Two guest rooms sat on the opposite side of Mike’s room in the massive house. Both Meg and Judy piled boxes into them, using the closet space and cluttering up the en suite bathrooms.

“I can’t believe your brother is letting us stay here. This place is amazing.”

Meg’s enthusiasm matched her own. Mike’s taste was off the charts. His Spanish-influenced palette of colors and textures complemented the rambling mission-style home and stucco walls. The massive great room opened up to the chef’s kitchen and dining room. Double glass doors opened to a courtyard that spread for at least a quarter acre, complete with fountains and a view of the city below. Judy couldn’t wait to explore every inch of the house and property.

“And we have our own bathrooms. Do you have any idea what it was like growing up in a house with so many people and only two toilets?”

“Not a clue,” Meg said. She was an only child and didn’t have to share a Barbie, let alone a sink and commode.

Now the light in the bathroom actually turned on when they walked into the room, no need to adjust a switch or anything. Both of them were about to embark on a style of living neither of them had any experience with.

The sound of Karen’s voice rang from the front of the house.

“Back here.” Judy brushed her hands together, removing some of the dirt that had accumulated from the stacks of boxes.

Karen’s blonde hair and bubbly personality moved with her into the guest room. In her hand, she held the foam board that Meg and Judy had laughingly placed in the back window of Judy’s car on the drive down. California or Bust sat in bright green letters with stars and smiley faces surrounding the text. It was juvenile and perfect for their postgraduation trip to LA.

“Look who made it in one piece.” Karen tossed the foam board on the bed and accepted Judy’s hug.

“I swear it took longer to get from Santa Barbara to here than it did from San Francisco to Santa Barbara.”

“Welcome to LA traffic. Might want to get used to it if you plan on staying.”

“My internship lasts six months . . . from there, who knows.”

Meg walked into the room and offered a wave. “Hey, Karen.”

The two greeted each other with a hug before Karen dragged them from the guest rooms. “I think you both need to know what it’s going to be like living in this house.”

Karen had lived there for over a year as Mike’s wife. Only she and Mike were never really “together,” no, their marriage had been arranged in order to make Hollywood and the producers of the films Mike starred in think he was happily married. The ruse was meant to last a year and then fade away. It did fade, but not in the nice, calm manner Karen and Mike wanted. Karen met Judy’s other brother, Zach, and the two really fell for each other. Needless to say, the media had a field day with the entire affair and littered the tabloids for months after the divorce.

Something Judy realized during those few months was that Hollywood, and the plastic lifestyle that followed her older brother, was nothing but an illusion. She still didn’t think she knew the entire truth about her brother and Karen’s brief marriage, but living in LA in her brother’s home would probably bring her up to speed.

“It’s going to be great,” Meg said as they stepped onto the back patio and took in the view of the city below.

“The house . . . the grounds . . . all this is amazing. The men showing up with cameras when you least expect them, and even when you do expect them, that is going to be a pain in your ass. You might think it’s funny the first couple of times, and then you’ll just be ticked.”

“How bad can it be?” Meg asked with a laugh.

“It shouldn’t be awful for the two of you, but you never know. After the first few times the paparazzi show up, snap a few pictures, and realize that Judy is Michael’s sister, and that you’re her friend, they will probably dry up. When Michael is back in town, they’ll show up again. It’s like they have a tracker on him. They hop the fence, risk being taken to jail for trespassing . . . you name it, they do it.” Karen moved to the center of the courtyard and turned toward the house.

“Has anyone ever tried to get into the house?”

“Not when I was here. After the divorce, there was one break-in, but Michael wasn’t home when it happened. That’s when Neil and Rick upped the sensors and alarms.”

Judy had used a key to unlock the door and an electronic sensor to disarm the house alarm.

“Cameras all over the place.”

Judy twisted around and looked to the eaves of the house. There were a couple of domed cameras she recognized from those she’d seen in department stores. “I see them.” Judy pointed above their heads.

“Yeah, but there are even more you don’t see.” Karen pointed toward a decorative light post that would illuminate a path to the back of the yard. “That one covers the back. There are others on the three identical posts on the side of the house and in the front. A camera watches every car that enters. There are motion detectors that hit the floodlights and can be a huge pain when the wind kicks up. You’ll usually get a call from security when they sense any unexpected activity.”

“Why not just shut off the motion detectors when the weather is foul?” Judy asked.

“Because that’s when the camera-toting buttheads show up. They understand the security better than you do.”

Meg shrugged. “So they snap a few pictures and move on . . . who cares?”

“I guess if you only had to worry about a few unflattering pictures in the tabloids, that would be fine. But there are fanatical creeps out there, too. Michael’s fame comes with a price.”

They moved around the yard, and Karen showed them more sensors, more cameras, and then moved back into the house. “There aren’t any cameras inside the house. Michael refused them. Sensors monitor every door and window.” The three of them moved to the control panel and Karen went through a few steps to show them how the security system worked. How to set the alarms when they both were away . . . when they were in for the night and didn’t want the alarm going off when they walked into the kitchen for a glass of milk. There were panic buttons hardwired into the system and even a three-digit number that called security directly from the house phone.

“So who watches the cameras?”

Karen shrugged. “Depends who’s on. Neil has a team monitoring twenty-four/seven.”