Hollywood Hit by Maggie Marr

this?” Lydia asked. She turned her gaze from Jessica, who sat beside her with a fresh cappuccino, toward Cici, who stood in front of them on her yoga mat and stretched her arms over her head in a sun salutation.
    “I think we make the movie,” Jessica said.
    Cici bent at her waist and hopped both feet back, then lowered herself into chaturanga. Once flat on her black Manduka mat, Cici stopped her morning asana practice. Her golden mane, pulled tight in a ponytail, settled onto her shoulder.
     “I want this role.” Cici’s eyes sparkled with the hard look of determination. That hard, focused look had managed to make Cici’s own dreams come true and the dreams of a multitude of individuals working in the entertainment business.
    Jessica reached for her cappuccino and took a long sip. Neither Jessica nor Lydia had slipped into their yoga clothes for the early morning workout as they were both going to their offices after this morning meeting. Cici would go to the Four Seasons for an all-day press junket for her latest film, Concession to Her Delight, which was set for release.
    Lydia looked past the clever topiaries and hedges in Cici’s backyard to the slim line of blue Pacific in the distance.
    “The press will eat you alive on this.” Lydia’s gaze darted back to Cici. “They’re already chewing you and Nikki to bits over Jeb’s death.”
    “I’ve survived worse.” Cici rolled to her side and sat up cross-legged on her mat. She reached for her water bottle and took a long swig.
    “Cici,” Lydia said, her voice softer her tone warmer, “it’s not you I’m worried about.”
     “What?” Confusion laced Cici’s voice. She swiped sweat from her cheeks. She didn’t understand their hesitation.
    “I think what Lydia is concerned about”—Jessica glanced from Cici to Lydia—“what we are both concerned about, is Nikki.”
    Cici shook her head and a smile gripped her face. “Are you kidding? This is a huge opportunity, and it’s all because Nikki has a brilliant eye for material.” Cici pushed herself to her feet and walked to the glass-top table where Jessica and Lydia both sat.
    “You’re throwing her in the deep end,” Lydia said.
    “I’ll be there.” Cici tapped her breastbone. “Plus”—she pointed toward Lydia—“you’ll be there too.”
    “This is Nikki’s project, Cici. You know I love you, you know I would do anything for you”—her gaze grew sharp—“and I nearly have, but Nikki is a twenty-two-year-old girl who lost her mother, moved halfway across the country, and is now tangentially involved in a Hollywood homicide.” Lydia lowered her hand to her lap and deepened her tone. “Not to mention the trauma from her adolescence.”
    Cici’s eyes narrowed with the mention of the unmentionable. Most people cowered before stars. Kowtowed, bent over backward to satisfy their every whim. Lydia didn’t. She’d been raised in the Industry. Cici was her dear friend, and Lydia wasn’t about to surrender her role as one of the few people in Cici’s life who actually confronted her with hard, difficult facts.
    “I don’t want to discuss that,” Cici said.
    “I know you don’t. But the press will—”
    “Those court files were sealed.”
    “Have you ever known a mess like that to remain private?” Lydia tilted her head to the side. “There are no secrets in this town. There are merely unspoken agreements on what not to disclose. What happened to Nikki when she was a teenager could all come out.”
    Cici’s took a sharp, short breath. She might be self-involved, but she did love. She loved those closest to her.
    “We’ve taken precautions… Ted has taken precautions.” Cici’s eyes lingered on Lydia. “I won’t be held hostage by Nikki’s past, and I won’t let her be held hostage either.”
    Ted was formidable. He managed to dodge and weave through the gauntlet of secrets and lies—some his, some Cici’s. Lydia hoped he could pull off the same trick for