“Nah, mate, I’m good with the cerveza,” he nodded.
“Australians, I’ll never understand them,” Gaynor groaned, pouring a martini for herself. With a spoon she dropped four plump green olives into each and handed one to Billy.
“Do you have little skewers for the olives?”
“Use your tongue.” Gaynor flicked her tongue at Billy. “It’s sexier.”
“Gurl, are you ever gonna leave Studio 54?”
“No sé, mijo. Can you give me one good reason?”
Billy took his martini and gently swirled the icy, viscous gin around in the heavy glass. The three of them sat silently, listening to the gentle thump of the disco music wafting from speakers that were nearly as tall as Gaynor.
Gaynor pressed a button on the intercom on the wall.
“Alicia, how are my little treasures?”
“Patrick is watching Scarface and Sylvester is giving me a makeover,” came the tinny response. Gaynor smiled. After the boys had left Alicia locked in the conference room so long she’d peed her pants, she’d sent Alicia on a commercial audition this morning, and by this afternoon, she had a willing babysitter.
Billy took another sip of his martini and watched as Gaynor, in zebra tights and a zebra-print halter top, skipped barefoot back to her spot on the red leather sofa. He had dreaded calling her to tell her about the photos, but Gaynor had not been ruffled at all.
“You’ve taken care of it, mijo?” she had said.
“I tried, but Crystal got to them before I did.”
“Of course she did, but don’t worry. This is good news.”
Billy had explained the whole scenario, and Gaynor had remained calm.
“Mijo, I’m set for a cut and color with Mr. Ray at six. Can you have Bluey arrange a phone conference with the dragon lady for nine tonight? We can have some cocktails at my house and put her in her place.”
* * *
The meeting at Flanger’s had turned into everyone on their cell phones, and Harrison had gotten bored. He had deflected offers from each of them to drive him back to Beverly Hills and called an Uber instead. Once he was gone, they had figured out an attack plan. The solo photos of Zetta were being sold, whether Crystal liked it or not, and it was up to Billy to negotiate the fate of Gaynor and the photos she appeared in.
As the meeting drew to a close, Bluey had come up and put his arm around Billy’s shoulders.
“Mate, I’m really sorry we got off on the wrong foot.”
“I am, too, I guess. There are worse ways to get bullshitted than by kissing a dumb Aussie at the Montage.”
Bluey burst out with his loud belly laugh.
“Let’s go grab a beer. You and I need to work out a unified front or our respective bosses will claw each other to death.”
Flanger and Joe had exchanged identical eye rolls as they bade the men adieu.
* * *
“Crystal’s changed her mind,” Bluey announced at eight forty-five. “She’s coming here in person. I just texted her the address.” Gaynor and Billy exchanged drag queen looks of horror.
“I’m gonna need a drop cloth.” Gaynor stood and stalked toward the kitchen. “I don’t wanna get blood on the Warhol.”
“Well, you better be quick, Gaynor; she says she’s just around the corner.”
Gaynor returned with another martini glass, not a tarp. She set about rinsing out the shaker at the wet bar in the corner of her living room. She filled it and the glass with ice, and as they were chilling, the doorbell rang.
“Be a lamb, would you?” Gaynor nodded at Bluey, who sprang out of his yellow beanbag chair and headed for the door. She hurriedly prepped the martini, and this time made two skewers of four olives each, dunking them into the gin just as she heard Crystal’s heavy heels clomping down the hallway.
“Ay, los zapatos!” Gaynor cried. “Take off your damn shoes. This isn’t Neiman Marcus.”
Crystal sailed into the room like a miniature Karl Lagerfeld, all black suit, gold chains, and huge dark glasses, her colorless hair not moving an inch. She surveyed the room—the beanbag chairs, the red couch, the mirror ball, and the blue lacquered coffee table—and seemed at a loss for words. Billy felt his scrotum shrivel when her impenetrable dark glasses stopped at him.
“How the fuck do you manage to be everywhere?” she barked at him. “You’re like the fucking Forrest Gump of scandals.”
“Just lucky, I guess.” Billy stood, extending his hand. Crystal veered in the other direction and snatched her martini from Gaynor. Bluey came in behind her and resumed his perch in the yellow beanbag. He looks like Big Bird in his nest, Billy thought, smiling.