by Alison Bond
‘Better?’ he said.
‘I think so.’ She took a deep breath to try and clear the haze. A wave of nausea took her by surprise. She stood up to go to the bathroom and had to grab onto the back of a seat to steady herself, her legs felt strangely uncooperative. When she finally made it she grabbed onto the edge of the sink and leant forward until her head touched the mirror. The cool caress of glass against her forehead was like an icepack. She turned on the cold tap and let the water flow over her wrists. Pulling back she saw her face in the mirror, grey and tired, shrouded with a bird’s nest of dark frizz. It was a big enough shock to make her alert. She breathed in the lemony recycled air and slapped her cheeks to bring the colour back. The nausea had passed and she gathered her thoughts while she tried to do something with her hair.
If screaming in her sleep hadn’t freaked Davey out enough, another look at her frightful appearance would surely scupper any chance she had. At least she knew, from their conversation last night, that her attraction was reciprocated. What happened next was to a certain extent up to her. Davey could hold up his marriage like a shield but from experience she knew that, if she put her mind to it, his resistance would be futile. If that was what she wanted.
When she returned to her seat, breakfast was being served. Davey had pulled out her table and correctly guessed that she would prefer tea to coffee. She was touched.
‘You okay?’ he said.
‘Embarrassed, that’s all,’ she replied.
‘Don’t be,’ he said. ‘We can’t be responsible for our dreams.’
She sipped at her hot tea and wondered how best to play this game once they landed. Could she suggest sharing a cab when they lived in different parts of town? It was the sort of innocent suggestion that might be misconstrued. Or brushed aside as the harmless mistake of a geographically challenged foreigner. It was perfect.
Davey and Melanie left the plane together, like a couple. At passport control Melanie’s spirits sank when she saw the two separate queues, one for citizens and one for aliens. Reluctantly, Melanie took her place in the considerably longer queue and watched the back of Davey’s head as he cruised through into his native country. He waved at her as she waited and she hoped it was a ‘see you in a minute’ wave rather than goodbye.
In arrivals she searched the crowd for him. When she caught sight of him some distance away she raised her hand above her head. Her shout was halfway out of her mouth before she saw who was waiting for him.
Mary Ann ran towards Davey like a high-school cheerleader coming onto the field.
Across the arrivals hall Melanie saw Davey drop his bag and open his arms to welcome his wife.
Mary Ann jumped up onto him and wrapped her golden legs around his waist, showering him with kisses. She was wearing short shorts that revealed her perfectly pert bronzed bottom and her little green tattoo.
Davey kissed her and laughed. It was the laugh that hurt Melanie the most.
Melanie swallowed the rest of her shout and put her hand down, feeling stupid.
She watched as Davey put Mary Ann down with a kiss on her forehead. She watched him take Mary Ann’s arm as they walked out through the glass doors and into the street. He didn’t look back.
Melanie didn’t even have so much as a driver to meet her. She would have to speak to Lynsey and make sure that never happened again.
Network
I cannot stress strongly enough that there is no such thing as an enigma. Any star with a reputation for mystery has had that reputation carefully crafted by a highly paid team of experts. The true enigma is only the unknown. So get to know the locals, work the room and be civil.
26
It was a typically warm day and Lynsey was reading the scripts for the new series of Justice. She was probably supposed to give them back to CMG but, rather like her beloved cellphone, she figured that if they wanted these things back so badly then they could come and collect them. It wasn’t theft; it was severance pay.
She had started reading the scripts out of curiosity. It was something to do that seemed vaguely work-related. She was soon dragged in by the storylines and was settled by the side of the swimming pool at Flamingo Park with a mango smoothie and plenty of factor thirty. So far, unemployment rocked. Of course, soon she would need to settle her monthly motel bill but she was prepared to avoid that reality for as long as she could.
There was a new character, Nikki Testini, a feisty paralegal who tore through the ordered world of Justice like a bitch on heat. She was funny too. It was perfect for Serena.
