She watched the cameras fighting to get another shot, the best shot, any shot. “I don’t understand, why her?” She said to the women she half had her back to. “She lost.”
“Ursella dear, not her…them.” She looked over her shoulder at her. “She’s Cinderella and that definitely is the Handsome Prince.”
“I thought he was straight.”
“You know her track record. He won’t be when she gets finished with him.” They both tittered in their drinks. She waved and put on a big Hollywood smile at the director she knew was casting a part she wanted who was coming in the door. She could almost swear he had been avoiding her all night.
Ursella watched as the couple stepped away and into the crowd. “There they go. I just don’t understand it. Him yes, her no.”
“She won’t last.” She sipped her drink. “Him, I’d like to wear out myself.”
“Maybe we’re just jealous.”
“Of what?”
“Well…” She put her empty glass down and snatched another off the waiter’s tray as he whisked by. “She’s young and beautiful and hot, and face it, we aren’t anymore.”
“Speak for yourself, bitch.” She moved toward the man with the part. “Kisses, dear.”
“Same. Lunch?”
“Call me.” She stopped the couple walking past her. “Susan, darling, you look divine.”
“Thank you, Ursella.” Susan stopped, but kept her arm wrapped in her husbands. “And you…who are you wearing?”
“Vera Wang, of course. I live and die by Vera Wang.”
“It’s beautiful, my dear.” Jeremy took her hand and kissed it. “You, like fine wine, just get better with age.”
She put her hand to her heart and feigned swooning. “Charmer. I don’t know how she keeps a tiger like you tamed.” She smiled at him although in her head she was seething that the son of a bitch had made a crack about her age.
“Chains…lots of whips and chains.” Jeremy Tyson smiled, and his wife blushed.
“Jeremy!” Susan said, hand to mouth. “Will you excuse us, Ursella?”
“Of course. Kisses.” She watched them fold into the crowd. As soon as she was sure they couldn’t see, she shot them the bird. She looked up and saw someone watching. “Lucifer! Darling! Just the man I wanted to see!” She waltzed right over, before he could run away.
Her now empty space cleared the line of vision for the couple standing behind her. The young man spotted someone and grabbed his wife’s hand. “Look, there stands Scott Barlow.”
“Who’s that?” She crinkled her nose.
“The producer who said I couldn’t act my way out of a jock strap.” He clutched his freshly won Oscar. “Come on, let’s go shove this up his ass!”
Off they headed, revealing Trampus Scott, knocking back another in all the hubbub. He barley noticed the classic blond come up and give him a kiss on the cheek. He turned to look at her and smiled.
“Hello, Saxon. Come to join me in the loser’s club?”
“So we lost. Big deal.” She slipped her arm around him. “Our time will come.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He put his empty glass on the bar. “Another. You’ve only lost once. I’m a three time loser.”
“Stop.” She straightened his tie for him. “You look dashing as usual.”
“And where’s your date?”
“Trying to find the little boy’s room.”
“So what’s he got that I don’t got, beautiful?”
“He’s an old friend I made a promise to, and you’re an old hound who just opens up his front door, points and grunts ‘You!’.”
“Oh, yeah. I keep forgetting.” He reached up and whisked a small stray hair from her forehead. “So is this the start of something big, or do I still have a chance?”
Saxon threw back her head and laughed. “Trampus. Ian and I, well it’s a long story, we’ll just say there were too many chances we both let pass by until we both just know it would never ever be.”
“So I do still have a chance.” He whisked her up in his arms making her laugh some more.
“Oh hell no.”
“Why not?”
“You can’t keep it in your pants.”
“I just need the right woman to tame me.”
She playfully slapped his chest. “You just need the right vet to neuter you. You know that’s what it would feel like.” He smiled. She made him smile. She liked that. “I know you like the back of my hand Trampus Scott, and you know I will always love you, but…”
“I’m never getting in your pants…”
“Not in a million years.” She kissed him on the lips. “Now let’s go find the other man whose never getting in my pants.”
Saxon pulled away, but Trampus grabbed her back and whispered in her ear. “I know you like the back of my hand, Saxon Allen. Don’t bullshit a bullshiter.” He kissed her forehead and let her go.
Ian had teased Saxon all night about her bladder. The tables had turned, and if he didn’t find the bathroom soon he’d never get the deposit back on the stupid tux. This was the third party they’d made an appearance at. Almost all the same faces at every one. A few drinks, some mingling and pictures, pictures and more pictures.
It wasn’t that he wasn’t having fun. He and Saxon always made everything fun. It was nice to see her just be the perky little blond he’d met in that acting seminar and not the savvy industry professional that had gotten her so far.
He heard a little music from his breast pocket. He pulled it out and hit the little button.
“WHERE RU?” She texted.
“F IF I NO, TRYING TO FIND PLACE TO P.” Ian fumbled to text back.
“RESQ ME SOON”
“P FIRST, U NEXT.” He started to slip it back in his pocket.
“What is that?” A familiar voice asked.
“Susan.” Ian smiled and kissed her cheek.
“Am chopped liver?” Jeremy asked.
“What you wanna kiss, too?”
“Well, maybe not in public.” He winked.
Ian wanted to crawl under the closest table.
“Don’t act like my youngest, trying to hide something, Ian. Tell Mommy want you have in your hand.”
“It’s a blackberry.” He held it up for her to see.
“I thought you hated those things.”
“Saxon sent it to me as a joke.”
“Interesting color.” Jeremy said as Ian tucked it in his pocket.
“Raspberry.” They looked at Ian with blank faces. “Inside joke, you really had to be there.”
“You two make a beautiful couple.” Susan smiled. “Everyone’s talking.”
“Well, we’ve known each other for several years, dear friends.”
“People are making assumptions.”
“That’s not our problem.” Ian said not meaning to be short, but if he had to stand here and make small talk much longer, people would no longer have to make any assumptions about the puddle he’d be standing in.
“I signed El Toro to a record deal.” Susan put her hand on his chest.
“That’s wonderful. They deserve it. I wish them the best.” Ian smiled.
“And I bought their songbook.”
“Oh.”
“I didn’t realize that you had written so many of their songs.”
“That was a long time ago.”
She smiled. “Why don’t you come to dinner, Wednesday night?”
Jeremy leaned over and whispered in his ear. “We’ll send the boys to spend the night at the grandparents.”
“Thank you, but I can’t.” Ian looked at the floor.
“Another time, then?” She asked so, so sweetly.
“Uh, no. I’m sorry.” Ian didn’t want to lie. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t do that again.
“Oh…” Susan took her hand off his chest.
“Look, call the office. I’d be more than happy to take a meeting with you. In fact, I think we can be of mutual benefit to each other professionally and I hope we can be friends.”
“Absolutely.” Jeremy said, but Ian couldn’t help but see the disappointment in both their eyes.
“Good. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
“Yes, of course.” Susan said.
Ian turned to go and Jeremy grabbed his arm and leaned in to whisper in his ear. “The bathroom is to your right in the corner.” Jeremy’s eyes gleamed.
“Thank you. You don’t know how much I thank you.” Ian had never meant anything so much.
Ian was thanking God, Jesus, Buddha, Good Karma, Mrs. Butterworth and Sookie Stackhouse that there was no line. He tried very nonchalantly not to slam the door open and head for the closest urinal, starting to unzip his trousers before the door was even shut. He closed his eyes in relief the moment he was home free.
As the desperation eased, he opened his eyes and saw his own reflection staring back at him. He could also see a familiar sight of that night at the sinks behind him, some dude bent over with a rolled up dollar sniffing white powder up his nose. Ian leaned in a little closer to assuredly recognize the familiar hair cut attached this particular nose.
The bleach tipped Mohawk straightened up, rubbed his nostrils and breathed in the stubborn powder that hadn’t gone up with the first good snort. He shook his head and tucked the bill back in his tux then licked the fat of his hand after he wiped the marble. Ian saw him look at the mirror above his own head.
“So the legendary Ian Justyn” the Brit smiled. “We meet at last.” He came sauntering over to the next urinal.
“We’ve met before.” Ian cursed his bladder for being so full.
“Sorry, I don’t remember.”
“I’m not surprised.”
Chamberlain shook his head. “So are you enjoying the big night?”
“I apologize Mr. Chamberlain, but I am very uncomfortable having any sort of conversation with another man when we are both holding our penises.”
“We didn’t have sex then.” The man said and zipped up. Ian didn’t hear the bathroom door open, he just tried to hurry up and get out of there.
London leaned against the wall as Ian tried to turn his back to him and quickly finish. London rubbed his belly, this time covered in a surprisingly stylish tux. “So the rumors are true…” he leered.
Ian was finally able to zip up and flush. “You were being so nice…please; I don’t even know how to respond to a comment like that.” He walked over to the sink and turned on the tap. Soaping his hands and washing up.
“Easy, mate.” London smiled. “Why don’t you come in one of the stalls and suck me off?”
Ian smiled back. “Why don’t you go fuck yourself?”
“No need to be rude…”
Ian balled up the paper towel he’d dried his hands on and pitched it at the Brit, hard. It bounced off his shoulder, smacked against the matching marble wall and nailed him in the left temple. “You’re making an unsolicited pass and I’m rude?”
“You're the one wagging that big willy and battling those deep sexy blue eyes at me.”
“Look, I am pretty sick and tired of everyone saying…yeah, compared to yours it’s humongous, and it’s attached to a guy who doesn’t appreciate getting hit on by some drug soaked washed up boy band reject who hasn’t shown any potential of his talent on his last three albums. Check into rehab London, get off your knees, get off your back and get your act together. When you are sober and thinking with your heart and not your testicles maybe then you can make some real art instead of some self gratifying expensive farts that don’t even resemble music.”
Chamberlain stood there crossing his arms and glaring at Ian.
“One more thing…” Ian was on a roll and he wasn’t going to stop now. “Just a question actually…do you seriously think that Mohawk thing is attractive or is it just another ploy to get attention, because if it is, I have to tell you…it’s working. Everyone who sees it points and says ‘who the fuck is that moron?’”
Ian heard applause from behind him, and Chamberlain stood there refaced. Ian turned his back on him, picked up the towel wad and put it in the trash.
“Don’t you walk away from me,” Chamberlain shouted behind him. “Nobody walks away from me!” Ian kept walking, not even pausing as he shot him the bird.
“God damn it! Get back here!” He heard the man screaming as Ian pushed open the door and let it slam behind him.
Ian heard the door open and shut as he walked to find Saxon. A man he didn’t know walked by, patted him on the shoulder and said “Way to go.”
A second put his hand on his shoulder and stopped him. “You okay?” Trampus Scott asked.
Ian nodded. “You were in there?”
“Stall next to the wall, ready to jump in if the fists started flying.”
Ian smiled. “Actually that felt pretty good.” Trampus laughed. “I’ll have to do that more often…uh, don’t tell my staff though.”
Trampus put his fingers to his lips. “Our secret. Come with me, I left your date waiting for you over this way.”
A few steps and there she was, chatting with someone he was sure was famous, but he was sure he didn’t care. He just wanted to see the smile, the one that ever since he was a backward 19 year old filled his heart and said “You’re just fine, hay seed.”
Saxon saw him coming her way. There she was and there it was. Ian smiled back. She simply held out one arm and allowed him to slip right into her, like a warm, safe place he belonged. She put her head on his shoulder and sighed as she chatted up who ever it was she was chatting up. She softly rubbed her hand up and down is back gently until the trembling in his legs stopped.
When the chatty person holding the Oscar shook his hand, said good evening and walked off, Ian kissed the top of her head. “There that wasn’t so bad was it?”
She wrapped her other arm around him, lay her cheek tenderly on his chest. “Thank you, Ian. I have had such a good time.” She sighed.
“That’s what you’re paying me for.” He pushed her back and looked in her eyes. “We did discuss my bill, didn’t we?”
She giggled. “Stop. You’ll make me snort again. You have made this night absolutely wonderful. I’ve not had this much fun since we jumped the fence and peed in all the kegs at the Delta Phi Sorority Homecoming.”
“Shhh.” He said. “You made me promise not to discuss your weak bladder…again…tonight.” He kissed her on the cheek. “But just tonight. Tomorrow is another day.”
“So, this is the last one. Shall we call it a night?” She smiled at him.
“Sure. But I think we should take the limo somewhere and get a chili dog, we’re dressed for it. Might as well make the most of it.”
“And chocolate shakes?” She looked hopefully.
“Who’d eat a chili dog without washing it down with a chocolate shake? That’s just uncouth.”
She took his hand. “You’re on.” She started to head to the door.
“Wait. Wait!” He gently stopped her. “We’ve done what you wanted all night. Now it’s my turn.”
“What?” She cocked her head and grinned. She lowered her voice. “You wanna pee in the champagne fountain?”
“Oh, if you’d only suggested that five minutes ago.”
Saxon so daintily snorted. Ian took her hand and put it to his heart. “Listen…”
“What?”
“Shh…shhh…listen.” He pulled her in close. “Hear the music?”
“Music?”
Ian pulled her close and whispered in her ear. “Dance with me, Saxon. Fulfill the promise you made to my heart a long time ago and let it dance with the most beautiful girl in the world.”
Saxon sighed. She leaned against him and began to sway gently. The music swelled and they began to glide softly and surely to the music that beat through the night.
Everyone in the room watched them, sighed with them and envied them. They all sat back in awe and watched Prince Charming finally get his dance with Cinderella.
Showing posts with label Academy Award. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Academy Award. Show all posts
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Vignette #52: Somebody
She was so enjoying herself. She used to hate this. They had to force her to do it, but she had come to like it, adore it, and then suddenly they didn’t want her to do it any more.
She turned and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Someone had designed it just for her, blue, her favorite color. And not just blue, royal blue, for that’s what she was—royalty, Hollywood royalty. She understood that now, and she was not about to be kept in the background any longer.
She sipped her champagne, tipping her head slightly to the handsome young actor that smiled at her from across the restaurant. She sighed. He was a nobody, and she was a somebody.
Her fingers played with the jewelry that graced her neck. She smiled; at least he wasn’t around to tell her to stop. She had taken care of that. She was in control now; she knew it and no one could say anything different. As soon as the new musical came out, she was going to put him in his place for good.
They thought she was stupid. She sipped her champagne again so no one could see the wry smile. She’d been slipping away money and sending it to her cousin. She had put it all in the bank in her name, not his, not theirs, hers and hers alone. As soon as this movie opened, she wouldn’t need anyone.
It had been a big fight, but she held out and gotten what she wanted. It surprised everyone when the quiet little wallflower started making a few demands. They never thought she’d balk. She showed them.
Now it was her turn to make the monkeys dance. It was her turn to say do this, do that, wear this, wear that. They had made promises they had had no intention of keeping until she forced them. She knew without her they had nothing and she was smart enough to know that she didn’t need them anymore. She could do this. She really could.
“Aren’t you looking gorgeous tonight, dear.” The woman said as she passed.
“You, too.” She smiled, just a small one. The woman was shocked that she spoken back. No one expected that, but they’d better get used to it, no more quiet little mouse, no more hiding. Those days were gone and gone for good.
She glanced around the room, in now rehearsed shyness. They were all looking at her, admiring her, loving her. Yes, these were her people.
The water’s parted and in she came. She wasn’t afraid of her anymore. The woman was one of them.
Of course she came right up to her. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s the Academy Awards, Lucille. I belong here.”
“You weren’t nominated.”
She looked in her eyes; she knew that would throw her. “Neither were you.”
Lucille looked down her nose. “But James was.”
“Did he win?” Not that she really cared.
“No.” She stepped in close. “Where is he?”
“How would I know?” The waiter bowed and allowed her to replace her empty glass, with a deliciously full one. “Thank you.”
“Oh, please…” Lucille hissed. “I know what’s going on.” She said loudly.
“Lucille, keep your voice down. You’re making a spectacle of yourself.”
“Everyone knows you’re sleeping with him and I'm making a spectacle of myself?" She felt the ears of the room listening.
She dropped her eyes and looked at the floor, lowering her voice hoping Lucille would follow her lead. “Lucille, you are mistaken.”
“No I’m not.” She looked around but lowered her voice.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“How dare you, tell me not to be ridiculous. If it weren’t for me…”
“Lucille, you keep insisting if it weren’t for you…did you ever stop to think if it weren’t for you that things wouldn’t be nearly as difficult as they are. We are stars, Lucille. You are a paid employee. Remember your place.”
Lucille squinted her eyes. “You remember yours.”
“This discussion is over.” She started to move away.
“Stay away from my husband.” Lucille warned.
“That will be hard to do, dear, since we are making a picture together.” She looked back into Lucille’s eyes and smiled. “A love story…” She walked away.
“You can forget about that picture, dear.” Lucille said for all to hear. “Even if it gets made, no one wants to see a picture starring a sweet, innocent little WHORE!”
She whirled around and slapped Lucille’s face. The room gasped. Lucille stood unmoved, just a moment, then calmly reached for the champagne in her hand and threw it in her face.
She looked down at her beautiful blue gown. She looked at everyone in the room, thinking…oh God, what they were thinking? She covered her face with her matching gloves. She had to get out of there before they all started laughing. She couldn’t stand the laughing. So she ran, ran to anywhere, somewhere, as long as it wasn’t here.
Lucille casually walked to the corner, knowing everyone in Hollywood was watching not her, but the tarnished star running away. It wouldn’t be long before everyone was quietly whispering, and Lucille knew without a doubt most of it would be blown way out of proportion. She walked over to David Turner, stunned but standing tall, the bastard.
“Lucille,” he said. “What have you done?”
She looked at him and took the drink out of his hand. “Cleaning up the mess, again.” She started to drink, but saw the look in his eyes. “And don’t tell me that didn’t take care of the problem.”
She turned and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Someone had designed it just for her, blue, her favorite color. And not just blue, royal blue, for that’s what she was—royalty, Hollywood royalty. She understood that now, and she was not about to be kept in the background any longer.
She sipped her champagne, tipping her head slightly to the handsome young actor that smiled at her from across the restaurant. She sighed. He was a nobody, and she was a somebody.
Her fingers played with the jewelry that graced her neck. She smiled; at least he wasn’t around to tell her to stop. She had taken care of that. She was in control now; she knew it and no one could say anything different. As soon as the new musical came out, she was going to put him in his place for good.
They thought she was stupid. She sipped her champagne again so no one could see the wry smile. She’d been slipping away money and sending it to her cousin. She had put it all in the bank in her name, not his, not theirs, hers and hers alone. As soon as this movie opened, she wouldn’t need anyone.
It had been a big fight, but she held out and gotten what she wanted. It surprised everyone when the quiet little wallflower started making a few demands. They never thought she’d balk. She showed them.
Now it was her turn to make the monkeys dance. It was her turn to say do this, do that, wear this, wear that. They had made promises they had had no intention of keeping until she forced them. She knew without her they had nothing and she was smart enough to know that she didn’t need them anymore. She could do this. She really could.
“Aren’t you looking gorgeous tonight, dear.” The woman said as she passed.
“You, too.” She smiled, just a small one. The woman was shocked that she spoken back. No one expected that, but they’d better get used to it, no more quiet little mouse, no more hiding. Those days were gone and gone for good.
She glanced around the room, in now rehearsed shyness. They were all looking at her, admiring her, loving her. Yes, these were her people.
The water’s parted and in she came. She wasn’t afraid of her anymore. The woman was one of them.
Of course she came right up to her. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s the Academy Awards, Lucille. I belong here.”
“You weren’t nominated.”
She looked in her eyes; she knew that would throw her. “Neither were you.”
Lucille looked down her nose. “But James was.”
“Did he win?” Not that she really cared.
“No.” She stepped in close. “Where is he?”
“How would I know?” The waiter bowed and allowed her to replace her empty glass, with a deliciously full one. “Thank you.”
“Oh, please…” Lucille hissed. “I know what’s going on.” She said loudly.
“Lucille, keep your voice down. You’re making a spectacle of yourself.”
“Everyone knows you’re sleeping with him and I'm making a spectacle of myself?" She felt the ears of the room listening.
She dropped her eyes and looked at the floor, lowering her voice hoping Lucille would follow her lead. “Lucille, you are mistaken.”
“No I’m not.” She looked around but lowered her voice.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“How dare you, tell me not to be ridiculous. If it weren’t for me…”
“Lucille, you keep insisting if it weren’t for you…did you ever stop to think if it weren’t for you that things wouldn’t be nearly as difficult as they are. We are stars, Lucille. You are a paid employee. Remember your place.”
Lucille squinted her eyes. “You remember yours.”
“This discussion is over.” She started to move away.
“Stay away from my husband.” Lucille warned.
“That will be hard to do, dear, since we are making a picture together.” She looked back into Lucille’s eyes and smiled. “A love story…” She walked away.
“You can forget about that picture, dear.” Lucille said for all to hear. “Even if it gets made, no one wants to see a picture starring a sweet, innocent little WHORE!”
She whirled around and slapped Lucille’s face. The room gasped. Lucille stood unmoved, just a moment, then calmly reached for the champagne in her hand and threw it in her face.
She looked down at her beautiful blue gown. She looked at everyone in the room, thinking…oh God, what they were thinking? She covered her face with her matching gloves. She had to get out of there before they all started laughing. She couldn’t stand the laughing. So she ran, ran to anywhere, somewhere, as long as it wasn’t here.
Lucille casually walked to the corner, knowing everyone in Hollywood was watching not her, but the tarnished star running away. It wouldn’t be long before everyone was quietly whispering, and Lucille knew without a doubt most of it would be blown way out of proportion. She walked over to David Turner, stunned but standing tall, the bastard.
“Lucille,” he said. “What have you done?”
She looked at him and took the drink out of his hand. “Cleaning up the mess, again.” She started to drink, but saw the look in his eyes. “And don’t tell me that didn’t take care of the problem.”
Vignette #51: Overplayed
She could not believe the big deal everyone was making of it. Every channel in this stupid town was glued on it. Oh, sure, she always watched, every year, but Clare could not believe that since she’d gotten up this morning that was all that was on the TV. She finally just gave up.
She looked over at the thick envelope that was laying on the nightstand; cash, more cash than she’d ever seen. It was just there. She heard a knock on her door this morning, and when she opened it up it was right there at her feet. She looked around but saw no one. It was creepy.
Clare picked it up and leafed through it again. “Holy words my mother told me never to say.” She breathed and folded the flap shut. “I can’t keep this.” She tossed it in her lap.
She focused her attention back on the TV screen. She looked at all the pretty people in all their pretty clothes, and thought. “And now I figure out how to get back home.”
She sighed and took a drink from the warm pop can that had been there all day. She looked at the envelope. “Well, that would easily get me a plane ticket and then some…and I am definitely going to need money.”
She flopped back on the bed, putting the pillow over her face and thrashing her feet. She’d overplayed her hand and lost. She just could not believe she’d lost. Clare Humphreys always won, always, but there was nothing she could do.
