Hollywood Confessions by Gemma Halliday Page A

second, an 80’s pop icon just this side of being labeled washed-up. And just this side of sober most of the time. She had a reputation for being able to find something nice to say about even the worst dancer. Which nicely balanced out judge number three, Lowel Simonson, an Australian-born choreographer whose favorite word was “dreadful,” followed closely by “horrendous” and “no-talent hack.” Needles to say, America loved to hate Lowel.
     
    After I wrote all three names down, I sat back and looked at my list of suspects. Twelve beauty pageant contestants, two on-again-off-again parents, twenty-one dwarves, and three reality show judges.
     
    Oh boy. Alec was right. I seriously had my work cut out for me.
     

Chapter Five
     
 
     
    I chewed on the end of my sparkly pen, doing an eenie-meenie-minie-mo over which suspect I was going to tackle first. I was just about to catch a tiger by the toe when a head popped up over the fabric partition of my cube.
     
    “ Hey, Allie,” a six-foot-tall blonde said. “Watcha working on?”
     
    Cameron Dakota, our resident photographer. She leaned over my shoulder, glancing at my pad of paper.
     
    I quickly covered it. “Nothing.”
     
    “ I heard you were on Barker,” she pressed. “Any hot leads?”
     
    While her tone was friendly, her motives were suspect. Cam had been friends with Tina long before I’d arrived on the scene, meaning if she had to pick, her allegiance lay with Tina every time. And she did have to pick. Every time.
     
    I glanced across the newsroom at Tina’s desk. She was engrossed in something on her computer screen. Maybe a little too engrossed.
     
    I turned to Cam. “Tina sent you over her to spy, didn’t she?”
     
    Cam blew air out through her lips in a pfft sound and rolled her eyes. “No!”
     
    I gave her a get-real look.
     
    She bit her lip. “Okay, fine, yes.” She looked over her shoulder once, presumably to make sure Tina hadn’t caught her spilling the beans, then collapsed into the plastic chair beside my desk. “God, I hate being in the middle of you two.”
     
    Cam twisted a lock of hair between her fingers. Clearly she was not cut out to be a spy. Cam was a blue-eyed, blonde-haired, typical California surfer girl. A natural beauty, she rarely did the make-up or hairspray thing, going more for ponytails and lip balm if anything. The irony was, she’d recently started dating one of Hollywood’s hottest movie stars, making every surgically enhanced wanna-be starlet in Hollywood cry “no fair”. Honestly, I was happy for Cam. While she was often roped into being Tina’s henchwoman, she wasn’t really all that bad on her own.
     
    In fact, when I first came on board, the tension between Tina and I had been immediate and fierce, drawing a clear line in the sand between us. Of course, me being New Girl, everyone on staff had fallen on Tina’s side of the line. Which was fine. I mean, it would have been nice to have someone show me the ropes—or at least where the ladies’ restroom was—but I didn’t need any special favors. I knew I could get the stories all on my own.
     
    But those first few weeks Tina might as well have been handing out T-shirts that read Team Tina, because no one would give me the time of day.
     
    Cam had been the only person in the entire newsroom who’d even talked to me. Granted, she also wasn’t vying for page space with me, but it had been nice not to be treated like a total leper. Since then we’d worked together on a couple stories, actually making a pretty good team. I wouldn’t go so far as to say we were BFFs, but I generally trusted her.
     
    Generally, that is, when Tina wasn’t thrown into the mix.
     
    “ Sorry,” Cam said. “She kinda roped me into coming to check on you before I could say no.”
     
    I shrugged. “It’s okay. In Tina’s place, I would have done the same thing.”
     
    “ You know, I’m always amazed you guys aren’t better friends. You’re so