Hollywood Strip

by Shamron Moore

Virginia waved her fork and exclaimed, “These are the best crab cakes I’ve ever had.”

  “Humph,” grunted Tony. “The steak is great. Better than Ponderosa.”

  Callie warily eyed her plate of rubbery chicken. “Yeah, Ruby Tuesday has some killer food.”

  “Your mother says you were in a movie, some horror thing. You still workin’ on that?”

  “Tony, you haven’t been listening. She finished that in October,” said Virginia. “What is it about exactly, Callie?”

  “A college cheerleading team. It all goes haywire when the new girl—me—arrives on campus.”

  Virginia’s face contorted. “That doesn’t sound like much of a movie to me. Not that I know anything about moviemaking.”

  “My friend saw a rough cut and said I’m really good, Mom. The producers think it will do well. The horror genre is huge, you know.”

  “Well, if things don’t work out, you can always go back to being a dental assistant—a real job with a dependable salary. It’s a shame you’re wasting all that training. Dr. Ryder was a good man to work for, too. He told me you can come back anytime.”

  “But I wasn’t happy, Mom. I’m in this business for the long haul and I’m definitely not moving back here.”

  Virginia rolled her eyes. “I figured you’d say as much but you can’t say I didn’t try.”

  “I’d rather be shackled to a sizzling radiator.” Callie sampled her rubbery fare and grimaced. “Have you heard of Tom Johannesburg?”

  “Isn’t that the guy who came up with Blow It Up and Firecracker Jones? He knows how to make one hell of an action movie.” Tony sawed off a chunk of sirloin and swallowed it.

  Callie nodded. “He’s had a lot of hits. He wrote and directed NCA!”

  “What’s NCA!?” Virginia asked.

  “Um … it’s the name of the movie.” Callie took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “It stands for Nympho Cheerleaders Attack!”

  “Whoa!” bellowed Tony. “Now that’s something I wanna see.”

  Virginia elbowed him in his doughy belly. “You cannot be serious, Callie! What kind of name is that? Jesus Christ! You told me it wasn’t porno!” Her fawn-brown bouffant bounced with every syllable.

  “That’s why I haven’t mentioned it, because I knew what your reaction would be. Yes, there’s nudity, but no, it’s not pornographic. Sex sells, Mom, face it.”

  “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Hollywood is the devil’s playground. People will do anything to make a buck.”

  “Those are Jews for ya,” muttered Tony.

  “You’re selling yourself short, Cal. Mark my words: you will regret being a part of such trash. How is anyone going to take you seriously if you go through life flashing your cans?”

  “We just view things differently, Mom. I’m comfortable with my body and don’t see anything wrong with it.”

  “Well, there is! How can you say that? What am I going to tell my sister and friends and the Board of Directors of Midwestern Society?” Her shortness of breath was audible and she struggled to control her wheezing. “Listen to me! I’m completely flustered.”

  “Easy, Ginnie.” Tony rubbed her back.

  “I get so easily winded these days, I swear.”

  “Just ’cause you let things upset you. Let’s not spoil your appetite, now; talk about somethin’ else.”

  “Yes, let’s change the subject, shall we?” Virginia speared a piece of imitation crab. “What’s the problem with you and Candice? I ran into her yesterday at the Somerset Mall and she said you two aren’t talking anymore. She can’t figure out why you’re so mad at her.”

  “It’s too complicated to get into right now. How is she, anyway?”

  “I didn’t think she looked as pretty as she normally does—”

  “Looked worn out to me,” interjected Tony.

  “Her face was drawn and she seemed jittery,” Virginia continued. “She’s dating a new guy who made a fortune in real estate. She said to tell you hi and that she really misses you. Call her, Callie. It’s silly to let such a long friendship go to waste. Life is too short and you two are like sisters.”

  Callie sipped her Chardonnay.

  “What, nothing to say? Well, you always were stubborn as a bull, just like your father.” She whipped out a compact and reapplied her lipstick.

  “You always say that. What other traits do we have in common?” Callie said earnestly.

  Virginia rubbed her rouged lips together. “Your metabolism. It’s just not human. And your talent for mimicry, although you’re by far more sarcastic than he ever was.”

