The Sanctuary II: Lost and Found

by Larry Richardson

  “I’m ready,” Annie said.

  “Let me take a look at you.” Annie wore a steel blue collared silk blouse buttoned down the front, with a soft pleated knee length skirt – very classic, very classy.

  “You look fabulous. Let’s hope it all holds for 12 hours,” Finney said. The hair dresser packed her “tool box” and joined the other two as they walked to the elevator.

  “You’re staying with us all day, I hope you know,” Finney said to the beautician.

  “I wouldn’t dare leave you to the wolves,” the beautician said.

  The second floor buzzed with activity, hotel guests hoping to catch a glimpse of a rumored Hollywood celebrity, hotel workers, camera crew, and other production personnel. Industrial grade electrical cables lined the hallways to send power to lighting and camera equipment.

  Each segment producer made sure his crew was ready, then the production company PR coordinator called the room to order.

  “All right, everyone, this is going to be a very full day, so it’s going to be essential that everyone moves on cue. I need Ms. Belmont to take her seat so that the lighting crew and the sound technicians can check their levels.” A small wireless microphone was clipped to Annie’s blouse and she took her seat under the lights.

  Henry Stillman, with the London Daily Telegraph, took his seat opposite Annie.

  “Delighted to meet you,” Stillman whispered to Annie. The producer called for quiet, and at 8:01 a.m. he signaled for the interview to begin.

  “Annie, may I call you Annie? You must be delighted with the success of your television series Rangeland. And I’m sure you know it’s very popular in the UK. We Brits love the way you Yanks celebrate your cowboys. And here you are nominated for Best Actress in a Dramatic TV series. Tell us all how you feel about that.”

  And so, the day marched on. Entertainment reporters from Brazil’s Exame, France’s Le Figaro, Italy’s L’Espresso, Germany’s Vogue, China’s China Times, and even the Pan Arabic Kul Al Osra, took their turns, and on and on. Clay Devons stood in the shadows, watching. Clay was a high-octane talent agent for SSA – Silver Screen Artists - one of the biggest Hollywood talent agencies. He left his card with Finney to pass along to Annie. On the back of the card, he wrote “Let’s talk.”

  By lunch, Annie felt weary of her own answers parroted over and over again.

  “I’ve got to think of some new way to say how pleased, proud, and excited I am,” Annie said over a chicken salad. “I must sound awful.”

  “Forget it. Who cares,” Finney said. She pulled out Clay Devons’ card and handed it to Annie. “Take a look at this.” Annie took the card. “Check the back.” Annie flipped the back over and scanned the hand-written note.

  “I already got an agent,” Annie said. She tossed the card on the table.

  “Look, I don’t know him personally,” Finney said, “but if he’s with SSA, he can open doors that Tony couldn’t even touch. “I’d at least take a meeting if I were you.” Annie hesitated. Finney picked up her cell phone and checked the private phone number for Clay.

  “You want me to call him? I’ll call him,” Finney said, and started punching numbers. Annie gasped.

  “No – what do you think you’re doing?” Annie said as she tried to take Finney’s phone away from her. Finney pushed her hand away as the number rang.

  “Yeah?” Clay said. Finney’s eyes got wide, and Annie pulled back, horrified.

  “This is Annie Belmont’s handler. Do you have a moment to speak with Ms. Belmont?” Finney said.

  “Sure,” Clay said. Finney handed the phone to Annie, who almost refused it as if she was being handed a scorpion. Finney glared at Annie with a searing gaze that would cause a Kodiak bear to retreat. She reluctantly took the cell phone and put it to her ear.

  “Yes, this is Annie Belmont.”

  “Annie, I think my card makes it clear who I am and what I do. And I know a star when I see one. I need 15 minutes of your time to paint a picture of your future. Free of charge, no obligation. If you don’t like what you hear, I’ll say goodbye and never bother you again.” Annie looked at Finney and shrugged her shoulders.

  “Ok. How about tomorrow night at 8:00 at the Beverly Wilshire?”

  “I’ll see you then,” Clay said, and hung up. Finney smiled.

  “Girl, you are on your way to immortality.”