Lynsey put in a call to the casting office. As she waited for them to call back she prepared herself for a likely disappointment. Justice started shooting in a couple of days, no doubt they had already cast the part. But, like most things in life, if she didn’t at least try then she would never know. Lynsey was also prepared for Max, as an executive on the show, to block any chance she had. If that happened then it would only be fair to advise Serena that having a blacklisted agent was not going to be good for her career. And Lynsey would hold up her hands and admit that her time here in Los Angeles was done. So she might as well catch some rays while she could.
Putting the scripts aside she lay back and felt the warmth of the sun on her face. She tried to chase the ghostly red patterns the sun traced on her eyelids, a childhood distraction that used to keep her occupied for hours. When there had been no sun to play with, Lynsey would stare at a lightbulb just to enjoy the psychedelic contours of a good retinal burn. Thinking of it gave Lynsey a sharp twang of homesickness. She figured that Mum and Dad would have just finished dinner (it was Thursday so pork chops were likely) and be settling down to the soap operas they watched religiously (although her dad said he didn’t). On impulse she called home.
Her dad answered, he always did during the soaps, and Lynsey realized that she hadn’t spoken to him in months.
‘Hello, love, aren’t you at work?’ he said.
‘Day off,’ she said, crossing her fingers. She had no intention of telling her parents about her change in circumstances; they wouldn’t understand why she was still here.
‘That’s nice,’ he said. ‘And you’re all right?’
‘Great,’ said Lynsey. ‘Really good. You?’
‘Not so bad,’ he said. There was a pause. ‘Will I get your mum?’
‘No, leave her, I just wanted to say hello and see how you were. See what’s going on.’
‘Oh, you know us,’ he said. ‘Same old really. There’s this new manager at work and he said I might get a company car. I said to him, what do I want a company car for? I’d rather have a raise thank you very much, but he said a car was better than a raise, something to do with tax, I don’t know. I asked your mother and she said that her Bill had a company car, so I phoned Bill and he said….’
Lynsey’s phone beeped.
‘What was that?’ said her dad.
CMG was flashing up on her screen. ‘Call waiting, but it’s okay, go on.’ She hadn’t really been listening intently; she never did when he talked about work, but he seemed to enjoy it and didn’t ever notice as long as she said ‘hmm’ or ‘yes’ occasionally.
‘Oh no, Lyns, you take the call. It might be important.’ Either that or they were going to ask for her phone back again.
‘Okay,’ she said reluctantly. She would rather listen to him talk about company cars all night than be forced to surrender her phone. ‘Say hi to Mum.’
‘I will, love. You take care.’
Lynsey took the call. It was Sheridan. ‘Max wants to see you,’ she said. So unemployed Lynsey ended up driving into the office after all.
Max was smiling. Lynsey couldn’t be certain that was a good thing. She had often seen him give someone terrible news with a smile on his face.
‘I got a call from Cerise,’ he said.
The casting director on Justice. Lynsey might have known. She had driven all the way here just to be warned off.
‘For some reason she seems to th
ink you still work here.’ said Max.
‘I never told her that. I work from home.’ said Lynsey.
‘No need to be so defensive,’ said Max. ‘Sit down.’
She did.
‘Serena’s not right for Nikki. We’ve talked about her already. I wanted to tell you myself so that you didn’t think it was something else. It’s nothing personal. If you want to try and make it on your own, that’s fine. Better that than see everything you learnt here go to waste.’
‘Have you cast the part?’
‘No.’
‘Then meet Serena.’
Max had been expecting Lynsey to leave humbled, not sit in his office and make demands.
Lynsey recognized an opportunity A few seconds face to face with the executive producer was something rare. She wanted to make it count. After all, it wasn’t like Max could fire her.