  A baby’s wail in an adjacent booth caused Callie’s shoulders to stiffen; the cries sliced through the commotion at the bar—balding men in Red Wings jerseys and wrinkled khakis hollered at the hockey game on TV while their Ogilvie-permed wives stuffed greasy potato skins in their mouths. “God help me,” Callie mumbled.

  “Did you say somethin’, Cal?” said Tony.

  “Nope, it was probably your stomach.”

  “Must have been.” He unbuttoned the top of his Wranglers and rubbed his flab. “What time am I droppin’ you off at your grandma’s tomorrow?”

  “Whenever. One or two?”

  “How ’bout noon, ’cause I bowl at one.”

  “Even better.”

  “I’d take you, but the annual Women of Troy brunch is taking place and I can’t miss it,” Virginia said.

  “It’s okay, Mom. No biggie.” She counted down the hours until she’d be in the company of Esme. If she was going to be in the Midwest, she’d rather be with her grandmother than with anyone else.

  30

  Esme pressed her spatula against the bread; the pan hissed from the pressure and Callie’s mouth watered. No one made a grilled cheese like her grandmother. As simple a sandwich as it was, she used a secret ingredient to make it out-of-this-world scrumptious. (Grandma Esme liked to say it was “love.”) Callie took full advantage of her culinary skills while in town.

  “I forgot what a home-cooked meal tastes like, Grandma. As you know, I burn cornflakes,” Callie said between large bites.

  Esme set a glass of milk on the table and untied her KISS ME I’M GREEK apron. “Honey, eat up all you can. You look a little thin to me.”

  “I’ve always been thin.”

  “Just like your father, that’s true.” Esme’s velvety eyes turned wistful. She and her son had been extraordinarily close, especially after her husband died when Alex was just twelve. The all-encompassing love for her only child was challenged when he married Virginia Novak; Esme was less than thrilled. Virginia, she thought, wasn’t right for her son; she was too flighty, finicky, and—worse—in the middle of going through a divorce. But Alex was smitten and proposed marriage. The birth of Callie Catherine Lambert seemed to bridge the gap between the two Mrs. Lamberts. “How was your visit with your mother?”

  Callie shrugged. “Same old, same old. Tony was obnoxious, as usual.”

  “He may not be the most sophisticated man or have a sense of—how do I say it, propriety?—but he seems to make her happy.”

  “For some reason, he does. I wish she wasn’t so judgmental. Candice’s mom is so chill and I wish mine could be that way.”

  “We can choose our friends but we cannot choose our family.” Esme had a knack for phrasing things diplomatically. She patted Callie’s shoulder reassuringly and gazed at her with loving eyes before a sudden look of shock passed across her face. “Oh, my goodness! Look at me, young lady. You did something to your nose!”

  Callie grinned self-consciously. “Nothing major, Grandma, don’t worry.”

  “It’s smaller, I can tell. When on earth did you do this and why? There was nothing wrong with it to begin with!”

  “A few months ago I had a doctor shave the bump down. Just a minor little tweak, that’s all. It photographs better this way.”

  “Well, dear, I guess you know what they like out there. People in show business love messing with th
eir bodies, don’t they? Pushing things up, pulling things out, taking tissue out of their butts and putting it in their boobs—or whatever it is those surgeons do. It’s a whole different universe out there. I don’t understand it, but I’m old, I guess. Go relax, honey, while I clean up.”

  Callie flopped on the faded floral couch and flipped on Hollywood Hotspot. “Grandma! Quick, come in here!” Esme scurried over, as fast as a seventy-year-old woman could scurry.

  “Director Tom Johannesburg has been released from jail after posting fifty thousand dollars’ bail,” said the reporter. “His fiancée, actress Gabrielle Manx, called nine-one-one yesterday after a domestic dispute reportedly turned violent. Friends and colleagues of Johannesburg, who met Manx after directing her in an upcoming film, are shocked by the incident and say it’s completely out of character.…” Mouth agape, Callie watched the footage of Tom’s recent film premiere. With the smiling Gabrielle at his side, they appeared to be the quintessential loving couple.

  “That’s my friend who was in the movie with me. I can’t believe it…,” Callie mumbled, reaching for her phone. She was sent to Gabby’s voice mail.