  They returned to the interview room. For the remainder of the afternoon international journalists took their turn. Annie kept replaying in her mind the words of Clay Devons, and wondered what crystal ball he possessed to peer into her future. How could he know what’s down the road? Her curiosity niggled at her as she tried to concentrate on the inane questions offered up by the foreign press.

  “Ms. Belmont,” the entertainment reporter for the Toronto Star said, “Where do you draw inspiration for your character, seeing as you are neither a mother nor a wife in real life?”

  The reporter for India’s Dainik Bhaskar queried, “Could you ever imagine yourself really living as a doctor’s wife out in Montana?”

  The reporter from Amsterdam’s De Telegraaf felt his readers deserved to know, “You and Gordon Stall work so well together as husband and wife on the show. Did you have to rehearse a lot to make your kissing scenes so believable?”

  The press event paused for dinner.

  “One more to go,” Finney said.

  “Lord, give me strength,” Annie said. In the restaurant downstairs, Annie ordered a cobb salad and a white wine. Finney made a special request of her own.

  “I want a dry salad, romaine and arugula with cilantro and capers, Italian olives, and balsamic vinaigrette on the side,” Finney said.

  “Yes, ma’am,” the waiter said.

  “What do you think this Clay Devons wants?” Annie said.

  “He’s already inside your head,” Finney said. “My guess is he wants to steal you away from Tony.”

  “Should I be offended?” Annie asked.

  “Well, it is a compliment in a way. If he does want to represent you, it’s because he thinks there’s money to be made off of you.”

  After dinner, the final interviews came to a merciful end, and Annie said good night to the crew.

  “Thank you all for being so patient with me and my boring answers,” she said.

  “Remember, we have to be in Rita’s green room by 9:00 a.m. tomorrow. So, we should get out of here by 8:00 a.m.,” Finney said.

  Annie stopped by the front desk on her way to her room.

  “You have an envelope,” the receptionist said. Annie took it from her.

  “Thank you.” She opened it in the elevator. It was from Clay Devons. It was a single piece of paper with a movie title ‘TRIPOLI’ and a brief synopsis of the story. At the bottom of the page, Devons wrote ‘I’ll see you tomorrow at 8:00.’

  Annie soaked in the tub for a half hour, then rolled into bed and dialed a number on her cell phone.

  “Hi, sweetheart,” Phil said. How’s L.A. treating you?”

  “Where is Tripoli?” she asked.

  “I think it’s somewhere on the coast of North Africa. Why? You thinking of moving?”

  Chapter 15

  Jan 7 - When the Golden Globe nominations were announced in late November, booking agents for various daytime talk shows scrambled to schedule the big-name nominees to appear on their show. Most studio contracts required actors and actresses to make a certain number of appearances to plug shows, movies, and award events. And besides, it was good for ratings. The Rita Hartman Show aired in most major markets. Rita parlayed her successful sitcom run of seven years into a daytime talk show slot. Not quite the heft and draw of Ellen Degeneres, but she built a loyal following from fans who adored her sitcom. The show’s schedulers booked Annie to appear a few days before the Golden Globes, figuring a woman-to-woman exchange between Rita and Annie would make for good television. The “Rita” show filmed at 11:00 a.m. on the Paramount studio lot in Hollywood, then aired the show later that afte
rnoon. The production people asked that Annie be in the “Green Room” by 9:00 a.m. for show prep. Finney made sure they arrived on time. Rita popped her head in around 10:30.

  “So nice to meet you,” Rita said. “I’m a big fan.”

  “Thank you,” Annie said. “She probably says that to all her guests,” she thought. But it sounded sincere.

  “I thought we should talk about your show,” Rita said. “And then you’ve got a clip we’re going to show, then whatever else you want to talk about. I think it’s a seven-minute segment, but it should be fun.”

  The makeup girl stopped by and checked Annie for any shiny spots on her face.

  “You look good to go,” she said. Annie turned to Finney.

  “This is my first daytime show. Any words of wisdom?” Annie said.

  “Don’t throw up,” Finney said. The production girl stuck her head in the door.

  “You’re up next.” Then she turned to Finney. “You can stay here and watch her on the monitor.” Then she led Annie to her mark where she would enter.

