The A-List: Hollywood Royalty #1 Read online

  The A-List: Hollywood RoyaltyZoey Dean

  Contents

  Chapter 1: FAIRY PRUDENESS

  Chapter 2: DELAYED GRATIFICATION

  Chapter 3: A WHOLE NEW WORLD

  Chapter 4: PARENTAL GUIDANCE IS SUGGESTED

  Chapter 5: HOLLYWOOD FOOD CHAIN

  Chapter 6: CAN'T GET NO SATISFACTION

  Chapter 7: LIMITED TIME OFFER

  Chapter 8: 100 PERCENT HEAVENLY

  Chapter 9: PLEASED TO MEET YOU

  Chapter 10: JANE DOE

  Chapter 11: WHAT'S MINE IS MINE

  Chapter 12: LOSERVILLE, POPULATION TWO

  Chapter 13: HOBOS WITH BALENCIAGAS

  Chapter 14: STALKERVILLE, POPULATION ONE

  Chapter 15: MISS TACKY TEEN USA

  Chapter 16: BELIEVE THE HYPE

  Chapter 17: SUPERBAD NIGHT

  Chapter 18: CUT HIM SOME SLACKS

  Chapter 19: NIGHT OF THE HUNTER

  Chapter 20: ENEMIES CLOSER

  Chapter 21: DAYS OF WHINE AND POSERS

  Chapter 22: FASHION DENIM

  Chapter 23: FLOCK OF SEGALS

  Chapter 24: QUICK-CHANGE ARTIST

  Chapter 25: OF FOOLS AND TOOLES

  Chapter 26: THIS IS AWKWARD

  Chapter 27: DEADLY KISS

  Chapter 28: NUUK, NUUK, WHO'S THERE?

  Chapter 29: HEARTBREAKER

  Chapter 30: MISERY LOVES EGGS BENEDICT

  Chapter 31: THE LAST WALTZ

  Chapter 32: HOLLYWOOD ENDING

  For Steve, my partner in everything from crime to comedy.

  Let's face it: I want it all--just like you and everybody else. It may not be in the cards, but the

  prospect is so dazzling that I have to try.

  --Lauren Bacall

  FAIRY PRUDENESS

  Even before the white stretch limo pulled to a stop outside the Nokia Theatre, Amelie Adams

  could hear the screams of hundreds of fans. She blinked out the tinted windows as the driver

  slowed to a stop in front of the ruby red carpet. Behind the ground-level throngs of fans and

  photographers, models stood on six-foot risers, wearing hot pink Prada sunglasses and bright

  white tent dresses with graphic prints of L.A. landmarks on them: the Hollywood sign,

  Grauman's Chinese, the Beverly Hills Hotel, a postcard shot of Malibu. Most of the fans barely

  paid attention to the glamazons; they were more interested in catching a glimpse of their favorite

  Hollywood starlets arriving for the premiere of The A-List.

  "Fairy Princess!"

  "Fairy Princess!"

  Even though Amelie wasn't in the movie, her fans knew she was coming tonight. Clusters of

  little girls waved homemade, glittery signs proclaiming their high-pitched love for her Kidz

  Network character, Fairy Princess. Amelie leaned back in her seat, pushing a red ringlet from

  her turquoise eyes.

  Across from Amelie, her mother's face broke into the wide, voluptuous smile that Amelie had

  inherited. Helen Adams's own red hair was shorter--shaped into a face-framing chin-length bob

  by Mario, her one-name-only personal hairdresser for the last ten years--and her eyes were a

  dark hazel, but otherwise she and Amelie could have been mistaken for sisters.

  "Have fun. And remember, you'll get it next time." She winked one heavily mascaraed eye and

  smoothed her strapless violet Carolina Herrera gown over a flat stomach courtesy of a threeweek fitness boot camp in Studio City.

  Amelie's gloss-lacquered lips formed a grimace. She'd been up for the part of Emma Hardy,

  The A-List's lead, but had lost the role to Marlee Aces, a blonde with one screen credit in a sexy

  indie, Rock My World--about a lesbian heavy metal band in Mormon Utah. The producers had

  deemed her "more mature" and therefore better for the part. The Emma character had a sex

  scene, and while Amelie knew that a jump from petting winged ponies to heavy petting

  would've been a risky career move, sometimes she longed to do something that wasn't G-rated.

