No Strings Attached

by Randi Reisfeld

Suddenly, Nick burst out laughing. Leave it to Eliot to take a situation and bring it to a whole new level of ridiculous.

  Eliot’s face turned beet red. “Nice to see your mood shift, but I wasn’t aware I was being so funny.”

  Nick got off the bed and threw his arm around Eliot. “Sorry, man. For everything. I just had a really rotten day at work, and I guess I was taking it out on Sara. And you.”

  Eliot was unconvinced. “You know I like her. … I mean, I really like her, Nick.”

  “Well, go for it, bro. The coast is clear—except for, uh … well, there’s Donald.” He ticked off his fingers. “There’s the purity pledge. And there’s”—he looked skyward—“the big guy upstairs. I don’t think she’s giving it up for anyone.”

  Eliot smiled wanly. “She looks good when she’s sweating.”

  Nick grabbed a comb from the dresser and looked in the mirror. “Got a question for you. This guy at work said some mumbo-crapo about some lady is protesting too much. Like I was supposed to know what he meant.”

  “What guy at work?”

  “What’s it matter? Just tell me what it means. If you know.”

  “‘The lady doth protest too much’ is a line from Hamlet. You remember a little of tenth-grade Shakespeare? It means that if you keep saying no to something, the opposite is true. Like if you keep insisting, over and over, that you’re not into Sara, the opposite is true. You really are after her.”

  And how’d we get back there? Nick was confused. He was not after Sara.

  “Why not?” Eliot broke in like a mind reader wielding a sledgehammer. “How could you not be attracted to her? She’s sexy, she’s gorgeous, she’s sweet … she’s the whole deal. I’m having a hard time just being friends.”

  Nick worked hard to not let his panic show. Sara was hot, anyone could see that. So was Lindsay. Yet he wasn’t really interested in either of them. Was it possible that the job was changing him? Turning him gay? Could someone turn gay?

  Carefully, he said to Eliot, “Look, bro, I know you like her. And even though I think she’s a challenge—Religion Girl’s got baggage, like we just said—I’m just stepping out of the way. Not to sound, you know, obnoxious, but I can get any girl. I don’t need Sara.”

  “Good,” Eliot said. “Step far out of the way. ’Cause if she does decide to ditch Donald, I want to be the guy, y’know? And even though I’m not that great-looking, I think I have a chance with her. I really do.”

  All Nick could manage was, “Keep the faith, dude.”

  The following Thursday night, everyone except Naomi settled around the poker table in the game room. It’d been ten days since Lindsay and Sara had auditioned, a fact Lindsay made everyone aware of … every minute. “I so know that phone’s gonna ring,” she burbled, getting up to refill her glass and Jared’s with vodka. “It’s gonna be Amanda. And she’s gonna say, ‘Call back tomorrow, Linz, for your second audition for Cherry. The casting directors love you!’”

  She gaily winked at Sara. “And then, Eliot’s phone is going to ring—that’s the number they have for you, right?”

  Nick growled, “Can you just deal the cards, Lindsay? We’re here to play poker, not be the audience for your nightly monologue.”

  Lindsay smiled sweetly as she carefully dealt a card to each person. “And Eliot’s gonna answer his phone and go, ‘Sara, it’s for you. It’s Lionel … you’ve got a call back, you’re still in the running for The Outsiders!’” With a flourish, she threw a dollar into the pot. “Who bets I’m right?”

  Jared raised her a dollar. “I bet you lose this hand.”

  “I hope you’re right, Lindsay. I raise both of you,” Sara said with a grin.

  Eliot won the round. He chose his next words carefully, having planned this for a while. “I have a wager. I bet not a single one of you will know what to do when an earthquake hits. And I’d like to—”

  Jared rolled his eyes. “Would you stop with this already? It’s August. You’ll be gone in a month. Then you won’t have to worry.”

  “You wouldn’t either, if you knew what to do,” Eliot responded sagely. “I’m going to teach you.”

  “Like hell.” Jared pushed his chair back, went to refill his glass.

  Lindsay hopped up too. But she was too stoked, in too good a mood to be annoyed. She strolled behind Eliot’s chair, draped her arms around his neck, and playfully kissed the top of his springy hair. “As long as we can keep playing cards, I say, let the El-man go all ‘Earthquakes for Dummies’ on our asses.”

