but—’

  ‘And I’ll bring Clansman to you. Two-movie deal. My existing terms. No merchandise. One-time offer.’

  He paused, mid-sentence, and she could see the wheels of his mind working like cogs in a cheap, garish, hyped-up watch. He wasn’t stupid. Without the merchandise, it wasn’t the best deal in the world, but it was a guaranteed rainmaker that would net the studio tens of millions of dollars. More than that, Wes would just get so much satisfaction in taking this from Feechan at Pictor. A twinge of regret surfaced over that, but what was she to do? If Pictor hadn’t tried to play hardball, then they wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.

  There was no denying that there was something about Mike Feechan she found irresistible. In another time or place, they might have had something. But this came down to a choice between a guy she barely knew and one she loved. No contest.

  ‘Darlin’, you got yourself a deal.’ Wes leaned over to shake her hand, his grin as smug as it was victorious.

  Mirren reciprocated, then stood. ‘I’ll have my people draw up the contracts in the morning. It all hinges on you making Zander believe this, Wes. He can’t know I had anything to do with it.’

  ‘Don’t you worry, honey – I got this.’

  Mirren didn’t doubt that he had.

  In the car, she phoned Hollie. ‘Expect a call from Wes Lomax any minute,’ she told her. ‘Zander is back in. Don’t tell him I had anything to do with it, but persuade him to swallow his pride and take the offer Wes is about to make him.’

  ‘Mirren, I don’t know how you did that, but thank you. I owe you big time.’

  ‘You really don’t,’ she said softly. Zander had already paid it forward. He’d tried to help Chloe, really tried. One addict to another. He’d almost succeeded, and he was heartbroken when she died. He and Mirren shared that, and he’d been there for her ever since. She owed him. ‘Oh, and tell him I called to make sure he’s coming to the Oscars tomorrow night. Tell him I said I need him there to look out for me. He’ll come.’

  She knew he would do that for her, and she wasn’t above a bit of emotional coercion.

  As she hung up, a tidal wave of weariness swept over her and she realised that she needed a break. Since Chloe died and Jack left, she’d worked non-stop, desperate to stay busy, but she could see now that she was exhausted. As soon as the Oscars were over, she was taking time off. Perhaps Logan could come with her, if he could be prised away from Lauren for long enough.

  She’d broach it with him after the ceremony, see what he thought.

  One last hurdle. The Oscars. Much as she’d rather do anything other than parade in front of the watching world, she had to show up, put her best smile on and act like she was thrilled to be there. She’d skipped the usual prep and arranged for hair and make-up to come to the house a couple of hours before the ceremony tomorrow. It would be fine. Her team had worked with her long enough to know what she liked. Devlin had the arrangements down, she knew when she was to arrive, where she was to sit, and the spots she was to hit on the red carpet. That bit didn’t scare her. There was more security at the Academy Awards than most governments laid on for visiting heads of state. She’d be safe there. It would be fine.

  The screen on the AMG signalled an incoming call. Davie.

  ‘Hey, I was just thinking… I’m guessing you’re looking forward to tomorrow night like you look forward to a dose of the clap.’

  Despite her worries and weariness, Mirren laughed. Davie had always had that effect on her.

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘So why don’t we stick together? Sarah’s not up for it – doesn’t like watching when I’m hosting, in case it all goes horribly wrong. Think I should be insulted that she’s the only chick in town who refuses a ticket to the Oscars?’

  ‘I like her style,’ Mirren told him truthfully.

  ‘And I’ll need to go early, because I have pre-show rehearsals. How about we tie up there and then head to the after-parties together?’

  ‘Sounds like a plan. I’ll see you there, my friend.’

  As she hung up, she realised that she hadn’t been bullshitting him. If she had to go, put on a smile and spend the night pretending to be a glittering part of the establishment, the only people she wanted to be with were Davie and Zander.

  It was only one ceremony. One night. She could do this.

  53

  SARAH

  ‘Home’ – Blake Shelton

  Sarah pulled her cup out from under the $7,000 coffee machine, removed a large tub of butter-pecan ice cream from the freezer and headed for the sofa.

  She already had her monitor up on the coffee table and the TV on in the background.

  This time last year, she’d watched the Oscars in her Glasgow flat at 2 a.m., entranced by the dresses, the glamour, thinking it was all a pretentious but fabulously entertaining piece of nonsense.

  Now, she was in Marina del Rey, watching the Oscars at 6 p.m., entranced by the dresses, the glamour and knowing for sure that it was a pretentious but fabulously entertaining piece of nonsense. One that was being co-presented by her boyfriend. Her actual boyfriend. At that very moment, Ryan Seacrest announced on E! that Davie Johnston had just pulled up and the camera at the entrance area zoomed in to catch his arrival. He must be exhausted. He’d been there all day rehearsing, then home for just an hour to change before heading back for the red carpet.

  Of course, he had to make an entrance. Every other star arrived in a limo. Davie had the agency send over a driver to chauffeur him in one of his own cars – the Bentley this time.