Chapter 9

 

Jax

 

My heart’s thumping like a heavy metal bass drum. Thin wires of electric energy feel like they’re shooting through my limbs. I run down the stairs of Lizzie’s work building, ignoring the calls from random women trying to bump into me, and sprint outside. When I reach my car I jump in, put my hands on the wheel, and breathe deeply.

A Hollywood star. Available and willing to be auctioned off tonight. Of all the things that I expected my relationship with Lizzie could have ended up depending on, my networking abilities are not one of them. To be honest, it would have been easy if the A-lister didn’t have to be male.

I used to think five hours was a long time – it’s usually around the same amount of time most of my relationships last, and you can fit a lot into five hours if you know what you’re doing – but when you’re trying to find, meet, and arrange to take a large slice of a hotshot actor’s time and energy, it feels like every minute counts.

I rack my brains trying to think of someone, pressing my fingers against my temples as if squeezing the thoughts out. This is LA, and I’ve fucked a pretty big percentage of the women here. There has to be a connection somewhere. I can’t even count the amount of times I’ve heard girls say things like they slept with some guy from a TV show, or that they’re related to the actor from a hit movie. The problem with LA, though, is that it’s also full of bullshitters.

I burn rubber to the nearest Apple store and despite the long line at the genius bar, I manage to get a brand new phone in my hands in less than twenty minutes (my contacts are backed up, but that doesn’t make my phone-smashing declaration of good intentions to Lizzie any less meaningful).

As I walk out the door, I pull out the new phone and start scrolling through names, hoping one of them will jog my memory, but it just reminds me of how disappointed Lizzie was to find all these numbers, and I start thinking about what she’ll do if I let her down. Would she just appreciate the effort? Would she even care if I help her out? What if she finds a better star herself? Maybe I should just think about how I’m gonna apologize and smooth it over. Shit, maybe I just need to forget about Lizzie anyway, and this way – the quick, painless way – is best. Yeah, right.

Fuck, Jax, focus!

Automatically, I start dialing Brando’s number.

“Yo, dude,” he says.

“Listen, Brando. I really need your help.”

I hear soft kisses in the background and I know it’s Tasha – even her kisses sound accented.

“If it involves me getting out of bed and leaving this sexy bitch beside me you’re shit outta luck, dude,” he replies, and I can hear him grinning.

“I’m serious. I really need some help here, buddy.”

Brando finally hears the desperation in my voice and I hear him shove Tasha aside.

“What’s up?”

“I need a top Hollywood actor – someone good-looking, someone who ladies like – and I need him to attend a charity event in about five hours. To get auctioned off for a date.”

“What the fuck…”

“I’ll explain later, right now I just need to get this figured out. Do you know anyone?”

I can almost hear the rusty gears in Brando’s head turning.

“I can’t think of anyone off the top of my head. I know a few actresses…”

“No. It has to be a guy. He has to be good-looking, and he has to be at the event that’s happening tonight. In five hours. I just need a connection, a lead, anything.”

“Ok, ok. Chill, dude. Let me make a few phone calls and I’ll get back to you.”

I hang up and instantly call Luce. When I get in the Testarossa, it switches the call over to Bluetooth, and I hear her pick up as I squeal out into the LA traffic.

“Hey Jax. You thinking of coming around any time today? The Dentons are here.”

“I can’t. But I need a really big favor.”

“Uh oh.”

“The guy we were gonna auction off tonight, the hot shot actor? He bailed out. We need a replacement – fast.”

“Wait – how is that our problem? Isn’t that something that Lizzie- Ahh! I get it.”

“Please Luce, I don’t have time for this. I’ve got five hours to find someone. Do you know anyone? Do you know anyone’s brother? Sister? Niece? Drug dealer? I just need something.”

There’s a pause during which I can hear Luce scratching her frizzy hair.

“I don’t know, Jax.”

“Please, Luce. I know this sounds ridiculous to you, I know you’re judging me right now, I know you want to give me a lecture, but I care about this.”

“Look, if Lizzie really likes you then she won’t mind if you can’t—”

“No. No, Luce. I’m doing this. That’s it. You can decide to help me, or decide not to. I won’t hold it against you – but I’m doing this.”

There’s another pause, and I hear Luce sigh.

“Ok. Maybe I have a friend of a friend. Someone who does make-up on some movies. I’ll give her a shout.”

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I love you Luce.”

“Yeah, well, I love cheesecake, but I don’t think it loves me back.”

I press a button on the wheel to end the call and refocus on driving. There’s a bartender in Beverly Hills that I’m sure has been hit on by some famous people – and I’m sure has some dirt on them too.

I push thoughts of Lizzie to the back of my mind, but somehow they slide a little lower, and I start getting excited at the idea of pulling this off. Luckily, Brando interrupts me as I absent-mindedly start revving the Ferrari enough to attract attention – even in this part of LA.

I listen to the sound of his New York accent as it blares through my speakers. I’ve never been so happy to hear it before.

“Dude,” he says, triumphantly, “Malibu, now.”

“You found someone?”

“I never disappoint, bro. That’s my motto.”

“Who?”

“Get this: James Bond.”

I jump in my seat, nearly swerving my beloved Ferrari into oncoming traffic.

