Sapphire Omens: Sisterhood of the Stones, #2

By L.A. Boruff, Lacey Carter and Lia Davis

If you wish you knew what people thought of you, to be frank, you're a fool.

I burned a lot of bridges when I fell from fame. Not only did I embarrass myself in front of the world, but my tell-all book ruined any chance I had to fix things. And why? All because of a cheating husband and a best friend who betrayed me.

It wasn't worth it. But some things happen for a reason because without my fall from fame, I never would have met Nicky. He loves me for me, and our simple life is pretty close to perfect.

When I receive a letter, a chance to step back into Hollywood, to open doors I thought were closed, and possibly regain some of my wealth and fame, I should run the other way.

Unfortunately for me, I'm not that smart. I thought I could fix my old reputation. I thought I could show everyone I'd changed.
I was a fool. The moment I put on a beautiful necklace straight from a pirate's treasure, I can hear the terrible thoughts from everyone around me. I might just crack. Again. Once upon a time I started over, can I really do it again? Or will my greed end to the worst loss of all, that of the man I love?

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Phantom Pen
• Release date: May 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215823699

L.A. Boruff

L.A. Boruff lives in East Tennessee with her husband, three children, and an ever growing number of cats. She loves reading, watching TV, and procrastinating by browsing Facebook. L.A.’s passions include vampires, food, and listening to heavy metal music. She once won a Harry Potter trivia contest based on the books, and lost one based on the movies. She has two bands on her bucket list that she still hasn’t seen: AC/DC and Alice Cooper. Feel free to send tickets.

Book preview

Chapter One

Delilah Bradbury Loses it at Association of Actors Awards

On one of its greatest nights, Hollywood lost a superstar. Not to death, but to her own recklessness when, during her acceptance speech for the Best Actress award, Delilah Bradbury leaped from the stage and pounced on her longtime BFF, Shara Hewitt. Security quickly separated the combatants, but not before Bradbury ripped out half of Hewitt’s extensions. Punches were thrown, designer dresses destroyed, and once again, The Association Actors Awards has made a spectacle of itself. - National Inquisitor

It had taken exactly three tequila shooters, ten seconds, and a few snarky headlines about a flop of a movie for me to become a Hollywood laughingstock. Add that to four ex-husbands, with the last divorce still raging 3 years after the split, and I was tabloid TV’s walking wet dream. My meltdown at the awards had made national and international news. The headlines had gone wild. Delilah Bradbury Goes Postal at Association Awards. Bradbury Outburst: Another Humiliation in a Storied Career. Delilah Goes Down in Flames. I had a scrapbook full of them. As technology had moved on, I’d even become a meme.

It’d been beyond humiliating. Embarrassing wasn’t nearly a strong enough word for it. In the end, it kept me from working in the entertainment industry for the last ten years. Now that I’d hit my forties, I was completely unemployable. At least in Hollywood, which was all I knew.

My career had been going so well. I’d worked with all the big names. I’d worked with the Richards, a Bruce, a Brad, a couple of Bobs, although one had insisted I call him Robert. The other Bob went by initials. There was a Joe, a Julia, a Val, a Betty, a Meryl, and a Sandy. There were the young’uns—Channing, Tom, Drew, and a beautiful young lady whose name was changed because it was too unique to keep her publicist happy. Such was the biz.

A string of A-listers, and I had dirt on all of them. Including who’d kissed whom, who was full of bad behavior, the drunken fights, affairs, drugs. Hollywood’s truest stories from one of its own. Since nobody wanted to hire me, I’d done what I had to do to survive.

After struggling for five years after my awards show meltdown, I’d done the unthinkable: told all their secrets. I’d written a tell-all book.

Boom! Instant bestseller, for about a month. They were on to the next drama. For the next five years, I stretched my book royalties. Bought a smaller house. Pfft. Small, my butt. Crackerjack boxes were bigger. I let the cars go back and started taking the bus. I hadn’t even had a new pair of sneakers since all of this started. I began shopping at bargain basement discounters for clothes, and only when I had to have them.