“And in less than an hour those velvet doors will be shut and someone’s dream will come true…” said the guy on the television she knew from that stupid talent program she refused to watch.
She threw the pillow that had been over her face at the screen. “My dreams aren’t gonna come true. They just exploded in my face!” She seethed and then burst into tears.
She cried for a while and then reached for a Kleenex, knocking that thick envelope in the floor. “Crap.” She whined and sniffed. She reached down and stuffed some of the money that had fallen out back in. Clare paused a moment and turned the envelope back and forth.
“No address, just a phone number. How am I supposed to return this? Just leave it on the dresser when I get tossed out tomorrow?” She wiped her nose. “That’s real smart. What a nice little ‘Welcome to the Fleabag’ gift for the next person who checks in or the maid…like they have one.”
She got up and looked at her face in the dirty mirror. “God, I looked like somebody ran over my dog and then shot me.” She opened the rusty tap and tried to wash her face.
“Ladies and gentlemen, one of tonight’s nominees…Saxon Allen…” the man said.
Clare looked at the reflection of the screen in the mirror. “Just kill me now…”
“Listen to that dip prattle on…” She sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m so happy. I’m so lucky. I’m so pretty…hope she looses.”
She reached for the hot Pepsi and took another drink glued to the screen. “…No…” Clare scurried to the edge of the bed. “That can’t…it had better not be!” She grabbed the remote and started changing channels, the Oscar parade everywhere.
She stopped at the channel that had a close up of Saxon Allen waving at someone and holding hands with her escort, but Clare couldn’t get a good look. She pointed the remote again until she spotted her again, back where she started…
“Oh stop, you goof.” Saxon Allen playfully smacked someone off screen.
“You look like you are having a great time.” The man said and pointed the mike back at her.
“Oh I am.”
“And it seems like this man is providing it. Would you like to introduce him to us?”
“Yeah, Kleenex Girl…” Clare squinted. “Let’s see the ‘mo you’ve got…” Clare stopped in mid sentence when the camera pulled back enough to show her escort, smiling, dressed in a deep blue tuxedo and obviously adoring the bleach blond bimbo who had slept her way to the top…Ian.
“NOOOOO!” She stood up and screamed.
Someone pounded on the wall, “Shud’up over there!”
Clare hurled the pop can at the wall and began to pace the room. “I can understand that I screwed up. I got dumped. It’s over. I have to accept that. I have to...” She hurled her face back to the screen just in time to see Ian kiss Saxon Allen on the cheek.
“But I will not be replaced by a cheap, no talent, bra stuffing, corn bread eating, coal dust covered slut from Grundy!”
Clare grabbed at the envelope, throwing wads of cash on the floor until she found the little card with the phone number on it. She picked up the phone and walked to the mirror as she dialed and heard it ring.
As soon as the line picked up she spit. “It’s Clare Humphreys…what did you have in mind?”
While she listened she wiped the tears from her cheeks with a hundred dollar bill.
She looked over at the thick envelope that was laying on the nightstand; cash, more cash than she’d ever seen. It was just there. She heard a knock on her door this morning, and when she opened it up it was right there at her feet. She looked around but saw no one. It was creepy.
Clare picked it up and leafed through it again. “Holy words my mother told me never to say.” She breathed and folded the flap shut. “I can’t keep this.” She tossed it in her lap.
She focused her attention back on the TV screen. She looked at all the pretty people in all their pretty clothes, and thought. “And now I figure out how to get back home.”
She sighed and took a drink from the warm pop can that had been there all day. She looked at the envelope. “Well, that would easily get me a plane ticket and then some…and I am definitely going to need money.”
She flopped back on the bed, putting the pillow over her face and thrashing her feet. She’d overplayed her hand and lost. She just could not believe she’d lost. Clare Humphreys always won, always, but there was nothing she could do.
“And in less than an hour those velvet doors will be shut and someone’s dream will come true…” said the guy on the television she knew from that stupid talent program she refused to watch.
She threw the pillow that had been over her face at the screen. “My dreams aren’t gonna come true. They just exploded in my face!” She seethed and then burst into tears.
She cried for a while and then reached for a Kleenex, knocking that thick envelope in the floor. “Crap.” She whined and sniffed. She reached down and stuffed some of the money that had fallen out back in. Clare paused a moment and turned the envelope back and forth.
“No address, just a phone number. How am I supposed to return this? Just leave it on the dresser when I get tossed out tomorrow?” She wiped her nose. “That’s real smart. What a nice little ‘Welcome to the Fleabag’ gift for the next person who checks in or the maid…like they have one.”
She got up and looked at her face in the dirty mirror. “God, I looked like somebody ran over my dog and then shot me.” She opened the rusty tap and tried to wash her face.
“Ladies and gentlemen, one of tonight’s nominees…Saxon Allen…” the man said.
Clare looked at the reflection of the screen in the mirror. “Just kill me now…”
“Listen to that dip prattle on…” She sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m so happy. I’m so lucky. I’m so pretty…hope she looses.”
She reached for the hot Pepsi and took another drink glued to the screen. “…No…” Clare scurried to the edge of the bed. “That can’t…it had better not be!” She grabbed the remote and started changing channels, the Oscar parade everywhere.
She stopped at the channel that had a close up of Saxon Allen waving at someone and holding hands with her escort, but Clare couldn’t get a good look. She pointed the remote again until she spotted her again, back where she started…
“Oh stop, you goof.” Saxon Allen playfully smacked someone off screen.
“You look like you are having a great time.” The man said and pointed the mike back at her.
“Oh I am.”
“And it seems like this man is providing it. Would you like to introduce him to us?”
“Yeah, Kleenex Girl…” Clare squinted. “Let’s see the ‘mo you’ve got…” Clare stopped in mid sentence when the camera pulled back enough to show her escort, smiling, dressed in a deep blue tuxedo and obviously adoring the bleach blond bimbo who had slept her way to the top…Ian.
“NOOOOO!” She stood up and screamed.
Someone pounded on the wall, “Shud’up over there!”
Clare hurled the pop can at the wall and began to pace the room. “I can understand that I screwed up. I got dumped. It’s over. I have to accept that. I have to...” She hurled her face back to the screen just in time to see Ian kiss Saxon Allen on the cheek.
“But I will not be replaced by a cheap, no talent, bra stuffing, corn bread eating, coal dust covered slut from Grundy!”
Clare grabbed at the envelope, throwing wads of cash on the floor until she found the little card with the phone number on it. She picked up the phone and walked to the mirror as she dialed and heard it ring.
As soon as the line picked up she spit. “It’s Clare Humphreys…what did you have in mind?”
While she listened she wiped the tears from her cheeks with a hundred dollar bill.
Vignette #50: Rewards
“What the hell are we watchin’ this crap for?” Kyle Osbourne harrumphed. “M’ ball games on!” He sat up in his la-z-boy and motioned with his hands. “Sunday night…ballgame…it’s what the good Lord intended.”
“Aw Kyle.” Janie sat by her son on the couch and handed him the steamy bag fresh out of the microwave. “Careful, honey pot. Ain’t gonna hurt you t’miss one ball game.”
“Do we gotta watch this shit?” He looked at the screen at all the women in fancy gowns sticking microphones in the faces of other woman in fancy gowns.
“Sparky Jarvis called this mornin’ and said her brother had called her to tell me that Daddy got a call tellin’ Ronnie to be sure and watch.” She shook the old bowl, now filled with popcorn. “Good hardly a burned piece at all.”
“The burned pieces is m’favorite.” Ronnie said.
“I like the old maids at the bottom.” She told him.
“I like them, too.” He said. “I like to suck the salt off and spit ‘em out.”
“You just like t’spit.” Kyle slammed back in his chair. “Who is all them people?” He pointed at the screen.
“It’s the ‘Cademy Rewards, Daddy.” Ronnie explained.
“Cademy Rewards?” He looked at his wife and tried not to smile. “What’s that?”
“Don’t you know nothin’?” The child asked.
“I reckon not, son. Gimme some a that popcorn.” He reached for a handful from the bowl. “Tell me ‘bout it.”
“Well…” The boy explained, sure of his expert knowledge. “It’s when all them people that makes the movies put on the nicest clothes they can find and throw a big party so they can make fun a each other’s clothes.”
“It is?”
“Uh huh, and when they get done withat, they give each other prizes.”
“Why do they give each other prizes?”
Ronnie had to think a moment. “I think it’s kinda a race, like they have down at Bristol, but with movies not cars. Whoever’s the best at it, gets a prize.”
“Well…that makes sense.” Kyle exchanged glances with his wife. “So is this the costume part or the prize part?”
“I ain’t sure." Ronnie thought as he spit an old maid back into the bowl when no one was watching.
Janie looked at the screen. “Oh look, that is the prettiest dress I’ve ever seed.”
“You’d look nice in that, Mommy.” Ronnie chewed thoughtfully. “Maybe I’ll save up my bottle money and get one just like it for ya on your birthday.”
“Why that’s real thoughtful honey pot, but I’d rather you save yer money for something you want.”
“But I want to gets it for ya. I bet they’ve got one just like it down at the Kmart, and surely it cain’t cost that much.” Ronnie pointed to a new woman on the screen. “Now that lady’s dress was spensive, you kin tell ‘cause otherwise she’d a been able to buy a comb fer her hair, too.”
Janie looked back at the screen. “Who’s that woman, Kyle? Don’t she look familiar?”
“She’s probably on one of yer stories, Janie.”
“No she’s not. The people on m’stories are real, not movie stars.”
Kyle leaned forward and squinted at the screen. “Well, I swan…I believe it’s that girl from Grundy, ain’t it? Turn it up…”
Janie half stood and reached over to turn the volume up and quickly sat back down. They could hear a woman say more clearly now…”
“Saxon you look beautiful tonight. Who are you wearing?”
“Oh thank you, Montana.” Saxon beamed at the camera and waved to someone they couldn’t see. “This is an Orlanda D’Gamo, an up and coming designer that I just adore.”
“It’s breath taking…and the jewelry?” she asked. Both the women’s heads turned to someone off screen.
Saxon giggled and slapped at someone they couldn’t see. “Be good…”
Montana got a wry grin on her face. “And speaking of beautiful, Saxon, I see besides the Tiffany bracelet on your arm, you are also sporting the exquisite Ian Justyn…come in closer and let us talk to you.”
“That’s Mr. Ian!” Ronnie pointed at the screen. “It’s Mr. Ian.”
“Oh no, I’m just arm candy tonight…thanks.”
“Stop.” Saxon tugged on Ian until the camera could get a good shot of them both. “You are nobody’s arm candy.” The camera could finally see them both in matching shades of dark blue.
“They are such a cute couple…” Janie murmured out loud.
“And who are you wearing, Ian?”
“Uh…Homer Thistlewhite…”
“Who?”
“Bill Blass…” Saxon giggled. “He’s wearing Bill Blass.”
“This must be a big night for both of you, small town kids…you went to school together I understand…”
“Old friends, very very old friends” Ian agreed.
“Ian…not that old.” Saxon chided him. “You talk like we’re wearing Depends.”
Ian pointed at Saxon. “She is…she has a terrible bladder control problem.”
Saxon covered her mouth, trying very hard not to snort, as Ian knew she tended to do when was able to keep her laughing.
“And now you are here together at the biggest night in Hollywood. Saxon there must be a lot of people from your small town glued to the set tonight. Would you want to say anything to them?”
“Oh, just how much I love ‘em and how much I appreciate all the support.”
“I’m sure you’ll have a chance to thank them all if you win.”
Saxon just smiled. You couldn’t help but notice Ian elbow Saxon just a little and nod toward the camera. “Oh, I almost forgot. I wanted to say hello to Ronnie Osbourne back in Lost Mountain, Virginia and to tell him that I hope he wins.”
Montana was a little flustered, but the Osbournes didn’t hear her, they were too busy shouting at each other.
“Aw Kyle.” Janie sat by her son on the couch and handed him the steamy bag fresh out of the microwave. “Careful, honey pot. Ain’t gonna hurt you t’miss one ball game.”
“Do we gotta watch this shit?” He looked at the screen at all the women in fancy gowns sticking microphones in the faces of other woman in fancy gowns.
“Sparky Jarvis called this mornin’ and said her brother had called her to tell me that Daddy got a call tellin’ Ronnie to be sure and watch.” She shook the old bowl, now filled with popcorn. “Good hardly a burned piece at all.”
“The burned pieces is m’favorite.” Ronnie said.
“I like the old maids at the bottom.” She told him.
“I like them, too.” He said. “I like to suck the salt off and spit ‘em out.”
“You just like t’spit.” Kyle slammed back in his chair. “Who is all them people?” He pointed at the screen.
“It’s the ‘Cademy Rewards, Daddy.” Ronnie explained.
“Cademy Rewards?” He looked at his wife and tried not to smile. “What’s that?”
“Don’t you know nothin’?” The child asked.
“I reckon not, son. Gimme some a that popcorn.” He reached for a handful from the bowl. “Tell me ‘bout it.”
“Well…” The boy explained, sure of his expert knowledge. “It’s when all them people that makes the movies put on the nicest clothes they can find and throw a big party so they can make fun a each other’s clothes.”
“It is?”
“Uh huh, and when they get done withat, they give each other prizes.”
“Why do they give each other prizes?”
Ronnie had to think a moment. “I think it’s kinda a race, like they have down at Bristol, but with movies not cars. Whoever’s the best at it, gets a prize.”
“Well…that makes sense.” Kyle exchanged glances with his wife. “So is this the costume part or the prize part?”
“I ain’t sure." Ronnie thought as he spit an old maid back into the bowl when no one was watching.
Janie looked at the screen. “Oh look, that is the prettiest dress I’ve ever seed.”
“You’d look nice in that, Mommy.” Ronnie chewed thoughtfully. “Maybe I’ll save up my bottle money and get one just like it for ya on your birthday.”
“Why that’s real thoughtful honey pot, but I’d rather you save yer money for something you want.”
“But I want to gets it for ya. I bet they’ve got one just like it down at the Kmart, and surely it cain’t cost that much.” Ronnie pointed to a new woman on the screen. “Now that lady’s dress was spensive, you kin tell ‘cause otherwise she’d a been able to buy a comb fer her hair, too.”
Janie looked back at the screen. “Who’s that woman, Kyle? Don’t she look familiar?”
“She’s probably on one of yer stories, Janie.”
“No she’s not. The people on m’stories are real, not movie stars.”
Kyle leaned forward and squinted at the screen. “Well, I swan…I believe it’s that girl from Grundy, ain’t it? Turn it up…”
Janie half stood and reached over to turn the volume up and quickly sat back down. They could hear a woman say more clearly now…”
“Saxon you look beautiful tonight. Who are you wearing?”
“Oh thank you, Montana.” Saxon beamed at the camera and waved to someone they couldn’t see. “This is an Orlanda D’Gamo, an up and coming designer that I just adore.”
“It’s breath taking…and the jewelry?” she asked. Both the women’s heads turned to someone off screen.
Saxon giggled and slapped at someone they couldn’t see. “Be good…”
Montana got a wry grin on her face. “And speaking of beautiful, Saxon, I see besides the Tiffany bracelet on your arm, you are also sporting the exquisite Ian Justyn…come in closer and let us talk to you.”
“That’s Mr. Ian!” Ronnie pointed at the screen. “It’s Mr. Ian.”
“Oh no, I’m just arm candy tonight…thanks.”
“Stop.” Saxon tugged on Ian until the camera could get a good shot of them both. “You are nobody’s arm candy.” The camera could finally see them both in matching shades of dark blue.
“They are such a cute couple…” Janie murmured out loud.
“And who are you wearing, Ian?”
“Uh…Homer Thistlewhite…”
“Who?”
“Bill Blass…” Saxon giggled. “He’s wearing Bill Blass.”
“This must be a big night for both of you, small town kids…you went to school together I understand…”
“Old friends, very very old friends” Ian agreed.
“Ian…not that old.” Saxon chided him. “You talk like we’re wearing Depends.”
Ian pointed at Saxon. “She is…she has a terrible bladder control problem.”
Saxon covered her mouth, trying very hard not to snort, as Ian knew she tended to do when was able to keep her laughing.
“And now you are here together at the biggest night in Hollywood. Saxon there must be a lot of people from your small town glued to the set tonight. Would you want to say anything to them?”
“Oh, just how much I love ‘em and how much I appreciate all the support.”
“I’m sure you’ll have a chance to thank them all if you win.”
Saxon just smiled. You couldn’t help but notice Ian elbow Saxon just a little and nod toward the camera. “Oh, I almost forgot. I wanted to say hello to Ronnie Osbourne back in Lost Mountain, Virginia and to tell him that I hope he wins.”
Montana was a little flustered, but the Osbournes didn’t hear her, they were too busy shouting at each other.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Vignette #38: Surprise
By mid afternoon, Ian found himself catching up on reading the papers, the turn of events spurring the decision that putting off for two days a week keeping up with what was going on was a bad idea. Every newspaper he could get his hands on was filled with hyped up lurid details of Ian’s “wild” Saturday night, including some very surprising pictures of his kiss with Saxon Allen.
He shook his head. Most of that night he didn’t seem to recall clearly, if at all. The papers seem to have it all down; blurry shots of the kiss, sketchy details of the songs, even a rather clear shot of his pouring himself into the limo, but not one mention of his two companions.
Ian folded the newspaper and tossed it on the pile with the others. It wasn’t until then that he noticed the tiny little column in the lower right corner about Bambi Helton. He picked the paper back up and read.
She was found naked in her apartment by the cleaning lady, needle stuck in her thigh. Police assumed it was an overdose. Details furnished by co-workers saying she’d been “Depressed and desperate the past few weeks” lead them further to believe it was possibly deliberate and not accidental. The case would not be officially closed until the autopsy report came back, but speculation seemed to rule.
Ian scratched his head as he put the newspaper down. “I guess she wouldn’t be the first aging porn queen to take her own life, but suicide by heroin…in her thigh?” It didn’t make sense to him, but then doing everything else she had done to and with her body didn’t make sense to him either.
“Ian?” Blake appeared in the office doorway.
He didn’t look up, keeping his eyes focused on the tiny, lost article. “Blake, when Bambi Helton was here, did you think she was depressed and desperate?”
Blake jolted a little bit. “To be honest, I didn’t really get that impression, but then I was in shock that she was here to begin with.” He looked at Ian. “There was nothing you could do to help her, boss man.”
“I know that.” Ian looked up at his secretary. “But did you think she was depressed and upset?”
Blake walked over to the desk and looked at the small quote Ian pointed to. “My time with her was so limited, but that wasn’t the feeling I got from her.”
“Kind of excited, a little apprehensive, but energetic?”
He nodded his head. “Yeah, that’s probably right, especially when she left.” Blake added, “Look, Ian, who knows what goes on in people’s minds, especially in Hollywood. We’re all so busy we tend to forget that we’ve all become professional at presentation. It’s hard to remember that what we’re seeing is not necessarily what is actually there.”
Ian nodded his head. “And I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“That no one took note that you and Wella were with me Saturday night.”
Blake giggled. “Ian nobody notices the entourage. It comes in the job description. Don’t sweat it.”
“But you are human beings, too.”
Blake turned to go. “No we’re not.” He stopped at the door. “By the way, I have a little surprise for you.”
Saxon Allen stepped into the doorway. “Surprise!”
Ian happily stood, kissed and then took both her hands in his. “How did you manage to get all the way in the building and not get noticed, especially with all that’s been going on out there?”
“Oh, I’m good at giving the paparazzi the slip.”
Ian flipped open to the front page of the entertainment section and pointed to the huge picture of their reuniting kiss. “No you’re not.”
“I’m great at it. You’re the novice. That picture was your fault.” She said.
“Oh, I’m the guilty party.”
“Of course.” She looked closer at the picture. “Is my butt that big?”
“I’m not going there.” He motioned for her to have a seat.
“Good man.” She sat crossed her legs in classic style and put her snazzy shoulder bag in her lap. “So do we have a date?”
“Excuse me?” Ian sat back with surprise.
“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m taking about Ian Grayson Justyn.”
“Ooh, you must mean business. You used all three of my names.”
“That’s why you have three. Now, do I have you on my arm next weekend or do I have to run to the last minute man candy store? Remember you promised.”
“You are going to hold me to a drunken promise made ten years ago shortly before you puked cheap tequila all over yourself?”
“Hey, a promise remembered during a drunken stupor is one heck of a solid promise.”
Ian scowled.
Saxon scowled back. “What’s the problem, Ian? Are you ashamed to be seen with me in public?”
“Of course not. You ain’t bad on the eyes, an’ almost half classy, Bessie.” He mocked their upbringing, using one of the pet names he called her during their college friendship.
“Gooda you ta notice, Clem.” She crossed her arms. “I cannot believe you’re going to make me beg.”
“Saxon, you can have your pick of anyone in the world, the world! Why me?”
“Because…” Ian shot her a look. Saxon rolled her eyes and tried to explain. “Okay, it’s a big night, and I want to share it, finally, with some one I can just be myself with. Who’ll keep me from taking the whole gaudy thing too seriously.”
“You’re afraid you’ll barf on your designer gown on the way to the podium?”
“Probably, but I’m still in shock that I’m nominated. I keep thinking either it was a lean year, and it wasn’t--there are six…SIX…other actresses more deserving than I…”
“Or?”
“Or it’s one of those tacky career achievement things, and I’m dying of cancer and no one has the guts to tell me.”
“Okay, okay!” Ian waved his hands, pushed out his chair and motioned for her to come and sit in his lap.
Saxon hesitated a minute then reached her hand out to him. He smiled and gently pulled her on his lap, wrapping his arms around her and rocking her back and forth.
“My sweet self doubting Saxon.” He brushed the fluff of hair from his mouth so he could speak to her. “Yes, we all have to admit your nomination came as a surprise, but that just makes it sweeter. That little film was so refreshing and so wonderful it stands out amongst all the angst and gun fire and sweat…”
“But…”
“Shhh, I’m not finished.” He put his hand over her mouth, “And you young lady, were pitch perfect, not a wasted…eye lash.” Saxon snickered, mouth still covered by his hand. “You made that picture, you, your talent, your classic beauty. As Mamie Rae Tipton Shores would say, so stop peeing in the pool and enjoy the swim.”
Saxon took a deep breath and pushed his hand away. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” He said as she sat up. “Aren’t you glad we ran off yesterday and got married?”
“Well, you knocked me up. It’s the least you could do.” She playfully squeezed his chin and got up, smoothing her dress down. “So, you’re going with me?”
“Do you really want to have all those rumors fueled?”
“Do you really want me to have to call Judd ‘You may remember me as Hot Steel from my WWF days’ Dunning?” She put her hands flat on his desk. “Look, yeah yeah, a few rumors will fly. It’ll be good for your career.”