  “You mentioned her. My, she’s lovely. What’s she doing with a jerk like him? I’d rather you stay single for the rest of your life than be with a woman-beater. Why, if Grandpa ever so much as laid a finger on me, one of his legs would be broken by my father and the other by me!” Esme shook her head in disgust.

  Fury raced through Callie’s loins. Tom was a passionate, unpredictable man—she had borne witness to his temper, though never aimed at her directly—but to physically abuse his would-be wife? And someone as sweet and docile as Gabby? The show’s announcer interrupted her musings.

  “Next up: ten things you didn’t know about America’s hottest new singer burning up the music charts. Our own Kristin Klapp talks exclusively with Evan Marquardt, a one-on-one interview you can’t miss.”

  There was Bedroom Eyes, looking yummy as ever. She was moist with lust. Would calling him look needy? What if he ignored her? Ugh, rejection! She wanted him to call her. But desire knew no pride. She texted: Watching Hollywood Hotspot … lookin’ good! Ten minutes later, her phone rang.

  “I’m searching for a sexy brunette with a warm smile and a tight ass. Can you suggest anyone?” asked a familiar voice in a British lilt.

  Callie bit her lower lip. “You’re in luck. What are you up to, stranger?”

  “Six foot two, about one hundred and ninety pounds.”

  “My, aren’t we the jokester this afternoon.”

  “Actually, it’s midnight here in London.”

  “London? So that’s where you’ve been hiding out!”

  “How I wish. I’ve been flying all over the place like a loon. Just yesterday I got back from Berlin where I recorded a remix of ‘Keep It Sexy.’ I’m staying put for a few weeks.”

  “Sounds exciting, I’m jealous. I’m visiting my family in Michigan. It’s so gloomy and depressing, you’d hate it. But it’s only for two more nights and then back to L.A.”

  “What are your New Year’s plans?”

  “None.” She was scheduled at Harry’s on New Year’s Eve.

  “Perfect! You can spend it with me. I’ll tell my assistant to take care of the arrangements. It’s an easy hop from Metro to Heathrow.”

  Her heart thundered like a mare at the Kentucky Derby. “You’re serious?”

  “Of course I am. And it would be extremely rude of you to refuse me, now, wouldn’t it? Pack your bags. You and me in London, baby.”

  31

  Heathrow bustled, swarming with travelers like locusts. Callie didn’t mind—German, Chinese, all of the foreign dialects at every corner of the airport were exciting. Thank God she’d heeded her mother’s advice on getting a passport last year. (“You never know when you’ll need to travel out of the country,” Virginia had warned.) She stretched her legs with long strides. Man, did it ever feel good to walk. The things she took for granted. Not that she was exactly cramped on the plane; Evan had purchased a first-class ticket for her. No wonder celebrities didn’t mind flying so much—what a breeze! With an unlimited supply of top-shelf liquor and movies—plus enough room to give her apartment a run for its money—she’d gladly fly over the Atlantic regularly, too. She walked past a suited elderly man at baggage claim and did a double-take; he held a sign that read CALLIE LAMBERT and hauled her luggage to a waiting town car.

  “Where are we going?” she asked. She loosened her ponytail and fluffed her limp hair. It was early in the morning in London but her body told her it was close to midnight on the West Coast.

  “Knightsbridge, madam,” the man said. “About a half hour’s drive, unless we get caught in unforeseen traffic.” They pulled up to a slick fifty-story building next to Hyde Park and were buzzed into the building by a security guard. Callie rode a private elevator to the penthouse, and Evan, ensconced in a dark terry cloth robe, greeted her at the door with a hard kiss.

  “Good to see you,” he murmured. “But I thought you were going to be naked.”

  “Well, I could be very soon…,” she said, wrapping her arms around him.

  He tugged at her jeans and dragged her to his bedroom. As tired as she was, she easily found energy to make love. Planet Earth could be on the brink of combusting into a raging inferno, crumbling skyscrapers amid mass hysteria, and she’d have no difficulty being aroused by Evan. His smell, so musky and masculine, was a shot of espresso to her groin.

