She swiveled in her seat, turning back to her own reflection. “Please. Like anyone really pays attention to what that kind of tabloid trash writes.”
Ouch.
Vehemently, I shook my head. “Oh no, a ton of people read that column. Tina Bender is very popular.”
I thought I felt Cal smirk to my right, but I ignored him.
“Ha!” Katie barked. “Someone should put that sad woman out of her misery.”
Again, ouch. But…now we were getting somewhere.
“Where were you last night?”
“Excuse me?” she said, her eyes shooting to mine in the mirror again as she clenched her jaw.
“I mean, did you go to any big Hollywood parties last night?” I asked, backpedaling. “I am just so fascinated by the lifestyle of an award-winning actress such as yourself.”
“Oh.” Her frown evened out instantly. Apparently flattery, as with all of Hollywood, was the key with this chick. “I went to a charity event. Some thing in the Valley. My publicist said I had to be seen there.” She turned to me. “But did that Bender girl print that? No!”
A-ha! So she did read my column. I felt a little lift of triumph.
“What about the evening before?” I persisted. The night the first call had come in. It would have been easy enough to send the email from a cell while at some fab party. But, for the phone call, Mystery Caller would have had to have access to a computer to run the voicealtering software. Not quite as inconspicuous a task.
“I was at home,” she answered.
“With a new guy?” I couldn’t help the gossip hound in me from asking.
“No. Alone.” And by the way she pouted again, this time with a true hint of sadness on her swollen lips, I was inclined to believe her. For a fraction of an instant I wondered if maybe the life of a famous actress wasn’t even lonelier than that of a gossip columnist.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Fernando break away from Marco’s grasp, threading his way back through the salon to his waiting client. I chose my next question carefully.
“So, what do you do when you’re home alone? Ever spend time online, maybe trying out new programs?” Like Audio Cloak?
She turned away, flipping her hair over one shoulder. “I don’t own a computer.”
I froze. Then blinked at her. “Wait-you don’t own a computer? Seriously? Even African tribesmen own computers these days.”
Again she did the would-be-frown pucker. “They’re trappings of a digitized society. Modern technology is only serving to distance us from the reality of living. I prefer real human interaction. I’m an artist.”
Okay, her plastic surgeon was an artist; Katie was just a movie star.
Unfortunately, she was a movie star who couldn’t possibly be my mystery caller.
Stifling a wave of disappointment, I shoved the dogeared Cosmo back in the rack and slid off my seat just as Fernando approached.
“Well, great to meet you. Can’t wait for your next pic,” I called as I walked away.
Though I’m not sure it even registered. Katie was once again enthralled with her own reflection as Fernando appeared to fluff her hair into Rapunzel-worthy waves.
Cal followed a beat behind me. “So much for our starlet,” he mumbled.
“Well, one down, three to go,” I shot back, making my way back toward Marco’s Camelot desk.
“Sorry, doll,” Marco said, shrugging his slim shoulders as I approached. “I held him off as long as I could.”
“That’s okay,” I reassured him. “You did great.”
“Oh, but I’ll call you tomorrow. The Lohan’s coming in for a cut and color, and you know there’ll be dirt.” Marco gave me a wink.
“That’s my boy. Hey, check your inbox for payment later.”
I gave him a wink as we exited the salon.
I felt Cal shaking his head beside me.
“What?” I asked.
“I just can’t believe there are so many people willing to sell secrets to you. You ever think of working for the CIA?”
I grinned, soaking up the compliment. Even if it wasn’t intended as one. “Thanks. But, you know, not all of them do it for money.”
“Oh?”
“For some it’s revenge. Some it’s a feeling of importance. Others just like to see their quotes in print.”
Cal gestured back at the salon as he beeped his Hummer open. “So, what’s Marco’s story? He squeal for cash?”
I laughed. “Marco? Heck no.” I looked back at my flamboyant friend. “He’s much easier than that. As long as I send him the weekly Clay Aiken update, Marco’s a happy camper.”
Chapter Six
“Alright, so who’s next on our list?” Cal asked as he pulled into traffic.
“Jennifer Wood.”
“Tell me about her.”
Mental forehead smack. “You don’t know who Jennifer Wood is?”
Cal shot me a look over the rim of his sunglasses. “Humor me.”
“Fine. Jennifer Wood was a pint-sized singing sensation in her hometown, winning the local cable access reality show Sheboygan’s Got Talent at the age of ten. At twelve she went national with her first recording contract, at fifteen her own TV show, which exploded onto the tween scene and has been going strong ever since. The girl’s got her face plastered on anything and everything an eight-year-old girl could want.”
“So, she’s a kid actress?”
“Correction,” I said. “She plays a kid actress. Her character, Pippi Mississippi, is thirteen. In real life, Jennifer just turned eighteen.”
Cal raised an eyebrow my way. “They grow up so fast. So, what’s she been mentioned in your column for?”
“The usual. Drinking. Drugs. Partying. Flashed her boobs at the cameras two weeks ago as she was getting into her limo.”
“May I never have a daughter. Alright, let’s go talk to America’s sweetheart.”
“Great. But first,” I said, glancing down at the clock on his dash, “lunch. I’m starving. Wanna hit a drivethru?”
Cal gave me a sideways look. “You know, that fastfood stuff will kill you.”
“So will global warming,” I countered, giving his Hummer a pointed look. “Oh, look, there’s an In-N-Out Burger!” I pointed to my favorite fast-food joint a block up on the right.
He made a sort of clucking sound in the back of his throat, but, thank God, pulled into the parking lot anyway. I ordered a double double with grilled onions, fries, and a shake. Cal ordered a grilled cheese with no mayo and water.
“What’s with the girly food?” I asked around a big mouthwatering bite of burger. A little ketchup oozed onto my chin, and I grabbed a paper napkin.
“ ‘Girly food’?” he asked. “Isn’t that a little un-PC for a feminist like yourself?”
I shrugged. “I’m a fair-weather feminist.”
“Hmm. I don’t eat beef.”
“Why not? It’s yummy.”
He shrugged. “I care about what I put in my body. Most meat is full of hormones, antibiotics, E. coli. Even trace amounts of fecal matter.”
I looked down at my burger. “Fecal matter? As in…”
“Poop.” He popped one of my fries in his mouth.
“You’re kidding, right?”
He shook his head. “Nope. It’s the way the animals are slaughtered. Generally their bowels are still full when they’re killed. It’s actually incredibly tricky to cut the colon and intestines away from the animal without spilling any of the contents. Cross contamination happens all the time.”
I set my burger down, feeling that last bite stick in my throat. “That is sick.”
“That is why I don’t eat beef.”
I picked up my shake, trying to wash down the possibly contaminated double double with strawberry goodness.
“So,” Cal said, snaking another fry, “where can we find this party girl of yours?”
I tossed my burger into the trash bin to the right. “Pippi Mississippi shoots Monday through Friday. She’ll be at Sunset Studios. The only tricky part,” I added with a grin, “is getting on the lot.”