saying another word she hung up. At eight o’clock that night Larry Gold called her.
“Cee Cee … don’t get crazy. The kid made a mistake,” he said after she had shouted at him so angrily it threw her into a coughing fit. “He got mixed up. He’s a young kid. HeR Garry Marshall’s nephew, so I gave him a break. He must have gotten you confused with Juliet Prowsc and read you her list. Big deal. Believe me. You’re not up for any commercials.”
“What do you have for me?” she asked.
“I’m working on it,” he told her. “I’m working on it,” which in agent language means I hope you have some dough stashed away, because there isn’t a job in sight. And she’d better go back to her list of schools because the bitch from Elmhurst wasn’t exactly busting her ass to call her back either.
Ironically, for someone who couldn’t get a job, she was still in the tabloids all the time — “Who’s the father of Cee Cee’s love child?” “Cee Cee begs judge, ‘Don’t take my kid away’” — and the paparazzi continued to lurk everywhere she and Nina went. The nosy snooping sons-of-bitches snapped their cameras in her face and Nina’s while they called out to Nina by name to try to get her to look at them. But within weeks Nina had learned how to affect the glazed-over look right-through-them expression Cee Cee always assumed when she spotted them. Sometimes they would even be so brazen as to camp outside the gates to the Malibu Colony waiting for Cee Cee’s car to emerge. And they always seemed to be waiting at the front door of a restaurant when Cee Cee, Nina, and sometimes Hal with them, made their exit. Finally one evening Cee Cee decided they should just stay in, and she ordered out for a pizza.
She didn’t count on the photographer who stopped the pizza delivery boy before he turned the corner at Webb Way heading toward the Malibu Colony gates, and offered him fifty bucks to reveal where he was going and another hundred bucks to let the photographer stand in and deliver the pizza. And when the photographer with the pizza got into the house, acting deferential and delivery-boyish in a way he couldn’t wait to describe to his colleagues, while the unknowing Cee Cee and Nina searched for cash to pay for the pizza in their purses on the hall table, he quietly took the oppor
I’LL BE THERE
69
tunity to snap a few pictures of them in their pajamas with a tiny camera they didn’t notice. Within a few days those pictures were all over the tabloids. The sleazoids.
The day Cee Cee stopped at the Colony Market to pick up a few groceries and spotted the issue of the Enquire; she felt as if she’d been slapped, wanted to call an attorney and sue those lousy sneaky lowlifes, in fact she was about to pick up the phone and call her lawyer to see if there was anything they could do to avoid that kind of invasion of privacy when the phone rang. It was Barbara Gilbert.
“Cee Cee,” she said, “I apologize for taking so long to get back to you but I had to present the idea of you and Nina to our board, and I’m so sorry to say, they don’t feel your family will work in our school community. But thanks for thinking of us, and I wish you luck.”
Cee Cee put the phone down and went back to get her list of private schools. Nina was in the kitchen reading Weekly Variety.
“Boy, if this is the schedule of shows that are coming on,” she said without looking up, “I’d think they’d be begging you to come back and do yours.” Cee Cee had to hold in a snort of surprise at the attitude of expertise that accompanied the comment.
“Thanks,” she said moving nearer as Nina closed the paper because an item on the front page caught her eye. FLAHERTY EXITS WEB FOR IND1E PROD. Her eyes skimmed the column which was written to make it sound as if Peter Flaherty had chosen to resign from the network to become an independent producer, but probably, Cee Cee thought, the psychic scandal had finally
“Cee Cee … don’t get crazy. The kid made a mistake,” he said after she had shouted at him so angrily it threw her into a coughing fit. “He got mixed up. He’s a young kid. HeR Garry Marshall’s nephew, so I gave him a break. He must have gotten you confused with Juliet Prowsc and read you her list. Big deal. Believe me. You’re not up for any commercials.”
“What do you have for me?” she asked.
“I’m working on it,” he told her. “I’m working on it,” which in agent language means I hope you have some dough stashed away, because there isn’t a job in sight. And she’d better go back to her list of schools because the bitch from Elmhurst wasn’t exactly busting her ass to call her back either.
Ironically, for someone who couldn’t get a job, she was still in the tabloids all the time — “Who’s the father of Cee Cee’s love child?” “Cee Cee begs judge, ‘Don’t take my kid away’” — and the paparazzi continued to lurk everywhere she and Nina went. The nosy snooping sons-of-bitches snapped their cameras in her face and Nina’s while they called out to Nina by name to try to get her to look at them. But within weeks Nina had learned how to affect the glazed-over look right-through-them expression Cee Cee always assumed when she spotted them. Sometimes they would even be so brazen as to camp outside the gates to the Malibu Colony waiting for Cee Cee’s car to emerge. And they always seemed to be waiting at the front door of a restaurant when Cee Cee, Nina, and sometimes Hal with them, made their exit. Finally one evening Cee Cee decided they should just stay in, and she ordered out for a pizza.
She didn’t count on the photographer who stopped the pizza delivery boy before he turned the corner at Webb Way heading toward the Malibu Colony gates, and offered him fifty bucks to reveal where he was going and another hundred bucks to let the photographer stand in and deliver the pizza. And when the photographer with the pizza got into the house, acting deferential and delivery-boyish in a way he couldn’t wait to describe to his colleagues, while the unknowing Cee Cee and Nina searched for cash to pay for the pizza in their purses on the hall table, he quietly took the oppor
I’LL BE THERE
69
tunity to snap a few pictures of them in their pajamas with a tiny camera they didn’t notice. Within a few days those pictures were all over the tabloids. The sleazoids.
The day Cee Cee stopped at the Colony Market to pick up a few groceries and spotted the issue of the Enquire; she felt as if she’d been slapped, wanted to call an attorney and sue those lousy sneaky lowlifes, in fact she was about to pick up the phone and call her lawyer to see if there was anything they could do to avoid that kind of invasion of privacy when the phone rang. It was Barbara Gilbert.
“Cee Cee,” she said, “I apologize for taking so long to get back to you but I had to present the idea of you and Nina to our board, and I’m so sorry to say, they don’t feel your family will work in our school community. But thanks for thinking of us, and I wish you luck.”
Cee Cee put the phone down and went back to get her list of private schools. Nina was in the kitchen reading Weekly Variety.
“Boy, if this is the schedule of shows that are coming on,” she said without looking up, “I’d think they’d be begging you to come back and do yours.” Cee Cee had to hold in a snort of surprise at the attitude of expertise that accompanied the comment.
“Thanks,” she said moving nearer as Nina closed the paper because an item on the front page caught her eye. FLAHERTY EXITS WEB FOR IND1E PROD. Her eyes skimmed the column which was written to make it sound as if Peter Flaherty had chosen to resign from the network to become an independent producer, but probably, Cee Cee thought, the psychic scandal had finally
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