full-throttle panic mode. Perhaps Nikki was angered—hurt. Their conversation in the limo, the night of Jeb’s death, had been unpleasant.
“Give this Jeb mess three more days and it’ll be over. Best bet is to lie low.”
Cici didn’t want to lie low —not this time. She’d let other lies and scandals blow by, but those didn’t involve her niece or the disgusting accusation that she and her niece were involved in a three-way love triangle with the likes of Jeb Schmaltzer—this accusation appalled Cici and made her stomach churn with sour bile.
“What do you want me to do with the rock star?” Kiki asked, changing the subject.
Cici shook her head—there were a multitude of problems right now with her niece center stage for all of them.
“Pictures?” Cici asked.
Too dangerous to e-mail—Kiki handed over hard copies to Cici. She flipped through the photos of Nikki with Sick Puppy’s lead singer and guitarist, Adam. The guy was sexy. Cici could see why her niece was fuck-foundered. With his dark hair and ropy muscles along with the string of Asian tattoos up and down his arms, this guy was every little twenty-something’s bad-boy-rock-star-fantasy come true.
“Sexy fucker, isn’t he,” Kiki said.
While pushing the upper echelon of age, Kiki admittedly liked them young—very young. Cici wondered if Kiki was still utilizing that little Boy Toy Service that was available to older ladies out of the Peninsula.
Nikki appeared happy in these pictures. In the photo from the Whiskey A Go Go, Adam had his arm slung around Nikki’s neck. Nikki was laughing uproariously—head pushed forward with a giant openmouthed smile. The pain that seemed ever-present in Nikki’s eyes since the death of her mother was actually absent in these photos.
“I haven’t seen her having that much fun since…” Cici let the words drift away. Hot tears settled in the backs of her eyes. Kiki wasn’t her shrink, Kiki was her publicist. Kiki had worked a miracle by managing to give Cici’s sister’s death some semblance of privacy—a miracle and a shitload of payoffs. “I wish she’d find someone better for her.”
“She’s a beautiful girl,” Kiki said.
“What’s he after with these?” Cici asked. She laid the pics across the patio table as if setting up for a hand of high-stakes poker.
“What you thought. A little door opener and bit of leverage. Some press to get the record execs attention.”
“And where?”
“The usual suspects— Us , People , Enquirer .” Kiki drained her second glass of Chardonnay.
“Takers?”
“One, so far as I know.”
“And this is it? No sex shots, no nude shots, nothing indecent or unseemly?” Cici asked.
Her eyes skirted over the pictures. One with Nikki holding a guitar in a shithole of an apartment. Adam stood behind her with his arms wrapped around her, teaching her to play.
“Not that I’ve found and not that I’ve heard.”
Cici’s phone buzzed. She tilted it toward her and looked at the name. A picture of Jessica Caulfield-Fox with her two sons popped onto the screen.
“It’s Jess,” Cici said. “I need to take this.” She didn’t move to stand and Kiki didn’t move to leave. They both—whether they wanted to or not—knew too much about each other to need that kind of formality.
“Jess!” Cici said. “Calling to congratulate me on all my tabloid covers?”
“Ha! You have Kiki with you?” Jessica asked.
Cici nodded—her friend knew her so well. “Right here.” Cici picked up a picture of Nikki at a Westside park, lying under a tree with her head in Adam’s lap.
“I got two interesting calls,” Jessica said.
“From?”
“One was from Mike. And one was from Bikram Shasta.”
“Bikram Shasta?” Cici asked. “I thought he was dead?”
“Not quite—south of Pico.”
“He might as well be dead. What does Bikram have that you and Mike would want?”
“Well it would seem a bit of a script with a certain director
“Give this Jeb mess three more days and it’ll be over. Best bet is to lie low.”
Cici didn’t want to lie low —not this time. She’d let other lies and scandals blow by, but those didn’t involve her niece or the disgusting accusation that she and her niece were involved in a three-way love triangle with the likes of Jeb Schmaltzer—this accusation appalled Cici and made her stomach churn with sour bile.
“What do you want me to do with the rock star?” Kiki asked, changing the subject.
Cici shook her head—there were a multitude of problems right now with her niece center stage for all of them.
“Pictures?” Cici asked.
Too dangerous to e-mail—Kiki handed over hard copies to Cici. She flipped through the photos of Nikki with Sick Puppy’s lead singer and guitarist, Adam. The guy was sexy. Cici could see why her niece was fuck-foundered. With his dark hair and ropy muscles along with the string of Asian tattoos up and down his arms, this guy was every little twenty-something’s bad-boy-rock-star-fantasy come true.
“Sexy fucker, isn’t he,” Kiki said.
While pushing the upper echelon of age, Kiki admittedly liked them young—very young. Cici wondered if Kiki was still utilizing that little Boy Toy Service that was available to older ladies out of the Peninsula.
Nikki appeared happy in these pictures. In the photo from the Whiskey A Go Go, Adam had his arm slung around Nikki’s neck. Nikki was laughing uproariously—head pushed forward with a giant openmouthed smile. The pain that seemed ever-present in Nikki’s eyes since the death of her mother was actually absent in these photos.
“I haven’t seen her having that much fun since…” Cici let the words drift away. Hot tears settled in the backs of her eyes. Kiki wasn’t her shrink, Kiki was her publicist. Kiki had worked a miracle by managing to give Cici’s sister’s death some semblance of privacy—a miracle and a shitload of payoffs. “I wish she’d find someone better for her.”
“She’s a beautiful girl,” Kiki said.
“What’s he after with these?” Cici asked. She laid the pics across the patio table as if setting up for a hand of high-stakes poker.
“What you thought. A little door opener and bit of leverage. Some press to get the record execs attention.”
“And where?”
“The usual suspects— Us , People , Enquirer .” Kiki drained her second glass of Chardonnay.
“Takers?”
“One, so far as I know.”
“And this is it? No sex shots, no nude shots, nothing indecent or unseemly?” Cici asked.
Her eyes skirted over the pictures. One with Nikki holding a guitar in a shithole of an apartment. Adam stood behind her with his arms wrapped around her, teaching her to play.
“Not that I’ve found and not that I’ve heard.”
Cici’s phone buzzed. She tilted it toward her and looked at the name. A picture of Jessica Caulfield-Fox with her two sons popped onto the screen.
“It’s Jess,” Cici said. “I need to take this.” She didn’t move to stand and Kiki didn’t move to leave. They both—whether they wanted to or not—knew too much about each other to need that kind of formality.
“Jess!” Cici said. “Calling to congratulate me on all my tabloid covers?”
“Ha! You have Kiki with you?” Jessica asked.
Cici nodded—her friend knew her so well. “Right here.” Cici picked up a picture of Nikki at a Westside park, lying under a tree with her head in Adam’s lap.
“I got two interesting calls,” Jessica said.
“From?”
“One was from Mike. And one was from Bikram Shasta.”
“Bikram Shasta?” Cici asked. “I thought he was dead?”
“Not quite—south of Pico.”
“He might as well be dead. What does Bikram have that you and Mike would want?”
“Well it would seem a bit of a script with a certain director
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