Читать книгу Picture Perfect - Kate Forster, Kate Forster - Страница 14

Zoe woke in the middle of the night and sat bolt upright.

There were two things that caused her to wake up fretting at night. One was money—even though she had plenty, it never felt like she had quite enough.

The other was the fear that a stranger was in the house—even though she had a serious security system and nothing like that had ever happened the whole time she’d lived in LA.

But old habits die hard and she was sure she could hear the creak of footsteps in the hallway.

Turning on the bedside light she listened to the silence, trying to calm her racing heart and telling the panicked voices in her head she was safe in her own home. There was no leering foster brother with rough hands about to creep in to her room. Hand jobs had kept him at bay, but she’d always wondered how long that would last.

And still, after all these years, Zoe worried that she would never be safe again.

Just to be sure, she got out of bed and walked into her dressing room.

Her house was modest by Hollywood standards, but her dressing room, the size of a small bedsit, was a tribute to her success.

It was her sanctuary, custom built to her design.

There were shelves for all her bags, racks for her shoes, a centrepiece for her belts and accessories, and all climate controlled by the same people who did the system for the Museum of Contemporary Art.

All of Zoe’s work clothes were elegant, in muted tones and blacks. She preferred to blend into the background at work events, leaving the colour to her clients. However, they were all the best quality: Calvin Klein tunics, Armani suits, Roland Mouret cocktail dresses and white shirts from James Perse.

Her off-duty clothes consisted of jeans, yoga pants and anything that was comfortable and soft. Cashmere cardigans and T-shirts worn till they were as soft as a baby’s wrap. At work she was Zoe Greene, but at home she was herself with a love for beautiful things.

Sometimes, to calm herself, she would clean her leather handbags with a special cream. Other times she would check the soles on all her shoes to see which ones might need repairing. Zoe believed in repairing things. When you had worked so hard to get things, you had to look after them.

She did whatever it took to calm the thoughts and her racing heart.

But when she wasn’t at home, and the fears took over her mind, the only place in the world that could calm her was a department store.

Walking through Barneys, she would feel the weight of her troubles slide off her shoulders.

Now Zoe sat on the padded chair in her dressing room and contemplated her success, but still she felt troubled.

The rumours that Jeff’s studio was in financial trouble had to be true, she thought, and explained his demand that Zoe find a new star for the role of Simone. Clearly he didn’t have the money to pay for an A-list actress.

Jeff had also demanded a lower cost director, maybe someone from Europe, he had said. During the meeting in Jeff’s plush office, staring at the Kandinsky on his wall, Zoe had wondered if it was too late to get out of the deal. But she had signed the papers and was an official executive producer on The Art of Love.

She picked up a pair of Sergio Rossi boots and ran her hand over the smooth, handcrafted leather but she didn’t feel the calm that usually came when she spent time with her possessions. An unfamiliar restlessness surged through her and she wondered what Jeff was doing. Probably taking some young actress to bed with promises of stardom.

Tonight her wardrobe couldn’t fix what she needed, she thought. The only remedy was Barneys and a serious shopping spree.

The next morning she nursed a coffee and ninety-nine problems, as she entered Barneys.

The store felt like retail valium, she thought, as she took in the marble, silver and soft music.

Sleep had finally arrived at her house at four a.m. and now at eleven in the morning, she was feeling slightly hungover when she heard her name.

Turning, she saw Stella Valancia coming towards her in a cloud of leopard print and musk scent.

‘Stella, how are you?’ she asked politely.

‘I am fine,’ said Stella, over-pronouncing the ‘fine’, so it sounded like the word was never going to end.

She really was gorgeous, thought Zoe, it was just a shame she couldn’t act. But with a spectacular body and more ambition than talent, Stella hadn’t looked back since moving to Los Angeles.

Will had asked Zoe to manage Stella, but she had refused on the grounds she didn’t have any more room in her talent stable.

‘I want to audition for The Art of Love,’ Stella said abruptly.

Zoe felt her jaw drop. She could not be serious, could she?

Simone and Stella were as similar as Meryl Streep and Marilyn Monroe. Zoe was familiar enough with Stella’s work to know she couldn’t possibly bring the gravitas to the role of Simone that was required.

Zoe paused, trying to find the right words. ‘I will put your name forward to Jeff and the author, Stella, but they have ultimate sign-off on auditions. I’m sure you understand this is going to be a highly sought-after role.’

Stella shrugged. ‘Of course, but I want to try.’ She paused. ‘I also think, if I do the role, she shouldn’t die in the end.’

Zoe wondered for a moment if she was dreaming.

‘But she does die in the end?’ she said slowly, making sure Stella understood. ‘Simone did actually die, in real life.’

