Chapter 126

The “Jordan Featherstone Saga” had longer legs than I thought it would. It lasted far longer than it should have, in my opinion.

As with so many things in the celebrity world, the bigwigs had stepped in and tried to change the narrative to something more palatable to their bottom lines. I had to call in parts of Liz’s marketing team – Adele, Liam, and the four others that had been identified as working in my section in the future. As the week progressed more and more of Liz’s public relations and marketing team was tasked to fixing my blunder.

I had too much on my personal plate to be available 24 hours a day. My workouts took time every day and I couldn’t stop them to take phone calls or answer texts. I had interviews with trainers scheduled. I had to meet with our attorney to practice my testimony for a deposition scheduled in the coming weeks if the criminal litigants didn’t see reason. We had other chefs coming for a preview meal.

I had been ready to hire Veronica Park after she rolled out grilled steak filets over rice with a side of steamed snap beans on Saturday night.

The steak was so juicy that you could cut it with a fork and the beans had been steamed to perfection with just a hint of garlic.

The kicker was homemade raspberry-lemonade sorbet for dessert.

Liz had told me it was going to be my responsibility to hire the next person that cooked for us. Sadly, that was not the entire story. She had lined up two more applicants that were cooking for us during the week. They were good but I was still going to vote for Veronica (if Liz wanted my opinion).

We also had a house to purchase. As the Realtor had expected, the owner had jumped at Liz’s offer. There were no liens on the land – because nobody in the world would lend the former owner money. We were going to have to return to San Diego in two weeks to finalize the deal on the building next to the one Liz had already purchased (and, I supposed, to meet its occupants).

We were also trying to find a way to get to New York for a day or two but that was on the back burner. Because within a day, the story took on a life of its own and we were forced to pull in everybody to keep information contained to the comfort level of the person (or in this case, the people) we were paid to look after.

I had considered heading off to San Diego but that just wasn’t possible.

That left Adele and Liam to craft Liz’s response to the media-driven frenzy over some fledgling singer calling her a “cunt.”

Liz, Conny and Melissa, with help from several notable male stars, worked with us to craft the narrative to reflect the lopsided contracts that people like Jordan Featherstone (and Chelsea Rome and Liz Larimer) had been forced to sign.

The label heads were more interested in painting the story as a spat between a young woman trying to make a name and a group of established stars that were unwilling to relinquish their spots at the top of the genre.

It was interesting (to me, at least) to watch the labels tap-dance. All of the big players planned to make a pitch to Liz as soon as the 90-day period expired so they didn’t want to be too harsh. They tried to use proxies – entertainment attorneys, guys in my line of work – but the public saw through the smokescreen pretty quickly.

The last thing the record studios wanted to reveal is the real reason why most artists (including Liz, Conny and Melissa) lost almost 70 percent of their earnings to the men in suits. They didn’t want to let the consumer know that he or she was paying $30 for a disc because the label’s overhead was so out of whack.

For a star that headlined a tour, the outlay was a lot easier to deal with than it was for a performer that was just getting a foothold. The labels couldn’t come up with a consistent message so the artists’ argument wound up winning the day. Liz’s PR machine in San Diego was spearheading the information drive, helped by a series of strategic leaks (unconnected to us) that included the corporate ledger from one of Los Angeles’ largest labels that found its way into the hands of the proprietors of a prominent website.

The fact that almost 90 percent of the corporate income was spent on administrative costs or dividends to shareholders made the buying public pretty unhappy.

By Friday morning, the story was still raging on entertainment sites across the web and on every TV and radio program that covered celebrities.

The information on the web had been released late Thursday night and I hadn’t heard what was coming next. My only job in this mess was to pass along Liz’s thoughts – and everybody wanted to know what Liz, Melissa and Conny thought about every single thing.

Jordan Featherstone was completely forgotten. She had done her best to stay relevant during the weekend but had come up short. Her label wasn’t helping her and nobody else was doing anything to keep the message about her.

My phone buzzed and I looked at it, expecting another call from one of the thousands of media outlets that were beating the hell out of the story.

I smiled when my phone showed me that it was time for my workout. I knew that I’d have at least six lovely ladies waiting for me in the workout room.

The labels had initially agreed to let “an outside agency” handle their responses to the fracas. That stance changed when we started to paint the bull’s eye on the executives’ asses. They tried to put a muzzle on the stars they controlled (including two that put their trust in us). But Melissa and Conny both had enough pull with the labels (and enough lawyers on retainer) that the suits backed down.

It didn’t hurt that both were on a different label from the one that originally signed them.

Over the previous days, I had learned a lot of interesting things about Conny Woodson and Melissa Shepherd. Claire had arrived on Tuesday morning and so had Conny’s assistant, a woman named Zara.

I had found that Melissa had a very good grasp on business and was surprisingly thoughtful about how things would be perceived by the public.