She pointed at the grin he was about to crack and warned. “Not that I’m boasting, but I’m really hot right now, and being seen at the Academy Awards with me, win or lose, is going to be very high profile. It can only help you, and HRT.”
“I hate using your spotlight in hopes of yanking a little bit of it for myself, besides I’d feel cheap and whorey.” He whined.
“Do I need to make you sit on my lap? It’s not going to compromise anyone’s ethics if we both know what we’re doing. Remember we are now part of the Hollywood elite. We’re supposed to be cheap and whorey. It’s in the job description”
“You’re sure?”
Saxon cocked her head at him. “Of course.” She plopped down in her chair. “I’d have brought you out here and shopped you around several years ago if I hadn’t been afraid that rabid howler monkey would have caught a sniff from down wind and rip me limb from limb.”
“You’re afraid of Clare?”
Saxon looked Ian in the eye. “Oh, hell yes.”
“That howler monkey made an appearance today.”
“You’re kidding?” She leaned in for all the juicy details.
“Right here in the office.”
“How was she?”
“Rabid.”
“And…”
Ian sat back confident. “She won’t be back.”
“I’ve heard that before.” She sneered.
“After the spectacle she made here today, if she dares to even sniff down or up wind, she’ll have a restraining order slapped on her so fast it’ll make her little head spin around.”
“Good for you.” Saxon looked back down at the picture in the newspaper still staring up at her. “Are you sure my butt’s not that big?”
“Guarantee.”
“You know it amazes me that they always think they got the hot shot, and nine times out of ten they’re flashing their bulbs at one thing when the really juicy story is on the other side of the room.”
It was Ian’s turn to lean in for the juicy details. “Do tell.”
“They were all so busy chronicling your hot tushy, when they could have been snapping pictures of Hot Steel being the filling in an sexual cookie Oreo made of my driver and one of the bartenders; me behind the wheel of the limo peeling rubber and yelling for him to get his legs out of the window.”
Ian shook his head. “Saxon, you need to stop falling in love with hot gorgeous men who love other hot gorgeous men.”
“I know and I have two ex-wives to prove it." She sighed, "But I keep doing it over and over and over. No wonder they’re my people…” She waved her hand in the air like Queen Elizabeth at a parade. “Now have I got a date or what?”
Ian acquiesced. “You’ve got a date.”
“There that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“Not for me. How ‘bout for you?”
“A-hole.”
Ian smiled. “Now tell me about this production company…”
Saxon cocked her head and put up her hands. “Ahhh…well Mr. Justyn, nothing’s official yet, but as soon as I find the right project.”
The wheels in Ian’s head started turning. “The right project.”
“It’s a natural step.”
“Of course.”
“I’m just looking to develop things that interest me for a change, something a little beyond romantic comedies and blonds in distress.”
“Hmmm, I think I might have something that might interest you.” Ian nibbled on a black flair pen.
“No offense, but I don’t do television.”
Ian smirked. “No offense, but I wasn’t offering you a job…as an actress. I was thinking executive producer.”
Ian could see the bells go off in her head. “I need a cheese steak.”
“You still eat cheese steaks?”
Saxon brushed her midriff. “I don’t work out every day for the guns, honey. I bust my behind to feed it with anything I want.”
“Cheese steak, it is.” Ian looked beyond her shoulders. “Blake!” He opened a drawer and handed her a script. “There’s this new writer named Jenson Michaels..."
He shook his head. Most of that night he didn’t seem to recall clearly, if at all. The papers seem to have it all down; blurry shots of the kiss, sketchy details of the songs, even a rather clear shot of his pouring himself into the limo, but not one mention of his two companions.
Ian folded the newspaper and tossed it on the pile with the others. It wasn’t until then that he noticed the tiny little column in the lower right corner about Bambi Helton. He picked the paper back up and read.
She was found naked in her apartment by the cleaning lady, needle stuck in her thigh. Police assumed it was an overdose. Details furnished by co-workers saying she’d been “Depressed and desperate the past few weeks” lead them further to believe it was possibly deliberate and not accidental. The case would not be officially closed until the autopsy report came back, but speculation seemed to rule.
Ian scratched his head as he put the newspaper down. “I guess she wouldn’t be the first aging porn queen to take her own life, but suicide by heroin…in her thigh?” It didn’t make sense to him, but then doing everything else she had done to and with her body didn’t make sense to him either.
“Ian?” Blake appeared in the office doorway.
He didn’t look up, keeping his eyes focused on the tiny, lost article. “Blake, when Bambi Helton was here, did you think she was depressed and desperate?”
Blake jolted a little bit. “To be honest, I didn’t really get that impression, but then I was in shock that she was here to begin with.” He looked at Ian. “There was nothing you could do to help her, boss man.”
“I know that.” Ian looked up at his secretary. “But did you think she was depressed and upset?”
Blake walked over to the desk and looked at the small quote Ian pointed to. “My time with her was so limited, but that wasn’t the feeling I got from her.”
“Kind of excited, a little apprehensive, but energetic?”
He nodded his head. “Yeah, that’s probably right, especially when she left.” Blake added, “Look, Ian, who knows what goes on in people’s minds, especially in Hollywood. We’re all so busy we tend to forget that we’ve all become professional at presentation. It’s hard to remember that what we’re seeing is not necessarily what is actually there.”
Ian nodded his head. “And I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“That no one took note that you and Wella were with me Saturday night.”
Blake giggled. “Ian nobody notices the entourage. It comes in the job description. Don’t sweat it.”
“But you are human beings, too.”
Blake turned to go. “No we’re not.” He stopped at the door. “By the way, I have a little surprise for you.”
Saxon Allen stepped into the doorway. “Surprise!”
Ian happily stood, kissed and then took both her hands in his. “How did you manage to get all the way in the building and not get noticed, especially with all that’s been going on out there?”
“Oh, I’m good at giving the paparazzi the slip.”
Ian flipped open to the front page of the entertainment section and pointed to the huge picture of their reuniting kiss. “No you’re not.”
“I’m great at it. You’re the novice. That picture was your fault.” She said.
“Oh, I’m the guilty party.”
“Of course.” She looked closer at the picture. “Is my butt that big?”
“I’m not going there.” He motioned for her to have a seat.
“Good man.” She sat crossed her legs in classic style and put her snazzy shoulder bag in her lap. “So do we have a date?”
“Excuse me?” Ian sat back with surprise.
“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m taking about Ian Grayson Justyn.”
“Ooh, you must mean business. You used all three of my names.”
“That’s why you have three. Now, do I have you on my arm next weekend or do I have to run to the last minute man candy store? Remember you promised.”
“You are going to hold me to a drunken promise made ten years ago shortly before you puked cheap tequila all over yourself?”
“Hey, a promise remembered during a drunken stupor is one heck of a solid promise.”
Ian scowled.
Saxon scowled back. “What’s the problem, Ian? Are you ashamed to be seen with me in public?”
“Of course not. You ain’t bad on the eyes, an’ almost half classy, Bessie.” He mocked their upbringing, using one of the pet names he called her during their college friendship.
“Gooda you ta notice, Clem.” She crossed her arms. “I cannot believe you’re going to make me beg.”
“Saxon, you can have your pick of anyone in the world, the world! Why me?”
“Because…” Ian shot her a look. Saxon rolled her eyes and tried to explain. “Okay, it’s a big night, and I want to share it, finally, with some one I can just be myself with. Who’ll keep me from taking the whole gaudy thing too seriously.”
“You’re afraid you’ll barf on your designer gown on the way to the podium?”
“Probably, but I’m still in shock that I’m nominated. I keep thinking either it was a lean year, and it wasn’t--there are six…SIX…other actresses more deserving than I…”
“Or?”
“Or it’s one of those tacky career achievement things, and I’m dying of cancer and no one has the guts to tell me.”
“Okay, okay!” Ian waved his hands, pushed out his chair and motioned for her to come and sit in his lap.
Saxon hesitated a minute then reached her hand out to him. He smiled and gently pulled her on his lap, wrapping his arms around her and rocking her back and forth.
“My sweet self doubting Saxon.” He brushed the fluff of hair from his mouth so he could speak to her. “Yes, we all have to admit your nomination came as a surprise, but that just makes it sweeter. That little film was so refreshing and so wonderful it stands out amongst all the angst and gun fire and sweat…”
“But…”
“Shhh, I’m not finished.” He put his hand over her mouth, “And you young lady, were pitch perfect, not a wasted…eye lash.” Saxon snickered, mouth still covered by his hand. “You made that picture, you, your talent, your classic beauty. As Mamie Rae Tipton Shores would say, so stop peeing in the pool and enjoy the swim.”
Saxon took a deep breath and pushed his hand away. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” He said as she sat up. “Aren’t you glad we ran off yesterday and got married?”
“Well, you knocked me up. It’s the least you could do.” She playfully squeezed his chin and got up, smoothing her dress down. “So, you’re going with me?”
“Do you really want to have all those rumors fueled?”
“Do you really want me to have to call Judd ‘You may remember me as Hot Steel from my WWF days’ Dunning?” She put her hands flat on his desk. “Look, yeah yeah, a few rumors will fly. It’ll be good for your career.”
She pointed at the grin he was about to crack and warned. “Not that I’m boasting, but I’m really hot right now, and being seen at the Academy Awards with me, win or lose, is going to be very high profile. It can only help you, and HRT.”
“I hate using your spotlight in hopes of yanking a little bit of it for myself, besides I’d feel cheap and whorey.” He whined.
“Do I need to make you sit on my lap? It’s not going to compromise anyone’s ethics if we both know what we’re doing. Remember we are now part of the Hollywood elite. We’re supposed to be cheap and whorey. It’s in the job description”
“You’re sure?”
Saxon cocked her head at him. “Of course.” She plopped down in her chair. “I’d have brought you out here and shopped you around several years ago if I hadn’t been afraid that rabid howler monkey would have caught a sniff from down wind and rip me limb from limb.”
“You’re afraid of Clare?”
Saxon looked Ian in the eye. “Oh, hell yes.”
“That howler monkey made an appearance today.”
“You’re kidding?” She leaned in for all the juicy details.
“Right here in the office.”
“How was she?”
“Rabid.”
“And…”
Ian sat back confident. “She won’t be back.”
“I’ve heard that before.” She sneered.
“After the spectacle she made here today, if she dares to even sniff down or up wind, she’ll have a restraining order slapped on her so fast it’ll make her little head spin around.”
“Good for you.” Saxon looked back down at the picture in the newspaper still staring up at her. “Are you sure my butt’s not that big?”
“Guarantee.”
“You know it amazes me that they always think they got the hot shot, and nine times out of ten they’re flashing their bulbs at one thing when the really juicy story is on the other side of the room.”
It was Ian’s turn to lean in for the juicy details. “Do tell.”
“They were all so busy chronicling your hot tushy, when they could have been snapping pictures of Hot Steel being the filling in an sexual cookie Oreo made of my driver and one of the bartenders; me behind the wheel of the limo peeling rubber and yelling for him to get his legs out of the window.”
Ian shook his head. “Saxon, you need to stop falling in love with hot gorgeous men who love other hot gorgeous men.”
“I know and I have two ex-wives to prove it." She sighed, "But I keep doing it over and over and over. No wonder they’re my people…” She waved her hand in the air like Queen Elizabeth at a parade. “Now have I got a date or what?”
Ian acquiesced. “You’ve got a date.”
“There that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“Not for me. How ‘bout for you?”
“A-hole.”
Ian smiled. “Now tell me about this production company…”
Saxon cocked her head and put up her hands. “Ahhh…well Mr. Justyn, nothing’s official yet, but as soon as I find the right project.”
The wheels in Ian’s head started turning. “The right project.”
“It’s a natural step.”
“Of course.”
“I’m just looking to develop things that interest me for a change, something a little beyond romantic comedies and blonds in distress.”
“Hmmm, I think I might have something that might interest you.” Ian nibbled on a black flair pen.
“No offense, but I don’t do television.”
Ian smirked. “No offense, but I wasn’t offering you a job…as an actress. I was thinking executive producer.”
Ian could see the bells go off in her head. “I need a cheese steak.”
“You still eat cheese steaks?”
Saxon brushed her midriff. “I don’t work out every day for the guns, honey. I bust my behind to feed it with anything I want.”
“Cheese steak, it is.” Ian looked beyond her shoulders. “Blake!” He opened a drawer and handed her a script. “There’s this new writer named Jenson Michaels..."
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Vignette #19: Echoes
The old man leaned heavily on his cane gazing at the sheer pristine garishness of it all. Constantly dusted and de-finger printed there it all was, enshrined behind glass, available for the passersby to ogle and wonder at, but safe at an untouchable distance; like the memories that each held for him.
He looked around to see that he was, as usual, alone. Lights dimmed and quiet, he fished a key from his pocket and opened the glass. He scanned each of the accolades, most of which had his name on them.
“Is this all that’s left?” He thought to himself. Opening the glass, he reached for that first Oscar, a little tarnished by time, but still shocked by the weight of it when first picked up. He grasped his tired fingers around it and relived the excitement, the anticipation and the heavy climax that evening held.
“Now remember,” the severe woman in the seat across from them said, “You’re movie stars. Try to act like it.”
“Lucille…” the other man in the limo said, “this isn’t the first time.”
“It’s the first time you’ve all been nominated.” She said as she fussed with his bow tie for the fourth or fifth time since the driver picked them up.
He smacked at her hands, fed up with it. “We’ve done this before.”
She pointed to the woman across from her. “She hasn’t.”
The woman she pointed at was white, her fingers grasping the jewelry around her neck, seeming to take what little comfort she could in the texture, running over and over it with her fingertips. The man beside her took one of the jittery hands, grasped it and held it between his.
“She’ll be fine.” He turned to capture her attention. “These are our friends, people we work with.”
“Except their wearing designer clothes and don’t smell like armpits for a change.” The severe woman snapped.
Her companion snapped back. “Are you sure you’ve been to one of these before?”
She turned her daggers at him. “Yeah, and don’t forget if it wasn’t for me, you would just be one of them again and not a nominee.”
“If I win.” He smiled. “I’ll be sure and mention that. How does thank you to everyone who helped me get here including that bitch publicist I married sound to you?”
“Better than nothing…” She mumbled and turned her attention back to the couple across from them. “You look like death warmed over.”
“She looks beautiful.” Her companion said. He squeezed her hand. “It’s okay. You’re with me.”
“What if…” She whimpered softly.
He lowered his voice into a soft firm promise. “I won’t leave your side. You can do this.”
She tried to smile, and managed to momentarily but then shivered when the thought entered her head. “What if I win?”
“Then I’ll give you a kiss, help you stand up and go get your Oscar.” He kissed the back of her hand.
“But I’ll have to say something.” She said so softly. “We agreed…” she said even softer and looked out the window.
Her companion tugged on her hand. “Look at me.” She didn’t respond so he tugged lightly again. “Look at me.”
Her fear filled eyes did their best to connect with his. “If you win, just read what I wrote down. Remember?” She nodded her head as he reminded her. “If you win just pull out the paper, look at it not anything else and read it. That’s all, when they start applauding just nod your head in appreciation and go wherever they lead you.”
“Where will you be?” She asked.
“I’ll come right to you.”
The severe woman had had enough. “Look missy, do not screw this up. We have worked too damn hard to pull this off and you will not screw it up. Any moron can stand up, walk twenty feet and read what’s scribbled on the back of a napkin and by God, you will to!”
Her husband turned to her. “Lucille, I have never struck a lady before in my life, and if I beat the ever living crap out of you right now, I’m sure my record would still be clean. Now sit back, and shut up!”
The past back behind him, he bit his lip and put the award, and the memory, back from where it came. The metal base scratched the glass shelf as he put it back in place echoing through the dark halls. He slowly closed the door and locked it back with another echoed click.
He was old again, standing in front of the glass. This time he was looking at himself and he pointed at his reflection. “You will not screw this up.”
He looked around to see that he was, as usual, alone. Lights dimmed and quiet, he fished a key from his pocket and opened the glass. He scanned each of the accolades, most of which had his name on them.
“Is this all that’s left?” He thought to himself. Opening the glass, he reached for that first Oscar, a little tarnished by time, but still shocked by the weight of it when first picked up. He grasped his tired fingers around it and relived the excitement, the anticipation and the heavy climax that evening held.
“Now remember,” the severe woman in the seat across from them said, “You’re movie stars. Try to act like it.”
“Lucille…” the other man in the limo said, “this isn’t the first time.”
“It’s the first time you’ve all been nominated.” She said as she fussed with his bow tie for the fourth or fifth time since the driver picked them up.
He smacked at her hands, fed up with it. “We’ve done this before.”
She pointed to the woman across from her. “She hasn’t.”
The woman she pointed at was white, her fingers grasping the jewelry around her neck, seeming to take what little comfort she could in the texture, running over and over it with her fingertips. The man beside her took one of the jittery hands, grasped it and held it between his.
“She’ll be fine.” He turned to capture her attention. “These are our friends, people we work with.”
“Except their wearing designer clothes and don’t smell like armpits for a change.” The severe woman snapped.
Her companion snapped back. “Are you sure you’ve been to one of these before?”
She turned her daggers at him. “Yeah, and don’t forget if it wasn’t for me, you would just be one of them again and not a nominee.”
“If I win.” He smiled. “I’ll be sure and mention that. How does thank you to everyone who helped me get here including that bitch publicist I married sound to you?”
“Better than nothing…” She mumbled and turned her attention back to the couple across from them. “You look like death warmed over.”
“She looks beautiful.” Her companion said. He squeezed her hand. “It’s okay. You’re with me.”
“What if…” She whimpered softly.
He lowered his voice into a soft firm promise. “I won’t leave your side. You can do this.”
She tried to smile, and managed to momentarily but then shivered when the thought entered her head. “What if I win?”
“Then I’ll give you a kiss, help you stand up and go get your Oscar.” He kissed the back of her hand.
“But I’ll have to say something.” She said so softly. “We agreed…” she said even softer and looked out the window.
Her companion tugged on her hand. “Look at me.” She didn’t respond so he tugged lightly again. “Look at me.”
Her fear filled eyes did their best to connect with his. “If you win, just read what I wrote down. Remember?” She nodded her head as he reminded her. “If you win just pull out the paper, look at it not anything else and read it. That’s all, when they start applauding just nod your head in appreciation and go wherever they lead you.”
“Where will you be?” She asked.
“I’ll come right to you.”
The severe woman had had enough. “Look missy, do not screw this up. We have worked too damn hard to pull this off and you will not screw it up. Any moron can stand up, walk twenty feet and read what’s scribbled on the back of a napkin and by God, you will to!”
Her husband turned to her. “Lucille, I have never struck a lady before in my life, and if I beat the ever living crap out of you right now, I’m sure my record would still be clean. Now sit back, and shut up!”
The past back behind him, he bit his lip and put the award, and the memory, back from where it came. The metal base scratched the glass shelf as he put it back in place echoing through the dark halls. He slowly closed the door and locked it back with another echoed click.
He was old again, standing in front of the glass. This time he was looking at himself and he pointed at his reflection. “You will not screw this up.”
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Chapter Eleven: Cinderella
“What the hell are we watchin’ this crap for?” Kyle Osbourne harrumphed. “M’ ball games on!” He sat up in his la-z-boy and motioned with his hands. “Sunday night…ballgame…it’s what the good Lord intended.”
“Aw Kyle.” Janie sat by her son on the couch and handed him the steamy bag fresh out of the microwave. “Careful, honey pot. Ain’t gonna hurt you t’miss one ball game.”
“Do we gotta watch this shit?” He looked at the screen at all the women in fancy gowns sticking microphones in the faces of other woman in fancy gowns.
“Sparky Jarvis called this mornin’ and said her brother had called her to tell me that Daddy got a call tellin’ Ronnie to be sure and watch.” She shook the old bowl, now filled with popcorn. “Good hardly a burned piece at all.”
“The burned pieces is m’favorite.” Ronnie said.
“I like the old maids at the bottom.” She told him.
“I like them, too.” He said. “I like to suck the salt off and spit ‘em out.”
“You just like t’spit.” Kyle slammed back in his chair. “Who is all them people?” He pointed at the screen.
“It’s the ‘Cademy Rewards, Daddy.” Ronnie explained.
“Cademy Rewards?” He looked at his wife and tried not to smile. “What’s that?”
“Don’t you know nothin’?” The child asked.
“I reckon not, son. Gimme some a that popcorn.” He reached for a handful from the bowl. “Tell me ‘bout it.”
“Well…” The boy explained, sure of his expert knowledge. “It’s when all them people that makes the movies put on the nicest clothes they can find and throw a big party so they can make fun a each other’s clothes.”
“It is?”
“Uh huh, and when they get done withat, they give each other prizes.”
“Why do they give each other prizes?”
Ronnie had to think a moment. “I think it’s kinda a race, like they have down at Bristol, but with movies not cars. Whoever’s the best at it, gets a prize.”
“Well…that makes sense.” Kyle exchanged glances with his wife. “So is this the costume part or the prize part?”
“I ain’t sure. They’s awful pretty, though.”
Janie looked at the screen. “Oh look, that is the prettiest dress I’ve ever seed.”
“You’d look nice in that, Mommy.” Ronnie chewed thoughtfully on some popcorn. “Maybe I’ll save up my bottle money and get one just like it for ya on your birthday.”
“Why that’s real thoughtful honey pot, but I’d rather you save yer money for something you want.”
“But I want to gets it for ya. I bet they’ve got one just like it down at the Kmart, and surely it cain’t cost that much.” Ronnie pointed to a new woman on the screen. “Now that lady’s dress was spensive, you kin tell ‘cause otherwise she’d a been able to buy a comb fer her hair, too.”
Janie looked back at the screen. “Who’s that woman, Kyle? Don’t she look familiar?”
“She’s probably on one of yer stories, Janie.”
“No she’s not. The people on m’stories are real, not movie stars.”
Kyle leaned forward and squinted at the screen. “Well, I swan…I believe it’s that girl from Grundy, ain’t it? Turn it up…”
Janie half stood and reached over to turn the volume up and quickly sat back down. They could hear a woman say more clearly now…”
“Saxon you look beautiful tonight. Who are you wearing?”
“Oh thank you, Montana.” Saxon beamed at the camera and waved to someone they couldn’t see. “This is an Orlanda D’Gamo, an up and coming designer that I just adore.”
“It’s breath taking…and the jewelry?” she asked. Both the women’s heads turned to someone off screen.
Saxon giggled and slapped at someone they couldn’t see. “Be good…”
Montana got a wry grin on her face. “And speaking of beautiful, Saxon, I see besides the Tiffany bracelet on your arm, you are also sporting the exquisite Ian Justyn…come in closer and let us talk to you.”
“That’s Mr. Ian!” Ronnie pointed at the screen. “It’s Mr. Ian.”
“Oh no, I’m just arm candy tonight…thanks.”
