into the car and she thought about Jeff saying she was too old for him. The last thing she wanted was to be the next Mrs Beerman. She wanted something bigger than that: she wanted to be the next Jeff Beerman.
After nearly twenty years in Hollywood, Zoe Greene had finally got the break she needed, and she wasn’t going to let anything stand in her way.
Maggie Hall was careful not to trip over the train of Penelope Cruz’s enormous silver ball gown as she manoeuvred through the room to gain a better view of Zoe’s conversation with Jeff Beerman.
The room was buzzing with celebrities catching up, waitstaff trying to keep up with the request for drinks and power brokers shaking hands and comparing egos.
The finest haute couture was being worn by the beautiful as if they deserved nothing less: clothes that hadn’t been worn by anyone else in the world yet but would dictate fashion pages for the next year. Trends were being started, careers were being launched, and deals were being made in every corner of the room.
Arrangements about management, pacts around casting, transactions in marriages and compromises with lovers. It was a cacophony of perfume and ambitions, the perfect night, thought Maggie as she watched a starlet make a play for Brad Pitt and Angelina smile as though indulging one of her youngest children.
Maggie was a people watcher, which was part of what made her a brilliant actress, but she wasn’t trying to play either Jeff or Zoe in a new role. She knew there was something going down, and—given Zoe was both her best friend and her manager—automatically assumed it had something to do with her.
But Zoe had already left the table by the time Maggie got a decent view and she was left talking to Gwyneth Paltrow about colon cleanses.
Damn you, Zoe, she thought, at least tell me which project Jeff wants me for so I can prepare.
Did she need to lose weight or gain it? Change her hair colour from blonde to brunette? Change her body shape with four-hour-a-day workouts?
Transforming herself came naturally to Maggie—she’d being doing it for nearly thirty-seven years. It was being herself she sometimes had trouble with, she thought wryly.
Gwyneth Paltrow had been joined by Willow Carruthers, and the two were now talking about London’s best colonic clinics.
God help me, Maggie thought when she heard her name.
‘Maggie?’ She turned and found herself face-to-face with her ex, Australian actor, Will MacIntyre and his Spanish girlfriend, Stella. Stella glared at Maggie as though she were the worst person in the world, which, to Stella, she probably was.
‘Thank you, I was about to have to make colonic conversation with Goop about her poop,’ she mock whispered and smiled at him brightly. On paper they had been the perfect couple, but things had never been so easy behind closed doors.
‘I like colonics,’ said Stella. ‘They help me lose pounds and pounds.’
Maggie thought about making a comment regarding what Stella was filled with, but left it alone. She didn’t need a scene, not with her mind on Zoe and Jeff’s meeting.
‘You look beautiful,’ Will said, his eyes scanning Maggie in her lilac strapless gown. Stella’s face fell at Will’s words, and for a moment Maggie felt bad for her. Stella would be in the colon clinic tomorrow, trying to rid herself of the ‘pound and pounds’, when in stead she’d be better off just dumping Will, who really was a big shit.
Stella was sexy, a tumble of dark hair, breasts and curves, but Maggie was tall and willowy, and often described as a classic beauty. Tonight her blond hair was drawn into a sleek chignon, accentuating her high cheekbones and piercing blue eyes. And though her Nordic looks afforded her an enviable elegance, Maggie knew it was her trademark smile, the one that warmed her face and lit up a room, that earned her at least fifteen million dollars a movie, plus a cut of the backend. Zoe once famously said that when Maggie Hall smiled, a person would buy whatever she was selling, rob a bank or commit a murder just to keep the light in the room.
Maggie ignored Will’s compliment, not because it wasn’t pleasant but because she knew he’d only said it to annoy Stella, who was now glaring at Maggie as though she was putting a curse on her.
‘How’s Elliot?’ She asked after Will’s son. ‘He hasn’t returned any of my calls.’
Will shrugged. ‘Still in his room, playing video games.’
‘He’s too old for games,’ said Stella impatiently as though Maggie had addressed her. ‘He’s twenty-three, he needs to be out in ze world.’
Maggie shot her a look that made Stella toss her head but turn away from Maggie’s dislike.
Yes, Elliot needed to get back out into the world but the kid did have a reason to stay inside for a while, she thought tenderly. She may not have birthed Elliot but she loved him like her own child.
‘It’s been six months since the transplant. Haven’t the doctors said he can go back to college?’ she asked.
‘He doesn’t want to,’ said Will, looking exhausted just talking about it. ‘He doesn’t want to do anything.’
She and Will had only been divorced for eighteen months, and while Maggie was still single, Will had wasted no time in finding a replacement. Someone younger, someone who would no doubt give him the child they had fought about throughout their eight-year marriage.
‘We have Elliot,’ she had argued at the time. ‘He needs us, and we can’t bring a child into this home when he’s so sick.’
Her argument had contained a thread of truth, but what she had never said was that she just didn’t feel ready to have a child with Will. She thought her body would tell her that the time was right to be pregnant but it never did and when Elliot’s congenital heart condition had worsened, the idea was parked permanently.
But she couldn’t stay in a loveless marriage, not even for Elliot. Eventually she realized she didn’t love Will, and Elliot wasn’t enough of a reason to stay.
She had tried to stay in Elliot’s life—she was the closest thing to a mother that he had and she knew he wanted to see her—but Will’s anger at her leaving him made it difficult.
‘Do you want me to talk to him about it?’ she asked now. ‘He won’t return my calls but I can come over and I can stage a care-frontation.’
Stella rolled her eyes, and Maggie only just resisted the urge to slap her.
‘I see Zoe’s been doing the deal with Jeff,’ said Will, obviously trying to change the subject and taking a large sip of his wine.
The Vanity Fair photographers were circling, looking for a good candid photo of the past couple and the new girlfriend. Maggie took care to smile, radiantly, as she asked casually, ‘What deal is that?’
But before Will could answer, Arden Walker swept into the circle.
‘Hello, darlings,’ she said, but Maggie noticed she only kissed Will, touching his face in a way Maggie knew made him uncomfortable—she could see it in the way his eyes blinked too many times and his jaw tensed.
Poor Will, she thought, Arden Walker would never take no for an answer; she had ambition and charisma in spades, something that poor Stella didn’t have.
Arden worked her charisma the way Stella worked her body, and right now she was clinging to Will’s side like a lemur.
Will and Arden had made a film together, a big-budget action movie, two years earlier, when Arden was a mere twenty years old. Will had played her father. The film had done well at the box office, although Elliot and Maggie had watched it at her house and laughed at Arden trying to make a mediocre script sound like Chekov.
Maggie