  Eliot flushed copiously.

  Jared whirled around from the bar, gave her a look.

  But he wasn’t gonna mess with a deliriously happy Lindsay. And Nick wasn’t gonna bother putting a cork in the Catastrophe Kid, either. When El was on a tear, nothing was going to stop him.

  Over several hands of Texas Hold ’Em, five-card stud, and high-low, Eliot gave detailed preparedness instructions. “First, there are over three hundred and fifty earthquakes a year in L.A.”

  “That’s like one a day—no way,” said Nick dismissively.

  “They’re just so small you don’t feel them, except for maybe a gentle wave in the middle of the night. That’s the other thing: ninety percent of earthquakes happen in the middle of the night.”

  “Why’s that?” Lindsay, suddenly interested, asked.

  “There’s a theory about seismic activity triggered by geological temperature changes that happen at night.”

  Lindsay snickered. “I can see why temperatures definitely rise at night.”

  Eliot got flustered. Damn, that girl could make pure snow blush. He plowed on. “There are generally two kinds of quakes. The first is a rolling quake; it rolls through in a waving motion and you feel like you’re on a boat. That’s the ground bending. The buildings actually sway and move. The wave rolls through and is gone in about four or five seconds.”

  “What’s the second?” Sara asked nervously.

  “The shaker. It hits like a bulldozer. You feel like you got slammed by a WWE wrestler. The shaking is so intense, windows blow out and buildings pancake—implode. The nineteen ninety-four quake lasted over forty-five seconds!”

  “Doesn’t seem like that long,” Nick noted.

  “It will when you’re going through it,” Eliot responded. “Anyway, we won’t have much warning, but if you start to feel a wave beneath you, get moving. Whoever’s closest to the kitchen, grab the preparedness kit and distribute the contents. Then get out of the kitchen fast! It’s one of the worst places to be during an earthquake. If you’re downstairs, duck beneath this table; it’s the sturdiest one in the house.”

  Jared was astonished. “You weighed it?”

  “I didn’t have to. It’s made of solid cherry wood, and we’d all fit under it. Unlike the low coffee table in the living room.”

  Lindsay grinned wickedly. “But it’d be cozier under the coffee table … and there’s water there.” She looked at Sara. “Oops, it’s Kaballah water—you can’t drink it. You’ll have to go Jewish, or stay parched. ’Cause everyone knows in the event of an earthquake, don’t drink the tap water.”

  Nick started to scold impish Lindsay, but Sara put her hand up. “It’s okay. In case of an earthquake, I think I could make an exception. Anyway, what if you’re upstairs when … I mean … if it happens?”

  “Bend over and kiss your ass good-bye?” Nick suggested playfully.

  “Stay upstairs,” Eliot said. “The stairs could collapse, and falling debris could hit you in the head. Stand in a doorway, or against an inside wall. And wherever you are, get away from all windows. By the way, Nick, did you ask Jared where the main gas line is?”

  Nick had not.

  “Okay. We can check it out tonight. We have to know how to turn it off. Where’s it located, Jared?” Eliot asked.

  Jared threw his hands up. “How am I supposed to know? This is my uncle’s house. And somehow, the subject of the freakin’ gas line never came up.”

  Elio
t banged his fist on the table. “Well, it should have. We’ve got to find it. Unless, in the event of an earthquake, you want to take the chance of being blown sky high.”

  “Whoa, chill out, E. After the game, I’ll find it,” Nick said soothingly.

  “How will you know where to look?” Sara asked.

  “My old man’s in construction; I’ll figure it out. And,” he added, with a stern look at Jared, “I’ll show you, in case the subject does come up.”

  Jared pressed his lips together. “You guys are taking this way too far. This is ridiculous.”

  Eliot shrugged. “Dude, you want our rent money? There’s a few things you’re gonna have to deal with—we should have figured this out back in June. Since we’re talking about your life too, maybe you want to take it more seriously.”

  “You go, E-man!” Lindsay, borderline sloshed, clapped her hands.

  Jared decided to push Eliot’s buttons. “What makes you so sure it’ll be an earthquake, anyway, not a wildfire? Or a tsunami?”

