Secrets of the Hollywood Girls Club - Hardcover
Life at the top of the A-list is fabulous, but it’s a long way to the ground if you fall—and the cameras are always waiting to publicly humiliate you if you do. Jessica, Mary Anne, Lydia, and Celeste have stayed at the top by sticking together. The last time they collaborated on a project, the film was a huge success, launching über-agent Jessica’s boutique management company, making Mary Anne the hottest new screenwriter in Hollywood, landing Lydia the top spot at Worldwide Pictures, and solidifying Celeste’s position as the queen of Tinseltown. But this time, as these powerful movie mavens are called to the set, each of them has a lot more to lose.
At thirty (ahem . . . thirty-six), actress Celeste Solange is starting to feel her age. Tiny lines are beginning to appear near her eyes, and she’s wondering how long she can hold on to her A-list status. But that’s not her biggest problem—not by a long shot. A compromising DVD she made with her husband during the wild early days of their marriage is making the rounds, threatening to break out onto the Internet and ruin her image and her career. So Celeste turns to her girlfriends for help—good thing they’re some of the most powerful players in town.
Mary Anne, Lydia, and Jessica have troubles of their own. Mary Anne has started seeing Holden Humphrey, the hottest leading man in Hollywood, and everyone in America is watching—including his crazy young stalker, who wants Mary Anne out of the picture. Lydia is busy running a studio, putting out fires, and playing politics with the big mouths and big egos of the entertainment elite, and now someone is trying to blackmail her. Jessica is juggling a family, a demanding career, and an even more demanding list of clients. And meanwhile, publicist Kiki Dee seems to have a hand in all the secrets . . . and she’s willing to do anything to keep her spot at the top of the Hollywood PR machine. Can the Hollywood Girls Club hold their lives together and get a film made amid all the craziness?
That’s life in Hollywood—where the right friends, and the secrets they know, can make or break a career.
At thirty (ahem . . . thirty-six), actress Celeste Solange is starting to feel her age. Tiny lines are beginning to appear near her eyes, and she’s wondering how long she can hold on to her A-list status. But that’s not her biggest problem—not by a long shot. A compromising DVD she made with her husband during the wild early days of their marriage is making the rounds, threatening to break out onto the Internet and ruin her image and her career. So Celeste turns to her girlfriends for help—good thing they’re some of the most powerful players in town.
Mary Anne, Lydia, and Jessica have troubles of their own. Mary Anne has started seeing Holden Humphrey, the hottest leading man in Hollywood, and everyone in America is watching—including his crazy young stalker, who wants Mary Anne out of the picture. Lydia is busy running a studio, putting out fires, and playing politics with the big mouths and big egos of the entertainment elite, and now someone is trying to blackmail her. Jessica is juggling a family, a demanding career, and an even more demanding list of clients. And meanwhile, publicist Kiki Dee seems to have a hand in all the secrets . . . and she’s willing to do anything to keep her spot at the top of the Hollywood PR machine. Can the Hollywood Girls Club hold their lives together and get a film made amid all the craziness?
That’s life in Hollywood—where the right friends, and the secrets they know, can make or break a career.
"synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title.
About the Author:
Maggie Marr is the author of steamy contemporary romance, women's fiction, and steamy new adult books. Her books contain alpha bad-boy heroes and feisty heroines. She got her start in Hollywood pushing the mail cart at ICM where she became a motion picture literary agent. Maggie is the author of the beloved Hollywood Girls Club Series which includes Hollywood Girls Club, Secrets of The Hollywood Girls Club, and Hollywood Hit. She also writes The Glamour Series which is also set in Hollywood. The Glamour Series is a new adult contemporary romance series. Hard Glamour the first book published January 2014 and Broken Glamourpublished April 2014. Fast Glamour publishes June 2014 and Easy Glamour July 2014. The Eligible Billionaires is Maggie's third series. Can't Buy Me Love is the first book and book number 2, One Night For Love publishes May 2014. Courting Trouble is a contemporary romance and the first book in the Montgomery Family Series: The Montgomery's of Montecito. Maggie also writes for film, TV, and ghost writes for celebrities. She has been featured on KCRW's The Business and reviewed by Publishers Weekly, Kirkus, and Romantic Times. Maggie is eternally grateful for the graciousness and support of her readers. She lives and works in Los Angeles.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:
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 she had killed—because secrets were her business. Celebrity secrets. Kiki was a secret keeper. As a publicist, Kiki shifted the bright white spotlight away from everything her celebrity clients needed to hide. And their gratitude to her for covering up their indiscretions took the form of a check, or cash, whichever they preferred. Kiki collected secrets the way some people collected diamonds or cars. Each naughty tidbit could potentially destroy Hollywood careers. And of course, along with the indiscretions came the clients. Kiki promised to lock the secret in “the vault,” also known as her brain, for a weekly fee. Some called it extortion. Kiki called it commerce.
