Royce Rolls Read online

  “You already hit B,” Bach said, amused. “But I appreciate you throwing the bonus Z in there. For all the Zesbians.”

  Jeff looked relieved. “I’m an ally, son. You know that.”

  “Oh, I know. I know exactly what you are,” Bach said. He looked at his family. “Great. Then it’s all settled.”

  “It’s not,” Bentley said. There was no way she was going to let Bach become a casualty of the situation. Not if she could help it.

  Jeff looked at Mercedes. “We can talk about it after we pick up this season’s Emmys.”

  A load of hungry first graders walked up to the table. Jeff motioned to Tallulah, Felicity, and the Dirk. “Okay. Let’s do this!” They went to work scooping salad.

  Whitey broke from Porsche and casually approached Jeff. “Hey,” he said, tapping him lightly on the shoulder, “now that we’re going to be working together, I want to make sure we’re all good. No hard feelings, eh, Pops?”

  “No hard feelings.” Jeff nodded, extending his hand to Whitey. They shook hands. Everyone saw, and all were pleased. Even Mercedes managed to lift both corners of her Restylane-filled lips.

  What they didn’t see was the moment after, when Jeff pulled Whitey in close enough for a whisper. “If you touch me again, I will end you.”

  Nobody saw it happen, and nobody heard it said.

  Nobody except Bentley.

  Then Jeff let Whitey go and looked out at the swarm of children, grinning. “All right, get out your cash. Throw in a Hamilton, and I’ll let you cut to the front of the line. No, not the Hamilton on Broadway line.”

  Laughter and groans—but Bent didn’t hear it.

  She only heard her heart pounding in her ears as she followed her family to the car, wondering when he’d come for them, and whether or not she’d see him coming.

  ROYCERS REJOICE: RENEWED

  SEASON SIX! ON THE BUBBLE NO MORE!

  AP: Beverly Hills, California

  Via Celebcity.com

  Flying in the face of every Hollywood pundit—and in the face of last season’s uninspiring ratings—as well as rumors of a widening rift between production and network execs—reality television celebrity, talent manager, and producer Mercedes Royce announced via Twitter that Rolling with the Royces, the longest-running reality program on the Lifespan Network, would be renewed for a sixth season.

  Earlier today, the verified account of @MercedesRoyce tweeted the happy news to her devoted army of #Roycers, the name given to the highly active Royce family fandom.

  “ROYCERS: HAPPY TO SAY #RWTR JUST GREENLIT FOR S6! BIG NEWS CAN’T WAIT 2 SHARE! <3 U #RWTR6 @PorscheRoyce @GetBent @BachRoyce #Lifespan”

  The verified account of RWTW star @PorscheRoyce (also credited as a producer) immediately tweeted the following response:

  “ROYCERS: U KNOW ITS TRUE, WE’RE NOTHING WITHOUT YOOOOOOOU! #Blessed #Family #RWTR6 @MercedesRoyce @GetBent @BachRoyce #Lifespan”

  Little brother Maybach Royce (@BachRoyce), the only male member of the Royce family, replied by tweeting a picture of a sexy manatee.

  Younger daughter Bentley Royce, whose behavior in recent months has scandalized the tabloid world, shared this happy report, via her verified account, @GetBent:

  “ROYCERS: oh my god ppl i just saw @porscheroyce eat a french fry #turnitup #celebrate #RWTR6 @MercedesRoyce @BachRoyce #Lifespan”

  (Disclosure: Celebcity is a fully owned subsidiary of the Lifespan Network, which is itself a fully owned subsidiary of DiosGlobale.)

  Follow @celebcity for breaking details, or www.celebcity.com.

  THE BENTLEY BIBLE

  Rolling With The Royces: Season Six (Prospective)

  A LIFESPAN NETWORK Property

  NOT FOR CIRCULATION

  CHARACTER: Bentley Royce

  HANGOUTS: Urth Caffé, Barneys, Neiman’s (shoe department only), Hugo’s for breakfast, Brentwood Country Mart (Farmshop only, try to go when Reese Witherspoon is there at her corner table, IM*), Tacos Por Favor (taco shack near Bruckheimer, go during lunch, IM), Pressed Juicery, Rodeo Drive (pending featured branding opportunities.) [Note: Grunge Couture only. See Punk Rock exhibition poster from the Met added to Bentley’s bedroom wall, for inspiration.]

