Chapter 3

“Corinne DeLoie had another public meltdown last night, this time in a restaurant in Beverly Hills. According to a witness in the restaurant at the time, a server or a busboy, or someone from the restaurant staff, came over and whispered something into her ear, and she just about flew into a rage before storming into the bar area and screaming at, of all people, her mother. I mean, this is the woman that gave birth to her, got her started in Hollywood, and managed her career until—” Harvey Levin was cut off by one of his staffers on TMZ.

“You mean, the same woman who is known to have looted her daughter’s bank accounts of nearly thirty million dollars, that mother?” Charlie Neff spoke up, cutting him off.

Harvey looked at her in shock. “Really? I hadn’t heard that. Do we have that on video somewhere?”

Ryan Satin, another staffer, spoke up in defense of his co-worker. “Not so much an admittance, as a refusal to deny it. We also have someone who refused to go on camera or identify themselves, but who we are fairly confident was in the courtroom that day. Corinne’s mother told the judge that whatever she took from her daughter was no business of anyone else, and since she was Corinne DeLoie’s mother and her business manager and financial advisor, she was entitled to do whatever she wanted with what her daughter made.”

“Huh. And what did her father say about that? Was he in court that day?” Harvey looked at his staff, glad that they were so completely dialed in to the DeLoie situation.

“Yes, he was.” Charlie spoke up again. “Our source said that he stated he divorced her for, in his words, ‘looting their daughter’s future for her drunken parties and social life.’”

“Ouch! So what was the dust incident in the restaurant bar, then?”

Ryan spoke up again. “Apparently there is a restraining order in place to keep Lorraine away from Corinne. She knew that Corinne was in the restaurant because the mother posted to her Instagram account that she was, quote, ‘breathing the same air as her daughter for the first time in years.’ The staffer, who apparently is a huge fan and outspoken defender of the younger DeLoie, pointed out the post and her mother. The cops were called, and the mother was arrested, which was interesting, to say the least. By the time she was dragged out of the restaurant, we got a camera there, and caught the following...”

“So who was Corinne DeLoie in the restaurant with?” Harvey spoke up after the enlightening clip.

“Her longtime friend, Mattson Childers.” Charlie this time.

Everyone laughed. Childers was well-known around Beverly Hills – as asexual as Tim Gunn and as handsome as a cover model, with the body of a long-distance swimmer. Several woman had tried to bed him, something no one talked openly about in Hollywood (the mattress-hopping contest was legendary, and officially, to the public, entirely fictitious – and if you believed that, I have some land for sale... ). General reports were that the very talented young indie writer could have had any woman anywhere, but he just wasn’t interested.

“I wish that bitch would just check herself into rehab already and get the fuck out of my life permanently. God, she needs a good beating, or a good fucking with some horse-cocked stud or something. Preferably both. In public. In front of the Beverly Hilton on awards night so everyone can see the Golden Globes I paid for.”

Mattson laughed at his best friend. “Your sense of humor has never ceased to amaze me, Cory.”

“Hey, if you’re going to continue to call me Cory, I get to call you Mattie. That okay with you, Mattie?” She knew that he didn’t like it a little, but she was only teasing. She would never be nasty to Mattson. He was, truly, the best friend she’d ever had. She knew it, and loved him for it. Platonically, of course. There could never be anything else between them. After all, the whole world knew that he had no interest in anyone, male or female or anywhere in between.

“You can call me anything you like. Just don’t call me late for the award shows.” She laughed at that, which set him off, too. It was one of many standing jokes.

“We sound like an old married couple, Mattie, darling.” Sultry imitations always were her strong point.

“Be still my still-beating heart, you sultry little dime-store tramp.” She laughed even harder at that one.

“Whatever you say, bay-bee!” More valley-girl in that than should be allowed by law, he laughed to himself.

She put her feet up on his desk and leaned back again, her favorite position. This time she was in a pair of extra tight yoga pants and a black tank top over a black sports bra. Her six-pack was clearly on display, he thought to himself. She didn’t do many scenes in underwear or swimwear, but when she did she let her weight come up a bit so that she didn’t look so athletic. So most people never knew just how fabulously conditioned she was. He knew, though.

He also knew that she had just recently tested for her fourth degree black-belt in Taekwondo, because he was the sole spectator allowed to witness the test her personal instructor had administered in her private dojo she had had built into the lower level of her mansion. She had also told Mattson when he asked that she was going to work on her fifth, the next rank. But that would be at least a few years away. It took that long to prepare for the next test. She could shorten it a little, but only by abandoning everything else and doing nothing but train around the clock. Like that would happen.