“Don’t fuck with me, Brando.”

“No joke, bro. James fucking Bond.”

“The one from the movie last year?”

“Uh… no, not that one.”

“The one from the movie with a Tina Turner song?”

“No…”

“Duran Duran?”

“Ah… What was the name of the movie with the car that turns into a submarine?”

“Jesus, Brando! That guy’s older than most of the billionaires who’ll be at the event! These women want to go on a date with a guy that isn’t old enough to be their dad.”

“Hey, come on, dude! I did my best!”

I take a minute to calm down. “Sorry. But this has to go right. Look, thanks, but no thanks. I’ll talk to you later, I’ve got a call coming in on the other line. Let me know if you find anyone else.”

I hang up on Brando. I regret being an asshole to him – but if there’s one time when I can afford to be, it’s now. I hit the button on my steering wheel to put the other call on the speakers and turn my growing anxiety into a few thousand more RPM from the roaring machine.

“Jax?” It’s Luce again.

“Please say you have good news for me.”

“I do. Except there’s bad news as well.”

“What is it?”

“My friend who works in make-up says that the chances of her getting a big name to come is about the same as getting them to remember her name right, i.e., zero.”

My blood pressure is rising so much I’ll probably have grey hairs by the time I go to bed tonight.

“What’s the good news?”

“Well,” Luce starts, tentatively, “I kinda had an idea.”

“Go on.”

“Well, remember when I said the Dentons have been here all day?”

I love my car. It’s fast, responsive, and makes a hell of a sound. When I slam the brakes and yank the wheel, it slides a one-eighty with all the agile elegance and sophisticated control of a wild animal. When I slam on the accelerator, it roars, and four-hundred-odd horsepower slam me into the back of my seat like I’m about to take a trip to the moon.

“Say no more, Luce, I’m on my way.”

 

The building looms into view with all the inevitability of a date with destiny (and I’ve been on a few dates with girls named Destiny). The caterers, party organizers, and entertainment are already buzzing around the place; setting up the stage and preparing for the grand event. They’re better dressed, and a little more formal than the workers I’m used to – but the sense of urgency mirrors my own.

I start jogging towards the entrance, scanning around in the hope of finding Luce or her Hollywood producer extraordinaire, Mr. Denton. Instead I find the one person who can help me that I don’t want to meet.

“Jax!” She looks startled for a moment, before her default man-eating shark expression takes over again.

“Jacqu- Sorry, Mrs. Denton. Is your husband around, by chance?”

“My husband?” She pulls herself to her full height, throwing her head back and her breast implants forward. “Am I not ‘important’ enough for you?”

Great. She’s still in full-sass mode. I decide to put my best foot forward. I smile, and let her catch me staring at the bulbous tits bursting from her leopard-skin dress.

“That’s a hell of an outfit.”

She glares at me through her Betty Boop eyelashes.

“Say that again.”

I gulp. This woman was intimidating enough when I didn’t want something from her. Now that I need her, she’s fucking terrifying.

“I said you look like a real tiger in that dress.”

The smile she shoots at me could only be learned from a vaudeville villain.

“The last time I gave you a chance to kiss my ass, Jax, you turned me down pretty firmly. You want something, don’t you?”

The thing I love most about older women is the same thing I hate about them – there’s no bullshit.

“Yeah. Actually I do.”

“Well ask me nicely then.”

I look around, hoping that Mr. Denton or Luce is around so that I can make this a whole lot easier, but all I see are people in formal dress running around with their eyes forward.

“The actor that was supposed to be auctioned off tonight can’t make it. I need a Hollywood star to replace him. I figured that Mr. Denton being such a popular producer…”

Mrs. Denton tuts and shakes her head, milking my desperation for every last drop.

“You want me to help you? We’re already letting you hold your event here, Jax. We can’t organize it for you as well.”

There’s a note in her purr that’s teasing. She’s going to milk this, but she’s not holding off totally. There’s a deal to be made here, but I’ve got to be careful she doesn’t ask for the one thing I can’t give, the thing I’m reserving for Lizzie, the entire reason I’m running this wild goose chase.

“I just need a lead, a number, an introduction. I’ll do anything.” She looks me up and down, as if I’ve already put myself up for negotiation. I hold my hands up in the international sign for Stop. “But I can’t do that. However much I need this. The whole reason I’m begging is a girl. The same girl that stopped me from having the time of my life with you last time.”

She laughs. “Well if you’re not even offering that, Jax, what are you offering? That’s pretty much all you have, darling.”

“Anything, Mrs. Denton. Name it. I’ll design you another building. I’ll hook you up with a guy even better than me. Shit. I’ll put on a dress and sing you happy birthday if you want. Just name it.”

She twists her smile into something approaching kind, then looks over my shoulder.

“Your car. I want your car.”

I look back, as if the Ferrari will already be gone.

“No. I paid for that car with the money I made from the first building I owned. That car’s taken me across America and back. To you that’s just a car, Mrs. Denton, to me that’s the only sentimental thing I own. It’s my memory bank, my scrapbook. It would be like giving you a part of me. Not the car, Mrs. Denton. Please.”

Her collagen lips purse themselves into a defiant wall.

“You said name anything. It’s the car or no deal.”

It’s not even a choice, when it comes down to it.