by Carole Hart
Jared had said about Michael that he was not only smart, but he was one of those rare people who made decisions based on intelligent thought. Since Jared was obviously thinking of his own decision to take it slow with Zaza, she had conceived an immediate dislike of Michael. Making decisions based on intelligent thought was clearly pernicious.
Now she checked herself in the mirror, amazed as always by the uninspiring reflection there. How could Jared have chosen her? She was still the same skinny nothing, even in the fluffy pink Marc Jacobs dress Jared had bought for her this week. Her red hair made her look even paler than she was; her blue eyes seemed almost colorless in this light. She remembered how, when she was a child, she’d always been afraid that she was turning into an albino. When she finally discovered that it was something people were born with, she’d been both relieved and disappointed. At least if she were turning into an albino, someday she would have been blond.
It was twelve forty-five. Somehow it had taken half an hour to put on a dress and comb her hair. She set off down the corridor to Babylona’s office with mingled trepidation and excitement. It had been a whole two weeks since she’d had an actual job at XTV. Was this going to be a new assignment, or, as her paranoid imagination kept insisting, a complaint about the fact that she was on the premises almost every day, when she didn’t have a job right now—and never would again?
Despite what was now weeks of experience with XTV hiring policies, she wasn’t prepared for just how good-looking Michael Tyler was. He was an African-American man in his late thirties who could have just as easily been twenty-five. He had the kind of chiseled features and glowing skin that Zaza had always assumed were a trick of fashion photography—some combination of makeup and lighting that made people look unfathomably gorgeous. Even Jared looked like a human being in person. Jared was human handsome, not this-person-is-from-another-planet handsome. Michael was breathtakingly handsome. Even being in the same room with him, it was hard to believe he was real.
But what was most amazing was that he was Leonard Falwell. He was the man who’d invited her to work at XTV, who’d accosted her in a bar three weeks and a lifetime ago.
Michael was sitting at Babylona’s desk, eating edamame out of a plastic container while talking on the phone. He was wearing an un-tucked white business shirt, rumpled at the bottom where it had recently been tucked. There were papers scattered everywhere, and he had the air of someone who was being driven insane by other people’s incompetence. At first she didn’t understand what he was saying into the phone. Then she realized that she really didn’t understand it; he was speaking in French. Even in a foreign language, she could glean that he was telling someone what they had done wrong and how stupid they were for doing it. At the end, he slammed the phone down with a gesture of perfect physical confidence. She would have sworn that he’d calculated exactly the impact the receiver made as it crashed down. That gesture flowed naturally into his rising from his chair and extending a hand to her. “Zaza,” he said with a smile full of perfect white teeth, “so glad to see you again.”
“Oh. Hi. Nice to see you, too,” she said, and found herself sitting awkwardly in the chair he indicated. He sat again and regarded her, resting his chin on one fist. Even the fist was handsome. Life was astoundingly unfair.
He said, “I’m sorry for the phony name. If I could explain it, rest assured that you wouldn’t be offended by the explanation. But you’re looking great. You look so much . . .” He stopped himself and shook his head.
“I know I look better on film,” Zaza said apologetically. “You don’t have to be polite. I mean, I’m totally aware I’m kind of weedy-looking.”
Michael smiled, and again Zaza was distracted by the perfect teeth. Even in New York’s world of orthodontic perfection, these were unusual. They went beyond fake-looking into CGI-like. He said, “Not at all. You’re very pretty. You may not believe me, but perhaps you’ll feel more confident when I tell you that Ms. Parris wants you to take Valerie LeBlanc’s place as anchor of Pleasure News, starting in October.”
Zaza sat, her mind going in circles. This was the moment when she should be thanking him for another bit part. Or else apologetically promising to keep clear of the studio. This was too much for her to take in.
He went on. “Of course, this isn’t going to be made public yet, and I’d appreciate it if you would keep it to yourself for now. No one knows about this offer apart from Ms. Parris, me, and now you. I’m sure you can understand why discretion on your part is crucial.”
She managed to say, “Oh, no! Valerie doesn’t know?”
“It’s a management decision,” he said smoothly. “When it’s appropriate for her to know, she’ll know.”
Zaza sat in a stew of doubt and excitement. Or course, it wasn’t porn proper, and she’d just begun to believe she had a special talent for sex scenes. (Jared had said she did, though he might be being nice.) Presenting Pleasure News was completely different from actually playing in sex scenes. It was just like being an anchorperson on any news show, really. Of course, she would be naked, and she could hardly see why anyone would want to see her naked. Naked while being ravaged by two guys, maybe, but just naked?
Meanwhile, Michael was explaining to her the duties involved in being the anchorperson on Pleasure News. She would have a production team, and a new person would be hired to take over some of the writing of the items, so that she would only have to do the news reading at first. Later she could branch out into sourcing her own stories and writing them up. She would have to become an expert on the sex industry, and he would advise her to start doing some research now; she would begin receiving a salary for the position in a month’s time. In August, someone from the production team would partner with her. . . .
It all began to blur in her head into a litany of impossibilities. At last, she cleared her throat and said, “Well, it sounds . . . great. But why me? There must be a lot of other people who would know more than me. Like, everyone here.”
