Friends & Fauxs Read online

  “Then why are you crying?”

  “This time they’re tears of joy,” she said, as a smile lit up her face. “I’m pregnant!”

  Chapter 44

  “He sang like Tweety Bird,” Gillian said. Reese sat across the cafeteria table from her looking dumbfounded. “I still can’t believe that Max and Lauren’s mom, who I’d always thought was more pure than Claire Huxtable, were getting it on, and then plotted to kill Paulette.” Reese felt as if she’d woken up lost in the twilight zone when Gillian told her the complete Max story.

  “I’m just glad that he agreed to be tested for Rowe.”

  “So am I,” Reese said. Her relief surpassed all of her fears. She no longer worried how she’d make ends meet without Chris’s monthly check. It didn’t matter. She’d sell the house, her cars, and clean her own toilets, if only her son could be healed.

  “You know, he always did want a child. Remember how he’d pressed Lauren to get pregnant?”

  “Yeah, I guess he just didn’t want one by Paulette.”

  “Obviously, but let’s be clear, Max is only doing this hoping for some leniency with his charges and sentencing. Remember he is a lawyer.”

  “Or, was a lawyer.”

  “True that.”

  “Did you tell Lauren about me and Max?” Reese asked.

  “Yes, I did. Given the circumstances, I had to in order to have the authorities press Max to be tested.”

  “What did she say?”

  “After everything that she’s been through because of Max and his indiscretions, I hate to disappoint you, but yours ranked pretty low on the list.”

  “I hope she can forgive me.”

  “If I were you I wouldn’t worry about it. Her main concern is that Rowe gets his transplant.”

  “I’m so thankful for friends like you guys. I don’t know if I always deserve you.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

  Just then Dr. Young appeared at the table, seemingly out of breath.

  Reese’s heart nearly stopped, knowing that this was Rowe’s last chance. His condition had been worsening by the day, and Dr. Young didn’t expect that he’d be strong enough to hang on long enough to wait for a donor from the national bank.

  She rallied what strength she had left and stood up to face the man who she prayed would save her son.

  “The tests just came back—”

  “And?”

  “It’s a near perfect match.” The smile that spread across his face was one that Reese hadn’t seen since the whole ordeal began.

  Without thinking, she leapt into his arms. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she said in between a flurry of kisses that she planted all over his face.

  Gillian stood as well and hugged them both. Knowing that there was hope for Rowe proved to be so much more important than Internet photos, Oscar awards, or fame and fortune.

  “Whoa, if I’d known I’d get this kind of attention, I’d have tracked Max down myself,” he teased. “But let’s not pop the cork yet, we’ve got to get through the transplant and pray that it takes.”

  For the first time, Reese wasn’t worried. She felt certain that her prayers were being heard and that her son would be just fine.

  Chapter 45

  With the Academy Awards show less than two weeks away, the jockeying for position between the nominees, studios, and handlers had reached a fevered pitch. A couple of the actresses in Gillian’s category had even gone to the extent of painting themselves as anointed saints by quickly affiliating with charities promoting teen abstinence and decrying pornography. In other words, contrasting themselves to the unscrupulous harlot Gillian Tillman-Russell. These were the big leagues and it was necessary to get rid of one’s competition any way possible.

  Besides, no one believed Gillian’s feeble protestations of innocence. Her very own people, including those bought and paid for by the studios or Brandon’s own deep pockets, couldn’t prove that the photos were doctored. Yet, she somehow expected Joe and Jane Public, as well as the voting members of the Academy, to believe that she wasn’t the star of those raunchy, degrading pictures.

  Over three hundred journalists were now gathered in a ballroom at the Four Seasons in Beverly Hills for a press conference that promised to address the ever-growing archive of salacious photos that had effectively torpedoed any chances Gillian had of taking home that highly coveted little gold statue. They stood twenty deep like a pack of wild, ravenous dogs, teeth bared, hungry for flesh, waiting to be served up what was left of Gillian Tillman-Russell’s battered reputation.

