Read Map to the Stars for Free Online Page A

corner last night, so we had to offer them some of our crew. Your mom volunteered you to help out with distributing EPKs and working the stopwatch, okay?”
    I had a perfectly blank expression. She tapped her foot impatiently, waiting for the lingo to miraculously click. Yeah, not gonna happen.
    â€œUm, I’m not exactly sure what a press junket even is, let alone an EPK,” I offered.
    Her shoulders drooped in defeat and she mumbled something under her breath. I’m fairly certain I caught the words “completely hopeless,” but when I said, “Excuse me?” she pointed to her headset and mimed that she was talking to someone on it.
    â€œOkay, walk and talk,” she barked, and took off at full speed down the hallway. I had to trot to keep up with her. “EPK is ‘electronic press kit.’ Here’s some press junket 101. They usually take place over a weekend and involve gathering all the stars of a film, the director, and sometimes the producers, in one hotel for interviews. Reporters from all over are flown in, except for the ones who are POW.”
    I touched her arm to get her attention. “Um, why would prisoners of war come to a press junket?”
    She looked down at the carpet and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, “Why, Lord, why me?” When I started to protest, she pointed again to the headset. Yeah, right. I was onto her.
    â€œPay Own Ways,” she told me, using an “I’m talking to a three-year-old” tone of voice. “Some of the major print publications think it will compromise their journalistic integrity to have the studio fund their trip, and by extension their interview. Of course the TV people you’ll be working with today have no such ethics. We cover their trip right down to a generous per diem. And let me tell you, some of them do this every weekend, so you can imagine the vacations they can take on frequent flyer miles and hotel points alone.” She ended on a snort and we resumed speed-walking the corridor.
    â€œOkay, so to save money, we split the cost with another studio. It’s called piggybacking. For this movie, we’re piggying with WarnerBrothers. The print interviews for their movie are today and their TV ones will be tomorrow. We do TV today, print tomorrow. The reporters get interviews for two movies with one trip and we get to split costs with Warner’s. Win-win. Got it?”
    She didn’t bother waiting for my nod as she paused in front of suite 212. Pivoting, she said, “Okay, gotta drop you here. No time to explain more, but you’ll be fine. Just go with the flow. Good luck.”
    Under her breath came, “You’ll need it,” and this time when I raised my eyebrows in question and pointed to her headphones, she smirked. “Nope. That one was for you.”
    â€œUh,” I began, but the snarky publicist lady was already halfway up the hallway.
    I turned to face the door and rapped lightly. A stocky man in giant padded headphones yanked it open, glaring. “Are you an idiot? We’re taping in here! Didn’t you see the sign?” I stood awkwardly in the doorway as the occupants of the room swiveled to face me.
    A woman with a stopwatch in her hand shot daggers at me, then turned and said, “We’re going to have to start over. I’m so sorry, Graham, but this’ll cut five off your ten-minute break.”
    Did she say Graham?
    I stepped deeper into the suite and moved delicately around a black felt backdrop to spot two hazel eyes appraising me with amusement.
    Graham Cabot.
    Well, shit.
    For someone who just lost half of a precious break, he looked decidedly mischievous as he gave me a once-over. Smugly so, actually. Ibristled inside, but did my best to keep my expression blandly apologetic as I made my way over to the far wall and tried to blend into it.
    â€œOh hell no,” said the same woman, gesturing me over to her side.