Fast Lane | ✔️

9

Ch9

Juliana awoke in the early morning hours to the sound of her cell phone beeping insistently. Sleepily, she removed her black sleep mask and reached across the satin sheets of her canopy bed to grab the offensive device.

Satan, the caller ID read. The nickname she'd so lovingly christened her agent-from-hell, Vivian Landsbury.

Juliana was never one to mince words. "Do you realize what time it is?" she demanded into the phone, irritated she'd been woken up before noon. "What in the world do you want, Vivian?"

The older woman's voice responded back, matching her icy tone. "Your head on a silver platter."

"Ex-cuse me?" Juliana couldn't believe she'd heard correctly! Was that any way to talk to her star client?

"I was just looking over your cover shots for next month's Cosmopolitan," Vivian explained with an exasperated sigh. "You look like death warmed over."

Juliana sat up in disbelief. Her agent had her full attention now. "What the hell are you talking about? That shoot lasted forever! Surely they got something they could work with?"

"Not one single picture, darling," Vivian shot back. "For starters, you have tan lines--don't think I didn't notice. Your eyes look sunken, your cheeks are puffy and your hair's as limp as my husband's dick. I'm afraid not even a good airbrushing will fix this mess. What exactly have you been up to?" she demanded. "You know, a model's day in the sun, so to speak, doesn't last very long. And this town has an extremely short memory. So, what's the problem? Why are you trying to kill your career?"

Juliana threw herself back into a mass of overstuffed pillows, and ignored her agent's question. What business was it of hers? "What do I have to do now?" she mumbled, completely put out by the whole situation. "Reschedule the shoot?"

"There's no time," Vivian replied crisply. "The magazine goes to print within the next couple of days. They decided to go with Kate Hudson."

"Kate Hudson?" Juliana shrieked. "But she's so old--she has to be at least forty!"

"Ahh, but a well-preserved forty, and willing to provide the pictures needed to grace the cover of one of the most popular beauty rags on the market. In the meantime, you better get your sweet ass in gear before you become a supermodel has-been. Keep it up and even Playboy won't want you."

Ha! As if she would ever take her clothes off for a bunch of perverts to jerk off to.

"I mean it, Juliana--get your act together. Until then, we're done." Vivian hung up the phone before Juliana could respond.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The truth could be an ugly, unforgiving bitch. Miller realized that as he watched Claire amble aimlessly around their home one morning after breakfast. She looked tired. Really tired. How long had she been this way? He'd been so busy rewriting his screenplay and worrying about Marie that he hadn't seen much of Claire over the past few weeks. "Are you feeling okay?" he asked her, his eyes fixed carefully on her response. He'd always considered himself especially good at reading people and was determined to figure out what was wrong.

Claire lifted a thin hand to her head and pushed away a strand of hair that had escaped from a messy bun. "I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

"You just look tired, is all. Did you not sleep well last night?" He knew for a fact she had. Claire had gone to bed extra early the night before, it hadn't even been 9 pm, and by the time he joined her around midnight she was sound asleep. She hadn't even stirred when he'd crawled in next to her.