  COLOR PALETTE: Black/gray, if color—neon; dark, edge, iconoclastic, no subtlety.

  FOOD: Grilled salmon on dark leafy greens (mandatory); Occasional featured items (cupcakes, ice cream, etc.) pending short-term sponsorship agreements. [Note: character will perform a reasonable facsimile of eating during every sponsorship period.]

  SPLURGE SNACK: SheWeed Seaweed (Don’t get excited, it’s just seaweed enhanced with calcium for women!) or TokyoPoppers (Microwave popcorn enhanced with matcha green tea powder). [Note: Per pending agreements.]

  DRINK: IQH2O water (until further notice), free-trade coffees (will blur non-licensed brands), most iced teas (no lemonade added—NONNEGOTIABLE!).

  SCHOOL SUBJECT: The Bentley character hates school, and most homework sessions should emphasize crumpling up pages and tossing them into the trash can, yet missing. [Note: Writers have been hired to generate homeworklike material to feed to paparazzi Dumpster divers.]53 Mulholland Hall has also signed a confidentiality clause regarding Bentley’s grades; we can produce our own low-scoring “report cards” in support of season arcs.

  UNIFORM: Skirt gets rolled up, socks get rolled down, oxford untucked & unbuttoned (three buttons) over a black tank, tie untied. Think Serena, not Blair.

  BOOK(S): The Bentley character chooses not to read. If pressed, she should say “any magazine with Porsche on the cover” or “the book that inspired that one Steven Spielberg movie.”

  MOVIE: “Anything by Spielberg.”

  MUSIC: The stuff Justin plays me in private. [Note: Legal is still double-checking this; as long as you don’t stipulate which Justin, it is likely to be approved.]

  WORKOUT: Hot yoga, TryCycle [Note: favorite instructors TBD, pending agenting contracts with partner groups] or similar.

  HAIR: Coloring determined by a Lifespan Hair & Makeup Consultant, per usual contract. [Note: three-color minimum established in Season Four will still hold until otherwise notified.]

  NAILS: Unless for a particular shoot, nails will be black and groomed on set, pending weekly inspections.

  BROW MAINTENANCE: Bentley Royce (the Actress) can choose, within Lifespan standards re: thickness/shape.

  BRANDING: Per arrangement with the Network. [Note: Season Six is still TBD via our last word from licensing.]

  COSMETICS: The Bentley character, aside from her trademark thick black eyeliner, features Lippies by Porsche along with all developing Porsche Royce product lines. [See Mercedes Royce, Amendment 42, 2014.]

  HOBBIES: Negativity. Sarcasm. Mild depression. Blow-outs. [Note: Edgy. Curl goes out, not under, with added gel for spiky effect.] Trying out new looks. [Note: More specifically, trying ON new looks the RWTR style team has preselected. Also edgy.]

  PRESCRIPTIONS: TBD/pending season arcs and/or Big Pharma sponsorships.

  FRIENDS: Maybach Royce, “Gina from school,” and other Featured Extra Cast Members as needed. [Note: Speaking and Not-Speaking.]

  OPINIONS: The Bentley character thinks what you’re listening to is “a total rip-off”; Facebook couple statuses are “so basic”; Instagram is for Mercedes and her friends; Snapchat is “what old people do to feel cool”; her school is “bass-ackward”; her mother is “ridiculous”; that nobody really “gets it”; hipsters are “god try a little harder why don’t you”; nerds are “poseur much”; athletes are “so limited”; college is “sad and pointless.” (Updated quarterly per Bentley Royce slang guidelines.)

  LOVES: To hate (per market-driven trends). To party (at sponsored clubs). To shop (our sponsored brands). To stick out her tongue irreverently (per the Bentley character arc). Also, animals? (Great photo potential. TBD.)

  * * *

  50 Per JG: No comment. (His lawyers have advised him not to comment!) —D

  51 FRanch = Orga
nic Vegan Ranch-Free Ranch dressing substitute. Is that clear enough or do we need to provide nutritional information? Jeff doesn’t want ppl to think he sends Tallulah to a school that endorses DAIRY! —D

  52 Jeff would also like you to know, as an ally, he has also always considered his private office bathroom all-gender. (Conceptually. Though only he uses it. #equality) —D

  53 Per JG: “Ironic, since most of what our writers give us is garbage.” “Ha, ha.” —D

  *IM = implied meetings

  Nine

  IF YOU WANT WHAT YOU’VE NEVER HAD, YOU’VE GOT TO DO WHAT YOU’VE NEVER DONE

  November 2017

  Community Center of Santa Monica

  (Seventh Street between Santa Monica and Wilshire)

  “Slow down, Porsche!” Bentley clung to the door. “One of these days you’re going to roll this car and kill us all.”