  "No scowls." Helen leaned over to kiss her daughter on the cheek. "And have fun. I'm going to

  take a quick meeting about your Christmas special, but I'll find you at the party later."

  Amelie reached back, giving her mom's hand a squeeze, as two tuxedoed valets reached in to

  extract her from the limo.

  "Fairy Princess! Fairy Princess!"

  Amelie stepped out of the limousine, plastering on the same magical grin that had sold four

  million T-shirts with her face on them. Her new white patent Miu Miu wedges sank into the

  plush carpet and she gracefully adjusted the hem of her silver Jovani flapper-inspired dress.

  Her character wore pink exclusively, so it was nice to not feel like human cotton candy for once.

  She made her way down the row of crazed fans--the younger ones near tears--signing glossy

  pictures, massive posters, and BOP magazines in her trademark swirly script. After each

  autograph, she flourished her pink Sharpie with Fairy Princess's signature wand wave. Elbow

  left, wrist swish, elbow right, wrist swish.

  At the far end of the red carpet, cast members from The A-List mingled with other actors about

  her age. Raven-haired Kady Parker and milky-skinned Moira and Deven Lacey, twins whose

  trademark sexy scowls had helped them get parts on School of Scandal, a new CW show, shot

  her curious glances and then returned to their conversation.

  Used to being ignored by her Hollywood peers, Amelie sighed, signing a talking Fairy

  Princess doll with bubble gum pink hair and glittery accessories. She knew she was lucky to be

  seated at the helm of a multimillion-dollar empire at only sixteen, but sometimes she just

  wanted to move up from the kids' table. She was growing up, but no one besides Mary Ellen,

  the on-set stylist who'd had to let her Fairy Princess wardrobe out in the chest, had really

  seemed to notice.

  Amelie smiled at a white-blond seven-year-old in a replica of Fairy Princess's Winter Festival

  ball gown. She held up a shirt for Amelie to sign. "Is it true you're playing a new kind of fairy

  in Class Angel?" the little girl asked, awestruck.

  "You got it," Amelie answered, shooting another dazzling smile that almost outshone her

  dress's sequins and crystals. Filming started on her new movie, Class Angel, the day after

  tomorrow. It was PG, and more mature than her Fairy Princess role, but she still played a

  teenager's guardian angel rather than an actual teenager. It was like calling Pinkberry ice cream.

  Amelie leaned over the metal barricade railing to sign the shirt, her face inches from the little

  girl's.

  "Mommy!" The little girl pointed at Amelie, then yelled, "Mom, Fairy Princess has boobies!"

  Amelie felt the blood rush to her face. Well, then. Maybe people were noticing her growing up,

  after all. . . .

  Amelie stood bathed in the sapphire-blue lights cast by the Nokia's looming facade. She'd

  barely paid attention to the ninety-minute movie, mentally replaying her red carpet humiliation

  instead of focusing on the film. Not that she could have focused even if she'd tried. She'd given

  up her primo reserved seat to an agent who'd brought his grandmother, and had wound up

  seated next to three fifteen-year-old girls who'd driven in from the Inland Empire after winning
r />   tickets on KROQ. They'd snuck in cans of Coors Light with them, and Amelie had struggled to

  hear the movie over their giggly conversation about the cute slacker who'd sold them the beer at

  7-Eleven. She stretched her tired neck from side to side, wishing she could skip the afterparty

  and head home. Unfortunately, she knew she had to put in an appearance, or her absence

  would be chalked up to sour grapes.

  Now she stood just outside the outdoor party area, watching people trickle out from the theater.

  Stars donned their occasionally misguided interpretations of the invite-specified "sexy A-List

  evening wear": skin-baring miniskirts, long glittery gowns that looked like expensive prom

  dresses. Security was already manning the makeshift entrance to the afterparty area, to make

  sure that people like Amelie's drunken underage seatmates didn't crash.

