by Tom Rich
And that story about Sweet Daddy Sol, hanging in Aly’s thoughts like some extended non sequitur, the way he cut it off so abruptly. Was Jones equating Sweet Daddy Sol’s murder with the Mayan sun being bitten?
Doom as archetype.
Aly knew that just about every—if not all—cultures generated prophecies of doom. But how many cultures existed in eras that had nuclear weapons available? And global warming? And the ability to detect a black hole that could cause Earth’s poles to flip flop?
Well, possibly two eras for that last one, considering Ukit Took and his cronies’ mad skills at astronomy.
“Enough!” This was exactly the sort of thinking Aly didn’t want to distract her from pursuing justice for Dr. Arbanian.
Sylvie stirred, moaned, rolled over. Her eyes opened.
Aly was sitting in an easy chair next to the bed, reading the book Jones Pelfry had loaned her: Carl Jung’s autobiography. Or trying to read. She’d been alternating between the book and wanting to shake Sylvie awake to ask her what she knew about Kurtwood Franz’s Mayan affairs. But passages such as the one she’d just read kept her engrossed. She lowered the book. “Hello. Remember where you are?”
“Mmm.” Sylvie sat up, looked around the room. “You brought me here, didn’t you? I remember coming up steps. Then how good this bed felt. How long have I been out?”
“Nearly ten hours.” Aly pointed. “Shower’s in there. And Trish said you could borrow whatever to wear. Actually, she said you could keep whatever. And if you’re hungry, I made a sandwich.” She held up a plate. “Turkey and provolone.”
“Famished.” Sylvie grabbed the plate. She discarded the bread and rolled up the meat and cheese.
“Ditching carbs so you’ll look good on screen.”
“Something like that.” Sylvie took the rollup in two bites. “Mm. Trish here?” She felt around herself as if taking inventory.
“She’s a working gal. Hard at it as we speak.”
“Well, well. It appears your cop friend didn’t frisk me.” Sylvie produced the cocaine packet from between her breasts. She peeled it open.
Aly’s eyes bugged. “Chinchilla. That what I think it is? Whew, never seen that much at one time.” She tossed aside the book. “Anyway, even if he did, I don’t think he’d have gone there.”
“No? You’ve never been pulled over?”
“Uhh, no.”
Sylvie held out the packet. “Have a sweet tooth?”
“Trying to give it up.”
“My, there’s a ton of it left.”
“You were pretty wired when we found you this morning.” Aly nodded at the packet. “Courtesy of your rich boyfriend?”
“Woody? Not his style. But he seemed awfully glad when he saw I had it.”
Aly leaned forward. “Was he getting you all buzzed up to talk to the gods?”
Sylvie waggled a finger. “See? I thought you knew Woody.”
“We’ve met. I just happen to know a little something about Maya.”
“You’re a consultant on the film?”
“Uhh…right. But I’m sure you know a lot more about it than I do.”
“All I know is I play a Mayan queen. Woody built a set for the project inside his building.”
“Oh?”
“This creepy cavern kind of thing. And there’s this… Anyway, good thing I made him prop open the elevator door or I’d still be trapped in there. He’s got a real thing about keeping the set secret. Oops. Oh well.” Sylvie held out the package. “Sure?”
Aly shook her head. “You started to say something. You said, ‘There’s this….’” She made a chopping motion.
Sylvie shrugged. “Look,” she said, lowering her eyes, “you’re your own person, right?”
Aly, impatiently, “Whatever that means.”
“It means that I’m my own person too. So don’t think you’d be contributing to my relapse if you join me.” Sylvie held up the packet and waved it.
“I really am trying to ditch the Party Girl phase of my life.” Aly grew stern. “Now, you were about to—”
“Oh god.” Sylvie’s arm dropped. “Sorry. I’m…not always about everything being about me. Really. And you’ve been such a friend to help me out.”
“Go ahead, do a line. I’m not judging.”
Sylvie closed her hand around the packet. “Sometimes you need to get away from the feeling that it’s all closing in, you know? So you deal, right?”
“Or run. At least when I can.”
“Wish I could run away more often.” Sylvie stretched her arms over her head. Her entire body shivered. “That felt good this morning.”
“Things not working out so well with the rich boyfriend?”
Sylvie reflected a moment. “Hmm.” Her eyes focused on Aly’s. “Can I tell you something? Something I would never tell anyone.”
Aly’s eyes widened. “Something about you and Kurtwood Franz?”
Sylvie, bright and sitting cross-legged on the bed, slumped. She looked away.
Do a line for Arby, said a voice in Aly’s head.
Once buzzed on coke, the movie star would probably spill all she knew about Kurtwood Franz’s Mayan affairs. She ought to agree to do a line just to get Sylvie started.
Yes, do a line for Arby.
But Sylvie looked lost, friendless. “Ah man,” said Aly.
Sylvie pushed her hands on her knees and straightened. “You probably have better things to be doing. I should—”
Aly leaned forward. “Hey! If you really meant that about us being friends?”
Sylvie looked uncertain.
