soundstages until we found one with a huge pink “Pippi Mississippi” sign tacked to the front. Cal parked behind a wardrobe trailer and led the way inside.
The interior of the warehouse was dark, and I took a moment to let my eyes adjust to the change. The place was a maze of ropes, cables, and electronic equipment, all leading to a series of strategically placed sets that looked like oversized dioramas. I spotted the hallway of Pippi’s junior high, her prissy pink bedroom, and the video arcade where she and her girlfriend hung out after school, the latter a buzz of activity as grips positioned lights, sound guys adjusted mics, someone lifted a camera onto a moving track, and no less than three women in overalls fluffed, primped, and powdered the blonde in the center-Jennifer Wood.
Beside her stood her two co-stars: a redhead whose name I couldn’t remember, and a brunette I recognized as being in the backseat of Jennifer’s limo with her when the infamous boob shot had been taken. Lani Cline, reportedly Jennifer’s best friend.
“That her?” Cal asked, stabbing a finger toward Jennifer.
I nodded.
“We need her alone. Got any ideas?”
I shrugged. “Give me a minute.”
“Back to one, everyone,” shouted the director, an overweight guy with glasses and a nose that could rival Pinocchio’s. The crew scurried off the stage like cats being doused with a hose. Jennifer walked to a spot on the floor marked with an “X” in blue electrical tape, her co-stars a step behind her.
“Speed.”
A guy with a black clapboard stood in front of the camera, then dropped the little arm, marking the tape.
“And…rolling!” the director shouted.
A bell went off somewhere, and silence hit the set, all eyes on Jennifer.
“Chloe, I can’t believe you told Ryan about my diary,” she said to the brunette.
“I’m so sorry, Pippi! But I didn’t know he’d read it to the whole school.”
“Now no one will ask me to the spring dance. I might as well be-God, Lani, you’re doing it again!”
“Cut!” the director yelled. He slipped off his canvas chair with a groan, slowly ambling up to his star. “Jennifer. Sweetie. What is it now?”
“Lani’s totally standing in my light!” Jennifer said, pointing an accusing finger at the brunette.
“I am exactly where I’m supposed to be!” Lani shot back. “If you’d bothered to be at rehearsal, you’d know that.”
“I don’t need rehearsals to know that you’re totally making a shadow on my face. You need to move back.”
“Any farther behind you, and I’d be invisible to the camera!”
“Good, maybe then they wouldn’t have to see that zit growing on your chin.”
Lani gasped, her hands flying to her face.
“Geez, nice kid,” Cal mumbled in my ear.
I waved him off, shushing him as the director yelled, “Makeup!”
One of the ladies in overalls immediately descended upon the brunette with a pot full of flesh-colored goo, as the girl ducked her head, her cheeks a bright pink.
“And can we get another light in here?” the director asked, pointing toward Jennifer. “Everyone else, take five,” he said with a resigned wave of his hand. As he walked away I could hear him mumbling to himself, “Or ten, or twenty. Not that it matters, we’re so far behind already…”
The crew scattered, and Jennifer happily sauntered off set.
I nudged Cal in the ribs. “I’m going in.”
I did a quick jog over the camera tracks, watching Jennifer as she slipped out the side door. A minute later I followed, squinting in the sunshine, a harsh contrast to the darkened set. I spied Jennifer a few feet away, sipping an iced latte. Though where she got it from, I had no idea. There didn’t seem to be anyone else around, let alone a Starbucks. The magic of being a teen-ebrity.
“Hey? Jennifer, right?” I asked, approaching the actress. I noticed Cal move off to my right, trying to blend into the scenery. Luckily, Jennifer didn’t seem to notice, too engrossed in her creamy drink.
“Yep,” she answered, slurping through her straw.
“How’s the shooting going?”
Jennifer shot me a wary look. “Fine. Who are you again?”
“Samantha Stevens. I’m on that new Steven Bochco show, two doors down,” I said, waving my hand in a very vague direction.
Luckily, Jennifer didn’t seem to need specifics. “Oh. Right,” she said, between sips. “Yeah, I heard that’s a really cool show.”
“Well, it’s no
She shot me a wan smile. “Right, like the Emmys are gonna be calling me any day now.”
“Hey, you won a Kid’s Choice Award! That’s awesome. Besides, you’re wicked popular,” I said, laying it on thick. “I see your name all over the place.”
“All over kid’s lunchboxes.”
“No, just the other day I was reading about you in the
Jennifer snorted. “That trash?”
‘Kay, if people didn’t stop dissing me this way, I was likely to get a complex.
“Not a fan of Tina’s, huh?”
Jennifer shook her head. “That’s putting it mildly. Let’s just say, if she got hit by a bus tomorrow, I wouldn’t be crying any.”
That’s it-she was off my Facebook friend list.
“I saw that bit she ran about you at the Martini Room,” I said, goading her on. “So mean!”
Jennifer nodded vigorously, her blonde bangs bobbing up and down. “I know, right? She said I smoked ‘Mary Jane’? I didn’t even know what Mary Jane was. I had to google it!”
“But you
Her face reddened. “Kinda, I guess.”
“So…” I worded my next question carefully. “That party at the Martini Room, that was the night before last, right?”
She shook her head. “No, the after-party was the night before that. Two nights ago I was at Ashlee’s housewarming party.”
Bingo. Houston, we have an alibi. “Ashlee…Simpson?”
“Well, duh!”
I hated teenagers. “How late were you there?”
She shot me a look. “Why do you care?”
“Well…I was there, too! Just wondering how we missed each other.”
Jennifer shrugged. “I dunno, maybe one. All the champagne gave me a headache.”
The perils of being a star.
Unfortunately, one was late enough. Okay, it wasn’t totally outside the realm of reality that she could have snuck out, made the call, then snuck back in. But I found it unlikely she could have done it at the party without someone noticing the robotic voice emanating from the next room. I remembered the way Max had poked his head up over the partition when I used it. It wasn’t something you heard every day. Never mind the fact that the call had come from PW Enterprises and not “Jen’s Cell Phone.”
A PA picked that moment to pop his head out the stage door. “Miss Wood? They’re ready for you.”
Jennifer sucked the last of her latte through the straw, then set her empty cup down on the ground. “Gotta run,” she said. “Catch you later, Sylvia.”
“Samantha.”
She gave me a bored look that clearly said, “Who cares?” then pulled open the side door.
“Nice meeting you!” I called after her.
But she was already inside.
Automatically, I picked up Jennifer’s cup and tossed it into the nearest garbage can.