“Stop.” Saxon tugged on Ian until the camera could get a good shot of them both. “You are nobody’s arm candy.” The camera could finally see them both in matching shades of dark blue.
“They are such a cute couple…” Janie murmured out loud.
“And who are you wearing, Ian?”
“Uh…Homer Thistlewhite…”
“Who?”
“Bill Blass…” Saxon giggled. “He’s wearing Bill Blass.”
“This must be a big night for both of you, small town kids…you went to school together I understand…”
“Old friends, very very old friends” Ian agreed.
“Ian…not that old.” Saxon chided him. “You talk like we’re wearing Depends.”
Ian pointed at Saxon. “She is…she has a terrible bladder control problem.”
Saxon covered her mouth, trying very hard not to snort, as Ian knew she tended to do when was able to keep her laughing.
“And now you are here together at the biggest night in Hollywood. Saxon there must be a lot of people from your small town glued to the set tonight. Would you want to say anything to them?”
“Oh, just how much I love ‘em and how much I appreciate all the support.”
“I’m sure you’ll have a chance to thank them all if you win.”
Saxon just smiled. You couldn’t help but notice Ian elbow Saxon just a little and nod toward the camera. “Oh, I almost forgot. I wanted to say hello to Ronnie Osbourne back in Lost Mountain, Virginia and to tell him that I hope he wins.”
Montana was a little flustered, but the Osbournes didn’t hear her, they were too busy shouting at each other.
She could not believe the big deal everyone was making of it. Every channel in this stupid town was glued to it. Oh, sure, she always watched, every year, but Clare could not believe that since she’d gotten up this morning that was all that was on the TV.
She finally just gave up. She looked over at the thick envelope that was laying on the nightstand; cash, more cash than she’d ever seen. It was just there. She heard a knock on her door this morning, and when she opened it up it was right there at her feet. She looked around but saw no one. It was creepy.
Clare picked it up and leafed through it again. “Holy words my mother told me never to say.” She breathed and folded the flap shut. “I can’t keep this.” She tossed it in her lap.
She focused her attention back on the TV screen. She looked at all the pretty people in all their pretty clothes, and thought. “And now I figure out how to get back home.” She sighed and took a drink from the warm pop can that had been there all day. She looked at the envelope. “Well, that would easily get me a plane ticket and then some…and I am definitely going to need money.”
She flopped back on the bed, putting the pillow over her face and thrashing her feet. She’d overplayed her hand and lost. She just could not believe she’d lost. Clare Humphreys always won, always, but there was nothing she could do.
“And in less than an hour those velvet doors will be shut and someone’s dream will come true…” said the guy on the television she knew from that stupid talent program she refused to watch.
She threw the pillow that had been over her face at the screen. “My dreams aren’t gonna come true. They just exploded in my face!” She seethed and then burst into tears.
She cried for a while and then reached for a Kleenex, knocking that thick envelope in the floor. “Crap.” She whined and sniffed. She reached down and stuffed some of the money that had fallen out back in. Clare paused a moment and turned the envelope back and forth.
“No address, just a phone number. How am I supposed to return this? Just leave it on the dresser when I get tossed out tomorrow?” She wiped her nose. “That’s real smart. What a nice little ‘Welcome to the Fleabag’ gift for the next person who checks in or the maid…like they have one.”
She got up and looked at her face in the dirty mirror. “God, I looked like somebody ran over my dog and then shot me.” She opened the rusty tap and tried to wash her face.
“Ladies and gentlemen, one of tonight’s nominees…Saxon Allen…” the man said.
Clare looked at the reflection of the screen in the mirror. “Just kill me now…”
“Listen to that dip prattle on…” She sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m so happy. I’m so lucky. I’m so pretty…hope she looses.”
She reached for the hot Pepsi and took another drink glued to the screen. “…No…” Clare scurried to the edge of the bed. “That can’t…it had better not be!” She grabbed the remote and started changing channels, the Oscar parade everywhere.
She stopped at the channel that had a close up of Saxon Allen waving at someone and holding hands with her escort, but Clare couldn’t get a good look. She pointed the remote again until she spotted her again, back where she started…
“Oh stop, you goof.” Saxon Allen playfully smacked someone off screen.
“You look like you are having a great time.” The man said and pointed the mike back at her.
“I am having a great time.”
“And it seems like this man is providing it. Would you like to introduce him to us?”
“Yeah, Kleenex Girl…” Clare squinted. “Let’s see the ‘mo you’ve got…” Clare stopped in mid sentence when the camera pulled back enough to show her escort, smiling, dressed in a deep blue tuxedo and obviously adoring the bleach blonde bimbo who had slept her way to the top…Ian.
“NOOOOO!” She stood up and screamed.
Someone pounded on the wall, “Shud’up over there!”
Clare hurled the pop can at the wall and began to pace the room. “I can understand that I screwed up. I got dumped. It’s over. I can accept that. I have to...” She hurled her face back to the screen just in time to see Ian kiss Saxon Allen on the cheek.
“But I will not be replaced by a cheap, no talent, bra stuffing, corn bread eating, coal dust covered slut from Grundy!”
Clare grabbed at the envelope, throwing wads of cash on the floor until she found the little card with the phone number on it. She picked up the phone and walked to the mirror as she dialed and heard it ring.
As soon as the line picked up she spit. “It’s Clare Humphreys…what did you have in mind?” As she listened she wiped the tears from her cheeks with a hundred dollar bill.
She was so enjoying herself. She used to hate this. They had to force her to do it, but she had come to like it, adore it, and then suddenly they didn’t want her to do it any more.
She turned and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Someone had designed it just for her, blue, her favorite color. And not just blue, royal blue, for that’s what she was—royalty, Hollywood royalty. She understood that now, and she was not about to be kept in the background any longer.
She sipped her champagne, tipping her head slightly to the handsome young actor that smiled at her from across the restaurant. She sighed. He was a nobody, and she was a somebody.
Her fingers played with the jewelry that graced her neck. She smiled; at least he wasn’t around to tell her to stop. She had taken care of that. She was in control now; she knew it and no one could say anything different. As soon as the new musical came out, she was going to put him in his place for good.
They thought she was stupid. She sipped her champagne again so no one could see the wry smile. She’d been slipping away money and sending it to her cousin. She had put it all in the bank in her name, not his, not theirs, hers and hers alone. As soon as this movie opened, she wouldn’t need anyone.
It had been a big fight, but she held out and gotten what she wanted. It surprised everyone when the quiet little wallflower started making a few demands. They never thought she’d balk. She showed them.
Now it was her turn to make the monkeys dance. It was her turn to say do this, do that, wear this, wear that. They had made promises they had had no intention of keeping until she made them. She knew without her they had nothing. And she was smart enough to know that she didn’t need them anymore. She could do this. She really could.
“Aren’t you looking gorgeous tonight, dear.” The woman said as she passed.
“You, too.” She smiled, just a small one. The woman was shocked that she spoken back. No one expected that, but they’d better get used to it, no more quiet little mouse, no more hiding. Those days were gone and gone for good.
She glanced around the room, in now rehearsed shyness. They were all looking at her, admiring her, loving her. Yes, these were her people.
The water’s parted and in she came. She wasn’t afraid of her anymore. She was one of them.
Of course she came right up to her. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s the Academy Awards, Lucille. I belong here.”
“You weren’t nominated.”
She looked in her eyes; she knew that would throw her. “Neither were you.”
Lucille looked down her nose. “But James was.”
“Did he win?” Not that she really cared.
“No.” She stepped in close. “Where is he?”
“How would I know?” The waiter bowed and allowed her to replace her empty glass, with a deliciously full one. “Thank you.”
“Oh, please…” Lucille hissed. “I know what’s going on.” She said loudly.
“Lucille, keep your voice down. You’re making a spectacle of yourself.”
“Everyone knows you’re sleeping with him and I'M making a spectacle of myself!” She felt the ears of the room listening.
She dropped her eyes and looked at the floor, lowering her voice hoping Lucille would take her lead. “Lucille, you are mistaken.”
“No I’m not.” She looked around but lowered her voice.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“How dare you, tell me not to be ridiculous. If it weren’t for me…”
“Lucille, you keep insisting if it weren’t for you…did you ever stop to think if it weren’t for you that things wouldn’t be nearly as difficult as they are. We are stars, Lucille. You are a paid employee. Remember your place.”
Lucille squinted her eyes. “You remember yours.”
“This discussion is over.” She started to move away.
“Stay away from my husband.” Lucille warned.
“That will be hard to do, dear, since we are making a picture together.” She looked back into Lucille’s eyes and smiled. “A love story…” She walked away.
“You can forget about that picture, dear.” Lucille said for all to hear. “Even if it gets made, no one wants to see a picture starring a sweet, innocent little WHORE!”
She whirled around and slapped Lucille’s face. The room gasped. Lucille stood unmoved, just a moment, then calmly reached for the champagne in her hand and threw it in her face.
She looked down at her beautiful blue gown. She looked at everyone in the room, thinking…oh God, what they were thinking? She covered her face with her matching gloves. She had to get out of there before they all started laughing. She couldn’t stand the laughing. So she ran, ran to anywhere, somewhere, as long as it wasn’t here.
Lucille casually walked to the corner, knowing everyone in Hollywood was watching not her, but the tarnished star running away. It wouldn’t be long before everyone was quietly whispering, and Lucille knew without a doubt most of it would be blown way out of proportion. She walked over to David Turner, stunned but standing tall, the bastard.
“Lucille,” he said. “What have you done?”
She looked at him and took the drink out of his hand. “Cleaning up the mess, again.” She started to drink, but saw the look in his eyes. “And don’t tell me that didn’t take care of the problem.”
She watched the cameras fighting to get another shot, the best shot, any shot. “I don’t understand.” She said to the women she half had her back to. “Why her? She lost.”
“Ursella dear, not her…them.” She looked over her shoulder at her. “She’s Cinderella and that definitely is the Handsome Prince.”
“I thought he was straight.”
“You know her track record. He won’t be when she gets finished with him.” They both snorted in their drinks. She waved and put on a big Hollywood smile at the director she knew was casting a part she wanted who was coming in the door. She could almost swear he had been avoiding her all night.
Ursella watched as the couple stepped away and into the crowd. “There they go. I just don’t understand it. Him yes, her no.”
“She won’t last.” She sipped her drink. “Him, I’d like to wear out myself.”
“Maybe we’re just jealous.”
“Of what?”
“Well…” She put her empty glass down and snatched another off the waiter’s tray as he whisked by. “She’s young and beautiful and hot, and face it, we aren’t anymore.”
“Speak for yourself.” She moved toward the man with the part. “Kisses, dear.”
“Same. Lunch?”
“Call me.” She stopped the couple walking past her. “Susan, darling, you look divine.”
“Thank you, Ursella.” Susan stopped, but kept her arm wrapped in her husband. “And you…who are you wearing?”
“Vera Wang, of course. I live and die by Vera Wang.”
“It’s beautiful, my dear.” Jeremy took her hand and kissed it. “You, like fine wine, just get better with age.”
She put her hand to her heart and feigned swooning. “Charmer. I don’t know how she keeps a tiger like you tamed.” She smiled at him although in her head she was seething that the son of a bitch had made a crack about her age.
“Chains…lots of whips and chains.” Jeremy Tyson smiled, and his wife blushed.
“Jeremy!” Susan said, hand to mouth. “Will you excuse us, Ursella?”
“Of course. Kisses.” She watched them fold into the crowd. As soon as she was sure they couldn’t see, she shot them the bird. She looked up and saw someone watching. “Lucifer! Darling! Just the man I wanted to see!” She waltzed right over, before he could run away.
Her now empty space cleared the line of vision for the couple standing behind her. The young man spotted someone and grabbed his wife’s hand. “Look, there stands Scott Barlow.”
“Who’s that?” She crinkled her nose.
“The producer who said I couldn’t act my way out of a jock strap.” He clutched his freshly won Oscar. “Come on, let’s go shove this up his ass!”
Off they headed, revealing Trampus Scott, knocking back another in all the hubbub. He barley noticed the classic blonde come up and give him a kiss on the cheek. He turned to look at her and smiled.
“Hello, Saxon. Come to join me in the loser’s club?”
“So we lost. Big deal.” She slipped her arm around him. “Our time will come.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He put his empty glass on the bar. “Another. You’ve only lost once. I’m a three time loser.”
“Stop.” She straightened his tie for him. “You look dashing as usual.”
“And where’s your date?”
“Trying to find the little boy’s room.”
“So what’s he got that I don’t got, beautiful?”
“He’s an old friend I made a promise to, and you’re an old hound who just opens up his front door, points and grunts ‘You!’.”
“Oh, yeah. I keep forgetting.” He reached up and whisked a small stray hair from her forehead. “So is this the start of something big, or do I still have a chance?”
Saxon threw back her head and laughed. “Trampus. Ian and I, well it’s a long story, we’ll just say there were too many chances we both let pass by until we both just know it would never ever be.”
“So I do still have a chance.” He whisked her up in his arms making her laugh some more.
“Oh hell no.”
“Why not?”
“You can’t keep it in your pants.”
“I just need the right woman to tame me.”
She playfully slapped his chest. “You just need the right vet to neuter you. You know that’s what it would feel like.” He smiled. She made him smile. She liked that. “I know you like the back of my hand Trampus Scott, and you know I will always love you, but…”
“I’m never getting in your pants…”
“Not in a million years.” She kissed him on the lips. “Now let’s go find the other man whose never getting in my pants.”
Saxon pulled away, but Trampus grabbed her back and whispered in her ear. “I know you like the back of my hand, Saxon Allen. Don’t bullshit a bullshiter.” He kissed her forehead and let her go.
Ian had teased Saxon all night about her bladder. The tables had turned, and if he didn’t find the bathroom soon he’d never get the deposit back on the stupid tux. This was the third party they’d made an appearance at. Almost all the same faces at every one. A few drinks, some mingling and pictures, pictures and more pictures.
It wasn’t that he wasn’t having fun. He and Saxon always made everything fun. It was nice to see her just be the perky little blonde he’d met in that acting seminar and not the savvy industry professional that had gotten her so far.
He heard a little music from his breast pocket. He pulled it out and hit the little button.
“WHERE RU?” She texted.
“F IF I NO, TRYING TO FIND PLACE TO P.” Ian fumbled to text back.
“RESQ ME SOON”
“P FIRST, U NEXT.” He started to slip it back in his pocket.
“What is that?” A familiar voice asked.
“Susan.” Ian smiled and kissed her cheek.
“Am chopped liver?” Jeremy asked.
“What you wanna kiss, too?”
“Well, maybe not in public.” He winked.
Ian wanted to crawl under the closest table.
“Don’t act like my youngest, trying to hide something, Ian. Tell Mommy want you have in your hand.”
“It’s a blackberry.” He held it up for her to see.
“I thought you hated those things.”
“Saxon sent it to me as a joke.”
“Interesting color.” Jeremy said as Ian tucked it in his pocket.
“Raspberry.” They looked at Ian with blank faces. “Inside joke, you really had to be there.”
“You two make a beautiful couple.” Susan smiled. “Everyone’s talking.”
“Well, we’ve known each other for several years, dear friends.”
“People are making assumptions.”
“That’s not our problem.” Ian said not meaning to be short, but if he had to stand here and make small talk much longer, people would no longer have to make any assumptions about the puddle he’d be standing in.
“I signed El Toro to a record deal.” Susan put her hand on his chest.
“That’s wonderful. They deserve it. I wish them the best.” Ian smiled.
“And I bought their songbook.”
“Oh.”
“I didn’t realize that you had written so many of their songs.”
“Co-wrote, a long time ago.”
She smiled. “Why don’t you come to dinner, Wednesday night?”
Jeremy leaned over and whispered in his ear. “We’ll send the boys to spend the night at the grandparents.”
“Thank you, but I can’t.” Ian looked at the floor.
“Another time, then?” She asked so, so sweetly.
“Uh, no. I’m sorry.” Ian didn’t want to lie. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t do that again.
“Oh…” Susan took her hand off his chest.
“Look, call the office. I’d be more than happy to take a meeting with you. In fact, I think we can be of mutual benefit to each other professionally and I hope we can be friends.”
“Absolutely.” Jeremy said, but Ian couldn’t help but see the disappointment in both their eyes.
“Good. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
“Yes, of course.” Susan said.
Ian turned to go and Jeremy grabbed his arm and leaned in to whisper in his ear. “The bathroom is to your right in the corner.” Jeremy’s eyes gleamed.
“Thank you. You don’t know how much I thank you.” Ian had never meant anything so much.
Ian was thanking God, Jesus, Buddha, Good Karma, Mrs. Butterworth and Sookie Stackhouse that there was no line. He tried very nonchalantly not to slam the door open and head for the closest urinal, starting to unzip his trousers before the door was even shut. He closed his eyes in relief the moment he was home free.
As the desperation eased, he opened his eyes and saw his own reflection staring back at him. He could also see a familiar sight of that night at the sinks behind him, some dude bent over with a rolled up dollar sniffing white powder up his nose. Ian leaned in a little closer to assuredly recognize the familiar hair cut attached this particular nose.
The blonde tipped Mohawk straightened up, rubbed his nostrils and breathed in the stubborn powder that hadn’t gone up with the first good snort. He shook his head and tucked the bill back in his tux then licked the fat of his hand after he wiped the marble. Ian saw him look at the mirror above his own head.
“So the legendary Ian Justyn” the Brit smiled. “We meet at last.” He came sauntering over to the next urinal.
“We’ve met before.” Ian cursed his bladder for being so full.
“Sorry, I don’t remember.”
“I’m not surprised.”
Chamberlain shook his head. “So are you enjoying the big night?”
“I apologize Mr. Chamberlain, but I am very uncomfortable having any sort of conversation with another man when we are both holding our penises.”
“We didn’t have sex then.” The man said and zipped up. Ian didn’t hear the bathroom door open, he just tried to hurry up and get out of there.
London leaned against the wall as Ian tried to turn his back to him and quickly finish. London rubbed his belly, this time covered in a surprisingly stylish tux. “So the rumors are true…” he leered.
Ian was finally able to zip up and flush. “You were being so nice…please; I don’t even know how to respond to a comment like that.” He walked over to the sink and turned on the tap. Soaping his hands and washing up.
“Easy, mate.” London smiled. “Why don’t you come in one of the stalls and suck me off?”
Ian smiled back. “Why don’t you go fuck yourself?”
“No need to be rude…you don’t have to swallow.”
Ian balled up the paper towel he’d dried his hands on and pitched it at the Brit, hard. It bounced off his shoulder, smacked against the matching marble wall and nailed him in the left temple. “You’re making an unsolicited pass and I’m rude?”
“You're the one wagging that big willy and battling those deep sexy blue eyes at me.”
“Look, I am pretty sick and tired of everyone saying…yeah, compared to yours it’s humongous, but it’s just a cock…attached to a guy who doesn’t appreciate getting hit on by some drug soaked washed up boy band reject who hasn’t shown any potential of his talent on his last three albums. Check into rehab London, get off your knees, get off your back and get your act together. When you are sober and thinking with your heart and not your testicles maybe then you can make some real art instead of some self gratifying expensive farts that don’t even resemble music.”
Chamberlain stood there crossing his arms and glaring at Ian.
“One more thing…” Ian was on a roll and he wasn’t going to stop now. “Just a question actually…do you seriously think that Mohawk thing is attractive or is it just another ploy to get attention, because if it is, I have to tell you…it’s working. Everyone who sees it points and says ‘who the fuck is that moron?’”
Ian heard applause from behind him, and Chamberlain stood there refaced and speechless. Ian turned his back on him, picked up the towel wad and put it in the trash.
“Don’t you walk away from me,” Chamberlain shouted behind him. “Nobody walks away from me!” Ian kept walking, not even pausing as he shot him the bird.
“God damn it! Get back here!” He heard the man screaming as Ian pushed open the door and let it slam behind him.
Ian heard the door open and shut as he walked to find Saxon. A man he didn’t know walked by, patted him on the shoulder and said “Way to go.”
A second put his hand on his shoulder and stopped him. “You okay?” Trampus Scott asked.
Ian nodded. “You were in there?”
“Stall next to the wall, ready to jump in if the fists started flying.”
Ian smiled. “Actually that felt pretty good.” Trampus laughed. “I’ll have to do that more often…uh, don’t tell my staff though.”
Trampus put his fingers to his lips. “Our secret. Come with me, I left your date waiting for you over this way.”
A few steps and there she was, chatting with someone he was sure was famous, but he was sure he didn’t care. He just wanted to see the smile, the one that ever since he was a backward 19 year old filled his heart and said “You’re just fine, hay seed.”
Saxon saw him coming her way. There she was and there it was. Ian smiled back. She simply held out one arm and allowed him to slip right into her, like a warm, safe place he belonged. She put her head on his shoulder and sighed as she chatted up who ever it was she was chatting up. She softly rubbed her hand up and down his back gently until the trembling in his legs stopped.
When the chatty person holding the Oscar shook his hand, said good evening and walked off. Ian kissed the top of her head. “There that wasn’t so bad was it?”
She wrapped her other arm around him, lay her cheek tenderly on his chest and sighed. “Thank you, Ian. I have had such a good time.”
“That’s what you’re paying me for.” He pushed her back and looked in her eyes. “We did discuss my bill, didn’t we?”
She giggled. “Stop. You’ll make me snort again. You have made this night absolutely wonderful. I’ve not had this much fun since we jumped the fence and peed in all the kegs at the Delta Phi Sorority Homecoming.”
“Shhh.” He said. “You made me promise not to discuss your weak bladder…again…tonight.” He kissed her on the cheek. “But just tonight. Tomorrow is another day.”
“So, this is the last one. Shall we call it a night?” She smiled at him.
“Sure. But I think we should take the limo somewhere and get a chili dog, we’re dressed for it. Might as well make the most of it.”
“And chocolate shakes?” She looked hopefully.
“Who’d eat a chili dog without washing it down with a chocolate shake? That’s just uncouth.”
She took his hand. “You’re on.” She started to head to the door.
“Wait. Wait!” He gently stopped her. “We’ve done what you wanted all night. Now it’s my turn.”
“What?” She cocked her head and grinned. She lowered her voice. “You wanna pee in the champagne fountain?”
“Oh, if you’d only suggested that five minutes ago.”
Saxon so daintily snorted. Ian took her hand and put it to his heart. “Listen…”
“What?”
“Shh…shhh…listen.” He pulled her in close. “Hear the music?”
“Music?”
Ian pulled her close and whispered in her ear. “Dance with me, Saxon. Fulfill the promise you made my heart a long time ago and let it dance with the most beautiful girl in the world.”
Saxon sighed. She leaned against him and began to sway gently. The music swelled and they began to glide softly and surely to the music that beat through the night. Everyone in the room watched them, sighed with them and envied them. They all sat back in awe and watched Prince Charming finally get his dance with Cinderella.