  She'd do one turn around the party space, meet and greet with some studio bigwigs, smile big,

  look sweet, and get the heck out of there. Amelie had an early call time tomorrow to shoot a

  music video for the Kidz Network site, anyway. It was the perfect excuse to trade her painful

  wedges for her Paul Frank monkey slippers. Add a bowl of Häagen-Dazs and her Veronica

  Mars DVDs, and she was set for the evening.

  Someone tapped her on the back. "Hey, do you mind walking in with me?"

  Amelie turned. Kady Parker was standing by herself, her wide sapphire blue eyes shimmering

  beneath the fringe of glossy black bangs that framed her heart-shaped face. "I always feel weird

  walking into a party alone."

  Kady Parker was her costar in Class Angel. Since getting into the business as a twelve-yearold, Kady almost always played the sassy tomboy who gets kicked around by bitchy prom

  queen types but gets the guy in the end. Amelie nodded, half surprised that Kady--whom she'd

  met only briefly, at a table read--was being so friendly.

  "Cool," Kady said, flashing her wristband and leading the way. The movie premiere might

  have been open to the hundredth caller, but the afterparty was strictly by invitation only, and

  you needed a "Get A-ed" wristband, which of course they both had. "Hot dress, by the way."

  "You look great too," Amelie replied. Kady's feminine-cut black Armani tux fit her slightly

  rebellious movie persona and her petite frame.

  "Thanks. Let's hit the bar--you can meet some of the other girls from Class Angel," Kady halfshouted over the new Santogold song, leading Amelie into a courtyard area, where four bars

  were set up in a square. The platform models now wore opaque white Prada one-piece

  swimsuits and the kind of sultry yet bored expressions mastered only through lots of practice.

  They danced languidly to the music as guests loaded their plates with food from the catered

  buffet. Three twentysomething brunettes hovered at a cocktail table, congratulating themselves

  for getting in without wristbands.

  Kady paused, standing on the tiptoes of her already-high cherry red Christian Louboutin

  stilettos, searching the crowd for her friends. "I don't know what they'll be drinking tonight,"

  she said.

  The four bars were all serving drinks inspired by the characters, and behind each was a

  backdrop featuring a glamorous publicity shot of one of the A-List actors. The Emma bar was

  serving classic cocktails like Manhattans and martinis, and rare Opus One wine in an exclusive

  A-List vintage. A bar for Peter, Emma's on-and-off-again love interest, was serving twenty

  microbrewed beers in frosted glasses. The bar for Sarah, a super-rich character with movie star

  parents (allegedly based on young director Sam Sharpe), offered Cristal, Veuve, and Dom

  Pérignon champagnes, while a bar for Dahlia, the wild child with a mean streak, served potent

  vodka, rum, and tequila combos.

  "There they are," Kady said, grabbing Amelie's arm and leading her to the Dahlia bar. A group

  of bored-looking girls stood around a shiny silver cocktail table. The Lacey twins slouched on

  stools, sipping identical Grey Goose and cranberry cocktails. They were mirror images of each

  other, with endlessly toned legs, thick caramel hair, and the same "don't mess with us"

  expressions. (Though rumor had it that three-minutes-younger Deven was actually a

  sweetheart.) Next to them stood DeAndra Barnett, a former child model who'd made her foray

  into acting in the massive Kidz Network hit West High Story. She had luminous toffee-colored

  skin, a lean, athletic body, and short curly hair that highlighted her sharp cheekbones. She wore

  a strapless D&G dress in a wild lily-and-leopard print that kept falling down her skinny chest.

  "You guys know Amelie, right?" Kady gestured to Amelie as though she were a showcase

  prize on The Price Is Right.

  DeAndra squinted as though she barely recognized Amelie, gracelessly pulling up her dress.

  The twins smiled faintly. " Fairy Princess, right?" they said in unison. Amelie nodded.

  " Fairy Princess, and Class Angel with me and DeAndra," Kady corrected. "And now Hunter,

  too."

  Hunter?

  Amelie thought she was hearing things. Kady could only be talking about one Hunter. Hunter

  Sparks. The guy so hot his role in West High Story had propelled little girls from their "I hate

  boys" phases directly into their "I heart Hunter" obsessions.

  "Wait, Hunter Sparks is in Class Angel?" Amelie fought to sound casual as her brain

  hyperventilated: HunterSparksHunterSparksHunterSparks!