All that added up to me being super skeptical when I received an invitation after so long being forgotten. It was suspicious. It was probably a mistake. Maybe a joke. Despite the fact that this was almost certainly not real, I opened the gold embossed envelope with the thick cream-colored paper and stared for a second.

A thousand thoughts rumbled through my mind, but disbelief led them all. It was an invitation. An invitation popping up in my mailbox in a Crackerjack house so far from Hollywood…suffice it to say it was a bit of a shock.

It couldn’t be real, but a little part of me wondered. What if it was? Could I ever be invited back in? That would be beyond my wildest dreams. I’d pretty much given up on even dreaming about it.

There was only one way to find out. Pulling out my phone, I called my former manager, Lou. He wasn’t an agent. Mine had dropped me before the first punchline, but Lou was a friend. I hoped so, anyway. He was the closest I could get to a friend still in the industry. Calling him made sense to me.

Yo, Delilah! Lou had a smoker’s rasp from the two packs of cigarettes he smoked a day, but it never tamped his enthusiasm. Shoot, I was grateful that at least someone was happy to hear from me. That didn’t happen often anymore. Mostly because I didn’t contact a lot of people, especially from my old life.

Hey, Lou. I just got an invite to the big red carpet next month. The awards. Is it legit? We never spent time on niceties. In my opinion, people spent too much time on asinine conversations that neither party cared about, the hellos and how dos, the how’re the fams, and all the other ridiculous bits like that. Plus, both Lou and I were viewed by others as exactly the opposite of nice. Maybe we were viewed that way because we were unwilling to participate in the act of niceties. It didn’t matter. Perception was what it was, and one way or the other, we shaped it as much as we were shaped by it.

"You got an invite?" It was at this very show that the meltdown heard around the world had ended my career. An involuntary shudder rolled through me, as it did any time I thought of that day. It really was cringeworthy, even for me. Maybe all the therapy I’d put myself in the last few years had helped me see the error of my hot-headed tempest ways.

As a presenter. I read closer. Scoffed. Someone at the Association of Actors had a twisted sense of humor. They wanted me to present the lifetime achievement award to Shara Hewitt—my kryptonite, my nemesis, the reason husband number four had become ex-husband number four. The source of the emotional upheaval that led to my award show disintegration.

For whom? He rattled off a few names of actors I’d worked with, ones far more worthy than Shara Hewitt. Actors with distinguished careers.

I could barely hear him for the bubbling sound of the blood boiling in my ears. "That… that bitch! That hussy! That piece of sh—harlot! Shara Hewitt." My mama, God rest her soul, would’ve washed out my mouth just for the tone of voice. Mama hadn’t suffered much bad behavior, but she hadn’t heard anything yet. Nor had she ever been subject to anyone like Shara. A woman so bitter, so unlikeable, so vicious that she was… oh there weren’t words for how horrible she was.

He laughed. Laughed! Lou had the audacity to chuckle, several times. Oh, man. That’s priceless.

Frowning, I refrained from reminding him he was supposed to be on my side. I couldn’t blame him, but it hurt just the same. Even after all this time. Her betrayal still stung.

They think I’m going to stand on stage with her, kiss her cheeks and not kill her? She stole my husband. The arrogance of The Association to even think I would consider this invitation was shocking. Absolutely not. Heck to the no. A big, fat not-a-chance cherry on top of the you’ve got to have your head up your butt sundae.

It didn’t matter that I had a new man. That I had a better man. That after all this time I knew my marriage with husband number four would’ve ended with or without Shara’s interference.

This was about principle. And, maybe, if I’m honest with myself, a little about how much that night hurt me and continued to haunt me for longer than I would’ve thought possible. It had been traumatic.

It was ridiculous that they’d even asked.

Lou, on the other hand, wasn’t so highly principled, apparently. Hmm. My senses sharpened. I didn’t like the sound of that little noise he’d made. It sounded a heckuva lot like he was about to side with the Association. You should do it. There it was. He said it.

"Don’t hmm me, Lou. I’m a hundred percent not doing it." Adamant was the word best fit to describe my resolve. He was out of his ever-loving mind.