They faced each other. Lynsey took a deep breath and made her case. She took an eight by ten of Serena from her bag and put it on the desk between them. ‘The part calls for comedy, but also for passion, and I know Serena can pull them both off. She looks great, she’s young, enthusiastic, available.’ She ticked off Serena’s assets on her fingers. ‘She has a great sense of comic timing.’
‘It’s not a comic part,’ he protested.
‘But it is!’ said Lynsey The way Nikki treats men, the way she thinks of them as subordinates, it’s funny.’
Max supposed a certain kind of person might find that funny. A woman, for example.
‘She’s not right, Lynsey.’
‘At least meet her.’
‘I said no!’ he shouted. Max was tiring of her insistence but at the same time couldn’t help being charmed by it. Most people had this kind of enthusiasm kicked out of them early.
‘But why not, Max? You said yourself that Justice needs an injection of new talent. Serena Simon is just what you need to get next season off to a good start. Drag the kids in.’
‘No experience. We could get major names. We have ideas much bigger than this little girl. Names that will guarantee advertising.’
‘A new face, new talent. Plus she has a call back for the lead in a play at the Civic Center. You know how hard it is to get theatre in Los Angeles.’
‘Overexposed.’
‘Oh, for Christ’s sake! How can she be overexposed if she has no experience?’
‘The audience know her as Serena Simon. They won’t take to her as anyone else. We all know about the huge reaction to this article in Junket. We don’t want a celebrity, we want an actress.’
‘Look, Max, just let them meet her. The offers are flooding in for her right now. Serena Simon is red hot. She could model, she could record, but I asked her what she wanted to do and she said “theatre”. She really wants to act.’
‘They all do, kid.’ Max sat back in his emerald leather chair and looked again at the eight by ten of Serena Simon. A pretty face, but then he saw a hundred pretty faces every day.
‘I just don’t get it.’
‘Sometimes you are so gay,’ said Lynsey, grabbing the picture with one hand and opening the door with the other. She was feeling reckless. ‘Andrew, get in here.’
Max’s new assistant poked his head through the door, his body language utterly deferential.
‘Hi, what can I get you?’ Always keen to please.
‘Do you know this girl?’
‘Serena Simon, yeah, she’s hot,’ said Andrew, glad to have an easy question.
‘Excellent. Go next door and get Pete.’ Lynsey stood grinning confidently at Max, who relaxed, amused by her determination.
Pete walked into the office. ‘What’s up?’ Pete had been at CMG a long time and knew how to get somewhere in seconds and act relaxed.
‘Do you know this girl?’
‘Nope. Should I?’
‘Well, she is an actress.’
‘Jeez, sorry, not one of my clients,’ said Pete.
‘You don’t have clients,’ said Max.
‘I mean one of your clients, Max,’ Pete backtracked. ‘Of course I mean yours.’
‘Never mind,’ said Lynsey ‘Do you like the look of her?’
‘Who wouldn’t? She’s lovely. What did you say her name was?’ asked Pete, taking the photograph and getting an instant semi. There was something about the look in her eyes. Even though you could see her fully clothed shoulders she was smiling as if she was naked.
‘Serena Simon. Remember it. Thanks, Pete,’ she said as he left. ‘You see?’ she said.
‘Two guys,’ said Max, waving his hand dismissively.
‘You find me another straight guy in this building and I’ll prove it again. Better yet, let me get Sally, she’s a lesbian. Or ask your fifteen-year-old god-daughter. Teenage girls love Serena.’
‘You’re suggesting my Kelly is a dyke?’
‘Not at all. It’s a hero-worship thing, like looking up to the head cheerleader.’
‘Kelly is head cheerleader.’
‘You’re missing the point. Serena would be just right for Justice. I know she would.’
Lynsey was breathless. She stopped mid-pitch and had something close to an out-of-body experience. Was she completely insane? What the hell was she doing here, mouthy and stubborn, in one of the most powerful offices in Hollywood? She saw herself as Max must see her, an inexperienced foreigner trying to tell him how to do his job. Her bravado collapsed and she wondered what would happen now. She half-expected Max to call security.