He smiled at her enigmatically. “Sometimes Babylona takes a special interest in someone. There’s no point second-guessing her decisions. So far, she’s always been right.”
“Oh, but you think she’s gone crazy this time, I’ll bet,” Zaza said. “Wow. I don’t have any idea about reporting, but that’s barely scratching the surface of the things I don’t know. I mean, I don’t want to be negative, but . . .”
“Well, why don’t you take a week to think about it? And we can talk about it at the birthday celebration. You are coming?”
“Oh yes. Yes, I guess I am. I mean, if you say I should.”
He smiled again, this time with an unmistakable affection in his eyes. “You should.”
“Okay.”
He rose from his seat then, and she got up automatically, nervously. He put out his hand and she put her hand out, expecting him to shake it, but he just held it, smiling at her. For a terrible, wonderful moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. If he did, should she push him away? He was gorgeous; she was dying for sexual intercourse. And he was her boss. She had never liked saying no to men, anyway, because it would hurt their feelings, and plus, she wanted to fuck them.
But Michael just stood holding her hand and looking at her. She felt her cheeks burning. Of course he didn’t intend to fuck her. It was a business meeting. She was getting a little too frustrated; Jared absolutely had to give in soon.
Then he said, in an offhand tone, “I don’t suppose your aunt ever mentions me.”
Zaza flinched. “My aunt? Why would she—Do you know my aunt?”
“A little.” He let go of her hand. “I suppose she wouldn’t mention me. Never mind.”
“But how do you know my aunt? I mean, she doesn’t even know I’m working here. Does she? How—”
At that moment, his phone rang, and he turned to it swiftly, waving good-bye to Zaza over his shoulder. As he began to shout at another person, this time in English, Zaza faltered and finally turned to leave.
/> Nothing made any sense. The entire encounter had been like a stupid dream, the kind that was so jumbled it wasn’t worth remembering. Part of her wanted to treat it that way—just forget it had ever happened and go on with her life. Dealing with Jared was confusing enough already.
But as she headed back to Jared’s dressing room to wait for him to get back from his production meeting, she realized there was a new confidence in her step. Michael had been right. For the first time in her life, she felt completely, absolutely pretty.
FIFTEEN
As Emily walked from the limo-service car into Teterboro Airport, she immediately spotted the XTV crowd in the windows, all in some designer version of half undress, waving wine bottles and champagne glasses and laughing in a way that was intensely visible. Part of her longed to be with them, to have a glass of wine and join in some sensual oblivion in which everyone used fucking like kissing on the cheek, as the basic unit of affection. It was the way she always felt; then she would feel a deep reticence that kept her on the outskirts of that scene. Only a few times, on particularly drunken or miserable nights, had she fully entered into the spirit of Babylona’s menagerie. Those times had been deliriously fun while they went on, but left her feeling lonely and exhausted the next morning. Now she dawdled, waiting for the group to head out through the security check before going up to the doors. She was too preoccupied to feign hilarity right now.
The basic problem was Ralph, or Ralph’s silence. They had had two weeks of perfect communion, in which they had gone so far into their shared insanity or heaven—or whatever the right word was for being more in love than anyone had ever been before—that they had even begun to make serious plans about moving in together. Then he’d gone to visit his daughter two days ago, and dropped off the face of the earth. For the first day, she’d just assumed that he hadn’t had a moment alone. She woke up on the second day with the awful conviction that she would never hear from him again. Ten hours later, she was ready to assume that she’d been right.
Ralph had decided that his daughter’s welfare was more important, that he couldn’t risk turning Valerie against him altogether. Any other explanation she came up with felt contrived and flimsy. The worst part of it was, she couldn’t blame him. All their plans, she realized now, had avoided the twin issues of Valerie and Ilana. Ralph hadn’t wanted to talk about Valerie at all. When the subject came up, he said that they could worry about that later. He had said something like, “I’m working it out.” And Emily had been all too ready to let it go. She hadn’t wanted to think about it because, in the end, she knew what it meant.
Worst of all, Valerie was going to be on the plane. She would have to spend the eight-hour flight in a tiny cabin with Valerie, pretending everything was all right.
She made herself focus on an airplane coming in to land, the lights surreally bright against a dimming sunset, the silhouette of the plane dark and ominous. I’ll get in the plane and I’ll have a drink. I’ll sit with Jared. I’m going on vacation to a castle with all my friends. Still, there was a weight of tears behind her eyes, and she picked up her suitcase again, deciding to go for a five-minute walk.
At that moment, the glass doors to the check-in area opened and Friselle Belesci came out in a black silk gown split up to the hip, carrying a massive tumbler full of white wine. Her beauty was, as always, slightly jarring to Emily; the tragic blue-violet eyes and slender body were so at odds with her salty personality.
“I thought, You look like you have an unhappy secret,” Friselle said in her lilting Italian accent. “So I asked Michael to cheer you up. When you get on the plane, you will see he is trying to cheer you up. It will be very funny.”
The tears pricked at Emily’s eyes. She said, “I’m okay.”
Friselle laughed delightedly. “Oh, lies. I love lies.”