  “I’m not sure,” Eliot responded. “I bought gas masks for all of us, and helmets, in case of that. They’re in the cabinet with the earthquake preparedness kit.”

  It was all Jared could do to keep from pissing his pants. Tears of laughter rolled down his face. His question had been facetious.

  Eliot was steaming.

  Lindsay put her forefinger to her lips and tilted her head. “Eliot, when’s your birthday?”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “I bet you’re a Leo. ’Cause, baby, you are a passionate one. You roar, boy! Am I right? Are you a Leo?”

  “His birthday is August twelfth,” Nick said.

  Lindsay squealed, “Oh, my god! I was right! And that’s next week—we are so having a party.” She jumped up and pirouetted around the room, “Par-tay! Par-tay! I say—par-tay!”

  “Lindsay, sit down and deal the cards. It’s your turn,” Jared said.

  “Only if you say okay to a party.” She plopped into Jared’s lap and kissed the tip of his nose.

  No way could Jared resist Lindsay. Who, Eliot wondered, really could? So when, as dealer, she insisted on a “new game,” they all went along with it.

  “Here we go,” she grinned maniacally. “Only one card each. I deal it facedown. You cannot look at it!”

  They indulged her.

  “Now,” she said. “I want each of you to take the card—don’t look—and stick it on your forehead so everyone can see what you have, only you can’t.”

  “You’re making this up,” Nick said skeptically.

  “I am not!” Lindsay protested, “It’s called Schmuck Poker. Am I pronouncing it right, Jared?”

  Jared was laughing too hard to speak, but he nodded his head as he pressed his card, a five of clubs, on his forehead.

  “Come on,” Lindsay urged, “everyone do it.”

  Eliot shook his head in disbelief. Lindsay had a jack of spades; Sara, a seven of hearts; Nick, a queen of hearts. He had no idea what he had.

  “Now we bet,” Lindsay declared.

  “On what?” Nick asked incredulously.

  “On our cards, silly,” she answered. “This is poker. Jared, you start.”

  “I bet five dollars.” He tossed his money into the pot.

  Which sent Sara into a whirl of laughter.

  “You think you have me beat?” Jared challenged, “with that piddly card on your forehead?”

  “I raise to ten dollars!” was her feisty response.

  Lindsay, sure she had the table beat—’cause after all, she was Lindsay—capped the betting at twenty-five dollars—but not before everyone had dissolved into hysterics and finger-pointing. By that point, Nick, Eliot, and Sara had folded, believing Miss Thing the probable winner.

  Which is how Lindsay scooped the pot away from Nick and Eliot, who, it turned out, both had her beat. She’d bluffed.

  Triumphantly, she crowed, “I win! I win! Now we have to have a party. We’ll celebrate Eliot’s birthday, and callbacks for the audition. Sara’s and mine.”

  Sara, giggling at Lindsay’s antics, finally managed to say, “You’re gettin’ ahead of yourself. No one’s called—”

  Precisely at that moment (she could not have staged it better), Lindsay’s cell phone rang.

  A half second later, so did Eliot’s.

  Lindsay and Sara: Two Auditions

  Pumped or pissed. Lindsay couldn’t decide what she was more of. Getting the callback meant she’d made it to the next round of auditions, trounced hundreds of Cherry-wannabes. Yesss! She was smokin’! Lick fingertip, raise it high in the air!

  But so—damn—had Sara! What was up with that?

  For the benefit of the housemates, she’d fronted “knowing” they’d both get callbacks, when naturally, she knew nothing of the sort.

  Wait … take that back. She did know one thing: She’d kicked ass at her first audition. ’Cause that’s the kind of thing, as she’d joyfully recounted to Jared, you just “know” when you’re doing it, and get confirmed by the looks from the casting directors when you’re done. They lean over, whisper in each other’s ears, write on their notepads, nod encouragingly, and say—this is key—“We’ll be in touch.”

  As opposed to the dismissive “Thanks for coming.” The English-to-Hollywood translation: “You sucked.” Forget about a follow-up. Only good news nets the phone call.

  So when Amanda herself rang during the poker game, Lindsay shot off her chair as if she’d been launched.

  When Eliot sang out that Lionel was calling for Sara, Lindsay crash-landed, her good mood up in flames.