Meanwhile, Max was trying to remember the last time he had heard such an impassioned pitch. He filled the silence with a slow handclap that made Lynsey feel patronized and distinctly ill.
‘Okay,’ he said.
‘Okay?’
‘Okay, we’ll meet her.’
‘Seriously?’
‘I still don’t think she’s right but consider this a favour to you.’ He smiled. ‘Don’t look so surprised. You got fired because you were a shit assistant, but I don’t hold grudges. You believe in her, that’s obvious. Call Cerise and set it up.’
‘Thank you.’
‘This is a general meeting, nothing more. Okay? Don’t go sending her the scripts with a note telling her she’s reading for Nikki.’ Max stood up. ‘And Lynsey? You owe me fifty bucks for the phone. You can give it to Sheridan on your way out.’
The meeting was over.
Lynsey raced home and took the scripts of Justice round to a copy shop. She waited impatiently while the copier flashed a thousand times and tried to work out ten per cent of the fee she could demand for Serena when Serena got the part. And she would get it, of that Lynsey was certain. She paid up and sent the scripts straight round to Serena by messenger with a note saying to look at the part of Nikki.
‘Television?’ said Serena, later that night. ‘I thought we decided to concentrate on a good film part.’
‘Have a read and see what you think,’ said Lynsey, confident that Serena would see the potential.
A few days later Serena celebrated her fifteenth birthday by officially signing up to play the recurring character of Nikki Testini in the new series of Justice. She spent her birthday weekend watching the entire first series on DVD. She finished at three o’clock on Sunday morning, had a shower and then watched it all over again.
By lunch the following day she had pages of notes on every character and storyline. She had researched the biographies of all the writers and directors. She had written down every impression she had of the show, however fleeting, any strengths or weaknesses and most importantly what she felt it was missing, what unique quality she could bring to her role to make her indispensable. Justice wasn’t necessarily part of her long-term future, two years should be enough to create an impression on the consciousness of Hollywood, to establish herself, but she wanted to be in a powerful position should she want to stay longer. It was her security.
The acting skills of her new colleagues were good, but not threatening; she was confident that she could learn something fr
om all of them. She liked what she saw of Melanie Chaplin. She’d heard a lot about Melanie from Douglas although she thought that Melanie was slightly better than Douglas had said. Melanie had the ever-elusive x-factor. She wasn’t conventionally beautiful but she had the sort of face that made sense with a British accent.
Serena also knew that Melanie lived with Fabien Stewart, who was, in Serena’s opinion, the best thing about the show. Fabien was gorgeous. Serena lingered over his scenes, skipping back to hear some of his best speeches on a never-ending loop.
She was in the middle of trying to organize her Justice notes into some kind of coherent game plan when Lynsey arrived.
Lynsey regarded the scene with some amusement. Serena’s floor looked like Lynsey’s old desk at CMG, except most of the pages that Lynsey could see were covered in Serena’s perfectly formed handwriting. There were lots of question marks.
‘Working on your autobiography?’ said Lynsey. ‘That’s a brilliant idea, you know. You’d make a fortune.’
Write an autobiography at fifteen?’ said Serena. ‘Don’t you think that’s a bit defeatist?’
Lynsey grinned and pulled out a counter-signed copy of Serena’s contract. ‘Here you go,’ she said. ‘But I’ll always keep one, obviously. If you lose it or whatever.’
Serena took it from her and walked over to her television. The television stand was actually a nifty little filing cabinet and Serena filed the contract away.
Lynsey caught a flash of ‘J’ for Justice and was stunned. Serena had a filing cabinet; that was more than she had. She thought of the piles of paperwork sitting in an orderly fashion on top of her dresser back at the motel and remembered how pleased she had been with herself that they were orderly.
She picked up a page of Serena’s notes. ‘What are these?’ she asked.