  CoAnne approached the microphone and said, “Thanks for coming this afternoon. I have a brief statement to make, which you will receive copies of, and then I’ll take questions.”

  “As you all know, earlier this week Maximillian Neuman was arrested for the murder of Paulette Dolliver. During the course of that investigation it was revealed that he was also the person responsible for the pictures that have been widely circulated and falsely reported to be Gillian Russell.”

  From the back of the room, someone shouted, “Are you saying they were doctored?”

  “No, I—”

  Another reporter who was anxious for the next sound bite interrupted her. “So are you finally admitting that Gillian Russell did take those photos?”

  “I didn’t say that,” CoAnne countered.

  “How could the photos be real, and not be Gillian?” another voice demanded.

  “While the pictures were not doctored, they were also not pictures of Gillian.”

  “How could that be possible?” someone shouted from the back of the room.

  “Because they were pictures of me,” Charli said, stepping from backstage. While this was a hugely embarrassing confession for her to make, it was her idea to step forward in person in order to protect her sister from the harm that her selfish and ill-considered actions had caused.

  The crowd stared in apparent, but unspoken, confusion, until a woman finally yelled out to CoAnne, “What are you all trying to pull? We all know that’s Gillian.”

  “No, I’m Gillian.” When the real Gillian stepped from backstage and stood next to her twin, an audible gasp filled the room and dozens of flashbulbs lit up like flickering fireflies.

  CoAnne turned to the audience and said, “I’d like to introduce you to Gillian’s identical twin sister, Charli.”

  The room erupted in mayhem as every reporter present tried to ask questions at the same time.

  “Who are you?” a woman asked, shoving her microphone forward.

  “Where did you come from?” another one asked.

  “Gillian, did you know about her?”

  “Are you an actress, too?”

  “How do you know Max?”

  “Is this all a big publicity stunt?”

  “Please, may I have your attention,” CoAnne shouted above the noise. “Gillian, had no knowledge of Charli’s existence until just this week, so she was just as puzzled as the rest of us about the pictures that were released,” she explained. “Max met Charli in Atlanta and manipulated her into staging those shots. I’m also at liberty to tell you—thanks to Gillian’s efforts—police detectives were able to obtain a confession from Max for Paulette’s murder. So not only is Gillian innocent of posing for the pictures we’ve all seen, she is also being heralded as a hero by police departments in Los Angeles, New York, and Atlanta for her assistance in solving the death of the celebrity publicist who was also once her dear friend.”

  A new round of shots caught pictures of Gillian and Charli side by side, as reporters began formulating the next hour’s, or day’s, headlines, which would immediately transform Gillian from a whoring, sleazy tramp to Nancy Drew in Manolos.

  Afterward CoAnne, Gillian, Charli, Brandon, and Imelda sat watching the unfurling of the spin the media now placed on the whole debacle. The press was not only redeeming, it was gushing in its praise for Gillian’s bravery and grace at handling the torturous scandal.
/>   “Well, I think you may have done it,” Brandon said to CoAnne.

  “I didn’t do anything. We’re just lucky that Gillian and Lauren figured it out, and that Charli was willing to step forward.”

  “I’d do anything for my sister,” she said, looking at Gillian adoringly. Her new relationship with Gillian was effortless, and her relationship with her mother was also developing nicely.

  “Not that it really matters, but do you think the press will believe that I didn’t realize that Charli existed?” Imelda asked.

  “I think it helps now that the sheriff’s investigation has uncovered other instances around the same time and vicinity of babies being stolen and sold illegally.”

  Apparently the local doctor and a noble minister’s wife, who was a friend of Charli’s adoptive mother’s, were adept at talking vulnerable young girls out of their children, then selling them for profit. So when Imelda came along, only expecting one child and not too thrilled about that one, and without family present, it was the perfect opportunity to take the other twin while she was sedated and sell her to out-of-town clients, which is exactly what they did.

