Luckily, everything was quiet as they made their way down the corridor, with no neighbors peeking out of their apartments. Lauren stopped in front of the last door to the right and unlocked it. She reached in to turn on the light before letting Grace enter ahead of her.
Still barefoot, carrying her stilettos in one hand, Grace squeezed past Lauren and looked around.
By the standards of her Hollywood acquaintances, the apartment was small, but Grace instantly liked it. The front door opened directly into a long living/dining room, with no space wasted on a hall. Four chairs were placed around a square dining table on which a stack of bills and magazines waited for Lauren’s attention. To the right, an open archway led into a small, but fully functional kitchen.
The apartment was quiet except for the hum of the stainless steel refrigerator. Grace realized belatedly that she hadn’t asked Lauren if she lived alone. She was curious but didn’t want to appear nosy by asking about Lauren’s private life. Lauren was her publicist, after all, even if she was starting to feel almost like a friend. I guess scrambling up a brick wall together can do that to you, but you’d better be careful. She’d been burned by new friends more than once. People she’d thought she could trust had revealed all kinds of personal information to the media. Nothing scandalous, but still, it rankled her to read in magazines about her battle to keep off weight or about how much she’d paid for her couch. As a result, she’d become slower to trust over the years. Despite her internal admonition, she had a feeling that Lauren wouldn’t betray her, even without a confidentiality clause.
Lauren walked past her and opened the sliding glass door leading to a small balcony. Fresh air streamed into the apartment. She gestured at the camel-colored microfiber couch in the living room. “Please, have a seat while I rustle up something to eat.”
When Lauren moved to the kitchen, Grace stood by the open balcony door for a moment, breathing in the fresh air. Through the palm trees and greenery surrounding the building, the lights of the city glittered in the distance. “Nice,” she said when she finally turned and settled into the plush couch cushions.
“Thanks,” Lauren said from the kitchen, her voice sounding muffled as if she had her head stuck in the refrigerator. “Nothing special, but I like it here. It’s not like I’m home that much anyway, so it’s enough for me.”
“How long have you lived here?” Grace asked as she eyed the stack of scripts on the coffee table. Was Lauren reading them for one of her clients?
The refrigerator door thudded closed, and then pots banged. “About eight years.”
“And before that, you lived in Boston?”
Lauren stepped around the breakfast bar separating the kitchen from the living room and sent Grace a startled gaze. “Did you google me or something?”
Grace laughed. “No.” Grinning, she pointed at the sweatshirt she was still wearing.
“Oh.” Lauren went back to the part of the kitchen Grace couldn’t see. “Yeah, I went to BU, but I was born in LA.”
“Oh, wow. You’re probably the first LA native I’ve met.”
The sound of a jar popping open and Lauren’s chuckle drifted over. “What can I say? We’re a rare breed. Onions?”
“Uh, excuse me?”
“Do you want onions?”
What the heck was Lauren making? “No, thanks.”
“How about you?” Lauren asked and leaned over the breakfast bar to look at Grace. “Where were you born, Betty G. Duvenbeck?”
Grace winced at the use of her birth name. “What? That big red file you have on me told you my birth name but not where I was born?”
“How do you know it’s a red file? There are other colors too, you know?”
“After my mother fired you your first week, I have a feeling I rate the red file,” Grace answered. She realized that she liked Lauren’s gentle teasing. It was so unlike the reverent tone most other people used when talking to her. Lauren seemed unimpressed by her celebrity status and made Grace feel as if she could for once be herself—whoever that was. Sometimes, after spending months getting into the head of a character, it was hard to remember.
A drawer opened and closed in the kitchen. “I’m pleading the fifth. So, where were you born?”
“Londen,” Grace said.
“London? You don’t sound British.”
“Not London. Londen.” Grace spelled it for her. “A tiny little town in Illinois, with nothing but cornfields and one stop light.”
“Did you like it there?” Lauren asked from the kitchen.