  “You all know her as Audrey Mansion on the hit TV series ‘Rangeland’” Rita announced to America. “And she’s the odds-on favorite to win a Golden Globe for her portrayal as the horse-savvy wife of Dr. Mansion on that show. So, let’s all give a warm welcome to Annie Belmont.” The studio audience broke into applause as Annie breezed onto the set and took a seat beside Rita.

  “Thank you so much for stopping by,” Rita began. “And congratulations on your Golden Globe nomination. We’re all pulling for you.” Then Rita turned to the audience for confirmation. “Right?” The audience gave Annie a brief round of applause.

  “Thank you so much,” Annie said.

  “And how are you holding up, by the way,” Rita said, “You know, with all that pressure?”

  “I try not to think about it,” Annie said.

  “We all love your show. You really inspire the women of America with how you handle horses out there on the range. Where did you learn to do that?” Rita said.

  “I grew up on a ranch in Montana, so horse riding came with the territory.”

  “I understand there is something else back in Montana that is part of your life. Is it true you’re engaged?” The audience again clapped its approval. Annie blushed with uncertainty at this awkward topic. She knew Phil would probably watch the show, and didn’t want to put any nationwide pressure on him.

  “Yes, but I don’t want to jinx anything, because he told me the wedding is off if I don’t win the Golden Globe. No, just kidding,” she said. The audience laughed. Annie hoped her answer might deflect further questions about her marital status. It did.

  “Well, we’ve got a clip from one of your episodes. I’m told it’s from the season finale where you are caught in a stampede. Let’s take a look,” Rita said. While the clip played, Annie leaned over and whispered to Rita.

  “If you don’t mind, no more questions about my engagement. It’s a little touch-and-go right now,” Rita nodded. At the end of the clip, the camera turned to Rita.

  “I’m not going to ask if you survived the stampede. We’ll just have to wait and see. That episode airs in a couple of weeks?”

  “Yeah, you’ll just have to wait – no spoiler alerts.”

  “One last question before we let you go. We’re just into the new year – did you make any New Year’s resolutions?”

  “Yes – just one. Eat more chocolate. That’s one resolution I know I can keep.” The audience laughed and applauded.

  “Well, with your gorgeous figure, you’ve got nothing to worry about,” Rita said. Then she turned to the audience. “Lets’ all give it up for Annie Belmont.” Annie stood and took a bow, then waved to the audience as she walked off stage. Finney stood in the wings waiting for her.

  “How’d I do?” Annie whispered.

  “Good job,” Finney said.

  “Did I dodge the marriage thing OK?”

  “Screw’em. Who cares?” Finney said.

  Out in the parking lot, Annie and Finney climbed back into their limo. Finney tapped on the privacy window.

  “6316 Hollywood Boulevard, please,” she said.

  “Where are we going now?” Annie said.

  “I gotta visit a friend of mine,” Finney said.

  “A friend? We got time?” Annie asked. Finney just looked out the window.

  “It’s just a few blocks from here,” Finney said.

  When they drew near to the address, Finney tapped on the privacy window.

  “Slow down. You’re almost there,” she said. The iconic intersection of Hollywood and Vine approached, where supposedly movie stars used to hang out.

  “Right there in front of the Body-Energy Club,” Finney pointed. She spotted a homeless bum smoking a joint, with a grocery cart full of his earthly possessions parked beside him. In a sudden fit of moral outrage, Finney turned to Steve.

  “Stop the car – I’m getting out.”

  “But there’s no place to park,” Steve called back. Too late - Finney bolted from the slow-moving limo and headed straight for the bum. As the limo coasted on by, Annie looked through the rear window to see Finney attacking the bum and shooing him and his portable closet away from his perch. The limo turned right on Vine Street in search of an empty parking space.

  “You stay with the limo. I’ll see what’s going on,” Annie said to Steve. She got out of the limo and walked back to the intersection, then turned left on Hollywood Boulevard. She found Finney on her knees cleaning off one of the stars on the sidewalk and lighting a small candle she placed on top of the star.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Annie asked.