  “No matter how it happened, I’m just glad that we’re all together now,” Imelda said, embracing her daughters. For the first time in her life she felt content with where she was at this very moment and didn’t feel compelled to scheme and connive to reach the next one. Right here, right now was more than good enough for her.

  Chapter 46

  “So the King has come down from the Hollywood Hills to grace the little people with his presence,” Tyrone said. His voice was deep and thick with sarcasm. Brandon hadn’t been back to Mississippi since he left decades ago, and his discomfort at sitting in a room that had been badly decorated in the seventies was starkly apparent. He would rather have been getting a root canal, followed by a prostate exam, than be here. He thought long and hard about whether to walk into the lion’s den, but realized that he didn’t have a choice.

  “We need to talk,” Brandon said, taking a seat and accepting a shot of what could have been moonshine, or arsenic, from Tyrone’s henchman, Two Tons.

  Unless Brandon freed himself from ties to organized crime, he’d never be able to enjoy the life that he’d worked so hard to build, and he certainly wouldn’t be able to do it with Gillian. He only hoped that it wasn’t too late for them to have a fresh start.

  He now realized that initially he’d loved Gillian mainly for her beauty and allure, but now he truly loved the whole person and prayed that she felt the same way about him. He also realized that when they married she wasn’t truly in love with him either, and he regretted that he’d put her in the position of making an unfair choice between her dreams, which he was prepared to make reality, and her heart. He now realized that the two were inextricably connected.

  “What can I do for you?” Tyrone asked. Today he wore a leopard print smoking jacket and matching slippers. His hair was freshly permed and pin-curled.

  “I want out,” Brandon said, simply.

  “But you just got here,” Tyrone said, showing a grille of gold teeth in what was meant as a smile.

  Brandon smirked, realizing that Tyrone was not going to make this easy. “You know what I mean. It’s time that we end our relationship. I can’t do this anymore.”

  “But I thought we were friends,” Tyrone said, feigning a sad expression.

  “Let’s be honest, we’ve never been friends,” Brandon said, crossing his legs. “This was a relationship that suited us both at different times, but those days are over. It’s time to move on.”

  Tyrone eyed Two Tons, who stood guard near the door. “It’s not over till I say it’s over,” he growled, standing up to confront Brandon. Physically imposing Two Tons closed in on him from the other side.

  Though fear rose to the surface, Brandon never showed it, realizing how true it was that animals could smell fear and would act accordingly and that Tyrone’s barbarian acts of violence and revenge were legendary. Brandon uncrossed his legs and stood to face the gangster, toe-to-toe. He didn’t flinch. “I’m prepared to settle this on amicable terms, but I do intend to settle it. It doesn’t do either of us any good to continue our relationship given the media scrutiny that I’ve been under and will continue to be under. So we can part ways while we’re both still intact or we can keep gambling until our luck runs out, and I’m not prepared to keep gambling.”

  This was hard to hear for a man who was accustomed to calling the shots. “If it weren’t for me you’d still be selling bootleg tapes on the corner, right down the street from here.”

  “That may be true, but in any case, you’ve been adequately compensated for that over the years.” Brandon had laundered many millions of dollars through Sound Entertainment on Tyrone’s behalf, and since it had been sold he was now being pressured to run even more drug money through his film production company. So far, he’d come up with excuses to delay doing so, realizing that the first time he did it, he’d be back on the hook for another decade.

  “I don’t agree.”

  “So what do you want?” Brandon came prepared to negotiate.

  While Tyrone paced the room, deep in thought, Brandon braced himself for some extreme demand of money; instead, to his surprise Tyrone said, “Have you met my son?”

  “Junior? Yeah,” Brandon answered, now truly confused. What did a gangster’s twenty-three-year-old son have to do with anything?

  “He wants to be an actor. And he can sing, too.” The menace had left Tyrone’s voice and was replaced by an anxious excitement.