Grace curled her bare toes into the soft carpet. “I guess it was okay. I didn’t really spend enough time there to be sure. I spent a lot of my childhood in LA and Toronto, shooting commercials, TV shows, and later movies.”
“We have that in common,” Lauren said. “Well, not the shooting, of course. But I practically grew up on various movie sets too. My whole family is involved in the entertainment business.”
“You mean other than your parents?”
“Yeah. Let’s see… We have several actors, two screenwriters, and a costume designer. Oh, and my godfather and godmother are studio executives. Our family dinners looked more like production meetings. I knew long before I entered school that I never wanted to end up in show business. It’s a crazy line of work, and you have to be a bit nuts to survive in it. Um, no offense intended,” Lauren added as if only now remembering who she was talking to.
Grace smiled. “No offense taken. So what happened to make you end up as a publicist for the people in this crazy business?”
“I guess I missed the California sunshine,” Lauren said.
“That’s your answer? You missed the California sunshine, and that’s why you went into PR?”
“Well, not directly,” Lauren said. “After four winters in Boston, I moved back here. I worked in the marketing and communications department of a nonprofit organization for three years.”
Grace could see her in that line of work, maybe helping underprivileged children, homeless people, or animals in need. Somehow, she got the impression that Lauren was a person who’d throw herself into her job and be good at it, no matter what it was. “What happened then?”
“I did someone a favor,” Lauren said. “An old friend of my family, who is a talent agent, needed something written for one of his clients, so I helped out for a while.”
“And you were hooked.”
“Yeah.”
Grace wished she could see into the kitchen area and watch Lauren’s face. She couldn’t quite figure out whether Lauren regretted going into PR or thought it was the best thing that could have happened to her career. Before she could open her mouth for another question, Lauren asked, “Ready for my award-worthy midnight snack?”
As if in answer, Grace’s stomach rumbled again. “Beyond ready.”
Lauren rounded the breakfast bar with a tray. “Mind if we eat here, or do you want to move to the dining table?”
“Here is fine.” Grace craned her neck to see what Lauren had prepared.
After pushing the stack of scripts out of the way, Lauren set the tray on the coffee table.
Steam rose off four hot dogs. Other bowls held condiments such as onions, relish, and shredded cheese. Bottles of ketchup and mustard balanced at the edge of the tray.
Grace’s mouth watered as she caught a whiff. “Oh, God. Do you know how long it’s been since I had one of those?”
“Oh. I didn’t think… Is it okay?” Lauren asked.
“I really shouldn’t…” Her mother would have a heart attack if she saw her eat junk food, especially this late in the day.
Lauren pointed at the fridge. “If you’d rather have a salad, I can—”
“No. This is fine.” Grace decided that she’d just spend an extra half hour on the elliptical trainer tomorrow and reached for one of the soft, white buns.
Lauren settled on the recliner across from Grace and watched her pile condiments on her hot dog. During her career, she’d had lunch with many actresses, and most of them just picked at their salads instead of eating heartily.
Not so Grace. She pushed up the sleeves of Lauren’s sweatshirt, picked up the hot dog, eyed it for a moment, and then took a big bite. “Oh God. So good.”
The moans and little sounds she made while she ate made Lauren squirm. She’d watched love scenes in movies that sounded less erotic.
Grace looked up and licked a bit of mustard off her fingers. Somehow, she managed to make even that look sexy.
Lauren averted her gaze and reached for her bottle of water, feeling the need to cool off. Bringing Grace here, into her private life, hadn’t been one of her brightest ideas. Apparently, her libido wanted to share more than just hot dogs.
“Thank you,” Grace said when her first hot dog was gone.
“It’s just hot dogs.”
“Not just for the hot dogs. For everything you did today. Like you said, running from a dog and climbing a brick wall isn’t covered in your contract, so thanks.”
Lauren reached for her own hot dog so she didn’t have to look at Grace and see the gratefulness in her eyes. It was easier to think that she’d just fulfilled her duties as a publicist, nothing more. She tilted her head in silent acknowledgment and said, “That second hot dog is yours.”