  Amelie had starred in her first feature with him, when she was eleven and he was fourteen,

  before her Fairy Princess reign began. He played her older brother, who died trying to save

  Amelie when aliens invaded Chicago. Even though he treated her in a brother-sister way the

  whole shoot, she'd fallen totally in love with him. She still had script pages covered in hearts

  filled with loopy cursive musings: "I love Hunter," "Mrs. Hunter Sparks," and "Mrs. Amelie

  Adams-Sparks." For five years, she'd barely run into him, even at Kidz Network headquarters.

  And, yet, just glimpsing his face on a West High Story poster or hearing his name was enough

  to make her heart thud in double time, the way it did now.

  "I thought our lead was Raleigh Springfield," Amelie hastily added, naming the actor who was

  originally slated to play the role.

  "Nope, he's out." Kady shrugged. "Said he wants to do an indie instead, but I think it's just

  rehab. The producer called in a favor and Hunter's in."

  "Cool." The twins nodded and drained their glasses. "He's yummier anyway. Raleigh has that

  greasy hair."

  A delightful tingle worked its way through Amelie's body. Her stars were falling into place,

  Fairy Princess style.

  "Anyway, this party blows, K." The twins looked at Kady like two dogs begging their owner

  to take them outside.

  "Okay, then," Kady said, processing the info. "We could hit the Standard, the downtown one

  on Flower." She turned to Amelie. "Have you been? The rooftop bar has waterbed pods and

  great bottle service. And no wannabes." She glanced at the uninvited brunettes in Payless heels

  at one of the bars.

  Before Amelie could answer, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

  "Hi girls." Amelie's mom's voice strained over the noise. Amelie flushed with embarrassment.

  "Amelie, honey, they moved up the call time for tomorrow by a few hours. The limo's waiting

  out front."

  Amelie turned back
to Kady, who'd probably never brought her mom to a premiere before. She

  shrugged. "Thanks for the invite, but it looks like I've got to call it a night."

  She made an apologetic face, though secretly she was thankful for the interruption. Party

  hopping was fine if you wanted to end up with a has-been rep and a drug habit by age twentyone on E! True Hollywood Story, but Amelie intended to be the industry's anti-Lohan, thank

  you very much.

  "No worries," Kady said, hugging Amelie. "I'll see you on Sunday."

  "For sure," Amelie said, waving at the other girls as she grabbed her clutch off the cocktail

  table.

  Helen led the way back through the crowd, walking with her perfect Pilates posture. "They

  seemed nice. You might have fun on this movie."

  Amelie grinned. She and Kady didn't have to get matching BFF bracelets, but at least Kady

  didn't seem like the kind of crazy costar who'd put Nair in Amelie's shampoo bottle. Plus, a

  movie where she didn't have to match dance steps with whimsical sprites? One that might even

  have Hunter Sparks?

  Amelie was definitely ready for her close-up.

  DELAYED GRATIFICATION

  Myla Everhart stood in the LAX baggage claim, wishing she hadn't worn her thigh-high,

  yellow Aztec-print Pucci Sundial dress--every time she sat down, the back of her legs touched

  some invariably sticky surface.

  The first daughter of America's hottest on-and offscreen couple craned her neck, looking

  toward the doors to the street. Ash had said he'd park and come inside to help shield her from

  the paparazzi and carry her bags. Granted, she'd internationally overnighted everything via

  Luggage Concierge, but he could certainly carry her plum Marc Jacobs tote full of French

  Vogue s and her cashmere travel blanket.

  Myla fished her emerald-adorned iPhone from the bottom of her bag. One fourteen. Ash knew

  she landed at twelve thirty. What was the freaking holdup?

  But then . . . that was Ash. Her Ash. Laid-back, easygoing Ash.

  She softened, just thinking of him. Long before they'd gotten together, Ash Gilmour had been

  her best friend and the only guy who got Myla. It wasn't easy going through puberty as the

  child of Barkley Everhart and Lailah Barton-- People's Most Beautiful Couple, 2001, 2002,

  2006-present. Most Inattentive, too, by Myla's standards. They'd adopted Myla as a baby after

  spending time on-set in Thailand, filming an Adam and Eve-inspired love story that had