And I had found that Conny Woodson, America’s Sweetheart, had three tattoos in very interesting places. She had words scripted beneath her right breast; she had a lizard right over her butt crack and she had what appeared to be a four-leaf clover next to her ... womanly parts.

No, I hadn’t walked in on her in the nude. I had caught the group of women in the pool one afternoon. Conny had on a white bikini and the tattoo under her boob was visible, as was the tattoo on her back. The four-leaf clover was a partial guess. I could only see two of the leaves poking out of the side of her tiny bikini bottom (and since Liz was there and Conny’s husband was gigantic, I wasn’t about to ask for closer inspection).

Melissa had several tattoos but none in interesting places. She had a cross on the inside of her arm; she had a unicorn above her ankle; she had her ex-husband’s name (or perhaps it was Sarah’s son’s name) on her shoulder.

She also had really big boobs. Melissa normally dressed in jeans and heavy shirts. She looked sort of blocky on stage. She was several inches shorter than Liz and only a few inches taller than Conny. But she looked as though she probably weighed 20 pounds more than they did.

I had found out that if Melissa was heavier it was because her tits were so big. I had to stop and stare when I saw her in a wraparound one-piece bathing suit just to make sure they weren’t implants. She caught me and lifted her sunglasses to offer a wink. Then she had jiggled her boobs at me.

I had just lowered my head and lamented the fact that I had too much to do and couldn’t splash around with the ladies. Instead, I spent most of the next afternoon talking about Melissa’s breasts with Dom and Brian (who had also received an eyeful the day before).

But my morning workouts had become interesting, particularly on days when Ciera was visiting.

I knew the young coed would be here and I was eagerly anticipating what the group of females might have in store. Ciera might be almost a decade younger than my friends but her body was in no better shape that the females that provided my visual entertainment (oh, wait, I meant encouragement).

The former ballroom was now set up with a host of exercise equipment. It was better stocked than the workout facilities at the Angels’ minor league camp (or at least better than the last time I’d seen the Angels’ minor league camp).

Dom and Brian were already on the leg machine and one of the treadmills by the time I got in. I gave them both a high five and slid out of my new brace.

“You’re looking a little pale around that shoulder,” Brian remarked.

“I’m not on paid leave like you two slackers,” I said.

“You’re breaking my heart,” Dom said with a chuckle. He was walking on the treadmill because that was the extent of the physical activity he was medically cleared to do. Brian was working with light weights on the leg that had not been surgically repaired. He was still a few weeks away from doing much with that one.

I started my exercises. We made sure we were facing the door because we didn’t want to miss the grand entrance.

“Where is Ciera?” I asked.

“Skye came and got her a couple of minutes ago,” Dom said. I could see that even the walking pace was giving him trouble. Brian’s face was red from lifting the limited weight he had on the machine.

“Assholes,” I grumbled. I was thinking about the guys that caused so much chaos in 42 seconds.

“They weren’t going to drown her in the pool or anything,” Brian said. “Or, I don’t think they were going to drown her in the pool. They might. She had on this tiny leotard – and I think that’s all. I’m pretty sure I could see where she shaved her pubes this morning.”

I started to laugh and had to reach over to hold my arm.

“I was talking about the pricks that put us here,” I said.

“I get pissed off at them every morning when I wake with a fucking elephant sitting on my chest,” Dom said.

“I’m telling Skye you called her an elephant,” Brian said.

“I didn’t...” Dom began. He gave a soft chuckle. “Screw you!”

“Hey, if I got pissed off every time I thought about what those guys did ... and what they were planning to do ... I’d never get anything done,” Brian responded. “I have to focus on the positive. This ain’t the worst thing I been through. And I didn’t have a bunch of hot women in skimpy clothes around the last time I rehabbed.”

“Yeah, but we could on a beach in Cabo right now,” I pointed out.

“True,” Dom said. “I’m looking forward to our next trip.”

“We’ll have to do it in the offseason so Conny and Evan can come with us,” I said.

“We gotta leave Melissa at home,” Brian said.

I lifted my head to look at him.

“Those basketball boobies will give Jill a complex,” he said. “Who would have thought that body was lurking beneath her flannel shirts?”

“Ben’s wife is the same way,” I said. “You guys should skip one morning so you can see Kim in the afternoon.”

“She had a scene in one of her movies,” Dom said. “She was in cutoff jeans and a tube top.”

“Jorts,” I corrected with a smile.

Our conversation came to an abrupt end when the door opened and our eyes immediately looked for the grand entrance. I had stood completely up even though I still had 30 more circles to go.

Jill led the procession through the doorway. She had on a pair of tight white cotton shorts that looked like swimsuit bottoms and a lime green sports bra that seemed thinner than the ones she normally wore. I could see her pointy nipples along with the V where her thighs met.

I hazarded a glance at Brian but he was just grinning at her.

Ciera had changed out of her leotard into an outfit that was identical to Jill’s. I decided it was a good idea that she’d shaved that morning because the bottoms were really cut high on her thighs. She gave me a slight wave and stood beside Jill.