  Porsche careened around the corner onto Sunset Boulevard in her sleek black Porsche—jerking to a stop at the intersection.

  SCREEEEEEECH!

  “I don’t know why we couldn’t have picked a closer meeting. This drive is ridiculous.” Bentley gripped her door handle. They were on their way to their usual Wednesday-afternoon appointment, and by now every photographer in town knew it.

  “You know why we picked this meeting, B. Location, location, location. Besides, it’s a great route for imagery. Green trees. Big houses. Famous street. I’ll roll the window down in a sec, and it’ll be a feeding frenzy. The headlines will hit before we get to the coffee.”

  “I know.” Bent sighed. “I know.” It was exhausting.

  Porsche was very into imagery. It was never paparazzi or photos with her. It was only images and imagery, the way she imagined herself and how she could best project that image onto the world around her. The paps might have thought they were using her, but the joke was really on them.

  Even though her engagement had yet to be announced, Porsche was on top of her game these days. She was getting (sort of) married, Maybach was playing up his poker habit for the cameras, and for now, Mercedes once again had her show. And Bentley? She was supposedly gaining a brother, not losing a sister—plus or minus a little acting out, for good measure.

  That was all true.

  The May (sweeps) wedding was six months out; the “Untitled Porsche Royce Wedding Special” green-light meeting with Lifespan had gone one fist short of perfectly, and full-scale preparation plans had been launched.

  Whitey himself had come up to the house for two different planning dinners so far—both painful. Just because Mercedes had signed on to the wedding arc didn’t mean she had to like it or him, and she didn’t. While Bach and Bent tried to stay out of the bickering—eating their Café Gratitude acai bowls with record speed—Mercedes presided over the fledgling faux couple with more than a watchful eye. Each meal was an opportunity for a new precision strike, and they were all potentially lethal.

  Like this: “You really need to wear lifts in your shoes, Whitey. Porsche cannot wear less than a three-inch heel, preferably four. Otherwise she gets a little thick around the ankles and you know what Jeff will say about that.”

  And this: “I’ve brought in Jacques, here, to teach you how to take a good couple’s selfie. Your selfie game is not strong, Whitey. I mean, you don’t even have an Instagram account. You’ll have to set that up immediately, and then I’m really going to need you to practice with Jacques before we release you out into the wild.”

  And this: “You’re going to need cute, loving, funny-but-not-too-funny nicknames for each other. I’ve hired writers. They’re telling me Booboo is going to make a comeback.”54

  Whitey frowned. “You mean, like, babe?”

  “Really? Babe?” Mercedes looked down at him over her reading glasses, which she never wore out of the house. “We’ll get back to you. Stick with Porsche for now.”

  “Whatever you say, Moms.” Whitey grinned, which caused Mercedes to make a small choking sound.

  For his own safety, Porsche had dragged Whitey out to the pool house (next to the gym) after that. (She had claimed those two rooms plus bath as her grown-up bedroom the day she’d turned twenty-one.) She didn’t venture back inside the main house until the next day.

  But not everything about the Royce family had changed. Two months after getting their season-six pickup, the sisters found themselves in the same place doing the same thing that they had for more than a year.

  Maybe Wednesday afternoons would always be this way, Bent thought—at least as long as RWTR was on the air. Even if Whitey was now in the backseat, sometimes. As he was today.

  The light turned green, and Porsche floored the gas pedal. Whitey’s head knocked against the side of the car. Things were getting intense (emphasis on the tense)—even for the Royces.

  SHRIEEEEEEK!

  They still knew relatively little about Porsche’s mysterious future groom: he lived in Venice, on the canals near the beach, but Porsche had never been over there. He had dropped out of Santa Monica City College but seemed to have no friends from those days to speak of. He’d taken Porsche to meet everyone at the record label, but not to meet any of his clients. Porsche hadn’t said anything, but Bentley knew she was a little worried.

  In private, Mercedes, of course, was beside herself. “Who is he bringing to the table? Who are his guests at the wedding? Who even is this guy, aside from the son of some rich record exec? How do you know he’s not just using you? He’s not a celebrity gold digger?”

