Cut to the Chase Read Online Free

the way of consistency. That is, except for the reliable bars she was frequenting more often and the unfailing paparazzi that seemed to always be around.
    She felt as if she were in a bubble, with her work, her agent and manager, and her fellow sushi-eating comrades forming the shell inside which she dwelled. The paparazzi were the sharp pins that persistently threatened to burst the bubble. And if they did, she wasn’t sure there would be any substance and meaning in what they found.
    Leah, Sandy, and Ivy were deep into a conversation about luxury resorts, and Avalon turned away from them to look around the room.
    Couples were huddled close and families with children were animated in their interactions. They were all ordering food and laughing and talking as if their meal was just another wonderful pearl in the content and happy necklace of their lives. A flash of metal or something outside made her focus on the restaurant’s front window.
    As the waiter came around to check on her table, Avalon recognized the unrelenting and scheming body language of a fistful of scruffy, camera-toting men hovering around the entrance.
    Ah, hell, she thought as she turned back to the table and, specifically, the waiter. “Would you please bring me a Coke?”

Chapter Three
     
    A rather large group of Avalon’s fans was pushing and pressing into each other to get closer to her. She wanted to shake some hands, but she had on expensive cream-colored pants and a matching sleek jacket that the wardrobe department had just given her to wear for the next scene. She couldn’t afford to get them dirty; if she did, the director and crew would have to wait for them to be cleaned by hand.
    The movie set’s security kept the crowd at bay, but Avalon reached around the guards to carefully sign as many autographs as she could.
    “I love you,” one male fan in all-black leather called out.
    “I love you, too,” she replied, tremendously energized by the adoration. This was evidence that she was a star. She was on top and riding the wave like a professional surfer, and the crowd worshipped her as she shredded the waves of Hollywood.
    She relished her celebrity, knowing that there was nothing more powerful than the current status quo of the mighty triple play: fame, money, and fan worship.
    “Time to go, Miss Randolph.” One of the security guards motioned toward the set. Reluctantly, she waved good-bye to everyone and was whisked off.
    The schedule for the day had the film crew on La Cienega Boulevard shooting a scene between Avalon and Brent Hastings.
    Her agent, Billy Woods, had stopped by as she was finishing up in the makeup trailer. Somebody named Paige Cornish wanted to interview her and shoot some pictures of her action scenes for a book she was writing. The always-hyper Billy said it would be good publicity.
    “No one reads books,” she said, nodding to Helen, her personal assistant, when she handed her a latte. Well-organized and solicitous, Helen Yang was a firecracker of a woman with impossibly long and thick black hair that was constantly tied back as if being disciplined. She always wore something efficient, like the black slacks and a tight white shirt she had on that day, probably because she had no time to mess about with frills.
    “It’s one of those pictorial coffee-table books,” Billy said. “Her first two are doing very well and there’s a lot of PR around them.”
    “This and about forty TV interviews before this movie gets done, Billy.”
    “Would I ask you if I didn’t think it would be good for you?”
    “Ahhh!” she bellowed. “It’ll be a pain in the ass.”
    “But it’s a pain in a good kind of ass.”
    The latte was perfect. The warmth flowed down her throat and settled in her stomach like a welcomed friend. She knew she shouldn’t have caffeine; everyone always reminded her that she was naturally overly energetic, but she drank caffeinated drinks partly because people didn’t want her to.
    She