Chapters (57)
- Cover
- About the Author
- Part One
- Claudine
- Zara
- Henry
- Zara
- Zara
- Claudine
- Henry
- Zara
- Claudine
- Henry
- Zara
- Claudine
- Henry
- Part Two
- Claudine
- Henry
- Claudine
- Henry
- Claudine
- Henry
- Part Three
- Zara
- Claudine
- Henry
- Zara
- Claudine
- Zara
- Henry
- Part Four
- Claudine
- Henry
- Claudine
- Henry
- Claudine
- Henry
- Part Five
- Claudine
- Henry
- Henry
- Zara
- Zara
- Claudine
- Henry
- Claudine
- Zara
- Claudine
- Henry
- Claudine
- Henry
- Claudine
- Henry
- Claudine
- Zara
- THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING
In real life, he’s a pretty down-to-earth guy. Likes moonlight drives along the Pacific Coast Highway, rooting for the Dodgers, eating Indian food, and adopting rescue dogs. He already had two pits when we decided to get Pip. It was his idea. He thought it’d be hilarious. Him in his makeup and spooky contact lenses and high-heeled boots walking around with this little poufy Pomeranian. Sometimes I wonder if that’s the same reason he pursued me. If it was all just a joke or a prank. People seeing him as the devil corrupting this perfect angel. I admit that was part of the initial appeal for me. I was tired of being thought of as a goodie-goodie. Which is why I decided to dye my hair blue. I wanted to stir shit up. But it doesn’t matter how it started, because feelings got real. Fast. Most relationships in Hollywood are publicity stunts. Not this one. I’m sure about that. And Liam would say the same thing if you asked him.
That would mean actually getting him to come out of his house to ask him. There were definitely parts of his public persona that were genuine. Dude keeps serious vampire hours. Blackout curtains. Sleeps all day. And is obsessed with the murder of JonBenét Ramsey. Of course, you know that already. You’ve seen the giant tattoo on his back, the one that goes from shoulder blade to shoulder blade of her smiling that pretty, perfect pageant smile. Duh, I know: Maybe that’s what attracted him to you, Zara. Young, driven, innocent. Trust me, that’s the first thing I thought of when he hit on me that night at the Grammys after-after-party at the Chateau Marmont. In fact, I called him out. I’d had a few drinks and was clutching my Album of the Year statuette close when I told him, “Don’t even think about trying to fulfill your perverted dead-girl sicko fantasies with me.” At first he laughed. I don’t think he expected that kind of attitude from me. Then he got real serious. Said there was nothing the least bit sexual about his interest in JB. To him, she represented the innocence of the world and how senseless and violent and vicious and evil humanity can be. And the injustice of it all—it sickened him that her killer had never been caught.
That surprised me. I hadn’t known much about the case. I mean, how would I? I was less than a year old when it happened. I figured someone had gone to jail for killing her a long time ago. Liam said I should come over to his house in Malibu. We could watch JB documentaries in his home theater until the sun came up. It would be an important part of my education.
“Sounds like a romantic first date,” I said.
He laughed again.