Stella shrugged. ‘Yes, but it would be nicer for ze audience if she didn’t die, no?’

‘Okay,’ said Zoe, shaking her head, now wishing she were at home in her wardrobe again.

Stella picked up the Marni shoe on the stand next to Zoe. ‘Why does Maggie come to Will’s house so often?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know, why don’t you ask her?’ Zoe said, looking Stella in the eye.

‘Is she still in love with him?’

Was she ever in love with Will? Zoe wanted to say. Perhaps for a time Maggie had convinced herself that she was, but Elliot was the reason she had stayed in the marriage, Zoe knew, and why she couldn’t keep away now.

‘Maggie’s just very close to Elliot, that’s all,’ Zoe said, trying to edge away from Stella.

Stella rolled her eyes and Zoe felt dislike welling in her.

‘I don’t understand why he is still at home. When I was twenty, I was already out in the world trying to become an actress,’ Stella said.

‘He’s been sick for the past ten years. For God’s sake, the kid’s just had a heart transplant,’ Zoe snapped, and then she shook her head, desperate to get away from Stella the Insensitive.

‘Have a good day, Stella,’ she said and quickly walked away.

What a cold-hearted bitch, Zoe thought furiously. She had no empathy for Elliot at all. There was no way she would be presenting her name as a potential Simone, she decided, as she headed out of the store.

The self-obsession of actors like Stella made her angry, arrogant men like Jeff made her angry, the self-destruction of talents like Hugh Cavell made her angry, the unfairness of kids like Elliot nearly dying made her angry.

Picking up her phone, she dialled the only person who would understand.

‘Mags, I hate everyone today,’ she said as soon as Maggie answered.

‘Oh, babe, I hate everyone most days,’ Maggie answered with a laugh. ‘Where the hell have you been? I’ve been trying to call for the last two days. That Hugh is one messed-up writer and that’s saying something in this town.’

‘I know,’ said Zoe. ‘Was he drinking?’

Maggie paused. ‘No.’

‘Thanks, Mags. I am so grateful you could help out,’ said Zoe as she got into her car. ‘What are you doing now?’

‘I’m on my way to see Elliot and Will,’ Maggie said.

‘Oh, I just saw Stella. She thinks you’re still in love with Will.’

Maggie started laughing. ‘She’s an idiot,’ she said. ‘Besides her body, I don’t know what Will sees in her.’

Zoe debated whether to tell Maggie about Stella hoping to audition for the role of Simone, but something told her to stay quiet.

Zoe’s call waiting sounded and Jeff’s name flashed on her screen. ‘Mags, I’ve gotta go. I have Satan on the other line.’

‘Say hi to Jeff from me,’ Maggie laughed as she finished the call.

‘Hi, Jeff,’ Zoe said as she pulled into the driveway of her home. Banana palms and white bougainvillea screened the low, mid-century house, giving Zoe privacy and also the sense she was in the wild from the inside of the house. It certainly wasn’t anything Jeff would like, she thought as she stopped the car.

‘What the fuck is going on, Greene? I just had Stella Valancia’s manager on the phone, saying you offered her the role of Simone. I thought you had better taste than that. Tits and teeth ain’t gonna cut it for this role.’

At least we agree on something, she thought.

Three days ago she had signed the papers in his office, and since then he had rung her at every given opportunity to throw names at her, names that she knew were too expensive and to ask her how her hunt was going.

She still had a business to run, she wanted to remind him, but part of her wanted him to think she could do it all, and then some.

But God, he was a demanding asshole. Zoe gently banged her forehead on the steering wheel a few times. Was it worth it? she wondered, as Jeff’s voice lectured her.

‘She’s trash and why the hell she’s with Will MacIntyre I don’t know, not when he had Maggie Hall in his bed. I’ve a mind to call him and tell him he doesn’t know a decent woman when he has one.’

Zoe secretly agreed but she felt bad for Stella, despite her misgivings about her earlier.

‘Can you not talk about Stella or any other woman like that, please?’

‘Oh, Christ, don’t tell me I’ve just hired a lesbian feminist!’

‘It’s none of your business what I am,’ said Zoe calmly. ‘Just don’t speak of women like that to me. You’ve got a daughter, haven’t you? I’m sure you wouldn’t like it if you heard someone talking about her like that.’

There was a silence.

‘Just tell Stella she’s not right for the role,’ Jeff barked, and slammed down the phone.

Zoe sat in the car, her head still on the steering wheel, and wondered why the hell she’d ever thought working with Jeff Beerman was a good idea.

She wanted to be powerful, but would that mean she had to turn into a tyrant like him?