Hollywood Girls Club Read Online Free PDF

front of the entire planet had to have some sort of complex. Jess loved them for their boldness, their bravado, their bravery, their childlike love, and their belief that the entire world was their toy box and everyone was meant to be their playmate.
    Jessica had only two clients she truly trusted, two who were her friends. Second rule in Hollywood: There are no “real” friends, only business associates. But Cici and Lydia defied that rule and were two of Jessica’s closest friends. It was a bond forged through time, shared loss (you hadn’t worked in Hollywood and not lost something), and trust. Their troika had yet to be tested by the making of a film together, but it appeared this was about to change.
    If Cici hadn’t called Jessica first, she never would have believed the news. Celeste Solange working for free. Well, practically free: SAG scale plus ten percent. In any other circumstance Jess would have called Lydia and ripped her apart because, close friends or not, this was a business. Granted, Cici got a huge piece of gross profit participation, but Seven Minutes Past Midnight wasn’t a small independent film strapped together with tiny bits of financing that stars would work on for practically no money (often to the abject horror of their agents, who lived on their ten percent of the stars’ fees) because the roles were so juicy and could garner rave reviews and an opportunity to appear in front of a billion eyeballs on an awards show. No, Seven Minutes Past Midnight was a studio-backed blockbuster of a film. But this film, Lydia’s film, wasn’t about money for Cici. It was about payback and pride.
    Jessica could hear the indignity in Cici’s voice. Damien Bruckner was a dumb fuck. First Amanda, then Cici, and now this Brianna Ellison? Like she was going to be a star?
    Damien was really thinking with his dick when he cast Brie in the lead role instead of Cici. And so public! It was splitsville for Damien and Cici. Good riddance. Besides, Cici worked more when she was between men. Once Seven Minutes Past Midnight wrapped, Cici’s next film would pay her $20 million fee. Plus, with her profit participation, Cici stood to make more money on Seven Minutes Past Midnight than she’d ever made on anything if the film turned out to be a hit—and it damn well could be with the cast and director Lydia had managed to put together.
    “Jess,” Holden said, breaking Jessica’s reverie, “don’t forget my mom. She wants to be the production photographer again.”
    Jess smiled her faux smile once more, “Of course. That was fifteen hundred a week, right?”
    “Yeah. And don’t worry, this time she won’t forget to put film in the camera.”

 
    Chapter 4
    Mary Anne Meyers and Her Fuzzy Bunny Slippers
     
    Mary Anne Meyers clicked the save icon on her computer screen. Finished. For now. She glanced out the window in her home office and watched the sun creep up over the Hollywood Hills. It’d been a long night. But the script was good, solid. The story was tight. Mary Anne had incorporated every one of Lydia Albright’s story notes for Seven Minutes Past Midnight , and they were good notes. Lydia was smart; she definitely understood story structure and what made a good script.
    Mary Anne leaned back in her chair and sipped her Earl Grey tea. What a view. What a life. What a miracle. An eight-week miracle. Had it only been eight weeks?
    She’d grown so accustomed to this new life (despite the nagging fear that it was all a dream and she’d awaken soon). The life with the Mercedes, the home in the Hollywood Hills, the housekeeper, the full bank account. It felt as though years had passed since Mary Anne was: broke—with $11.87 in her checking account and an overdraft looming because of the $15.79 she’d coughed up at Ralphs to buy groceries; unemployed—having lost her second waitressing job in three weeks, and evicted—forced to sleep on her friend Sylvia’s couch. Mary Anne had called her sister,