“Aw Kyle.” Janie sat by her son on the couch and handed him the steamy bag fresh out of the microwave. “Careful, honey pot. Ain’t gonna hurt you t’miss one ball game.”
“Do we gotta watch this shit?” He looked at the screen at all the women in fancy gowns sticking microphones in the faces of other woman in fancy gowns.
“Sparky Jarvis called this mornin’ and said her brother had called her to tell me that Daddy got a call tellin’ Ronnie to be sure and watch.” She shook the old bowl, now filled with popcorn. “Good hardly a burned piece at all.”
“The burned pieces is m’favorite.” Ronnie said.
“I like the old maids at the bottom.” She told him.
“I like them, too.” He said. “I like to suck the salt off and spit ‘em out.”
“You just like t’spit.” Kyle slammed back in his chair. “Who is all them people?” He pointed at the screen.
“It’s the ‘Cademy Rewards, Daddy.” Ronnie explained.
“Cademy Rewards?” He looked at his wife and tried not to smile. “What’s that?”
“Don’t you know nothin’?” The child asked.
“I reckon not, son. Gimme some a that popcorn.” He reached for a handful from the bowl. “Tell me ‘bout it.”
“Well…” The boy explained, sure of his expert knowledge. “It’s when all them people that makes the movies put on the nicest clothes they can find and throw a big party so they can make fun a each other’s clothes.”
“It is?”
“Uh huh, and when they get done withat, they give each other prizes.”
“Why do they give each other prizes?”
Ronnie had to think a moment. “I think it’s kinda a race, like they have down at Bristol, but with movies not cars. Whoever’s the best at it, gets a prize.”
“Well…that makes sense.” Kyle exchanged glances with his wife. “So is this the costume part or the prize part?”
“I ain’t sure. They’s awful pretty, though.”
Janie looked at the screen. “Oh look, that is the prettiest dress I’ve ever seed.”
“You’d look nice in that, Mommy.” Ronnie chewed thoughtfully on some popcorn. “Maybe I’ll save up my bottle money and get one just like it for ya on your birthday.”
“Why that’s real thoughtful honey pot, but I’d rather you save yer money for something you want.”
“But I want to gets it for ya. I bet they’ve got one just like it down at the Kmart, and surely it cain’t cost that much.” Ronnie pointed to a new woman on the screen. “Now that lady’s dress was spensive, you kin tell ‘cause otherwise she’d a been able to buy a comb fer her hair, too.”
Janie looked back at the screen. “Who’s that woman, Kyle? Don’t she look familiar?”
“She’s probably on one of yer stories, Janie.”
“No she’s not. The people on m’stories are real, not movie stars.”
Kyle leaned forward and squinted at the screen. “Well, I swan…I believe it’s that girl from Grundy, ain’t it? Turn it up…”
Janie half stood and reached over to turn the volume up and quickly sat back down. They could hear a woman say more clearly now…”
“Saxon you look beautiful tonight. Who are you wearing?”
“Oh thank you, Montana.” Saxon beamed at the camera and waved to someone they couldn’t see. “This is an Orlanda D’Gamo, an up and coming designer that I just adore.”
“It’s breath taking…and the jewelry?” she asked. Both the women’s heads turned to someone off screen.
Saxon giggled and slapped at someone they couldn’t see. “Be good…”
Montana got a wry grin on her face. “And speaking of beautiful, Saxon, I see besides the Tiffany bracelet on your arm, you are also sporting the exquisite Ian Justyn…come in closer and let us talk to you.”
“That’s Mr. Ian!” Ronnie pointed at the screen. “It’s Mr. Ian.”
“Oh no, I’m just arm candy tonight…thanks.”
“Stop.” Saxon tugged on Ian until the camera could get a good shot of them both. “You are nobody’s arm candy.” The camera could finally see them both in matching shades of dark blue.
“They are such a cute couple…” Janie murmured out loud.
“And who are you wearing, Ian?”
“Uh…Homer Thistlewhite…”
“Who?”
“Bill Blass…” Saxon giggled. “He’s wearing Bill Blass.”
“This must be a big night for both of you, small town kids…you went to school together I understand…”
“Old friends, very very old friends” Ian agreed.
“Ian…not that old.” Saxon chided him. “You talk like we’re wearing Depends.”
Ian pointed at Saxon. “She is…she has a terrible bladder control problem.”
Saxon covered her mouth, trying very hard not to snort, as Ian knew she tended to do when was able to keep her laughing.
“And now you are here together at the biggest night in Hollywood. Saxon there must be a lot of people from your small town glued to the set tonight. Would you want to say anything to them?”
“Oh, just how much I love ‘em and how much I appreciate all the support.”
“I’m sure you’ll have a chance to thank them all if you win.”
Saxon just smiled. You couldn’t help but notice Ian elbow Saxon just a little and nod toward the camera. “Oh, I almost forgot. I wanted to say hello to Ronnie Osbourne back in Lost Mountain, Virginia and to tell him that I hope he wins.”
Montana was a little flustered, but the Osbournes didn’t hear her, they were too busy shouting at each other.
She could not believe the big deal everyone was making of it. Every channel in this stupid town was glued to it. Oh, sure, she always watched, every year, but Clare could not believe that since she’d gotten up this morning that was all that was on the TV.
She finally just gave up. She looked over at the thick envelope that was laying on the nightstand; cash, more cash than she’d ever seen. It was just there. She heard a knock on her door this morning, and when she opened it up it was right there at her feet. She looked around but saw no one. It was creepy.
Clare picked it up and leafed through it again. “Holy words my mother told me never to say.” She breathed and folded the flap shut. “I can’t keep this.” She tossed it in her lap.
She focused her attention back on the TV screen. She looked at all the pretty people in all their pretty clothes, and thought. “And now I figure out how to get back home.” She sighed and took a drink from the warm pop can that had been there all day. She looked at the envelope. “Well, that would easily get me a plane ticket and then some…and I am definitely going to need money.”
She flopped back on the bed, putting the pillow over her face and thrashing her feet. She’d overplayed her hand and lost. She just could not believe she’d lost. Clare Humphreys always won, always, but there was nothing she could do.
“And in less than an hour those velvet doors will be shut and someone’s dream will come true…” said the guy on the television she knew from that stupid talent program she refused to watch.
She threw the pillow that had been over her face at the screen. “My dreams aren’t gonna come true. They just exploded in my face!” She seethed and then burst into tears.
She cried for a while and then reached for a Kleenex, knocking that thick envelope in the floor. “Crap.” She whined and sniffed. She reached down and stuffed some of the money that had fallen out back in. Clare paused a moment and turned the envelope back and forth.
“No address, just a phone number. How am I supposed to return this? Just leave it on the dresser when I get tossed out tomorrow?” She wiped her nose. “That’s real smart. What a nice little ‘Welcome to the Fleabag’ gift for the next person who checks in or the maid…like they have one.”
She got up and looked at her face in the dirty mirror. “God, I looked like somebody ran over my dog and then shot me.” She opened the rusty tap and tried to wash her face.
“Ladies and gentlemen, one of tonight’s nominees…Saxon Allen…” the man said.
Clare looked at the reflection of the screen in the mirror. “Just kill me now…”
“Listen to that dip prattle on…” She sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m so happy. I’m so lucky. I’m so pretty…hope she looses.”
She reached for the hot Pepsi and took another drink glued to the screen. “…No…” Clare scurried to the edge of the bed. “That can’t…it had better not be!” She grabbed the remote and started changing channels, the Oscar parade everywhere.
She stopped at the channel that had a close up of Saxon Allen waving at someone and holding hands with her escort, but Clare couldn’t get a good look. She pointed the remote again until she spotted her again, back where she started…
“Oh stop, you goof.” Saxon Allen playfully smacked someone off screen.
“You look like you are having a great time.” The man said and pointed the mike back at her.
“I am having a great time.”
“And it seems like this man is providing it. Would you like to introduce him to us?”
“Yeah, Kleenex Girl…” Clare squinted. “Let’s see the ‘mo you’ve got…” Clare stopped in mid sentence when the camera pulled back enough to show her escort, smiling, dressed in a deep blue tuxedo and obviously adoring the bleach blonde bimbo who had slept her way to the top…Ian.
“NOOOOO!” She stood up and screamed.
Someone pounded on the wall, “Shud’up over there!”
Clare hurled the pop can at the wall and began to pace the room. “I can understand that I screwed up. I got dumped. It’s over. I can accept that. I have to...” She hurled her face back to the screen just in time to see Ian kiss Saxon Allen on the cheek.
“But I will not be replaced by a cheap, no talent, bra stuffing, corn bread eating, coal dust covered slut from Grundy!”
Clare grabbed at the envelope, throwing wads of cash on the floor until she found the little card with the phone number on it. She picked up the phone and walked to the mirror as she dialed and heard it ring.
As soon as the line picked up she spit. “It’s Clare Humphreys…what did you have in mind?” As she listened she wiped the tears from her cheeks with a hundred dollar bill.
She was so enjoying herself. She used to hate this. They had to force her to do it, but she had come to like it, adore it, and then suddenly they didn’t want her to do it any more.
She turned and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Someone had designed it just for her, blue, her favorite color. And not just blue, royal blue, for that’s what she was—royalty, Hollywood royalty. She understood that now, and she was not about to be kept in the background any longer.
She sipped her champagne, tipping her head slightly to the handsome young actor that smiled at her from across the restaurant. She sighed. He was a nobody, and she was a somebody.
Her fingers played with the jewelry that graced her neck. She smiled; at least he wasn’t around to tell her to stop. She had taken care of that. She was in control now; she knew it and no one could say anything different. As soon as the new musical came out, she was going to put him in his place for good.
They thought she was stupid. She sipped her champagne again so no one could see the wry smile. She’d been slipping away money and sending it to her cousin. She had put it all in the bank in her name, not his, not theirs, hers and hers alone. As soon as this movie opened, she wouldn’t need anyone.
It had been a big fight, but she held out and gotten what she wanted. It surprised everyone when the quiet little wallflower started making a few demands. They never thought she’d balk. She showed them.
Now it was her turn to make the monkeys dance. It was her turn to say do this, do that, wear this, wear that. They had made promises they had had no intention of keeping until she made them. She knew without her they had nothing. And she was smart enough to know that she didn’t need them anymore. She could do this. She really could.
“Aren’t you looking gorgeous tonight, dear.” The woman said as she passed.
“You, too.” She smiled, just a small one. The woman was shocked that she spoken back. No one expected that, but they’d better get used to it, no more quiet little mouse, no more hiding. Those days were gone and gone for good.
She glanced around the room, in now rehearsed shyness. They were all looking at her, admiring her, loving her. Yes, these were her people.
The water’s parted and in she came. She wasn’t afraid of her anymore. She was one of them.
Of course she came right up to her. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s the Academy Awards, Lucille. I belong here.”
“You weren’t nominated.”
She looked in her eyes; she knew that would throw her. “Neither were you.”
Lucille looked down her nose. “But James was.”
“Did he win?” Not that she really cared.
“No.” She stepped in close. “Where is he?”
“How would I know?” The waiter bowed and allowed her to replace her empty glass, with a deliciously full one. “Thank you.”
“Oh, please…” Lucille hissed. “I know what’s going on.” She said loudly.
“Lucille, keep your voice down. You’re making a spectacle of yourself.”
“Everyone knows you’re sleeping with him and I'M making a spectacle of myself!” She felt the ears of the room listening.
She dropped her eyes and looked at the floor, lowering her voice hoping Lucille would take her lead. “Lucille, you are mistaken.”
“No I’m not.” She looked around but lowered her voice.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“How dare you, tell me not to be ridiculous. If it weren’t for me…”
“Lucille, you keep insisting if it weren’t for you…did you ever stop to think if it weren’t for you that things wouldn’t be nearly as difficult as they are. We are stars, Lucille. You are a paid employee. Remember your place.”
Lucille squinted her eyes. “You remember yours.”
“This discussion is over.” She started to move away.
“Stay away from my husband.” Lucille warned.
“That will be hard to do, dear, since we are making a picture together.” She looked back into Lucille’s eyes and smiled. “A love story…” She walked away.
“You can forget about that picture, dear.” Lucille said for all to hear. “Even if it gets made, no one wants to see a picture starring a sweet, innocent little WHORE!”
She whirled around and slapped Lucille’s face. The room gasped. Lucille stood unmoved, just a moment, then calmly reached for the champagne in her hand and threw it in her face.
She looked down at her beautiful blue gown. She looked at everyone in the room, thinking…oh God, what they were thinking? She covered her face with her matching gloves. She had to get out of there before they all started laughing. She couldn’t stand the laughing. So she ran, ran to anywhere, somewhere, as long as it wasn’t here.
Lucille casually walked to the corner, knowing everyone in Hollywood was watching not her, but the tarnished star running away. It wouldn’t be long before everyone was quietly whispering, and Lucille knew without a doubt most of it would be blown way out of proportion. She walked over to David Turner, stunned but standing tall, the bastard.
“Lucille,” he said. “What have you done?”
She looked at him and took the drink out of his hand. “Cleaning up the mess, again.” She started to drink, but saw the look in his eyes. “And don’t tell me that didn’t take care of the problem.”
She watched the cameras fighting to get another shot, the best shot, any shot. “I don’t understand.” She said to the women she half had her back to. “Why her? She lost.”
“Ursella dear, not her…them.” She looked over her shoulder at her. “She’s Cinderella and that definitely is the Handsome Prince.”
“I thought he was straight.”
“You know her track record. He won’t be when she gets finished with him.” They both snorted in their drinks. She waved and put on a big Hollywood smile at the director she knew was casting a part she wanted who was coming in the door. She could almost swear he had been avoiding her all night.
Ursella watched as the couple stepped away and into the crowd. “There they go. I just don’t understand it. Him yes, her no.”
“She won’t last.” She sipped her drink. “Him, I’d like to wear out myself.”
“Maybe we’re just jealous.”
“Of what?”
“Well…” She put her empty glass down and snatched another off the waiter’s tray as he whisked by. “She’s young and beautiful and hot, and face it, we aren’t anymore.”
“Speak for yourself.” She moved toward the man with the part. “Kisses, dear.”
“Same. Lunch?”
“Call me.” She stopped the couple walking past her. “Susan, darling, you look divine.”
“Thank you, Ursella.” Susan stopped, but kept her arm wrapped in her husband. “And you…who are you wearing?”
“Vera Wang, of course. I live and die by Vera Wang.”
“It’s beautiful, my dear.” Jeremy took her hand and kissed it. “You, like fine wine, just get better with age.”
She put her hand to her heart and feigned swooning. “Charmer. I don’t know how she keeps a tiger like you tamed.” She smiled at him although in her head she was seething that the son of a bitch had made a crack about her age.
“Chains…lots of whips and chains.” Jeremy Tyson smiled, and his wife blushed.
“Jeremy!” Susan said, hand to mouth. “Will you excuse us, Ursella?”
“Of course. Kisses.” She watched them fold into the crowd. As soon as she was sure they couldn’t see, she shot them the bird. She looked up and saw someone watching. “Lucifer! Darling! Just the man I wanted to see!” She waltzed right over, before he could run away.
Her now empty space cleared the line of vision for the couple standing behind her. The young man spotted someone and grabbed his wife’s hand. “Look, there stands Scott Barlow.”
“Who’s that?” She crinkled her nose.
“The producer who said I couldn’t act my way out of a jock strap.” He clutched his freshly won Oscar. “Come on, let’s go shove this up his ass!”
Off they headed, revealing Trampus Scott, knocking back another in all the hubbub. He barley noticed the classic blonde come up and give him a kiss on the cheek. He turned to look at her and smiled.
“Hello, Saxon. Come to join me in the loser’s club?”
“So we lost. Big deal.” She slipped her arm around him. “Our time will come.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He put his empty glass on the bar. “Another. You’ve only lost once. I’m a three time loser.”
“Stop.” She straightened his tie for him. “You look dashing as usual.”
“And where’s your date?”
“Trying to find the little boy’s room.”
“So what’s he got that I don’t got, beautiful?”
“He’s an old friend I made a promise to, and you’re an old hound who just opens up his front door, points and grunts ‘You!’.”
“Oh, yeah. I keep forgetting.” He reached up and whisked a small stray hair from her forehead. “So is this the start of something big, or do I still have a chance?”
Saxon threw back her head and laughed. “Trampus. Ian and I, well it’s a long story, we’ll just say there were too many chances we both let pass by until we both just know it would never ever be.”
“So I do still have a chance.” He whisked her up in his arms making her laugh some more.
“Oh hell no.”
“Why not?”
“You can’t keep it in your pants.”
“I just need the right woman to tame me.”
She playfully slapped his chest. “You just need the right vet to neuter you. You know that’s what it would feel like.” He smiled. She made him smile. She liked that. “I know you like the back of my hand Trampus Scott, and you know I will always love you, but…”
“I’m never getting in your pants…”
“Not in a million years.” She kissed him on the lips. “Now let’s go find the other man whose never getting in my pants.”
Saxon pulled away, but Trampus grabbed her back and whispered in her ear. “I know you like the back of my hand, Saxon Allen. Don’t bullshit a bullshiter.” He kissed her forehead and let her go.
Ian had teased Saxon all night about her bladder. The tables had turned, and if he didn’t find the bathroom soon he’d never get the deposit back on the stupid tux. This was the third party they’d made an appearance at. Almost all the same faces at every one. A few drinks, some mingling and pictures, pictures and more pictures.
It wasn’t that he wasn’t having fun. He and Saxon always made everything fun. It was nice to see her just be the perky little blonde he’d met in that acting seminar and not the savvy industry professional that had gotten her so far.
He heard a little music from his breast pocket. He pulled it out and hit the little button.
“WHERE RU?” She texted.
“F IF I NO, TRYING TO FIND PLACE TO P.” Ian fumbled to text back.
“RESQ ME SOON”
“P FIRST, U NEXT.” He started to slip it back in his pocket.
“What is that?” A familiar voice asked.
“Susan.” Ian smiled and kissed her cheek.
“Am chopped liver?” Jeremy asked.
“What you wanna kiss, too?”
“Well, maybe not in public.” He winked.
Ian wanted to crawl under the closest table.
“Don’t act like my youngest, trying to hide something, Ian. Tell Mommy want you have in your hand.”
“It’s a blackberry.” He held it up for her to see.
“I thought you hated those things.”
“Saxon sent it to me as a joke.”
“Interesting color.” Jeremy said as Ian tucked it in his pocket.
“Raspberry.” They looked at Ian with blank faces. “Inside joke, you really had to be there.”
“You two make a beautiful couple.” Susan smiled. “Everyone’s talking.”
“Well, we’ve known each other for several years, dear friends.”
“People are making assumptions.”
“That’s not our problem.” Ian said not meaning to be short, but if he had to stand here and make small talk much longer, people would no longer have to make any assumptions about the puddle he’d be standing in.
“I signed El Toro to a record deal.” Susan put her hand on his chest.
“That’s wonderful. They deserve it. I wish them the best.” Ian smiled.
“And I bought their songbook.”
“Oh.”
“I didn’t realize that you had written so many of their songs.”
“Co-wrote, a long time ago.”
She smiled. “Why don’t you come to dinner, Wednesday night?”
Jeremy leaned over and whispered in his ear. “We’ll send the boys to spend the night at the grandparents.”
“Thank you, but I can’t.” Ian looked at the floor.
“Another time, then?” She asked so, so sweetly.
“Uh, no. I’m sorry.” Ian didn’t want to lie. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t do that again.
“Oh…” Susan took her hand off his chest.
“Look, call the office. I’d be more than happy to take a meeting with you. In fact, I think we can be of mutual benefit to each other professionally and I hope we can be friends.”
“Absolutely.” Jeremy said, but Ian couldn’t help but see the disappointment in both their eyes.
“Good. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
“Yes, of course.” Susan said.
Ian turned to go and Jeremy grabbed his arm and leaned in to whisper in his ear. “The bathroom is to your right in the corner.” Jeremy’s eyes gleamed.
“Thank you. You don’t know how much I thank you.” Ian had never meant anything so much.
Ian was thanking God, Jesus, Buddha, Good Karma, Mrs. Butterworth and Sookie Stackhouse that there was no line. He tried very nonchalantly not to slam the door open and head for the closest urinal, starting to unzip his trousers before the door was even shut. He closed his eyes in relief the moment he was home free.
As the desperation eased, he opened his eyes and saw his own reflection staring back at him. He could also see a familiar sight of that night at the sinks behind him, some dude bent over with a rolled up dollar sniffing white powder up his nose. Ian leaned in a little closer to assuredly recognize the familiar hair cut attached this particular nose.
The blonde tipped Mohawk straightened up, rubbed his nostrils and breathed in the stubborn powder that hadn’t gone up with the first good snort. He shook his head and tucked the bill back in his tux then licked the fat of his hand after he wiped the marble. Ian saw him look at the mirror above his own head.
“So the legendary Ian Justyn” the Brit smiled. “We meet at last.” He came sauntering over to the next urinal.
“We’ve met before.” Ian cursed his bladder for being so full.
“Sorry, I don’t remember.”
“I’m not surprised.”
Chamberlain shook his head. “So are you enjoying the big night?”
“I apologize Mr. Chamberlain, but I am very uncomfortable having any sort of conversation with another man when we are both holding our penises.”
“We didn’t have sex then.” The man said and zipped up. Ian didn’t hear the bathroom door open, he just tried to hurry up and get out of there.
London leaned against the wall as Ian tried to turn his back to him and quickly finish. London rubbed his belly, this time covered in a surprisingly stylish tux. “So the rumors are true…” he leered.
Ian was finally able to zip up and flush. “You were being so nice…please; I don’t even know how to respond to a comment like that.” He walked over to the sink and turned on the tap. Soaping his hands and washing up.
“Easy, mate.” London smiled. “Why don’t you come in one of the stalls and suck me off?”
Ian smiled back. “Why don’t you go fuck yourself?”
“No need to be rude…you don’t have to swallow.”
Ian balled up the paper towel he’d dried his hands on and pitched it at the Brit, hard. It bounced off his shoulder, smacked against the matching marble wall and nailed him in the left temple. “You’re making an unsolicited pass and I’m rude?”
“You're the one wagging that big willy and battling those deep sexy blue eyes at me.”
“Look, I am pretty sick and tired of everyone saying…yeah, compared to yours it’s humongous, but it’s just a cock…attached to a guy who doesn’t appreciate getting hit on by some drug soaked washed up boy band reject who hasn’t shown any potential of his talent on his last three albums. Check into rehab London, get off your knees, get off your back and get your act together. When you are sober and thinking with your heart and not your testicles maybe then you can make some real art instead of some self gratifying expensive farts that don’t even resemble music.”
