Alex Ames - Calendar Moonstone 02 - Brilliant Actors Read Online Free PDF

covered childhood, movies, and jewelry making. We had very different backgrounds, me with my hippie commune parents and her with a typical American small town simple world. We had both cut our ties with the past, overcome obstacles along the way, and were now famous and rich—rich with experience and rich with money. Well, destiny had dished her a little bit more of each than me.  
    “Cal, I can’t believe that my Hollywood colleagues have not discovered your works earlier. Your work is very good, and that you have some on display in major European museums is fantastic—and on the head of a European queen! Just a fairy tale come true.”
    “But that doesn’t buy me anything in America, necessarily,” I pointed out. “I am considered an artist, not a fashion star. It is like Vivian Westwood versus Giorgio Armani. They both cut mean stuff out of cloth, but Giorgio hits it with the scene and the commerce, while Westwood remains….”
    “…too playful and eccentric. I know exactly what you mean,” Nicole completed my self-evaluation. “We have to change that. Giorgio is a good friend of mine, and he told me that most of his success was hard work, pure luck, and knowing the right people.” Nicole waved toward the vely nelvous Chinese waitress who was undecided whether to ask for an autograph or to faint right away. She came forward, and Nicole asked for the check.
    “You know … we really do have to change that.”
    I asked, “Change what exactly?”
    “Throw away that Vivienne Westwood image of yours and remake you into a Giorgio Armani of the jewelry world, of course.” Nicole snapped shut her little Prada purse and put down the bill and a generous tip.  
    “Thank you, but—”
    “No, thank you, this is what you deserve.” She gave me a generous smile. “And we will start right away on Monday. Would you join me for the Academy Awards ceremony?”

    And that was that. Of course it didn’t stop with the ceremony. There was a pre-show lunch hour, the walking down the carpet hour—and, most important, the after-show party.  
    Mundy’s mouth fell open. “Oscar. Nicole Berg. Swan Collins’ party.”
    I was jumping up and down excitedly in front of my collected wardrobe spread on my bed. “I have nothing to wear! Nothing! Emergency shopping, now!”
    “Wow, my girlfriend is becoming a superstar. Will you still know me tomorrow?” Mundy actually looked a little dubious, and I wasn’t sure whether he was joking or not.  
    Mundy and I had a strange and complicated relationship. He was in love with me; I wasn’t with him. It fortunately did not put a large strain on our relationship. We had met at Berkeley University first, lost sight of each during my East Coast jeweler apprenticeship years, and had met again, right here in Redondo after I had opened my shop. He was one of the few people who knew about my clandestine hobby, the result of a strange affair involving one of his former bosses and a story scoop that had been suppressed but had needed to be published in order to clear Mundy’s name. I had broken into the publisher’s home, had stolen the evidence, and Mundy had been able to prove his story. Over time, Mundy became my good conscience and confidante, trying to keep my feet grounded. At least sometimes! As I said, I was not in love with him. He simply was not my type of man. I wasn’t into the 1969 Jimi Hendrix Afro look, baggy corduroy trousers, and trusting, puppy-dog eyes.  
    I turned to Mundy. When he got sarcastic, he was usually trying to make a point. “What is it?”
    “I don’t like it.”
    “Come on; what is there not to like?”  
    Mundy went over to me, put his hands on my shoulders, and walked me over to the dining table. “Okay, your old wise friend Mundy Millar is going to tell you a story from the vaults.” Mundy was neither old nor wise; he was my age and worked for the local paper. “When I used to work for the Washington Post , I had the pleasure of interviewing