  “Some people just got no respect,” Finney said. Annie stood over the star to see the name inscribed – it read “Nita Naldi.”

  “Nita Naldi?” Annie said. “Who was she?”

  “Silent movie star,” Finney said.

  “Never heard of her,” Annie said.

  “She was big in her day. Ziegfield Follies. Played opposite John Barrymore and Rudolph Valentino. She was awesome – always played strong women. She paved the way for people like you and me. We owe her.”

  “I’ll have to look her up,” Annie said. She waited politely as Finney buffed up the star and cleaned the concrete around it. “That’s not her headstone, you know,” Annie said. She spotted their limo slowly approaching up Hollywood Boulevard. Apparently, Steve circled the block rather than park, hoping they might be ready to go. Annie just waved him on to make another pass.

  “Do you come here often?” Annie asked.

  “I always come on her birthday – November 13, and whenever I’m in the neighborhood.”

  “I don’t even visit my Mom’s grave that often,” Annie thought to herself. Finney seemed deep in a moment of reflection, sitting in front of the star, forcing pedestrians to walk around. “Only in Hollywood,” Annie thought. She spied the limo making another pass.

  “Are you ready?” she asked Finney. No reply. Annie shrugged her shoulders at Steve and waved him on. “When in Rome…” she muttered, and sat down facing Finney, with Nita’s star in the middle.

  “I used to have a dog,” Annie began, but Finney put her hand up like a traffic cop, cutting her off. “Never mind,” Annie said. In another two minutes Finney suddenly filled her lungs with a deep cleansing breath, and exhaled.

  “Let’s go,” Finney said, standing to her feet. They stood at the edge of the curb until Steve rolled up, and they climbed inside the limo.

  “Your agent called while you were talking to Rita. He wants to have dinner with you at the hotel at 6:00. After that, you’ve set up a meeting with Clay Devons at 8:00. So, let’s get you to the hotel.”

  The limo pulled in at the hotel at 3:45. Annie made a quick trip to her room to change clothes for dinner.

  Back in Billings, at 4:00 p.m. Mountain time, Phil took a break from his duties at The Sanctuary to catch Annie’s interview with Rita Hartman. He flipped the TV on in the facility’s lo
unge, took a seat, along with several residents, and sipped on a cup of coffee.

  “Doesn’t Miss Annie look pretty?” one of the residents said to Phil.

  “She’s a doll,” Phil said.

  At 6:00 Annie met with Tony at ‘The Blvd’ dining room, an elegant setting with lofty ceilings, oversized windows, and dramatic views overlooking Rodeo Drive. They ordered a light dinner, then Tony got down to business.

  “I’ve been talking to the ad agency for CitiBank,” he said. “They might want to have you do some commercials for them. You know – ‘What’s in your wallet?” Annie sighed. That was not exactly the career-making offer she was looking for. She started to wonder if she had already started to outgrow Tony.

  Back in her hotel room, Annie slipped on a pair of imported jeans and a cashmere long sleeve pullover, and at 8:00 p.m. she went down to the lobby. She spotted Clay waiting in the lounge.

  “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting,” Annie said. Clay smiled.

  “Let’s go find a quiet spot,” he said. They got cozy in a corner where a few stuffed chairs sat in a circle around a small coffee table.

  “Would you like a drink?” Clay asked.

  “Maybe a bottled water,” Annie said. Clay signaled for a bellhop.

  “A bottled water for the lady and a Pellegrino for myself.” Then he turned to Annie.

  “How did the interviews go?”

  “One down, one to go,” Annie said.

  “I know, it’s a grind, but you seem to be holding up. I watched you yesterday.” Annie handed him back his business card.

  “So, what did you want to talk about?”

  “Where do you see yourself ten years from now?”

  “Living good. Married. Kids. Offers coming over the phone.”

  “No,” Clay said. “That’s not what I see.”

  “Really?” Annie said. “What do you see?”

  “You’re the next Meryl Streep, that’s what I see. $20 million a picture, and every Hollywood director crawling on their hands and knees to get you.” Annie laughed at the absurdity of Clay’s vision.

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Did you get my note?” Clay said. Annie pulled out the flyer about “Tripoli”.