Chamberlain stood there crossing his arms and glaring at Ian.
“One more thing…” Ian was on a roll and he wasn’t going to stop now. “Just a question actually…do you seriously think that Mohawk thing is attractive or is it just another ploy to get attention, because if it is, I have to tell you…it’s working. Everyone who sees it points and says ‘who the fuck is that moron?’”
Ian heard applause from behind him, and Chamberlain stood there refaced and speechless. Ian turned his back on him, picked up the towel wad and put it in the trash.
“Don’t you walk away from me,” Chamberlain shouted behind him. “Nobody walks away from me!” Ian kept walking, not even pausing as he shot him the bird.
“God damn it! Get back here!” He heard the man screaming as Ian pushed open the door and let it slam behind him.
Ian heard the door open and shut as he walked to find Saxon. A man he didn’t know walked by, patted him on the shoulder and said “Way to go.”
A second put his hand on his shoulder and stopped him. “You okay?” Trampus Scott asked.
Ian nodded. “You were in there?”
“Stall next to the wall, ready to jump in if the fists started flying.”
Ian smiled. “Actually that felt pretty good.” Trampus laughed. “I’ll have to do that more often…uh, don’t tell my staff though.”
Trampus put his fingers to his lips. “Our secret. Come with me, I left your date waiting for you over this way.”
A few steps and there she was, chatting with someone he was sure was famous, but he was sure he didn’t care. He just wanted to see the smile, the one that ever since he was a backward 19 year old filled his heart and said “You’re just fine, hay seed.”
Saxon saw him coming her way. There she was and there it was. Ian smiled back. She simply held out one arm and allowed him to slip right into her, like a warm, safe place he belonged. She put her head on his shoulder and sighed as she chatted up who ever it was she was chatting up. She softly rubbed her hand up and down his back gently until the trembling in his legs stopped.
When the chatty person holding the Oscar shook his hand, said good evening and walked off. Ian kissed the top of her head. “There that wasn’t so bad was it?”
She wrapped her other arm around him, lay her cheek tenderly on his chest and sighed. “Thank you, Ian. I have had such a good time.”
“That’s what you’re paying me for.” He pushed her back and looked in her eyes. “We did discuss my bill, didn’t we?”
She giggled. “Stop. You’ll make me snort again. You have made this night absolutely wonderful. I’ve not had this much fun since we jumped the fence and peed in all the kegs at the Delta Phi Sorority Homecoming.”
“Shhh.” He said. “You made me promise not to discuss your weak bladder…again…tonight.” He kissed her on the cheek. “But just tonight. Tomorrow is another day.”
“So, this is the last one. Shall we call it a night?” She smiled at him.
“Sure. But I think we should take the limo somewhere and get a chili dog, we’re dressed for it. Might as well make the most of it.”
“And chocolate shakes?” She looked hopefully.
“Who’d eat a chili dog without washing it down with a chocolate shake? That’s just uncouth.”
She took his hand. “You’re on.” She started to head to the door.
“Wait. Wait!” He gently stopped her. “We’ve done what you wanted all night. Now it’s my turn.”
“What?” She cocked her head and grinned. She lowered her voice. “You wanna pee in the champagne fountain?”
“Oh, if you’d only suggested that five minutes ago.”
Saxon so daintily snorted. Ian took her hand and put it to his heart. “Listen…”
“What?”
“Shh…shhh…listen.” He pulled her in close. “Hear the music?”
“Music?”
Ian pulled her close and whispered in her ear. “Dance with me, Saxon. Fulfill the promise you made my heart a long time ago and let it dance with the most beautiful girl in the world.”
Saxon sighed. She leaned against him and began to sway gently. The music swelled and they began to glide softly and surely to the music that beat through the night. Everyone in the room watched them, sighed with them and envied them. They all sat back in awe and watched Prince Charming finally get his dance with Cinderella.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Chapter Seven: Wrong
Ian awoke that morning to the sound of his temples pounding. He had never had a hangover before. His mouth was unusually dry as cotton. He popped a couple of aspirin. As he showered and readied himself for the day, he wondered why now. He had never been a heavy drinker and he had certainly “tied one on” before, but he had never felt the after effects like this.
Getting dressed and checking the time, he decided it maybe it was just his due. He was almost thirty. His body was changing. Ian made a mental note to watch any and all alcohol intake. If this is what it was going to do to him from now on, he’d stick with tea.
Speaking of which, he poured him self a glass and the aspirin started to kick in. He felt his almost usual morning energy begin and he decided to do a little cooking for Tippy’s “lunch thingy” at one o’clock. He hadn’t actually cooked in a while and enjoyed the rest of the morning, whipping up this and that, generally making a mess of his kitchen.
At one o’clock he proudly gathered his concoctions and headed to the back yard. Just as he began to step through the opening in the shrubs, Ian heard Tippy’s voice say “Hey!” from the other side. A bread roll came sailing through landing square on his forehead.
“Dammit, Miss Congeniality, I am coming!” He rubbed the crumbs off his face and stepped through to the dark side.
When he adjusted to his new surroundings he was pleased to see the Shores’ backyard set for an informal barbeque. Everyone was dressed, even Colton, who was in the opposite corner flipping burgers on what Ian’s uncle Nate would have called a ‘swanky grill’.
“Baby Doll, you made it!” Tippy hugged him almost causing him to drop his armload.
“It wasn’t difficult. I just followed the flying buns.”
Tippy smacked him playfully on the cheek, “Now not everyone is here yet, but let me introduce you.” She started to pull him off in the direction of a small clique chatting.
“Uh…Tippy, could I put this stuff down first?” He held up his armload. It was below her breast level. She probably couldn’t see it.
“Mercy sakes, Baby Doll, what is all this?” she asked, helping him to put it down.
“Well, I was feeling Paula Deanish this morning so I decided to supply a few touches of the South to this shindig.”
“You cooked?” Her eyes got big.
“Don’t worry; I’m not that bad a cook.”
“Oh, honey, it’s not that. I’m just surprised. Is there anything you can’t do?”
“Anyone can whip together some potato salad and a cheesecake.”
“Cheesecake? You made a cheesecake?”
“Well, no.” He peered into one of the bags and started pulling things out. “I made two, one New York style and one chocolate.”
Tippy sat the bag she was holding down on the nearest table and pulled out a cake pan, removing the lid and looking at it like it was a prized pig. “You made a cheesecake.”
“Yes.”
She looked at the cheesecake, then at Ian and back to the pie, “Colt, honey, we’re getting a divorce and I’m marrying Ian.”
Colton looked casually up from burger duty, “Okay Tippy, can we still have sex?”
“Well, of course!”
“Then I’m okay with it.”
Tippy quickly rummaged through the bags, squealing with glee at every little piece she pulled out. “Oh, I love this...”, “Oh my grandma used to make that….”, “Did you use Velveeta…?” Ian didn’t care if any of it tasted good; he just enjoyed seeing the look on Tippy’s face.
“Mmmmm, from now on...” Tippy cooed as licked the baked beans off the finger she had just dunked in the crock pot, “I’m not catering anything, I’m just telling you how many people are coming over.”
“I had fun,” Ian admitted, “besides it helped me get over the hangover.”
Tippy looked at him and grinned, “Did you have a good time, last night? I’ve been dying to know, but Colt refused to let me call or come over.”
A voice from the other side of the table piped in, “I don’t know if he had a good time, but everyone else there had a great time, and this man provided it!”
Tippy’s big brown eyes went huge, “Spill!”
Ian looked at the ground, “Aw, it was fun that’s all, and apparently I had a little too much to drink, either that or the scotch in California is a lot higher proof than back home.”
“Couldn’t tell you were drunk by the way you were singing and dancing. You were hot and on fire.”
“You didn’t!” Tippy grabbed Ian’s arm, “you sang and danced? I didn’t know you could sing and dance!”
“I can’t. That’s why I must have been drunk.”
“Buddy,” the man said as he took a slug from whatever was in his glass, “then you need to get drunk more often.”
Ian blushed and Tippy slapped him on the chest, “Oh my God! I’d have killed to see that!” She pinched Ian’s butt and sort of whispered, “You dog! Did ‘ja get laid, honey?”
“Tip? Someone’s at the front door and you gave Inez the afternoon off.” Colton yelled.
“Ian, don’t move! I want to hear every detail.” And she was off like, well, Mamie Rae Tipton.
The man stuck out his hand, “Jeremy Tyson.” He didn’t have to introduce himself. Ian had recognized him immediately.
“Ian Justyn” he said as he took the hand a shook it.
Jeremy was one of the biggest box office ticket in the film industry. An Aussie wild boy, with the reputation of a foul mouth, but well respected and admired among his peers. He had been a hard partying playboy until he shocked the industry by marrying Susan Andrews, sister half of America’s most successful pop duo, surprising everyone by not only making the marriage last but gaining the reputation of being a devoted family man.
Susan Andrews, America’s sweetheart, was not far from his side. Her stunning alto was the reason the recordings with her brother had rocketed to the top of the charts making them one of the all time best selling artists world wide. Her brother, a reputed temperamental control freak, was considered the creative genius, but it was Susan who had the talent. She, too, was anxious to introduce herself.
“You were wonderful last night.” she gushed like a teenager.
Ian was having a hard time swallowing it all, but thanked her politely and laughed when she asked what label he recorded for. He explained that he wasn’t a performer that he was in development for a network and left it at that.
“Well, if you change you mind, please, I’d love to talk with you about recording for my label.” She chirped.
“Well, next time I get drunk enough to think I could be a music superstar I’ll give you a call.” Ian had forgotten that when her brother had died unexpectedly three years ago of heart failure that Susan now had controlling interest in the mega music empire that her talent had helped forge.
Susan handed him her card, “Why don’t we get together and talk anyway, perhaps we could be of mutual benefit to each other some time.”
Jeremy chided his wife. “Now, Suzie, it’s a day off. You and Ian can take over the world tomorrow. Today is a play date, remember?”
She smiled, so captivating, Ian’s heart jumped. “Okay, darling, I remember.” She slipped her arm around her hubby’s waist. “See, we make a perfect team. I calm him down and he makes me remember what it’s like to be human and enjoy life.” Jeremy squeezed his wife’s shoulders and kissed her on the side of the forehead. Ian thought how gorgeous their children must be.
“I see you’ve met the Tysons,” Tippy returned, “and I’m sure they won’t mind if I steal you away and introduce you around before we eat.” And in Tippy style before anyone had a chance to say anything, Ian was whooshed around like the new Miss America, introduced to all there.
He met the couple who lived across the street; Michele Alexander, Terry Myers and “Call Me Chip” Ellison who lived in the apartment building to his other side. Also in tow, were Jesse, of course, and Tippy’s oldest son Reece, as were Wella, with the man she has met last night, Blake, and three interchangeable starlets whose names he didn’t remember, but recognized them from either television or film.
Also in tow was the second third of what the industry called ‘The Musketeers” franchise, Trampus Scott, whom along with Jeremy Tyson and a missing Lucian Jahn had a string of hit action films. The final guest was a young man that Ian recognized but couldn’t place.
“And this is Seven Wyatt”, Tippy introduced. “He works for you.”
Ian shook his hand, “He does?”
“Sort of, I’m on “Sebastian Manor”, Seven explained, “so I kind of work for you…for now.”
“Moving on when you’re contracts up?” Ian asked.
“Everyone knows that HRT wants to get out of daytime, so when the show’s contract with the network is up in January, we’ll all be looking for new jobs.”
Ian smiled, “Well, I don’t know about that, I for one don’t think that’s a wise move.”
Seven nodded, looking at the ground, showing off the long black eyelashes that made the fans of the show swoon. “It’s a piece of crap and we all know it’s a piece of crap.”
“You’re right. It’s terrible. At one time it was so bad it was fun, but that got old after a while.” Ian agreed. “Daytime isn’t my baby, but many of you are very talented and I’m sure that no matter what happens, work will not be hard to find.”
“Oh please, how anyone even know if we had talent? Have you tried to say those words?” Ian knew how bad the scripts were. They had made him cringe every time he forced himself to watch.
“As I see it,” he responded truthfully, “any one who can say that garbage in those ridiculous plotlines and make it sound like normal conversation has talent. Prime example, how long has your character been tied up in that basement naked?”
Seven laughed, “I get your point. I don’t understand why I’m naked, other than the fact that because of the budget cuts they started with my wardrobe.”
“See…” Ian pointed at him, “Talent…and hard abs don’t hurt.”
The rest of the afternoon was a conglomerate of conversations and food. Although the guest list amounted to a broad spectrum of the people next door and the industry powerful, it was a great combination. Friendships were made and the day was filled with laughter and food.
Ian found himself sitting on a chaise conversing with Trampus Scott and Jeremy Tyson. The day had been of surprisingly little shoptalk, and delightfully about normal things that guys would talk about. Jeremy wanted to know how many “birds” Ian had bagged after he left the club last night and Trampus kept trying to light cigarettes that Tippy would grab out of his mouth and throw in the trash can.
“Dammit, Tippy, where can a guy go to get a smoke around here?”
Tippy batted her eyes at him, “Next door? Is that okay, Baby Doll?”
“Sure Tippy, me casa, su smoking lounge!”
“That’s my boy.”
“Com’mon, Trampus, I could use one myself,” Ian hoisted himself up off the chaise, and checked to make sure his phone was still in his pocket. “Follow me boys and fellow nicotine addicts.”
As Ian walked through the trees he could hear Tippy bellow, “And if you got another cheesecake, bring it back with ya!”
In a matter of seconds, Ian, Trampus, Jeremy and Seven where all in Ian’s yard desperately pulling out their brand of cancer stick.
“Man that tastes good. There’s nothing like a smoke after a job well done.” Trampus sighed as he released a thick cloud from his lungs.
Ian tripped up the balcony to get a second ashtray. “Make yourselves at home guys,” Ian said since they already had.
Jeremy said looking at Ian, “I can’t believe you don’t sing for a living, mate. You could be huge!”
“Not interested.”
“Why not? You’d get all the birds you wanted, and probably some blokes, too, if that’s what you were in the mood for.” He chirped.
Seven noticed that Jeremy wasn’t smoking and offered him one of his, “You wanna a smoke?”
He waved his hand, “Naw, thanks though, mate. I promised Suzie that I wouldn’t.”
“You are so whipped.” Trampus teased.
“Yes. I am.” He agreed without hesitation, “but it has its benefits.” He added with a throaty laugh. “I can barely walk this morning.” He pulled open the elastic band on his shorts and looked down at his crotch, “Poor monster’s all sore and chaffed.”
“Man, put that pitiful thing away…” Trampus rolled his eyes, “any excuse to pull your pants down, you just want everyone to have pity on you, for Chris’ sakes”
He yanked his pants back up with a snap of the elastic and sat down, “You’re just jealous.” Jeremy looked at the other two. “Someone went home alone last night…a little dry spell.”
“Rosey Palm and I had a whopping good time, thank you.” Trampus rebutted.
“I thought you had more hair on your knuckles than usual.” Jeremy snapped back. “Now what were we talking about? Oh, yeah…Ian why aren’t you in front of the camera instead of behind it.”
Trampus took a puff. “Good question and don’t give me the no talent crap. I was there, too.”
“Tried it, and I’m just more comfortable where I am.” Ian lit up his Marlboro. “Plain and simple.”
Jeremy nodded his head. “Alright, mate. I can accept that.”
“To be honest, I don’t see how you guys can do it, packaging yourself like so much meat and selling it. No offense, I’m one of the buyers, remember.” Ian puffed.
“None taken.” Trampus piped in. “Your gut tells you you’re more suited to choose the hamburger. Our gut tells us how to grind it up, wrap it up and what shelf to put it on.”
Seven interjected, “It’s a tough town. I’ve found you’ve got to take advantage of every situation you’re in, make the most of it good or bad.”
“Got my degree in that one.” Ian said quietly.
“Good for you.” Trampus said. “Make the most of the heat, that will always get you through the winter.”
Tyson snorted. “Thanks, Aesop.”
“Well it’s true.” Trampus crushed out his smoke. “I’ve been lucky. So have you.” He looked at his buddy. “We’ve used our highs to take care of the low times that are bound to come.” He picked the crushed butt up off the lawn and placed it in the ashtray Ian offered.
“By that he means we sock away as much of the profane amounts of cash they pay us away.” Tyson added.
“By low times, he means when no one will pay good money to see either of our wrinkled, sagging derrières anymore.” Trampus lit up a second and took a long drag.
“Or to pay for the plastic surgery to keep the buns perky a little while longer.” Seven teased.
“Personally, I’m hoping at age gracefully.” Jeremy mused. “Sooner or later, someone will take me seriously as an actor.”
“You are the highest paid film star in the world.” Ian reminded him. “You don’t consider that being taken seriously enough?”
“You put your finger on it right there, Ian.” Jeremy pointed at him. “I’m a film star, not an actor. You have a really big bug you want shot on the screen with a really big gun? I’m at the top of the list. You want to make a serious drama with depth and passion? My name is never brought up.”
“Like it’s that much better for me?” Trampus cracked.
“You just got your third Oscar nomination.” Tyson reminded him. “I think that effectively takes me out of your league.”
“I got lucky with the first film.” Scott defended. “A supporting actor nod for an indie during a lean year. The second was for the period piece. Shoot a musket, drop trou, die in your lover’s arms and bring in the bucks, they have to nominate you. It’s a rule.”
“What your excuse this year?” Ian asked with a smile on his face.
“Luck again, right place, right time.” Trampus lit another. “Saxon’s a friend, her co-star decided to have a very public meltdown a few days before production. She called, I answered.”
“But it was a romantic comedy, mate.” Jeremy retorted.
“Do you think it’s any easier to gain industry cred in a comedy?”
“Okay, dude.” Seven stepped in. “You’ve got a point there, but so does Jeremy. With that one stroke of ‘luck’ as you called it, you do have everyone looking at you in a different way.”
“A different way?” Trampus raised an eyebrow. “You know what I’ve been offered his week? A film reboot of “Red Dwarf” and a sci-fi flick set at a nudist colony on Mars!”
“Well at least that last one’s a different kind of action flick.” Jeremy laughed. “I guess we will both always be typecast as the dumb pretty boy.”
“You are a dumb pretty boy.” Trampus said. “I want that Oscar!”
“Do your next film for Harvey Weinstein, he’ll buy you one as a thank you gift.” Jeremy smirked.
Trampus looked over to Ian. “You’re awfully quiet.”
Colors were whirling in Ian’s head. “Do the “Red Dwarf” reboot. Don’t sign unless they give the other lead to Jeremy. If it falls through, let me know. I’d loved to do an American version for the network.”
“Really bad script.” Trampus said.
“Have you seen my show?” Seven tossed in.
“Seven, this script makes yours look like Shakespeare. I think they’re just offering it to me so I’ll turn it down. Then Adam Sandler and Eddie Murphy will fight over it.”
“They’d do that?” Ian was shocked.
“Happens all the time.” Jeremy confirmed. “Offer a piece of crap to someone at the top of the A list. They turn it down, but it gives the project cred and suddenly not quite so big names start screaming at their agents to get it for them.”
“Okay, that’s something I never thought of.” Ian made a mental note. “I’m so new at this. I’ll never survive.”
“Now there’s a successful attitude.” Jeremy warned.
“Hey, I’ll fight to stay here. I’m good at that.” Ian said. “There are just so many games. I’ve been naïve enough to think that even the awful stuff got made because at one time somebody thought it was wonderful.”
“Most stuff gets made because somebody at one time thought it would make money, lots and lots of money.” Trampus informed him.
“Face it, mate, your in show business, screw the art and show me the business.” Seven acknowledged.
“Well, that’s not why I’m here, and if it’s all about money,” Ian announced, “I don’t see what your problem is.” .
Jeremy and Trampus looked at each other. “Explain that one.” One of them said.
“Well, you’ve been complaining about not being taken seriously as actors, never being offered the scripts you want.”
“And?” said the other.
“Next time you find something you want to do, and the suits say no, why not just have the guts you claim to follow take a look at your bank statement and do it anyway? Form your own production company. Screw ‘em all.” Ian said.
Jeremy looked at Trampus, then back to Ian. “Do you know how expensive it is to produce a film?”
“Got a ball park.” Ian said emptying the ashtrays in the trash and wiping them out. “You want to do something else besides big budget action flicks, find a small budget drama the actor in you in crying out to do. Put your business where your mouth is.”
“But…” Trampus started to interject.
“Hold on.” Ian said. “I don’t know how I’m staying here, but I know how I got here. All my life I’ve been told I wasn’t good enough. A had to fight to survive when half the time even I believed them. I was born with nothing and it seemed like every day of my life was a battle just to keep it, a handful of squat.”
“You’re here now.” Seven said.
“And I got here because I got tired of less than nothing and when an opportunity came up I went after it. I knew there was no way in hell I was going to get a job as a network executive, and when somebody, God bless ‘em, had a brain synapse and gave me a call, I didn’t pussy foot around. I knew the only thing I had going for me was me.”
“You played the game and won.” Jeremy said.
“No, I played my game and trumped theirs. I told them exactly what I thought, not what they wanted to hear.” Ian found he was almost screaming. “Sorry, got myself stirred up.”
Trampus smiled. “I certainly see why they hired you. Damn, you know how to swing for the stands.”
“Now, I just have to figure out how to keep swinging.” Ian said.
“As I see it,” Jeremy looked at Ian “What got you here, is what’s gonna keep you here, mate.”
“Well, that’s all I got.” Ian said almost to himself.
“For now.” Jeremy smiled.
“I was trying to make a point, but my ego got in the way.” Ian said to himself. “Right. The next logical step, you too Seven, is to form your own production company. Stop whining about mot being taken seriously and take yourself seriously.”
“You got to continue to making the studios money if you want to keep working.” Trampus said flatly.
“Fine.” Ian stood his ground. “Keep making the big action flicks for the studios if you want, but use the success you’ve earned to do the kind of things you want. Make being bankable a hobby and make being an actor your career.”
Jeremy started hopping up and down. “Put me in coach! Put me in!”
Ian laughed at himself. “Sorry, got carried away.” He shrugged his shoulders. “It makes sense to me, but then again this time last year I was trying to figure out how to make corn production and hog calling interesting.”
“I love hog calling.” Trampus smiled.
“It how he gets laid.” Jeremy added.
In a few moments they were back with the group, but the shenanigans continued until the sun went down, and people started to disperse. Tippy thanked all for coming, Ian told everyone how genuinely pleased he was to meet them and everyone told Tippy what a great time they had.
Ian triple checked to make sure that he had his cell phone and crossed back home. He let himself in the house going straight to the closet and getting his guitar. He stripped down to his underwear, sat on the chair of the balcony and started strumming, but bits and pieces of the past kept coming in waves through his mind.
Ian’s hands were strumming, but his mind was folding moments over and over in his head. He was staring into space, playing his guitar, no idea how much time had passed and certainly no idea that he was being watched.