And Kiki didn’t keep just one secret per client. She’d discovered that once a star accepted that she knew their most depraved act or hidden kink, suddenly all the crimes and misdemeanors came pouring out. Kiki listened to all her clients’ confessions. It was good to have collateral.
But this secret, the one Kiki witnessed in Dr. Melnick’s office . . . well, this secret was platinum. This secret could sink movie studios, destroy high-power industry marriages, and ruin one of the biggest celebrity careers in Hollywood. With this one amazingly well-kept secret, Kiki and her publicity firm, KDP, which had suffered a precipitous slide into the abyss of B-list stars, would be back on top. This secret potentially affected dozens of Hollywood heavyweights. Not to mention the little lovely who was rapidly sleeping her way up the A-list. Kiki would sign two big stars based on this peccadillo. Failing to have Kiki in their corner would result in the release of this salacious bit of gossip to the press. And if the truth reached the masses, the two stars could kiss their careers and their paychecks good-bye.
Kiki had proof, and she figured it was worth at least seven figures. But Kiki cared little about the money. No, she desired prestige. The prestige obtained by representing the biggest stars in the world. Prestige and access were priceless commodities in Hollywood, and for Kiki, prestige, access, and power made her job almost worthwhile.
Kiki would be thrilled . . . if she weren’t so nauseated. Her discovery almost made the torture of her lipo, tummy tuck, and eye-lift worth it. Almost. She gritted her teeth as the Lincoln Town Car came to a fast stop on Wilshire. How had this luscious deceit remained quiet? People must know. But Kiki had rummaged through celebrity lives for twenty (okay, twenty-five) years, and she had never sniffed a whiff of this treat. She carefully leaned back against the supple black leather of the backseat. The trip was a short four blocks 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 miles. She knew from experience.
Although painful, the spandex body glove prevented her belly from rupturing. She turned her gauze-wrapped head toward the window and attempted to block from her mind the lipo procedure that Dr. Melnick had just completed, otherwise she’d be sick. She clutched the paper airsick bag that Dr. Melnick’s receptionist (who herself had bovine-fat-enhanced lips and perfectly Botoxed brows) had handed Kiki before the nurse wheeled her 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 said and scrolled through the e-mails. “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 eye-lift. Where did Boom Boom think they put the stitches? Kiki leaned her head to the left. She could barely speak. Her lips were swollen with ass or bovine fat, she didn’t even remember at this point, and her jaw hurt.
“Read it,” Kiki mumbled, trying to move her lips as little as possible.
Boom Boom pulled an ice chip from the cup and managed to wedge it into Kiki’s mouth. “Fine. It says, ‘Kiki, my luv, we need to talk. Urgent news, don’t want to e-mail, call me.’ ”
Kiki looked at Boom Boom. That was it? That was the e-mail Boom Boom appeared so worked up about? Kiki had 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 with Kiki’s recent discovery. But still, the e-mail had come 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 face-lift, six months earlier.
“Three hours ago,” Boom Boom said. She put on her headset. “Want to roll some calls? We’ve got twenty-five to return.”
Kiki glared at her assistant. She felt doped up on morphine and hadn’t yet taken her Vicodin.
“Lydia called. She needs an answer about press.”
Kiki shook her head and motioned for the pad and pen resting on Boom Boom’s lap.
“Jen wants to know about the CDF fund-raiser,” Boom Boom continued. She handed Kiki the pen. “Also Natalie asked about your trip to the ashram, wants to know if it’s one or two weeks?”
Kiki’s head pounded. She put pen to paper.
“Galaxy just FedExed dailies from the Take No Prisoners set and wants you to let them know about the Oscar campaign.”
Kiki finished writing and turned the monogrammed notebook toward her young, wrinkle-free servant. Boom Boom continued to chatter about appointments and calls. Kiki tapped on the pad, and then again with more force, finally requiring Boom Boom to silence her yammering 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 toward the window and tried not to smile, as smiling would tear the stitches clamped to the skin behind her ears. Business would have to wait until she wrapped herself in the luxurious sheets at the Peninsula. She relaxed as the limo finally turned into the private entrance to the hotel. Kiki glanced at the notepad in her lap. Two very effective words were emblazoned across the pad: Fuck you.
There Are No Secrets in Hollywood
Kiki Dee, Publicist
kiki Dee thought she knew where all the Hollywood bodies were buried—even the ones she had killed—because secrets were her business. Celebrity secrets. Kiki was a secret keeper. As a publicist, Kiki shifted the bright white spotlight away from everything her celebrity clients needed to hide. And their gratitude to her for covering up their indiscretions took the form of a check, or cash, whichever they preferred. Kiki collected secrets the way some people collected diamonds or cars. Each naughty tidbit could potentially destroy Hollywood careers. And of course, along with the indiscretions came the clients. Kiki promised to lock the secret in “the vault,” also known as her brain, for a weekly fee. Some called it extortion. Kiki called it commerce.