“I mean, I could never presume something like that.” Aly dropped to a whisper. “With you being you and all.”
“God, girl, think about how you found me this morning. And you’re still intimidated?”
Aly leaned back, said aloud, “None of that matters now. I’d never pass along anything you tell me. Not even for—especially—not for money from the tabloids.”
Sylvie smiled weakly. “Really?”
Aly nodded. “Really. How about a little girl talk.”
“Girl talk? Like…just between you and me?”
“Just between you and me,” said Aly.
Sylvie gazed at Aly. “You have really sincere eyes.”
Aly let out an airy laugh. Her eyes grew misty. She put her face in her hands.
“I thought I was a mess,” said Sylvie. “Look at you.”
“I’ll be okay,” mumbled Aly.
“I’m sorry. I never meant to imply you would sell me out. I was just saying I could tell that you wouldn’t because of your sincerity.”
“It’s not that.” Aly looked up. “You just reminded me of something. That’s all.”
“Oh?”
“A song.”
“Oh.”
“Not a song, really. It was never finished.” Aly wiped her eyes.
“Maybe…” Sylvie struggled for words. “Maybe I could give you…I mean, help you with…I mean, I would never presume—”
Aly held up a hand, put a finger to her lips. “Shh.” She leaned in, put her hands on Sylvie’s shoulders. “What we both need right now is a little girl talk.”
Sylvie relaxed in Aly’s soft grip. She touched her forehead to Aly’s. “Girl talk.”
“Nothing less,” said Aly.
“I would like that,” said Sylvie. “I would really, really like that.”
Aly let out a deep breath. “Arby will just have to wait.”
“Oh, I’m good. Besides, they get so huffy when I tell them to hold the bun.”
Aly laughed.
They parted.
Sylvie sat up straight. She pulled back her shoulders. “You first.”
“No, you’re the guest. You go first.”
“Really? That’s so sweet of you. Okay. Well, um…” Sylvie scanned the ceiling. “It’s like…” She sighed, looked around the room. “Maybe if you asked me questions. Like if this was an interview.”
�
��I see.” Aly tapped her chin. “Well, it sounded like you wanted to say something about your boyfriend.”
“Yeah, Woody.”
“Look, if he’s not treating you right….”
“No-wo. Woody’s been nothing but good to me. Hey, that guy stuck by me when nobody else would.”
“Even so, that doesn’t give him the right to, you know, get rough with you.”
“Woody? Not his style. All that stuff the last couple nights was for work.”
“Look, if it’s not my business? But that’s the rules of girl talk. We hold nothing back. Right now, even if it’s just for a few minutes, on this night, it’s Us against Them. See? I’m here for you. So holding anything back would be a betrayal of sorts.”
Sylvie wiggled to plant herself more firmly on the bed. “Good, because now I know how to start this.” She took a deep breath. “I wasn’t running from Woody this morning because he was getting rough. I was running because Breeze wants me back and Woody knows that and I’m not sure how much he cares. Or if he cares. So I wanted to see if he’d come running after me.”
The statement burst out so quickly, Aly felt herself hanging in midair when it ended. She leaned back. “Breeze?”
“No, Wood... Oh, Breeze. Kenneth Fabritzi, my—”
“The movie director, right? So-oh…you had a relationship with him?”
“Guess I don’t have to worry about you talking to the tabloids. You don’t even read them?”
“Been out of the country.”
“Oh yeah. Research for the film.”
“I’m starting to wonder. Anyway, Breeze is Kenneth Fabritzi, and Woody is Kurtwood Franz, and you’re trying to decide between the two. Wow, I can’t believe I’m about to take his side, but you said Woody was the one who stuck with you. Where was Breeze during the bad times? I mean, why would you even consider…?”
“I was what you call Hollywood Toxic. So while my stock was down…well, with Woody, it’s pretty much all business.”
“Ahh yes, the movie business.”
“Not just that. There’s a certain, um, lack of passion? Now, Breeze. If you want to talk about rough stuff.”
“He didn’t.”
“Come on. Everybody likes it a little rough now and then. Don’t you?”
“It’s rough enough trying to figure out how a guy feels about you.”
“What I’m saying about Woody.”
“Okay, where was Breeze when you really needed him?”
“Wasn’t like he totally ditched me. He was working on a new picture for me. My comeback film.”
“Breeze wants you back, and what he has to offer is a movie?”
“Except that Woody has pulled the plug on Penance.”
“This is how your beaus one-up each other? By offering the better movie? There’s a whole new macho.”
“A series I once did, the better car a guy had was the tiebreaker to get the girl.”
“Isn’t that the real world. Anyway, Woody has the power to pull the plug on Breeze’s movie?
“Woody thinks he does. But there are some things he doesn’t know about Breeze.”
“Yeah. Maybe save that one for the tabloids.”
“An entire script would write itself if those two went to war.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t settle for a movie just now.”
“But Penance is my life down pat. And that’s kind of sweet on Breeze’s part. All kinds of sides of me that Woody’s never seen.”
“Really putting you out there for everyone to see.”
