Viveca said nothing on the limo ride home. Every time Bruce tried to talk to her she cut him off. That concerned him. Had he done something wrong?
“I didn’t drink that much,” he muttered.
To Viveca his words were just another annoyance. “What?” she snapped.
“I’m not drunk. I was moderate.”
“Of course you were,” Viveca said. She patted him on the arm without paying any attention.
When the limo pulled up in front of her house, she didn’t wait for the driver or Bruce to help her out. She hopped out and sailed into the house, slamming the door behind her.
She went to the bar and poured herself a drink.
“Could I have one?” Bruce said, trailing in after her.
She ignored him, snatched up the phone, and dialed Manny Rosen, a gossip columnist she knew. Manny had a reputation for ferreting out seedy stories, even if he had to make them up himself. Manny had been a good friend ever since he had killed a story about her being high on the set of one of her movies. He had not done it out of the goodness of his heart. Viveca had found out how much Manny was being paid for the story, and paid him double to bury it.
“What’s up?” Manny said.
“I need some publicity.”
“That’s a first, you coming to me for publicity.”
“Yes, well, Oscar nominations are out.”
“I know. Congratulations.”
“Don’t congratulate me yet. I’m just nominated.”
“This year you’re going to win.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why not?”
“Don’t jinx me. There’s such a thing as tempting fate.”
“Well, we wouldn’t want to do that, would we? Very well, my congratulations are withdrawn.”
“Stop screwing around, Manny. Do you want this story or not?”
“What story?”
“The one I’m going to pay you for planting.”
Manny groaned. “Please tell me your phone’s not tapped. No one busted you for drugs and made you wear a wire?”
“Did you happen to watch The Mickey and Marvin Show?”
“I never watch them unless I have a tip.”
“They did their Oscar predictions episode.”
“I’m sure they predicted a win for you.”
“They said it’s a horse race between me and a newcomer named Tessa Tweed.”
“I’m beginning to get the picture.”
“I thought you would. Now, here’s the thing. I need a story. But it can’t come from you. No offense, but it needs to seem legit.”
“Now, why would I find that offensive?” Manny said.
Manny called Josh Hargrove at the Culver City Chronicle. The Chronicle was one of those Hollywood papers that walked the fine line between newspaper and gossip rag.
“Josh? Manny. I’ve got a story for you.”
“Oh, come on, Manny. Not again.”
“Josh, I’m offended. Here I am, bringing you a story, and this is the thanks I get.”
“Yeah, right,” Josh said tonelessly.
A year ago, Josh had been caught at a motel with an underage girl. A cop connection of Manny’s had tipped him to the story, and though Josh was never charged, even news of the arrest would be irreparably damaging to his career. So Manny had given his rival an option: exposure and total disgrace, or a cover-up, for a price. Josh had been dancing to his tune ever since.
“You know my philosophy, Josh. There’s only room in the paper for so many stories. You print the ones I want, there isn’t room for the ones you don’t want.”
“What’s the story?”
“Tessa Tweed.”
“The actress?”
“That’s right. She just got nominated for an Oscar. Well, I’ve got some dirt on her that might interest you.”