“Mom said that I should bring this stuff back over to you and thank you again for bringing it.” Reese was holding two bags, one in each hand. “She put everything in the dishwasher and to tell you again how delicious everything was.”
“Thank you, Reese. Just put ‘em down there and I’ll get them later.”
“I can take them inside for you, if you want.”
Ian stopped playing. “Okay, the doors unlocked.”
Reese let himself inside and Ian went back to staring into to nowhere and strumming the Gibson. In a moment, Ian heard a throat clear again. He looked again.
“Would it disturb you if I…” Reese nodded at the pool.
“No, go right ahead.”
“Thanks”, the young man said quietly and began to pull his shirt over his head pushing his sneakers off at the same time.
Ian continued to strum as Reese undressed. He was definitely the son on Colton Shores, the dark hair, still in the close-cropped military cut, and the broad, broad shoulders, quietly rugged and masculine.
Reese had served in the battlefields during the Iraqi conflict, which Tippy said he refused to discuss. He had always been quiet, she said and feared that his time in the military had forced him even more inward.
He refused to go out much and interaction with even his family was minimal. What Ian noticed was a 26 year old man, who had probably been through the most terrifying experiences anyone could imagine, much less a pampered Hollywood baby, and now just needed some quiet time to process it all.
When he was down to a pair of khaki color baggy boxers, Reese jumped in the pool and began to quietly swim back and forth. Ian went back to his strumming and thinking, but watching the man doing lap after lap, with the obsession of a long distance swimmer. As he reached the sides of the pool he would tag and flip over, coming back to the surface of the water and stroking to the other side.
Reese must have gone on non-stop for twenty minutes, Ian’s mind studying the whole time, but his eyes looking past the movement and finally beading in on a place that his mind went to, somewhere out of his own body, trapped in the terrors of the past. When Ian shook his head and snapped back to where he was, Reese had stopped swimming and was resting his chin on his folded arms, lower body still in the deep end of the pool, looking at Ian.
Reese didn’t smile. He just said flatly. “I like the way you play. It’s nice.”
Ian shook his head thank you. “Good night isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Reece agreed, “one of my favorite times of year.”
“I love the fall.” Ian thought out loud, “I’m not sure you have one of those here, do you?”
“Sort of, it mainly gets chillier at night and we get more rain.”
“I’m not sure I’m gonna like the lack of real seasons.”
“You get used to it. You get used to a lot of things around here.”
There was quiet for a moment and Ian strummed his guitar a little more. Reese laid his head down on his arms and looked at Ian sideways.
“I notice a lot.” Reese said quietly, never raising his head from its position on his arm. ”People think I’m quiet and stupid, but I’m not. I just like to observe.”
“I noticed that about you.”
“I know Mom and Dad are worried about me, but I’ll be alright. I just don’t know how to tell them.”
“They’re not stupid either Reese, they’ll catch on.”
He nodded his head. “You wanna talk about it?” There were more words coming from Reese than there had been the whole afternoon.
Ian stopped strumming and looked up. “Talk about what?”
“Whatever it is going on in your head, the thing that makes you so sad.”
Ian smiled. “I’m not sad.”
Reese blinked his eyes and was quiet a moment. “Yes, you are.”
Ian sensed his need to talk, so he put down his guitar and slowly made his way down to the pool. “Mind if I get in?” He asked.
“Your pool.”
Ian smiled as he slipped over the side beside Reece, “I keep forgetting.” He pushed himself down to the bottom and then floated back to the top, coming up wet and cool right beside Reece. Ian leaned his back against the pool wall beside Reese.
Reese hadn’t changed his position, his head was still lying sideways on his arms. They were quiet for another moment. Reese sighed. “You ever done it, with a guy?”
“Reese, I wonder if you should be having that conversation with your parents. It may be difficult, but they seem very open about sex and I’m sure they would…”
“Open?” Reese laughed and turned around facing the same direction as Ian. “The first time I snuck a girl in my room to have sex, my mother burst in the door and said, “Oh I’m sorry, I though I heard mice.” Then without as much as the bat of an eye she said, “Reese, honey, arch your back a little more, you’ll get deeper penetration and stimulate her clitoris more. She’ll love that.”
Ian laughed. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh.”
For the first time he saw Reese smile, “Its okay. It’s pretty funny, now, and she was right. Despite everything, my mother is almost always right.”
“I’m learning that.”
“So have you?”
“What?”
“Made it with a guy before?”
“No, and not interested. I have nothing against it, but it just doesn’t interest me.”
“That’s cool.” Reese said flatly. “I love sex with woman, but I’ve had sex with guys.” He sighed. “This is California. If a dude hasn’t had sex with another dude at least once he’s probably not been potty trained yet.”
Ian piped in, “It seems everyone I meet is beautiful, horny and not very discriminating about what sex they get off with as long as they get off.”
“That pretty much sums it up.”
“How do relationships survive here?” Ian pondered.
“Most of them don’t. Some do, but most don’t. A lot have a pact like my parents, but it doesn’t always work.”
“A pact?” They swim to the shallow end and sat on the bottom.
“You don’t know about that?”
“Not really.”
“It’s a pretty standard agreement. They only play around if the other spouse plays with them or watches; no one on one with the opposite sex unless the other one is there. Same sex play is permitted at any time provided condoms are used, and the spouse is honest about it.”
Ian was a little dumbfounded but not shocked. “That doesn’t seem very romantic. More like, oh I don’t know, rules to some kind of card game, not a relationship.”
“It works for some.”
“I guess it does.”
“It wasn’t going to be that way with me and Kelly. We were going to be monogamous and only make love with each other.”
“Who’s Kelly?”
Reese looked down in the water, like he’d let a secret he hadn’t meant to slip. “Someone I was in love with.”
“Have your parents met her?”
“No.”
“You should bring her to meet them.”
“Can’t”.
“Still overseas?”
“Dead.” Reese looked seep into the water.
Calloused hands dug into the scar tissue in Ian’s head with dirty fingernails and splattered bloody pulp everywhere. Almost as quickly the quake rocked him, the mess was pressed back together clean, slipped pristinely in the box and tucked away aware it couldn’t be seen or thought about again.
“Reese...I…” he stammered as he began to focus again on the outside.
When Ian was aware again, Reese was quietly crying. He knew that there was nothing he could say. He reached out and put an arm around him and squeezed him on the shoulder. “It’s okay. Really, it’s okay. I won’t say anything.”
Reese pulled himself into Ian’s shoulder and filled the pool with pent up tears. Ian didn’t know why, out of the blue, Reese had chosen him, maybe he was just in the right place at the wrong time, but he knew how Reese felt, he understood. How many times a day had Ian felt that he was alive and dead and totally unconnected.
He let Reese shake and cry. Sometimes the boy/man whaled, sometimes he just sniffled until the next uncontrollable wave of pain and anger over took him. It was an hour before Reese stopped, dried his eyes and himself and walked back over to his house.
It left Ian drained, but feeling as though he had made or at least was trying to make the connections that had always escaped him. The incident also bubbled something else up—fear, the fear that there were things he could never escape. Things he feared that his simple being touched off and made bad things happen to good people.
Ian dressed and put away the dishes that Tippy had cleaned and Reese had left on the kitchen counter. After everything was where he wanted it to be, he hopped in his car and drove to the convenience store at the end of the street to buy a carton of cigarettes. Damn but they were expensive. He thought he should give it up.
He had barely entered the house, just enough time to flip on the lights, when his doorbell rang. Ian looked out the peephole before he opened the door. He was surprised to say the least.
As he opened his front door he expressed that surprise, “I didn’t think I’d be seeing the two of you so soon.”
On his door stood Jeremy Tyson and Susan Andrews, holding hands and looking sheepish. “I hope you don’t mind that we stopped by without asking” she apologized.
“The kids are with her folks, and we didn’t want to go back to an empty house yet. We stopped for ice cream and saw your car pass by.” He explained. “Is it okay that we decided to follow you and take a chance?”
“Sure”, he opened the door wide and invited them in. “Welcome to my humble abode.”
Susan looked around, “Oh my, Miss Elizabeth left just about everything.”
“You’ve been here before?”
Jeremy said, “Many times. The Elysian’s were two of our favorite people. They are the ones that actually introduced us.”
Susan squeezed her husband’s firm shoulder. “They were such romantics.” Susan’s eyes shown bright and she walked to the painting on the wall in the stair wall. “I don’t believe it. She left this behind.”
Jeremy and Ian joined her and admired. “I love it, couldn’t bear to take it down or move much of anything at all. It just seems right the way it was.”
Jeremy touched the painting. “Did you know that Herman painted this?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“He was quite the artist. He worked in studio make up all his life, but painting was his real passion.”
“I didn’t know that either.”
Susan turned to Ian, “She was a contract player for a while, that’s how they met. She wouldn’t discuss it much, but whenever she was out of the room, Herman loved to talk about the old days.”
Jeremy put his arms around his wife’s shoulders, “And as soon as Miss Elizabeth walked back in the room, he would shut up changing the subject like a child caught telling a story”.
“They were such a great couple, made for each other. I often wondered why they never had children.” She said.
“I think they regretted it, especially as they got older. Elizabeth always got this sad look in her eyes when the subject came up.” Jeremy added as he led his wife to the couch Ian had silently offered them a seat on while they talked.
“I’m surprised she didn’t take that painting. She loved it.” Jeremy mused. “Although she never would have told Herman that. She was afraid it would go to his head. She’d get so mad when Herman would call it ‘The Untitled Masterpiece’. She’d fuss and he’d say back every time, well you know it is.”
“Actually, that seems the perfect name for it.” Ian said staring at the painting from his comfy chair.
Susan slipped her bag off her shoulder, opened it and reached inside. “It’s still playtime for us. Would you mind if Jeremy joins you in a smoke?” She pulled a cigarette and lighter out of her purse.
Ian was a little shocked. “Sure. No problem, if you don’t mind.”
“Actually I enjoy it now and again.” And she looked at her husband who had a twinkle in his eye. “And he does love it so; I can’t deny it to him all the time.”
“I let her control it.” He took the cigarette in his hand, put it to his lips and bent down to the flame she flicked. “That’s my Suzie, my control.”
Ian went to the table to find his new carton and opened his own pack. When he returned he found Susan had slipped to the floor and Jeremy to the end of the couch so he could share the large glass ashtray with Ian. Ian returned to his seat in the easy chair. Susan got up on her knees and flicked the little flame, to graciously light his cigarette.
They smoked for a moment in silence. Susan absentmindedly stroked her husband’s thigh. They were still dressed as they were this afternoon, he in Bermuda shorts and a sleeveless tank top, she in a tennis skirt and a matching cotton pullover. Susan looked at the hair on her husband’s thigh dance as she brushed it with her fingers.
“Ian, we so loved your performance last night.”
“Thank you.”
Jeremy looked at his wife and smiled. “I already told him all about it.” He kissed her and smiled.
She turned and looked at Ian. “We don’t get away too often. Sometimes the children need grandparent time and we try to take full advantage of it.”
“I understand.” Ian said as he put his cigarette out.
“You do?” she asked.
“Of course, it must be tough to get private time when you have small children. You have to make the most of it.”
“We try.” She said.
Jeremy kissed his wife again and then looked at Ian, his eyes doing a little dance. “We thought that maybe, hoped that you might want to help us make the most of our last hour of playtime tonight.”
Susan leaned back between her husband’s legs and rested her head on his crotch, and looked at Ian. “Would you mind terribly playing with us…?”
Ian knew he had to be getting the wrong idea. He had fantasized many times about Susan Andrews. He had dreamed of feeling her long blonde hair falling over his naked body as they made love. He never would have believed that he’d get the chance. Surely he was misunderstanding.
“I…”
“Its okay” she said getting back to her knees.
“Don’t be nervous, Ian.” Jeremy said quietly. “We’re just going to play. No one’s getting hurt. Just relax.” He stared at Ian with a calm cool sexiness.
“Okay” was all Ian could think to say.
“Don’t be nervous” Susan kissed her husband and he followed her lips to the floor with her.
Ian watched in silence for a moment. Okay so maybe he hadn’t misunderstood, the sight and sound of a husband and wife beginning to make love, both thrilling him and terrifying him.
Jeremy pulled his shirt over his head. Ian could see the taut abs and the mischievous sparkle in his eye that had made him the People Magazine’s sexiest man alive. He kissed his wife deeply, holding the small of her back, Susan staring into Ian’s eyes. Susan reached down and pulled off Jeremy’s sandals, as he reached over and squeezed Ian’s thigh.
“Let’s just all enjoy ourselves.” Jeremy sighed, before returning to his wife’s lips.
Jeremy, almost unnoticeably, took hold of the bottom of Susan’s shirt. She lifted her arms over her head, letting him slowly peel it off her torso, her waist length hair whisping back down over her back. She turned and looked over a naked shoulder and smiled at Ian, then bit her lower lip.
“My husband is so sexy, don’t you think?”
Ian was speechless, hands on the arms on the chair, feet flat on the floor, afraid to move. “So are you.”
“You can come play with us whenever you like.” Jeremy said as he took his wife in his arms and pulled her close, her arms wrapping themselves tightly around him. Jeremy hands slipped down her back, cupping her firmly, lifting her off the carpet enough to lay her gently on her back and fall into her.
Susan reached a hand to Ian. “Come and join us, Ian.” There was no way he could misunderstand what was going on now, especially with that look in her eyes. “Please come down here with us.”
And he did. God help him. Ian did.
Getting dressed and checking the time, he decided it maybe it was just his due. He was almost thirty. His body was changing. Ian made a mental note to watch any and all alcohol intake. If this is what it was going to do to him from now on, he’d stick with tea.
Speaking of which, he poured him self a glass and the aspirin started to kick in. He felt his almost usual morning energy begin and he decided to do a little cooking for Tippy’s “lunch thingy” at one o’clock. He hadn’t actually cooked in a while and enjoyed the rest of the morning, whipping up this and that, generally making a mess of his kitchen.
At one o’clock he proudly gathered his concoctions and headed to the back yard. Just as he began to step through the opening in the shrubs, Ian heard Tippy’s voice say “Hey!” from the other side. A bread roll came sailing through landing square on his forehead.
“Dammit, Miss Congeniality, I am coming!” He rubbed the crumbs off his face and stepped through to the dark side.
When he adjusted to his new surroundings he was pleased to see the Shores’ backyard set for an informal barbeque. Everyone was dressed, even Colton, who was in the opposite corner flipping burgers on what Ian’s uncle Nate would have called a ‘swanky grill’.
“Baby Doll, you made it!” Tippy hugged him almost causing him to drop his armload.
“It wasn’t difficult. I just followed the flying buns.”
Tippy smacked him playfully on the cheek, “Now not everyone is here yet, but let me introduce you.” She started to pull him off in the direction of a small clique chatting.
“Uh…Tippy, could I put this stuff down first?” He held up his armload. It was below her breast level. She probably couldn’t see it.
“Mercy sakes, Baby Doll, what is all this?” she asked, helping him to put it down.
“Well, I was feeling Paula Deanish this morning so I decided to supply a few touches of the South to this shindig.”
“You cooked?” Her eyes got big.
“Don’t worry; I’m not that bad a cook.”
“Oh, honey, it’s not that. I’m just surprised. Is there anything you can’t do?”
“Anyone can whip together some potato salad and a cheesecake.”
“Cheesecake? You made a cheesecake?”
“Well, no.” He peered into one of the bags and started pulling things out. “I made two, one New York style and one chocolate.”
Tippy sat the bag she was holding down on the nearest table and pulled out a cake pan, removing the lid and looking at it like it was a prized pig. “You made a cheesecake.”
“Yes.”
She looked at the cheesecake, then at Ian and back to the pie, “Colt, honey, we’re getting a divorce and I’m marrying Ian.”
Colton looked casually up from burger duty, “Okay Tippy, can we still have sex?”
“Well, of course!”
“Then I’m okay with it.”
Tippy quickly rummaged through the bags, squealing with glee at every little piece she pulled out. “Oh, I love this...”, “Oh my grandma used to make that….”, “Did you use Velveeta…?” Ian didn’t care if any of it tasted good; he just enjoyed seeing the look on Tippy’s face.
“Mmmmm, from now on...” Tippy cooed as licked the baked beans off the finger she had just dunked in the crock pot, “I’m not catering anything, I’m just telling you how many people are coming over.”
“I had fun,” Ian admitted, “besides it helped me get over the hangover.”
Tippy looked at him and grinned, “Did you have a good time, last night? I’ve been dying to know, but Colt refused to let me call or come over.”
A voice from the other side of the table piped in, “I don’t know if he had a good time, but everyone else there had a great time, and this man provided it!”
Tippy’s big brown eyes went huge, “Spill!”
Ian looked at the ground, “Aw, it was fun that’s all, and apparently I had a little too much to drink, either that or the scotch in California is a lot higher proof than back home.”
“Couldn’t tell you were drunk by the way you were singing and dancing. You were hot and on fire.”
“You didn’t!” Tippy grabbed Ian’s arm, “you sang and danced? I didn’t know you could sing and dance!”
“I can’t. That’s why I must have been drunk.”
“Buddy,” the man said as he took a slug from whatever was in his glass, “then you need to get drunk more often.”
Ian blushed and Tippy slapped him on the chest, “Oh my God! I’d have killed to see that!” She pinched Ian’s butt and sort of whispered, “You dog! Did ‘ja get laid, honey?”
“Tip? Someone’s at the front door and you gave Inez the afternoon off.” Colton yelled.
“Ian, don’t move! I want to hear every detail.” And she was off like, well, Mamie Rae Tipton.
The man stuck out his hand, “Jeremy Tyson.” He didn’t have to introduce himself. Ian had recognized him immediately.
“Ian Justyn” he said as he took the hand a shook it.
Jeremy was one of the biggest box office ticket in the film industry. An Aussie wild boy, with the reputation of a foul mouth, but well respected and admired among his peers. He had been a hard partying playboy until he shocked the industry by marrying Susan Andrews, sister half of America’s most successful pop duo, surprising everyone by not only making the marriage last but gaining the reputation of being a devoted family man.
Susan Andrews, America’s sweetheart, was not far from his side. Her stunning alto was the reason the recordings with her brother had rocketed to the top of the charts making them one of the all time best selling artists world wide. Her brother, a reputed temperamental control freak, was considered the creative genius, but it was Susan who had the talent. She, too, was anxious to introduce herself.
“You were wonderful last night.” she gushed like a teenager.
Ian was having a hard time swallowing it all, but thanked her politely and laughed when she asked what label he recorded for. He explained that he wasn’t a performer that he was in development for a network and left it at that.
“Well, if you change you mind, please, I’d love to talk with you about recording for my label.” She chirped.
“Well, next time I get drunk enough to think I could be a music superstar I’ll give you a call.” Ian had forgotten that when her brother had died unexpectedly three years ago of heart failure that Susan now had controlling interest in the mega music empire that her talent had helped forge.
Susan handed him her card, “Why don’t we get together and talk anyway, perhaps we could be of mutual benefit to each other some time.”
Jeremy chided his wife. “Now, Suzie, it’s a day off. You and Ian can take over the world tomorrow. Today is a play date, remember?”
She smiled, so captivating, Ian’s heart jumped. “Okay, darling, I remember.” She slipped her arm around her hubby’s waist. “See, we make a perfect team. I calm him down and he makes me remember what it’s like to be human and enjoy life.” Jeremy squeezed his wife’s shoulders and kissed her on the side of the forehead. Ian thought how gorgeous their children must be.
“I see you’ve met the Tysons,” Tippy returned, “and I’m sure they won’t mind if I steal you away and introduce you around before we eat.” And in Tippy style before anyone had a chance to say anything, Ian was whooshed around like the new Miss America, introduced to all there.
He met the couple who lived across the street; Michele Alexander, Terry Myers and “Call Me Chip” Ellison who lived in the apartment building to his other side. Also in tow, were Jesse, of course, and Tippy’s oldest son Reece, as were Wella, with the man she has met last night, Blake, and three interchangeable starlets whose names he didn’t remember, but recognized them from either television or film.
Also in tow was the second third of what the industry called ‘The Musketeers” franchise, Trampus Scott, whom along with Jeremy Tyson and a missing Lucian Jahn had a string of hit action films. The final guest was a young man that Ian recognized but couldn’t place.
“And this is Seven Wyatt”, Tippy introduced. “He works for you.”
Ian shook his hand, “He does?”
“Sort of, I’m on “Sebastian Manor”, Seven explained, “so I kind of work for you…for now.”
“Moving on when you’re contracts up?” Ian asked.
“Everyone knows that HRT wants to get out of daytime, so when the show’s contract with the network is up in January, we’ll all be looking for new jobs.”
Ian smiled, “Well, I don’t know about that, I for one don’t think that’s a wise move.”
Seven nodded, looking at the ground, showing off the long black eyelashes that made the fans of the show swoon. “It’s a piece of crap and we all know it’s a piece of crap.”
“You’re right. It’s terrible. At one time it was so bad it was fun, but that got old after a while.” Ian agreed. “Daytime isn’t my baby, but many of you are very talented and I’m sure that no matter what happens, work will not be hard to find.”
“Oh please, how anyone even know if we had talent? Have you tried to say those words?” Ian knew how bad the scripts were. They had made him cringe every time he forced himself to watch.
“As I see it,” he responded truthfully, “any one who can say that garbage in those ridiculous plotlines and make it sound like normal conversation has talent. Prime example, how long has your character been tied up in that basement naked?”
Seven laughed, “I get your point. I don’t understand why I’m naked, other than the fact that because of the budget cuts they started with my wardrobe.”
“See…” Ian pointed at him, “Talent…and hard abs don’t hurt.”
The rest of the afternoon was a conglomerate of conversations and food. Although the guest list amounted to a broad spectrum of the people next door and the industry powerful, it was a great combination. Friendships were made and the day was filled with laughter and food.
Ian found himself sitting on a chaise conversing with Trampus Scott and Jeremy Tyson. The day had been of surprisingly little shoptalk, and delightfully about normal things that guys would talk about. Jeremy wanted to know how many “birds” Ian had bagged after he left the club last night and Trampus kept trying to light cigarettes that Tippy would grab out of his mouth and throw in the trash can.
“Dammit, Tippy, where can a guy go to get a smoke around here?”
Tippy batted her eyes at him, “Next door? Is that okay, Baby Doll?”
“Sure Tippy, me casa, su smoking lounge!”
“That’s my boy.”
“Com’mon, Trampus, I could use one myself,” Ian hoisted himself up off the chaise, and checked to make sure his phone was still in his pocket. “Follow me boys and fellow nicotine addicts.”
As Ian walked through the trees he could hear Tippy bellow, “And if you got another cheesecake, bring it back with ya!”
