SLEAZE: A Hollywood Comeback Story (Book #1)

Chapter 21

“Yeah, well, welcome to the club,” Sophie said, yawning and letting her eyelids flicker shut.

I stared at her in disbelief as my phone vibrated again, unable to understand how she could be so nonchalant. If there had ever been a time for her to play the self-entitled diva card, this was it, and yet, instead of using her status to lean on Martha for information, she was settling in for a nap. It was both frustrating and baffling, a combination of emotions that I’d sadly grown used to feeling around her.

“Whatever, I’ll be right back,” I said, getting to my feet and walking to a secluded corner before answering my phone. “Hello?”

The forty-five minute conversation that followed highlighted the second matter that I’d come to terms with, namely that working for Michael would be the primary cause of my premature hearing loss. I listened patiently throughout his enraged tirade, offering little more than apologies and agreement that, yes, I should have booked an earlier return flight, and yes, I did appreciate just how screwed Sophie would be if she missed her meeting with Kelly. After awhile, Michael began to cough, his throat dry from yelling, and he put me on hold as he went to get a drink.

I took the momentary reprieve to test my hearing, or whatever was hopefully left of it after enduring the latest round of his screamed displeasure. Balancing the phone between my cheek and shoulder, I snapped my fingers next to the damaged ear, wondering if worker’s comp covered supervisor-induced deafness. Although dulled by a high-pitched ringing that echoed throughout the left side of my head, the faint clicking that I heard filled me with relief that at least the pain wouldn’t be permanent.

“She’s cursed, man,” Michael said as he came back on the line, sounding calmer than he had moments before. I could hear the distinctive pop of a wine bottle opening in the background and, noting the steady tinkling that followed, assumed that he was either pouring himself an enormous glass or filling a bathtub with his bottom-shelf red. “There’s really no other explanation for half the crap that happens to her. You know, and I tried when I scheduled her for this audition, I really did, but… for God’s sake, no disrespect to your dad, she’s going to give me a heart attack.”

“What should we do about Kelly?” I interrupted, ignoring his last comment. There was a long pause as Michael presumably drained his glass, followed by the sound of it being refilled. “Should we call him to reschedule?”

“Are you nuts? You want to give a bear bad news, don’t do it while it’s sleeping.”

“So what are we going to do? I’ve talked to three different airline reps and the only thing they’re telling me is that the control tower wants to wait for the storm to pass.”

Pouring another drink gave Michael time to contemplate a response, which he did with a series of agitated grunts. “Alright, I’ve got it,” he finally said, his words slowing as he downed more wine. “If you make it to LAX by eight A.M., call me and then go straight to Century City; I’ll take care of Kelly and try to get you about fifteen minutes of leeway. Don’t stop for coffee, don’t take the four-oh-five,” he instructed, referring to the heavily-trafficked 405 Freeway that ran next to the airport, “and keep praying to whatever deity you see fit until Sophie’s inside Kelly's office with a script in her hand.”

“We’ll be cutting it close,” I pointed out, snapping my fingers again as I tried to focus on something other than the gut wrenching panic I felt when I thought about his plan.

“Really?” Michael replied, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Well, maybe you two should start running west then. Who knows, that might go faster.”

Biting my tongue to cut off a vulgar retort, I said, “Eight A.M. it is. What should we do if we don’t make it?”

“I’d rather not think about the career suicide that will come from pissing off Kelly O’Brien and his people, but if worse comes to worst, I’ve always thought it’d be nice to be buried in a mahogany casket.”