  “Fuck, I love the way you feel,” she moaned as he entered her. If only her past lovers could have been as skilled as Bedroom Eyes. He touched and teased her in a way no one else had—with the possible exception of Gabrielle. Callie had a flashback of their night in front of the fireplace when Gabby’s tongue swirled up and down her body. She was gifted, yes, but it was different. There wasn’t anything comparable to the feeling of a man, especially one like Evan. His brawniness complemented her femininity and she melted in his skilled hands like a pat of Land O’Lakes.

  They lay pressed against one another in a clammy heap and Callie drifted into slumber. She woke to the smell of sautéeing garlic. Evan stood over the stove with a wooden spoon in one hand and a bottle of olive oil in the other.

  “Whatever you’re making smells delicious,” she said. Rich, gorgeous, great in bed—and able to cook? She sat at the breakfast bar with her knees to her chest and pulled her oversized T-shirt over her thighs.

  “This is an amazing pesto pasta dish my mother taught me. I make it all the time for Riley. You’ll love it.”

  She took in his three-bedroom flat; with the carpeted floors and walnut walls, it possessed an intimacy his L.A. home lacked. Framed personal photographs adorned the tabletops and baby grand piano.

  “How often do you see your son?” she asked.

  “As often as possible, usually a few times a week when I’m in London. His mother can be a difficult one to deal with, though.”

  “What does she do?” asked Callie.

  “Thanks to my child support, Claudia does nothing, now,” he said evenly. “But she used to be one of my backup singers.”

  “How long were you two together?”

  “For three years. We split when Riley was two.” He swirled the spoon around the pan with brash strokes.

  “That must have been really tough. My longest relationship was eight months. I realized I was too young for a steady relationship. Besides the fact that Brian was as dull as dirt.” She paused to open a bottle of water he placed in front of her. “Do you want more kids?”

  “Wow, I didn’t know I was scheduled for an interview today.”

  She averted her eyes and chugged her water.

  “I didn’t mean for that to sound as dicky as it did. I guess I’m still trying to unwind from my warp-speed schedule and am a tad uptight. Although you’re a fantastic stress reliever.” He winked.

  “No worries,” she said quickly. “I’m just curious because I’m an only child and always want
ed a brother or sister. It was pretty lonely growing up, especially when my dad passed away. I didn’t have many playmates; my mother was paranoid about allowing me to play at other kids’ houses. She said you could never trust the parents.”

  “Good that she was protective,” he said encouragingly.

  “But looking back, it was strange. My mother has always been a control freak and as much as she monitored my comings and goings, she was so busy pulling two jobs and dealing with her own issues that I never felt I got enough attention.”

  “Is that why you wanted to become an actress? You wanted the praise you felt she never gave you?” He stared at her thoughtfully, head cocked.

  “I never thought about it that way. Maybe so,” she said after a pause, lowering her eyes.

  Evan approached her and softly kissed her forehead. Their eyes locked before Callie nervously jumped out of the chair. “So, is this feast almost ready? It smells delicious.”

  He slid a steaming bowl of pasta in front of her. “Eat up. I’m glad you’re here with me, Cal. Welcome to London.”

  Greedily, she slurped the tasty noodles. “Evan, you know what I want to do? I’d love to grab a beer at an authentic pub, one with lots of history.”

  “I can arrange that,” he said. “There’s a slew of old pubs on Fleet Street, we can go there, if you like. I didn’t know you were the beer sort.”

  She raised one eyebrow. “You forget I’m from Michigan, so, yes, I enjoy a beer from time to time.”

  “Brilliant! A girl who likes variety—that’s A-OK in my book. Lunatic groupies never bother me at pubs like they do other places, so that sounds perfect. Finish your pasta and we’ll cab it.”

  Callie bundled a cashmere scarf around her neck and inhaled the brisk air. London was, while still biting, far less cold and wet than Michigan. And how refreshing not to breathe the smog of Los Angeles! As she walked through the doors of Ye Old Cock Tavern, she considered informing Adam she wouldn’t be working New Year’s Eve but decided against it. What was the point? He’d most likely can her, with or without an excuse, and she didn’t much mind. The only thing that mattered was spending her days and nights with Evan in, of all places, the UK. Harry’s Hamlet was thousands of miles away, mentally and physically.