And Kiki didn’t keep just one secret per client. She’d discovered that once a star accepted that she knew their most depraved act or hidden kink, suddenly all the crimes and misdemeanors came pouring out. Kiki listened to all her clients’ confessions. It was good to have collateral.
But this secret, the one Kiki witnessed in Dr. Melnick’s office . . . well, this secret was platinum. This secret could sink movie studios, destroy high-power industry marriages, and ruin one of the biggest celebrity careers in Hollywood. With this one amazingly well-kept secret, Kiki and her publicity firm, KDP, which had suffered a precipitous slide into the abyss of B-list stars, would be back on top. This secret potentially affected dozens of Hollywood heavyweights. Not to mention the little lovely who was rapidly sleeping her way up the A-list. Kiki would sign two big stars based on this peccadillo. Failing to have Kiki in their corner would result in the release of this salacious bit of gossip to the press. And if the truth reached the masses, the two stars could kiss their careers and their paychecks good-bye.
Kiki had proof, and she figured it was worth at least seven figures. But Kiki cared little about the money. No, she desired prestige. The prestige obtained by representing the biggest stars in the world. Prestige and access were priceless commodities in Hollywood, and for Kiki, prestige, access, and power made her job almost worthwhile.
Kiki would be thrilled . . . if she weren’t so nauseated. Her discovery almost made the torture of her lipo, tummy tuck, and eye-lift worth it. Almost. She gritted her teeth as the Lincoln Town Car came to a fast stop on Wilshire. How had this luscious deceit remained quiet? People must know. But Kiki had rummaged through celebrity lives for twenty (okay, twenty-five) years, and she had never sniffed a whiff of this treat. She carefully leaned back against the supple black leather of the backseat. The trip was a short four blocks 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 miles. She knew from experience.
Although painful, the spandex body glove prevented her belly from rupturing. She turned her gauze-wrapped head toward the window and attempted to block from her mind the lipo procedure that Dr. Melnick had just completed, otherwise she’d be sick. She clutched the paper airsick bag that Dr. Melnick’s receptionist (who herself had bovine-fat-enhanced lips and perfectly Botoxed brows) had handed Kiki before the nurse wheeled her 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 said and scrolled through the e-mails. “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 eye-lift. Where did Boom Boom think they put the stitches? Kiki leaned her head to the left. She could barely speak. Her lips were swollen with ass or bovine fat, she didn’t even remember at this point, and her jaw hurt.
“Read it,” Kiki mumbled, trying to move her lips as little as possible.
Boom Boom pulled an ice chip from the cup and managed to wedge it into Kiki’s mouth. “Fine. It says, ‘Kiki, my luv, we need to talk. Urgent news, don’t want to e-mail, call me.’ ”
Kiki looked at Boom Boom. That was it? That was the e-mail Boom Boom appeared so worked up about? Kiki had 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 with Kiki’s recent discovery. But still, the e-mail had come 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 face-lift, six months earlier.
“Three hours ago,” Boom Boom said. She put on her headset. “Want to roll some calls? We’ve got twenty-five to return.”
Kiki glared at her assistant. She felt doped up on morphine and hadn’t yet taken her Vicodin.
“Lydia called. She needs an answer about press.”
Kiki shook her head and motioned for the pad and pen resting on Boom Boom’s lap.
“Jen wants to know about the CDF fund-raiser,” Boom Boom continued. She handed Kiki the pen. “Also Natalie asked about your trip to the ashram, wants to know if it’s one or two weeks?”
Kiki’s head pounded. She put pen to paper.
“Galaxy just FedExed dailies from the Take No Prisoners set and wants you to let them know about the Oscar campaign.”
Kiki finished writing and turned the monogrammed notebook toward her young, wrinkle-free servant. Boom Boom continued to chatter about appointments and calls. Kiki tapped on the pad, and then again with more force, finally requiring Boom Boom to silence her yammering 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 toward the window and tried not to smile, as smiling would tear the stitches clamped to the skin behind her ears. Business would have to wait until she wrapped herself in the luxurious sheets at the Peninsula. She relaxed as the limo finally turned into the private entrance to the hotel. Kiki glanced at the notepad in her lap. Two very effective words were emblazoned across the pad: Fuck you.
"About this title" may belong to another edition of this title.
- PublisherCrown
- Publication date2008
- ISBN 10 0307346315
- ISBN 13 9780307346315
- BindingHardcover
- Edition number1
- Number of pages272
- Rating
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