  Brandon was nearly speechless. He was prepared to negotiate hard for his freedom, to risk his life if necessary. In fact, he’d considered doing a deal with the feds and flipping on Tyrone but realized that being beholden to the feds could be worse than his affiliation with any gangster. Then he’d thought about buying them off once and for all, but realized that he would only be giving them more fodder for blackmail and allowing them to sink their clutches even deeper into his hide. After years of hand-wringing and gut wrenching who knew that all he had to do was put Junior in a movie?

  “Junior, come on in here!” Tyrone shouted over his shoulder.

  Seconds later an overweight young man shuffled into the room wearing baggy pants with his head hung low.

  “You want to be in the movies, right?”

  “Yeah,” he mumbled.

  “This here is Brandon Russell, you know, married to Gillian Tillman-Russell, the big movie star. Well, he gon’ put you in da movies. Right, Brandon?”

  “Absolutely” Brandon didn’t care if Junior could carry a tune in a bucket or utter another word besides the one he’d just spoken; he was going to be in the movies!

  Tyrone looked like he had just won the lottery. “You hear that, Junior, you’re gonna be in the movies!”

  Brandon stood up and shook Tyrone’s hand. “So, we cool, right?”

  “We cool,” Tyrone said. He walked over to a velvet picture of Isaac Hayes that concealed a hidden safe. After dialing the combination he pulled out the flash drive and handed it to Tyrone.

  “This is yours, and it’s the only copy,” he said, turning the evidence over to Brandon.

  Later, as his plush private jet took off, soaring over the Delta, Brandon felt as if he could fly himself. After years of being choked by his ties to the underworld he was finally free.

  Chapter 47

  The Russell estate was beautifully decorated for the fabulous pre-Oscar party in honor of Gillian’s nomination. It was three days before the big awards ceremony and the Who’s Who of both the film and music industries were on hand to share the moment with this year’s golden girl. Win, lose, or draw, Gillian was the reigning “It” Girl of Hollywood after being cleared of the scurrilous accusations surrounding the pornographic pictures that nearly wrecked her career and helping to arrest the accused killer of one of their own, celebrity publicist Paulette Dolliver.

  Tuxedo-clad waiters passed trays of vintage Krug
to over one hundred well-dressed movers and shakers, along with sumptuous delicacies, such as caviar pâté, sautéed sea scallops, and grilled figs stuffed with goat cheese and wrapped in Spanish prosciutto. While a fifty-piece orchestra played, the crowd was soothed and stimulated by the smooth vocals of Jennifer Freeman. Brandon had spared no expense to celebrate his wife’s success. He had never been more proud of her than he was right now.

  When Gillian began her descent down the grand marble staircase into the Gothic ballroom, the elite crowd burst into rousing applause. She looked regal wearing a chartreuse Anna Sui sheath dress and poised beyond her years. Her twin sister, Charli, wearing an elegant Narciso Rodriguez pant suit, stood next to, Imelda, both beaming with pride. For the first time in her life, Imelda wasn’t interested in seeking the spotlight herself. She simply relished her daughter’s big moment. And Charli felt as if her life was just beginning; CoAnne had arranged for her and Gillian to also meet their father.

  Lauren and Gideon stood at the foot of the staircase waiting to greet Gillian with hugs and kisses. As a waiter passed by, Gillian accepted a glass of Champagne and handed one to Gideon and Lauren, who politely declined.

  “How are we supposed to celebrate with no Champagne?” Gillian beamed. She was caught up in the moment but wanted to steal a little private time with her best friend before the rest of the crowd surrounded her.

  “I’ll just have to do it with San Pellegrino instead,” Lauren answered. She, too, was beaming, but for a much different reason.

  “Since when have you ever turned down Champagne?” Gillian asked, remembering the Champagne-fueled nights they used to share with Reese and Paulette. “This is vintage Krug. You know my husband—only the best.”

  “Since I found out that my husband and I are having a baby.”

  Gillian shook her head as if to clear it to be sure of what she’d heard. “Husband? Baby? What are you talking about?”