In a matter of seconds, Ian, Trampus, Jeremy and Seven where all in Ian’s yard desperately pulling out their brand of cancer stick.
“Man that tastes good. There’s nothing like a smoke after a job well done.” Trampus sighed as he released a thick cloud from his lungs.
Ian tripped up the balcony to get a second ashtray. “Make yourselves at home guys,” Ian said since they already had.
Jeremy said looking at Ian, “I can’t believe you don’t sing for a living, mate. You could be huge!”
“Not interested.”
“Why not? You’d get all the birds you wanted, and probably some blokes, too, if that’s what you were in the mood for.” He chirped.
Seven noticed that Jeremy wasn’t smoking and offered him one of his, “You wanna a smoke?”
He waved his hand, “Naw, thanks though, mate. I promised Suzie that I wouldn’t.”
“You are so whipped.” Trampus teased.
“Yes. I am.” He agreed without hesitation, “but it has its benefits.” He added with a throaty laugh. “I can barely walk this morning.” He pulled open the elastic band on his shorts and looked down at his crotch, “Poor monster’s all sore and chaffed.”
“Man, put that pitiful thing away…” Trampus rolled his eyes, “any excuse to pull your pants down, you just want everyone to have pity on you, for Chris’ sakes”
He yanked his pants back up with a snap of the elastic and sat down, “You’re just jealous.” Jeremy looked at the other two. “Someone went home alone last night…a little dry spell.”
“Rosey Palm and I had a whopping good time, thank you.” Trampus rebutted.
“I thought you had more hair on your knuckles than usual.” Jeremy snapped back. “Now what were we talking about? Oh, yeah…Ian why aren’t you in front of the camera instead of behind it.”
Trampus took a puff. “Good question and don’t give me the no talent crap. I was there, too.”
“Tried it, and I’m just more comfortable where I am.” Ian lit up his Marlboro. “Plain and simple.”
Jeremy nodded his head. “Alright, mate. I can accept that.”
“To be honest, I don’t see how you guys can do it, packaging yourself like so much meat and selling it. No offense, I’m one of the buyers, remember.” Ian puffed.
“None taken.” Trampus piped in. “Your gut tells you you’re more suited to choose the hamburger. Our gut tells us how to grind it up, wrap it up and what shelf to put it on.”
Seven interjected, “It’s a tough town. I’ve found you’ve got to take advantage of every situation you’re in, make the most of it good or bad.”
“Got my degree in that one.” Ian said quietly.
“Good for you.” Trampus said. “Make the most of the heat, that will always get you through the winter.”
Tyson snorted. “Thanks, Aesop.”
“Well it’s true.” Trampus crushed out his smoke. “I’ve been lucky. So have you.” He looked at his buddy. “We’ve used our highs to take care of the low times that are bound to come.” He picked the crushed butt up off the lawn and placed it in the ashtray Ian offered.
“By that he means we sock away as much of the profane amounts of cash they pay us away.” Tyson added.
“By low times, he means when no one will pay good money to see either of our wrinkled, sagging derrières anymore.” Trampus lit up a second and took a long drag.
“Or to pay for the plastic surgery to keep the buns perky a little while longer.” Seven teased.
“Personally, I’m hoping at age gracefully.” Jeremy mused. “Sooner or later, someone will take me seriously as an actor.”
“You are the highest paid film star in the world.” Ian reminded him. “You don’t consider that being taken seriously enough?”
“You put your finger on it right there, Ian.” Jeremy pointed at him. “I’m a film star, not an actor. You have a really big bug you want shot on the screen with a really big gun? I’m at the top of the list. You want to make a serious drama with depth and passion? My name is never brought up.”
“Like it’s that much better for me?” Trampus cracked.
“You just got your third Oscar nomination.” Tyson reminded him. “I think that effectively takes me out of your league.”
“I got lucky with the first film.” Scott defended. “A supporting actor nod for an indie during a lean year. The second was for the period piece. Shoot a musket, drop trou, die in your lover’s arms and bring in the bucks, they have to nominate you. It’s a rule.”
“What your excuse this year?” Ian asked with a smile on his face.
“Luck again, right place, right time.” Trampus lit another. “Saxon’s a friend, her co-star decided to have a very public meltdown a few days before production. She called, I answered.”
“But it was a romantic comedy, mate.” Jeremy retorted.
“Do you think it’s any easier to gain industry cred in a comedy?”
“Okay, dude.” Seven stepped in. “You’ve got a point there, but so does Jeremy. With that one stroke of ‘luck’ as you called it, you do have everyone looking at you in a different way.”
“A different way?” Trampus raised an eyebrow. “You know what I’ve been offered his week? A film reboot of “Red Dwarf” and a sci-fi flick set at a nudist colony on Mars!”
“Well at least that last one’s a different kind of action flick.” Jeremy laughed. “I guess we will both always be typecast as the dumb pretty boy.”
“You are a dumb pretty boy.” Trampus said. “I want that Oscar!”
“Do your next film for Harvey Weinstein, he’ll buy you one as a thank you gift.” Jeremy smirked.
Trampus looked over to Ian. “You’re awfully quiet.”
Colors were whirling in Ian’s head. “Do the “Red Dwarf” reboot. Don’t sign unless they give the other lead to Jeremy. If it falls through, let me know. I’d loved to do an American version for the network.”
“Really bad script.” Trampus said.
“Have you seen my show?” Seven tossed in.
“Seven, this script makes yours look like Shakespeare. I think they’re just offering it to me so I’ll turn it down. Then Adam Sandler and Eddie Murphy will fight over it.”
“They’d do that?” Ian was shocked.
“Happens all the time.” Jeremy confirmed. “Offer a piece of crap to someone at the top of the A list. They turn it down, but it gives the project cred and suddenly not quite so big names start screaming at their agents to get it for them.”
“Okay, that’s something I never thought of.” Ian made a mental note. “I’m so new at this. I’ll never survive.”
“Now there’s a successful attitude.” Jeremy warned.
“Hey, I’ll fight to stay here. I’m good at that.” Ian said. “There are just so many games. I’ve been naïve enough to think that even the awful stuff got made because at one time somebody thought it was wonderful.”
“Most stuff gets made because somebody at one time thought it would make money, lots and lots of money.” Trampus informed him.
“Face it, mate, your in show business, screw the art and show me the business.” Seven acknowledged.
“Well, that’s not why I’m here, and if it’s all about money,” Ian announced, “I don’t see what your problem is.” .
Jeremy and Trampus looked at each other. “Explain that one.” One of them said.
“Well, you’ve been complaining about not being taken seriously as actors, never being offered the scripts you want.”
“And?” said the other.
“Next time you find something you want to do, and the suits say no, why not just have the guts you claim to follow take a look at your bank statement and do it anyway? Form your own production company. Screw ‘em all.” Ian said.
Jeremy looked at Trampus, then back to Ian. “Do you know how expensive it is to produce a film?”
“Got a ball park.” Ian said emptying the ashtrays in the trash and wiping them out. “You want to do something else besides big budget action flicks, find a small budget drama the actor in you in crying out to do. Put your business where your mouth is.”
“But…” Trampus started to interject.
“Hold on.” Ian said. “I don’t know how I’m staying here, but I know how I got here. All my life I’ve been told I wasn’t good enough. A had to fight to survive when half the time even I believed them. I was born with nothing and it seemed like every day of my life was a battle just to keep it, a handful of squat.”
“You’re here now.” Seven said.
“And I got here because I got tired of less than nothing and when an opportunity came up I went after it. I knew there was no way in hell I was going to get a job as a network executive, and when somebody, God bless ‘em, had a brain synapse and gave me a call, I didn’t pussy foot around. I knew the only thing I had going for me was me.”
“You played the game and won.” Jeremy said.
“No, I played my game and trumped theirs. I told them exactly what I thought, not what they wanted to hear.” Ian found he was almost screaming. “Sorry, got myself stirred up.”
Trampus smiled. “I certainly see why they hired you. Damn, you know how to swing for the stands.”
“Now, I just have to figure out how to keep swinging.” Ian said.
“As I see it,” Jeremy looked at Ian “What got you here, is what’s gonna keep you here, mate.”
“Well, that’s all I got.” Ian said almost to himself.
“For now.” Jeremy smiled.
“I was trying to make a point, but my ego got in the way.” Ian said to himself. “Right. The next logical step, you too Seven, is to form your own production company. Stop whining about mot being taken seriously and take yourself seriously.”
“You got to continue to making the studios money if you want to keep working.” Trampus said flatly.
“Fine.” Ian stood his ground. “Keep making the big action flicks for the studios if you want, but use the success you’ve earned to do the kind of things you want. Make being bankable a hobby and make being an actor your career.”
Jeremy started hopping up and down. “Put me in coach! Put me in!”
Ian laughed at himself. “Sorry, got carried away.” He shrugged his shoulders. “It makes sense to me, but then again this time last year I was trying to figure out how to make corn production and hog calling interesting.”
“I love hog calling.” Trampus smiled.
“It how he gets laid.” Jeremy added.
In a few moments they were back with the group, but the shenanigans continued until the sun went down, and people started to disperse. Tippy thanked all for coming, Ian told everyone how genuinely pleased he was to meet them and everyone told Tippy what a great time they had.
Ian triple checked to make sure that he had his cell phone and crossed back home. He let himself in the house going straight to the closet and getting his guitar. He stripped down to his underwear, sat on the chair of the balcony and started strumming, but bits and pieces of the past kept coming in waves through his mind.
Ian’s hands were strumming, but his mind was folding moments over and over in his head. He was staring into space, playing his guitar, no idea how much time had passed and certainly no idea that he was being watched.
“Mom said that I should bring this stuff back over to you and thank you again for bringing it.” Reese was holding two bags, one in each hand. “She put everything in the dishwasher and to tell you again how delicious everything was.”
“Thank you, Reese. Just put ‘em down there and I’ll get them later.”
“I can take them inside for you, if you want.”
Ian stopped playing. “Okay, the doors unlocked.”
Reese let himself inside and Ian went back to staring into to nowhere and strumming the Gibson. In a moment, Ian heard a throat clear again. He looked again.
“Would it disturb you if I…” Reese nodded at the pool.
“No, go right ahead.”
“Thanks”, the young man said quietly and began to pull his shirt over his head pushing his sneakers off at the same time.
Ian continued to strum as Reese undressed. He was definitely the son on Colton Shores, the dark hair, still in the close-cropped military cut, and the broad, broad shoulders, quietly rugged and masculine.
Reese had served in the battlefields during the Iraqi conflict, which Tippy said he refused to discuss. He had always been quiet, she said and feared that his time in the military had forced him even more inward.
He refused to go out much and interaction with even his family was minimal. What Ian noticed was a 26 year old man, who had probably been through the most terrifying experiences anyone could imagine, much less a pampered Hollywood baby, and now just needed some quiet time to process it all.
When he was down to a pair of khaki color baggy boxers, Reese jumped in the pool and began to quietly swim back and forth. Ian went back to his strumming and thinking, but watching the man doing lap after lap, with the obsession of a long distance swimmer. As he reached the sides of the pool he would tag and flip over, coming back to the surface of the water and stroking to the other side.
Reese must have gone on non-stop for twenty minutes, Ian’s mind studying the whole time, but his eyes looking past the movement and finally beading in on a place that his mind went to, somewhere out of his own body, trapped in the terrors of the past. When Ian shook his head and snapped back to where he was, Reese had stopped swimming and was resting his chin on his folded arms, lower body still in the deep end of the pool, looking at Ian.
Reese didn’t smile. He just said flatly. “I like the way you play. It’s nice.”
Ian shook his head thank you. “Good night isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Reece agreed, “one of my favorite times of year.”
“I love the fall.” Ian thought out loud, “I’m not sure you have one of those here, do you?”
“Sort of, it mainly gets chillier at night and we get more rain.”
“I’m not sure I’m gonna like the lack of real seasons.”
“You get used to it. You get used to a lot of things around here.”
There was quiet for a moment and Ian strummed his guitar a little more. Reese laid his head down on his arms and looked at Ian sideways.
“I notice a lot.” Reese said quietly, never raising his head from its position on his arm. ”People think I’m quiet and stupid, but I’m not. I just like to observe.”
“I noticed that about you.”
“I know Mom and Dad are worried about me, but I’ll be alright. I just don’t know how to tell them.”
“They’re not stupid either Reese, they’ll catch on.”
He nodded his head. “You wanna talk about it?” There were more words coming from Reese than there had been the whole afternoon.
Ian stopped strumming and looked up. “Talk about what?”
“Whatever it is going on in your head, the thing that makes you so sad.”
Ian smiled. “I’m not sad.”
Reese blinked his eyes and was quiet a moment. “Yes, you are.”
Ian sensed his need to talk, so he put down his guitar and slowly made his way down to the pool. “Mind if I get in?” He asked.
“Your pool.”
Ian smiled as he slipped over the side beside Reece, “I keep forgetting.” He pushed himself down to the bottom and then floated back to the top, coming up wet and cool right beside Reece. Ian leaned his back against the pool wall beside Reese.
Reese hadn’t changed his position, his head was still lying sideways on his arms. They were quiet for another moment. Reese sighed. “You ever done it, with a guy?”
“Reese, I wonder if you should be having that conversation with your parents. It may be difficult, but they seem very open about sex and I’m sure they would…”
“Open?” Reese laughed and turned around facing the same direction as Ian. “The first time I snuck a girl in my room to have sex, my mother burst in the door and said, “Oh I’m sorry, I though I heard mice.” Then without as much as the bat of an eye she said, “Reese, honey, arch your back a little more, you’ll get deeper penetration and stimulate her clitoris more. She’ll love that.”
Ian laughed. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh.”
For the first time he saw Reese smile, “Its okay. It’s pretty funny, now, and she was right. Despite everything, my mother is almost always right.”
“I’m learning that.”
“So have you?”
“What?”
“Made it with a guy before?”
“No, and not interested. I have nothing against it, but it just doesn’t interest me.”
“That’s cool.” Reese said flatly. “I love sex with woman, but I’ve had sex with guys.” He sighed. “This is California. If a dude hasn’t had sex with another dude at least once he’s probably not been potty trained yet.”
Ian piped in, “It seems everyone I meet is beautiful, horny and not very discriminating about what sex they get off with as long as they get off.”
“That pretty much sums it up.”
“How do relationships survive here?” Ian pondered.
“Most of them don’t. Some do, but most don’t. A lot have a pact like my parents, but it doesn’t always work.”
“A pact?” They swim to the shallow end and sat on the bottom.
“You don’t know about that?”
“Not really.”
“It’s a pretty standard agreement. They only play around if the other spouse plays with them or watches; no one on one with the opposite sex unless the other one is there. Same sex play is permitted at any time provided condoms are used, and the spouse is honest about it.”
Ian was a little dumbfounded but not shocked. “That doesn’t seem very romantic. More like, oh I don’t know, rules to some kind of card game, not a relationship.”
“It works for some.”
“I guess it does.”
“It wasn’t going to be that way with me and Kelly. We were going to be monogamous and only make love with each other.”
“Who’s Kelly?”
Reese looked down in the water, like he’d let a secret he hadn’t meant to slip. “Someone I was in love with.”
“Have your parents met her?”
“No.”
“You should bring her to meet them.”
“Can’t”.
“Still overseas?”
“Dead.” Reese looked seep into the water.
Calloused hands dug into the scar tissue in Ian’s head with dirty fingernails and splattered bloody pulp everywhere. Almost as quickly the quake rocked him, the mess was pressed back together clean, slipped pristinely in the box and tucked away aware it couldn’t be seen or thought about again.
“Reese...I…” he stammered as he began to focus again on the outside.
When Ian was aware again, Reese was quietly crying. He knew that there was nothing he could say. He reached out and put an arm around him and squeezed him on the shoulder. “It’s okay. Really, it’s okay. I won’t say anything.”
Reese pulled himself into Ian’s shoulder and filled the pool with pent up tears. Ian didn’t know why, out of the blue, Reese had chosen him, maybe he was just in the right place at the wrong time, but he knew how Reese felt, he understood. How many times a day had Ian felt that he was alive and dead and totally unconnected.
He let Reese shake and cry. Sometimes the boy/man whaled, sometimes he just sniffled until the next uncontrollable wave of pain and anger over took him. It was an hour before Reese stopped, dried his eyes and himself and walked back over to his house.
It left Ian drained, but feeling as though he had made or at least was trying to make the connections that had always escaped him. The incident also bubbled something else up—fear, the fear that there were things he could never escape. Things he feared that his simple being touched off and made bad things happen to good people.
Ian dressed and put away the dishes that Tippy had cleaned and Reese had left on the kitchen counter. After everything was where he wanted it to be, he hopped in his car and drove to the convenience store at the end of the street to buy a carton of cigarettes. Damn but they were expensive. He thought he should give it up.
He had barely entered the house, just enough time to flip on the lights, when his doorbell rang. Ian looked out the peephole before he opened the door. He was surprised to say the least.
As he opened his front door he expressed that surprise, “I didn’t think I’d be seeing the two of you so soon.”
On his door stood Jeremy Tyson and Susan Andrews, holding hands and looking sheepish. “I hope you don’t mind that we stopped by without asking” she apologized.
“The kids are with her folks, and we didn’t want to go back to an empty house yet. We stopped for ice cream and saw your car pass by.” He explained. “Is it okay that we decided to follow you and take a chance?”
“Sure”, he opened the door wide and invited them in. “Welcome to my humble abode.”
Susan looked around, “Oh my, Miss Elizabeth left just about everything.”
“You’ve been here before?”
Jeremy said, “Many times. The Elysian’s were two of our favorite people. They are the ones that actually introduced us.”
Susan squeezed her husband’s firm shoulder. “They were such romantics.” Susan’s eyes shown bright and she walked to the painting on the wall in the stair wall. “I don’t believe it. She left this behind.”
Jeremy and Ian joined her and admired. “I love it, couldn’t bear to take it down or move much of anything at all. It just seems right the way it was.”
Jeremy touched the painting. “Did you know that Herman painted this?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“He was quite the artist. He worked in studio make up all his life, but painting was his real passion.”
“I didn’t know that either.”
Susan turned to Ian, “She was a contract player for a while, that’s how they met. She wouldn’t discuss it much, but whenever she was out of the room, Herman loved to talk about the old days.”
Jeremy put his arms around his wife’s shoulders, “And as soon as Miss Elizabeth walked back in the room, he would shut up changing the subject like a child caught telling a story”.
“They were such a great couple, made for each other. I often wondered why they never had children.” She said.
“I think they regretted it, especially as they got older. Elizabeth always got this sad look in her eyes when the subject came up.” Jeremy added as he led his wife to the couch Ian had silently offered them a seat on while they talked.
“I’m surprised she didn’t take that painting. She loved it.” Jeremy mused. “Although she never would have told Herman that. She was afraid it would go to his head. She’d get so mad when Herman would call it ‘The Untitled Masterpiece’. She’d fuss and he’d say back every time, well you know it is.”
“Actually, that seems the perfect name for it.” Ian said staring at the painting from his comfy chair.
Susan slipped her bag off her shoulder, opened it and reached inside. “It’s still playtime for us. Would you mind if Jeremy joins you in a smoke?” She pulled a cigarette and lighter out of her purse.
Ian was a little shocked. “Sure. No problem, if you don’t mind.”
“Actually I enjoy it now and again.” And she looked at her husband who had a twinkle in his eye. “And he does love it so; I can’t deny it to him all the time.”
“I let her control it.” He took the cigarette in his hand, put it to his lips and bent down to the flame she flicked. “That’s my Suzie, my control.”
Ian went to the table to find his new carton and opened his own pack. When he returned he found Susan had slipped to the floor and Jeremy to the end of the couch so he could share the large glass ashtray with Ian. Ian returned to his seat in the easy chair. Susan got up on her knees and flicked the little flame, to graciously light his cigarette.
They smoked for a moment in silence. Susan absentmindedly stroked her husband’s thigh. They were still dressed as they were this afternoon, he in Bermuda shorts and a sleeveless tank top, she in a tennis skirt and a matching cotton pullover. Susan looked at the hair on her husband’s thigh dance as she brushed it with her fingers.
“Ian, we so loved your performance last night.”
“Thank you.”
Jeremy looked at his wife and smiled. “I already told him all about it.” He kissed her and smiled.
She turned and looked at Ian. “We don’t get away too often. Sometimes the children need grandparent time and we try to take full advantage of it.”
“I understand.” Ian said as he put his cigarette out.
“You do?” she asked.
“Of course, it must be tough to get private time when you have small children. You have to make the most of it.”
“We try.” She said.
Jeremy kissed his wife again and then looked at Ian, his eyes doing a little dance. “We thought that maybe, hoped that you might want to help us make the most of our last hour of playtime tonight.”
Susan leaned back between her husband’s legs and rested her head on his crotch, and looked at Ian. “Would you mind terribly playing with us…?”
Ian knew he had to be getting the wrong idea. He had fantasized many times about Susan Andrews. He had dreamed of feeling her long blonde hair falling over his naked body as they made love. He never would have believed that he’d get the chance. Surely he was misunderstanding.
“I…”
“Its okay” she said getting back to her knees.
“Don’t be nervous, Ian.” Jeremy said quietly. “We’re just going to play. No one’s getting hurt. Just relax.” He stared at Ian with a calm cool sexiness.
“Okay” was all Ian could think to say.
“Don’t be nervous” Susan kissed her husband and he followed her lips to the floor with her.
Ian watched in silence for a moment. Okay so maybe he hadn’t misunderstood, the sight and sound of a husband and wife beginning to make love, both thrilling him and terrifying him.
Jeremy pulled his shirt over his head. Ian could see the taut abs and the mischievous sparkle in his eye that had made him the People Magazine’s sexiest man alive. He kissed his wife deeply, holding the small of her back, Susan staring into Ian’s eyes. Susan reached down and pulled off Jeremy’s sandals, as he reached over and squeezed Ian’s thigh.
“Let’s just all enjoy ourselves.” Jeremy sighed, before returning to his wife’s lips.
Jeremy, almost unnoticeably, took hold of the bottom of Susan’s shirt. She lifted her arms over her head, letting him slowly peel it off her torso, her waist length hair whisping back down over her back. She turned and looked over a naked shoulder and smiled at Ian, then bit her lower lip.
“My husband is so sexy, don’t you think?”
Ian was speechless, hands on the arms on the chair, feet flat on the floor, afraid to move. “So are you.”
“You can come play with us whenever you like.” Jeremy said as he took his wife in his arms and pulled her close, her arms wrapping themselves tightly around him. Jeremy hands slipped down her back, cupping her firmly, lifting her off the carpet enough to lay her gently on her back and fall into her.
Susan reached a hand to Ian. “Come and join us, Ian.” There was no way he could misunderstand what was going on now, especially with that look in her eyes. “Please come down here with us.”
And he did. God help him. Ian did.
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