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took their lives in their hands and drove down to Homebase Central on Friday and Saturday nights, knowing it was good for business, knowing they were either going to get a deal or get laid. Agents, actors, producers, managers - they all made the scene.
    Of course, getting laid was hardly difficult. Beautiful girls were everywhere. Girls with spectacular bodies and not much else. Girls with hungry eyes and a talent for spotting the real players. Girls who would do anything for a shot at the big time.
    And Charlie was always there, sitting at his usual table surveying the scene like a contented tom-cat.
    Jordanna cruised into the club late Saturday night. She knew everyone and everyone knew her. After all, she was a Hollywood kid, one of the chosen few. She had a famous father - alive. And a famous mother - deceased. She was Hollywood royalty.
    Arnie Isaak, who liked to play the genial host, greeted her with a friendly, 'Hey, Levitt, lookin' good.' Arnie was skinny with a straggly beard. He lived under the impression that he was irresistible to women. Wrong.
    To Jordanna's annoyance Arnie was always trying to hit on her, in spite of the fact she made it very clear she couldn't stand him. Staying out of his face seemed to be the only way to avoid his irritating come-ons.
    'Hi, Arnie,' she said, moving quickly past him to join a group of her peers - the other Hollywood kids.
    They were all assembled. Cheryl Landers, a cynical redhead with seen-it-all eyes, long legs, and real attitude - which surprised no one, since her father, Ethan, owned a major studio, and her mother, Estelle - a secret drinker in the privacy of her Bel Air mansion - was the high priestess of LA society.
    Sitting next to Cheryl was Grant Lennon, Junior, the dissolute son of Grant Lennon, a wildly attractive movie icon. Grant, who worked as a junior agent at International Artists Agents, considered himself the town cocksman, but Jordanna suspected that unlike his studly father he couldn't get it up as often as he would like, which was why he kept trying so hard.
    Then there was Marjory Sanderson, the dreamy-eyed daughter of a billionaire television magnate. Marjory was painfully thin, with long wispy fair hair and a plain pinched face. She was a recovering anorexic who spent most afternoons on her psychiatrist's couch.
    And lastly Shep Worth, the only son of an ageing sex symbol. Shep resembled a smaller version of his famous mother, Taureen Worth - the woman with a body that never quit, and a long line of ex-husbands.
    The group had grown up together, sharing the experience of too much too soon. A Porsche at sixteen. Handfuls of credit cards. European vacations. The best tables in the hottest restaurants. And endless lavish parties.
    Jordanna flopped into a chair. 'I need a drink,' she said, grabbing a handful of tortilla chips and tossing them into her mouth.
    Tough day?' Cheryl asked.
    'It's a bitch doing nothing,' Jordanna deadpanned.
    Cheryl laughed a humourless laugh. 'Tell me about it,' she said drily, knowing exactly what Jordanna meant.
    Cheryl had moved out of the family home at seventeen, the envy of her friends because her parents had presented her with a condo in Westwood, a new BMW, and limitless charge cards. They were almost as delighted to see her go as she was to depart the family mansion. Since that time she'd been trying to get her life together without much success. There was nothing for her to excel at. Being Ethan and Estelle's daughter meant living up to impossible expectations, so she just didn't bother.
    Cheryl was attractive without being dazzling. Had she not been a Hollywood princess she would have been considered extremely attractive. In a town full of outstanding physical beauty she was a six. Anywhere else she'd be considered a ten.
    Cheryl had found that being best friends with Jordanna had taken getting used to. They'd never really clicked until after Fran's suicide, then they'd bonded, united in their grief, because they'd