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SECRETS OF THE HOLLYWOOD GIRLS CLUB
CHAPTER ONE
Rule # 1 There Are No Secrets In Hollywood
Kiki Dee, Publicist
Kiki Dee thought she knew where all the Hollywood bodies were buried, even the ones that she killed because secrets were her business. Celebrity secrets. Kiki as a celebrity secret keeper shifted the bright white spotlight away from everything her clients needed to hide. And what better way to find a new celebrity client to pay her 5-10 thousand dollar-a-week retainer than to uncover their deepest, darkest tale, the stories that even the celebrities tried to hide from themselves. Kiki collected those pieces of information, the single tidbits that could destroy their careers, and then promised to lock the indescretion in 'the vault' (her brain) for a weekly fee. Some called it extortion. Kiki called it commerce. Besides Kiki didn't just keep one secret per client. She'd discovered that once a star accepted Kiki knowing their most depraved act, suddenly all the crimes and misdemeanors came pouring out. Accidental therapist to the stars, Kiki listened to all her clients' confessions.
But this secret, the one that Kiki just witnessed, the one in Dr. Melnick's office, well, this secret was platinum. This secret had the potential to sink three movie studios, destroy two (high-power industry) marriages and ruin one very big (perhaps the biggest) celebrity career. With this one very big and amazingly well-kept secret, Kiki and her publicity firm, KDP, which suffered a precipitous slide into the abyss of B list stars, would be back on top. Now, he had to sign with Kiki. How could he not? Failing to change publicist, would result in the release of this salacious bit to the press. And if the truth, about his former lover reached the masses? Well he could kiss his eight figure paychecks good-by.
Kiki had proof of the scam, hoax, secret, whatever you wanted to call it. And the proof alone was worth well into seven figures. But Kiki cared little about the money. No, she desired prestige. The prestige she obtained by representing arguably the biggest stars in the world. Prestige and access were priceless commodities in Hollywood. Commodities that would increase her power. And for Kiki, prestige, access and power made her job almost worthwhile.
Kiki would be thrilled if she weren't nauseous. She gritted her teeth as her Lincoln Town Car came to a fast stop on Wilshire. How did this luscious deceitful tale remain quiet for the last seven years? People must know. But Kiki rummaged through the lives of stars for 20 (ahem, 25) years and she never sniffed a whiff of this treat. This private affair was nothing if not explosive! Kiki's discovery almost made the torture of her lipo, tummy tuck, and eyelift worth it. She cautiously leaned against the supple black leather in the backseat. A short four block trip from Dr. Melnick's office to the Peninsula Hotel, but with stitches around her face and the super tight spandex body glove around her stomach, the ride felt like a very long four blocks (she knew from experience).
Although painful, at this moment the spandex body glove prevented her belly from rupturing. She turned her gauze-wrapped head and attempted to block from her mind the lipo procedure that Dr. Melnick just completed, otherwise she'd be sick. Kiki clutched the paper vomit bag that Dr. Melnick's receptionist (with bovine fat enhanced lips and perfectly botoxed brows) handed her before the nurse wheeled Kiki out the back exit of the office to her awaiting car and driver. Boom Boom, Kiki's ever faithful and ever suffering assistant, sat in the backseat holding a Blackberry in one hand and a cup of ice chips in the other.
"She said it was urgent." Boom Boom scrolled through the emails. "Here, look."
She held the Blackberry within inches of Kiki's nose. But Kiki couldn't read it. God Boom Boom could be an idiot. You couldn't wear glasses right after an eyelift Where did Boom Boom think that they put the stitches? Kiki leaned her head to the left. She could barely speak. Her lips were swollen (ass fat or bovine, it didn't really matter at this point) and her jaw hurt.
"Read it," Kiki mumbled through her partially open mouth, trying to move her lips as little as possible.
Boom Boom pulled an ice chip from the cup she held and placed it onto Kiki's tongue.
"Fine. It says, 'Kiki, my luv, we need to talk. Urgent news, don't want to email, call me.'"
Kiki looked at Boom Boom. That was it? That was the email that caused Boom Boom's excitement? Kiki worked the public relations gig for a long time and urgent to one of her stars could mean a broken nail without a manicurist on set. This was nothing, especially compared to Kiki's discovery. But still, the email came from one of her biggest stars.
"When?" Kiki whispered then winced as the Town Car bounced over a pothole. She remembered that bump from the last facelift, six months earlier.
"Three hours ago," Boom Boom said. She put on her headset. "Want to roll some calls? We've got at 25 to return."
Kiki glared at her assistant. She felt doped up on morphine and hadn't yet taken her Vicodin. Business had to wait until she cocooned herself in the 3,000 count Egyptian cotton sheets waiting at the Peninsula.
"Lydia called. She needs an answer about press."
Kiki shook her head and motioned for the pad and pen resting on Boom Boom's knees. She couldn't speak, but she could write.
"And Jen wants to know about the CDF fundraiser." Boom Boom continued. She handed Kiki her pen. "Also Natalie asked about your trip to the ashram, wants to know if it's one or two weeks?"
Kiki's head pounded as she put pen to paper.
"Galaxy just Fed Exed dailies from the Take No Prisoners set and wants you to let them know about the Oscar campaign."
Kiki finished writing and turned to look at her young, wrinkle-free taskmaster. She tapped on her monogrammed notepad. Boom Boom continued to chatter. Kiki tapped again with more force, requiring Boom Boom to silence her yammering, stop reading emails and look at the paper. A small gasp escaped Boom Boom's lips as she read Kiki's short but effective note.
"I'm just trying to be helpful. You don't have to get bitchy about it," Boom Boom said.
Kiki turned her head toward the window and tried not to smile (it tore at the stitches clamped to the skin behind her ears). She relaxed as the limo turned into the private entrance to the Peninsula and glanced at the notepad in her lap. Two very effective words were emblazoned across the pad: Fuck You.
© Maggie Marr, 2008
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