  How’d that happen? She’d personally seen to it that Sara gave the wrong kind of audition. Told her to do the reading all sugary and saccharine when the full script confirmed they were going for Cherry Bomb, not Cherry Vanilla.

  So what’d happened? Had Sara only pretended to believe her, and gone balls-out the way the casting directors wanted? Or worse, had Sara read Cherry’s lines dripping with toothache-inducing sweetness, and won the judges over anyway?

  The second scenario was Lindsay’s total nightmare.

  ’Cause if that’d happened, it meant the girl from nowhere had “something”—the indefinable unquantifiable charisma. The “thing” that must not be named.

  The dark art Lindsay had no defense against.

  She couldn’t share her insecurities with Jared. She’d sort of not told him about deliberately trying to undermine Sara. Jared played by Hollywood rules—winning at any cost, that is—but there were some things he was stupidly stubborn about.

  Like wanting Lindsay to win the role fairly. Like it was okay to procure the script and insider info, but not okay to screw up someone else’s chances. Especially when that someone else was rent-paying Sara?

  Lindsay had played her own game. It’d backfired. Somehow, Sara Calvin, a nobody from nowhere, now had the same exact chance of nailing this role as Lindsay had. Where was the fair in that?

  Lindsay’s stomach churned. She really, really didn’t want to lose out to her own housemate.

  The first round of Outsider auditions had taken place in the casting directors’ offices in Beverly Hills. It’d been a cattle call, the waiting area jammed with dozens of would-be Cherrys. They came in all stripes: blondes, brunettes, redheads, African Americans, Asians, Latinas, tall, tiny, short, stocky, curvy, stick-thin. Some wore cowboy hats (did they think this was a remake of Bonanza?), others decked out in prim 1960s dresses. More than half the girls had anxious stage mamas and papas at their sides. Several paced, others perched, many couldn’t decide how to calm their stomach-churning nerves. Silently or out loud, all were going over the audition scenes in their heads—and overtly or covertly, wishing the worst to every other person in the room.

  They waited an excruciatingly long time to be called in, one by one, for their tryout. Then they got five minutes to make a lasting impression on the casting directors with a stellar reading. And then, coming out,
one by one, by turns hopeful, dejected, deluded.

  Two weeks had passed since the heinous cattle call, and the field had been whittled down considerably. According to reliable sources—i.e., Galaxy office gossip—there were now about twenty girls in contention. Eighteen others besides Lindsay and Sara.

  This second round of competition took place at the Warner Brothers studios in Burbank in front of the movie’s director and producers. The crop of actresses who made it through would then have a final audition for the studio boss. Rusty Larson had a weekly tennis game with the head of Warner Brothers studios. Should Lindsay be Galaxy’s only client in the finals, she was in.

  She had to make it through this round. Two obstacles stood in her way: the director, Katherine McCawley, and Sara Calvin. She didn’t know the director at all, didn’t know what card to play to win her over. She knew Sara all too well.

  To better her chances with the first, she’d rented the DVD of the director’s first movie, and rehearsed a gushing suck-up speech about it.

  To better her chances of beating Sara, she planned to sneak into the girl’s audition: Whatever Sara did in her tryout, Lindsay had to do it better. Slipping in unnoticed was the easy part. She needed one piece of luck: for Sara to be called before her.

  “Lindsay Pierce, you’re up first!” A clipboard-clutching assistant summoned her. Clue number one that the good luck goddess might not be smiling on her plan. Sara, from across the room, gave her a fingers-crossed signal. Which was, she had to reluctantly admit, sweet of her. Which Lindsay had deliberately not been toward her. She prayed the karma gods weren’t out today.

  Her stomach churning, she managed to wave back.

  Gamely, she followed Assistant Lady from the waiting area to the set, which turned out to be the one that used to be the stage for TV’s Smallville. Made sense, Lindsay conceded, as that show took place in small-town America, as did The Outsiders. She smiled inwardly: Being tested in this setting reinforced her instinct about what to wear. In the 1983 movie, Diane Lane had done most of her scenes in buttoned-up blouses and skirts. Today’s Cherry, at home in this setting, would be clean-cut, prepped up, in Lucky jeans, midheel boots, layered pink polo, carrying a Kate Spade bag.