  When the conversation got that far, Porsche usually lost it. “Because that’s us, Mercedes. We’re the celebrity gold diggers, remember?”

  SCREEEEEEECH!

  This time, Bent’s head knocked against the window as Porsche slammed her foot on the brake and the Porsche swerved to a stop. On either side of them was a stretch of the clogged 405 freeway, but the bigger traffic jam was the one now following Porsche Royce. The car behind them, a banged-up puke-green Ford Fiesta, was wielding a telephoto lens. The dented Caddy fell into place behind it.

  Bent watched in the rearview mirror. “Did you ever think about what it’s going to be like? Once you announce your engagement?”

  “How big I’ll be?” Porsche smiled into the rearview mirror, at Whitey. “How big we’ll be?”

  “Maybe a Bey and a half? A Double Bey?” He grinned at her. “Especially once Whiteboyz releases your new album.” They’d been going to the recording studio together for weeks now. Unfortunately, Porsche’s voice wasn’t all that much better than her mother’s or her brother’s. Mercedes’s gift for terrible vocal stylings was clearly a dominant gene.

  “How big of a zoo your life will be?” Bent shook her head. “Or just how bad it’s going to be?”

  “If by bad you mean incredible, yes. Absolutely.” Porsche smiled. She was actually starting to give off that weird glow, the one that belonged to brides and pregnant women, Bentley thought.55

  It was creeping the whole family out.

  Bent tried again. “By bad I mean bad, Porsche. The paparazzi will be hounding you constantly. As it is now, they’re already jeopardizing our safety on a regular basis. Amp up the fame and you could get yourself killed.”

  “Oh, please. Name one celebrity who’s been killed in a paparazzi-induced accident.” Porsche swerved again.

  SCREEEEEEECH!

  “Princess Di,” Bent deadpanned.

  “Dang, B,” Whitey crowed.

  “Honey”—Porsche glanced over her sunglasses and into the rearview mirror—“I don’t think I’ll ever be that famous. Although, they do call us Reality TV Royalty, so I guess you never know.”

  She laughed. Whitey grabbed her hand and kissed it.

  Bentley had to give it to her sister. The memories of their near cancellation already seemed forgotten. Porsche Royce had gotten everything she’d wanted this far in life, and she was right on track for getting everything else. Porsche was her mother’s daughter, and for more reasons than just their matching Midnight Noir hair and t
errible voices. When it came to the iron will to succeed, there was no mistaking the shared gene pool of mother and daughter, even if Bentley had escaped it.

  Her sister had the Mercedes gleam in her eye. Bent wondered if the photographers were catching it.

  By the time the Porsche pulled up in front of a nondescript gray building on Seventh Street in Santa Monica, the paparazzi had moved to a respectful distance.

  They knew the score. Meeting days were always the same. The photogs had to stay on the far side of the parking lot no matter how many telephoto lenses they had crammed under their Windbreakers or stuffed inside their backpacks. Because today was one of the only things left in the sisters’ lives that wasn’t about the wedding.

  It was true; every Wednesday afternoon, both Porsche and Bentley were spoken for. It was their day off, written into their contracts, due to some unspecified problem that had been covered lightly—very lightly—on the show.

  Wednesdays were for AA.

  It was unclear which one of them was the addict (in real reality, neither); all the tabloids knew was that Rolling with the Royces had done a brisk intervention episode, right after Bentley’s sixteenth birthday party (again scripted, this time with even more painful casting done at Mulholland Hall, Bentley’s and Bach’s own school)—throwing around a lot of words like supportive and holistic, and decided as a family (or production team, depending on who you asked) that Porsche and Bentley would begin attending AA meetings. Before a more serious problem actually did develop.

  Hence Bentley’s fake trip to rehab, during which ratings had skyrocketed for an entire month. Porsche had started meetings with her the month after. She never could resist a spotlight, no matter the reason.

  By the end of the summer, when no one had actually OD’d, the ratings went back to normal, and the girls couldn’t help but feel they’d let the family down. But they were still chip-carrying members of AA.

  The paparazzi, for the most part, behaved. In the beginning, one had tried to actually make his way into the meeting posing as an addict, but Lawrence, the strikingly good-looking trans guy who ran the meetings, had found him out (and kicked him out) within the first five minutes. Lawrence was good about ferreting out the paps. He was really into privacy—in life and in his meetings, just like most AA sponsors.