Let’s not be so hasty, Dee. He paused, and I couldn’t speak with my mouth hanging open and my brain fuddled because he was agreeing with whatever idiot on the awards team had hatched this plan. This might be worth thinking about.

Or it wasn’t. Definitely wasn’t. No.

Just hang on a second.

I waited, but if he’d been in front of me, I might’ve killed him. My fists were clenched and ready for battle even as he softened his voice and tried for the cool, calm placating tone I’d heard a thousand times before.

What if this is about mending your fences? This could be your chance to rebuild that burned bridge. This could be your chance to walk it all back.

Walk it back? "She stole my husband, Lou. That is the ultimate best friend betrayal. How do I walk that back?" She’d taken him before I’d been ready to give him away. More than that, she was supposed to have been my friend. The only thing worse than being betrayed by your husband is to be betrayed by your best friend at the same time. The same time.

Delilah, how long has it been since you worked? Now he was trying to be all reasonable.

I scoffed. I didn’t want to discuss that.

Dee, sweetheart, think about it. This could open doors. Go. Show them you’re above it. Forgive. Forget. He sucked in a deep breath. Finally move on.

For all his fine words, all his gentle cajoling, the thought that brought me closer to accepting was that I wasn’t likely to get another chance to throw a drink in her filler-enhanced face. It was a thought that hadn’t come from him at all but from the blackened depths of my own heart.

Of course, I was right.

So was Lou because Lou was always right. Career-wise, anyway. He was the reason I’d had so many primo jobs in my career. The reason I’d worked with the big names. Had the stories to tell. I’d told them. I couldn’t think of anyone I’d ever worked with who might want to work with me again. I’d sold them all out to the highest bidder. Also, none of the new guys would want to work with me either. Not after I’d written the book.

I spent a second picturing the theater where the award show was always held. Dolby theater on Hollywood Avenue in the Ovation shopping mall. On a normal day, that place teemed with people, sightseers, and celebrity watchers. This night would be a normal day on steroids. I would have to eat crow in front of a crowd.

I’d been silent long enough, so he tried again. Think about how much you like being all dressed up and fawned over. Couture. A makeup and hair team. He was speaking my language. Actually, my former language since I couldn’t afford any of those things anymore.

It’s been a while. It was a grudging admission, but it was an admission. However, I had a nice quiet life now.

The goody bags. You remember those?

Yeah, I did.

Lou’s voice was far too smooth as he said, What was it last time?

Over the years, The Association had made it a point to go all out. I’d collected an iPad, a Tiffany bracelet, Dior perfume, a Burberry coat, and the year I won, a Birkin bag. They didn’t skimp. That was the curious thing about this invite. I’d disgraced them. Made a mockery, a YouTube spectacle of their big night in front of the world. Live TV had the tendency to be unable to resist a scene, especially one that exhibited exactly how unhinged a woman scorned could be.

Darn it. I was just curious enough to want to find out why they wanted me back. You make a good point. The Birkin bag had made a couple of car payments back in the lean years. Maybe I’d get something good if I went. RSVP me.

I could overcome. I could be the bigger person. Not literally. Shara was a foot taller, and she’d been surgically enhanced to the point of deformity. And Lou?

Yeah, sweetheart?

Put me down for the steak. I hung up the phone and walked into the kitchen to stare at Repo Ron. Dust off your cowboy boots, darlin’.

He glanced up from the newspaper and arched one eyebrow.

We’re going to a party .

Chapter Two

Delilah Bradbury Shops at Local Flea Market

Ten years after her spotlight abruptly burned out, Delilah Bradbury was spotted this week at a flea market near her Massachusetts home, wandering the aisles with a hunky mystery man, maybe looking for that perfect vintage piece to wear to a comeback on live TV. Could said comeback save the ratings for an ever-failing Hollywood award show? –National Inquisitor

Repo Ron’s real name wasn’t Ron. It was Nicholas Pontchalac, and he was an old creole soul, but I either called him Nicky or Ron. His family called him Nicholas and never anything else. He called me cher, bébé, mon trésor, and sometimes he called me araignée, which meant spider, because I was going to be the thing that killed him one day.

I didn’t