“Okay, I’m terrible. I don’t know.”
“The man is not worth it, whoever he is. You know why?”
Emily shook her head, the motion freeing a tear from one eye.
Friselle said, “Because he is a man, which is the same as a woman, which is not worth your tears. I am a woman and I tell you for a fact.” She put her hand on Emily’s shoulder. “Come along with Friselle. I will carry your luggage and you can drink my wine. Then you’ll see Michael trying to cheer you up. It will be ridiculous.”
Emily let Friselle take her suitcase and accepted the tumbler of wine, though she didn’t really feel like drinking. “Thanks. I can’t imagine Michael cheering me up.”
“Oh, he will promise you more money in your contract. I bet you. The man has no ideas of life.” Friselle led the way into the airport. The airport lights blinded Emily slightly, and she followed Friselle with a feeling of utter passivity, as if she were a tiny child who had no idea where she was being taken. In the same spirit, from time to time she took a sip of wine, and was surprised at how good it felt to be drinking. Friselle was gossiping in her musical drawl: Lila and James were threatening to marry, so Babylona was in a foul temper with everyone, while Jared was terribly altered by being in love—“It is awful. I cannot stand the stupid eyes in his head. Awful.” Finally she said, in the same careless tone of enjoyment, “And Valerie is not coming on Air Force X with us. It is a big mystery.”
Emily stopped dead. “What? Valerie’s not coming to Germany?” Her heart was pounding; what could it mean?
Friselle looked at her speculatively, swinging the suitcase against her dainty shins.
“Oh yes, she is coming. But she comes by herself,” Friselle said. “She has Michael buy her a first-class ticket. I think something planning in the witch’s unhealthy brains.”
Zaza climbed the steps up to the plane’s open flank with a feeling of dizzy unreality. She still didn’t know whether to feel dread or excitement about the trip. On the good side: it would amount to a vacation in the Alps, in a castle no less, with Jared. It would be their first really public outing; although many people at XTV knew they were a couple, no one had actually seen them together. And although she couldn’t exactly picture it, she felt certain meeting his friends (the same friends whose decadence had driven him into his thrice-damned “taking it slow”) would be incredibly fun.
On the bad side: From his descriptions, she knew that those friends would start fucking one another before the plane left the ground. If she had been alone, she might have been alarmed at the prospect at first—then joined in. With Jared there, she felt somehow that it would be intolerable. She would want to join in with him. What would those people think if they knew that her boyfriend still hadn’t fucked her? Did any of them know?
Her high heels—another gift from Jared—were teetering on the slick metal steps. She had to grip the railing firmly, watching where she put her feet. So she was startled when she heard Michael Tyler’s deep, pleasant voice addressing her from the open door of the plane. “Hello, Zaza. I’ve been deputed to take you to your seat.”
She paused a few steps below him. To the right, through the open door, she could see the main cabin of the airplane, where an impromptu dance party was going on, despite the absence of music. One girl had already stripped to the skin and was preserving an absolutely serious expression while Javier poured a glass of wine carefully down her forehead, aiming the stream into her open mouth. Catching sight of Zaza, Javier waved, and the stream diverted into the girl’s ear, making her scream and jump away.
Zaza waved nervously and looked back at Michael. “My seat? We have assigned seats?”
“You have an assigned seat, doll. Come with me.”
She mounted the last few steps, immediately imagining being put into the hold like a dog—she would shiver through the flight in a wire cage, away from the glamorous fun. Of course that couldn’t happen, not literally. Perhaps it was just a sort of coach class for nonstar people? She followed him past a velvet curtain, which he pulled shut again behind her. Then he stopped at a little door and knocked lightly on it. There was no answer. He opened it and gestured for her to
go inside.
She stepped inside; the compartment must have filled one-third of the passenger area. There was a fully stocked bar to one side and a pair of armchairs to either side of it, with seat belts arranged neatly across them. The far wall of the space was the opposite side of the airplane, with a row of windows showing the landing strip, now bathed in the last rays of sunset. In the center of the room was a king-sized bed, and Zaza knew without asking that it was the famed airborne water bed that featured in so many XTV legends.
“Just wait here,” he said before he closed the door on her. “Don’t worry; everything will be all right.”
And he was gone. She went immediately to the bed and tried it with her hands. Sure enough, the surface gave and the water underneath undulated beneath her palms. She sat on the edge of the bed and lay back as hard as she could, making the waves flow back and forth underneath her. Then she crossed her arms over her chest and shut her eyes.
Jared arranged this, she thought. It must be that. We’re going to make love for the fi rst time here. In midair. Immediately, she became certain that the plane would crash before they could actually have sex. Perhaps she could get him to do it before takeoff ? But she was being ridiculous. . . . She made herself stop worrying and focus on the idea of Jared coming in . . . taking off her clothes . . . taking off his clothes . . . sexual i ntercourse!
At that moment, the door flew open. Zaza sat bolt upright, lost her balance, and fell back, floundering, into the wildly rolling bed. In that split second, she realized Jared wasn’t coming. This wasn’t his idea. She wasn’t going to have midair sexual intercourse at all.