“Breeze says that’s the penance I have to pay.”
“Pay what to who? Girl, you don’t owe anyone anything. Maybe you—”
“Us against Them, right? That’s what I’m getting from girl talk. That, and that you want to help me, right?”
“Sure I do.”
“So you’ll help me?”
“Now we’re talking. First thing is, you need to—”
“You said you know all about Maya. Give me something to help me get into character.”
“Uhh…” Aly shrugged. “I really wouldn’t know what’s appropriate.”
“Any little detail. Just throw something out there.”
“Just off the top of my head? Well, the kings and queens used to puncture themselves in really painful places to draw blood for their rituals.”
“And that is exactly why we have body doubles.”
“Yeah. See, I can’t just…uh…”
A dark cloud passed over Sylvie. She slid off the bed and leaned in close to Aly. “Are you saying you can’t?”
Aly leaned back. “I…what?”
“You’re saying you can’t, or you won’t?” Sylvie stormed across the room.
“Hey. Jeeze.”
Sylvie, one hand on her hip, pointed at Aly. “Then what good are you?” She swept her arm. “What good is all this?”
“I don’t know. It’s just stuff. It’s Trish’s stuff.”
“Do not play games with me. You know what I am talking about!”
“What? God.” Aly was trembling.
Sylvie paced. “All of your so called knowledge. It’s all part of the set up, isn’t it?”
“What? No.”
“You don’t know anything! You and Trish and all the rest.”
“Trish has nothing to—”
“You act like you’re my friends, then you fuck me up the ass. Royally!”
Aly was on the verge of tears.
Sylvie stopped pacing. Her voice deepened and slowed. “You act like you rescue me from something awful and this is what you bring me to?” She held her arms wide.
Aly was about to apologize.
Whatever had gripped Sylvie a moment earlier let loose. Her arms lowered. “A scene from Penance.” She curtsied. “With slight variations.”
“What?” Aly shook her head, blinked away the moment. “Oh.” She eased her grip on the armrests of the chair. “Shew, I thought that was real.”
“As real as it gets for me.”
Aly let out a nerve-clearing laugh. “Man, you really had me going.”
“Hey, you may be the only one to see Sadie at her worst. Doesn’t look like this film will ever get out of the development stage.”
“Too bad. That was nothing like I’d ever seen you do. I could actually feel your anger.”
“Just as well. Any reviews would probably say I was tapping into my diva-bitch self and not really acting.”
“I don’t know. That seemed like it came from a really dark place.”
“Deep and dark. And lately, it’s been following me around.”
“Whew. Maybe you shouldn’t go there again. No! Or maybe you need to go there more often.”
“What I am going to do is not worry about it.” Sylvie sat on the bed and reopened the packet of cocaine.
“What I mean is that acting could help you find what’s underneath it all.” Actor as archetype, Aly almost said. “You said this morning you were tired of keeping track of who you were.”
“If you’re still trying to rescue me, you should have shown up long before this morning.”
Aly’s eyes went to the floor. “Yeah, I don’t seem to have the timing to be in the rescue business.”
“Damn. Please don’t think I’m not grateful for you stopping for me this morning. And everything else you’ve done. Maybe I am a spoiled diva-bitch.”
“No you’re not. But you should think about taking a break. Get away from the movies. And all those people.”
“I have been away. And let me tell you, you really count the days when they stick you in one of those places.”
“That place would be…?”
“Rehab. It’s not like I can’t handle being clean and sober. Shoot, I can quit any time I want. What’s awful is all the peeling back they do in there.”
“Oh?”
“Each day in there was like getting closer to finding there was nothing underneath all the roles I’ve played.”
“Jeez
e, girl, have some self esteem.”
“When I’m losing myself in a role, it’s like there’s no such thing as time, no such thing as my own missing personality. Penance was going to be my way of dealing. Put it all in a movie, then you can be done with it and move on to the next role.”
“You just don’t realize that something real inside of you has been buried.”
“I’ve been in front of the camera since I was four. Four years old is when people start to retain memories. You do the math.”
“They’ve been using you all that time. And your only escape has been to buy into the fantasies they serve you.”
“‘Fairy Tale Run Ends in Rehab.’”
“What I’m saying.”
“You and the tabloids.”
Actress as archetype? More like the pretty thing used by the powers that be. “You need to get away from certain influences.”
“Like Woody and Breeze?”
“Them. And whatever else about your life the tabloids might be interested in.”
“And do what?”
“Run. Run away. Run away and stay with me until you figure it out.”
“Us against Them. You know what? You finding me under that bridge this morning is starting to sound like a whole new fairy tale.”
“Not so bad. There is something eternal about fairy tales.”
“Not so much for the flesh and blood and breathing models.”
“So get away. Stay away until you know how to make it real.”
Sylvie went blank. A weighty intensity enveloped her. Various demeanors—diva-bitch, lost waif, outrageous party girl—seemed to pass through Sylvie without her changing expression. Was she seeking the average Midwestern twenty-something within? Behind it all sat the loneliest girl in the world.