Girls on film: an A-list novel

by Zoey Dean

"Somehow I doubt that's a call she'd welcome." He gulped down the last of his juice.

  "Well, from what I've heard, you didn't show much interest in her when the two of you were married, so it might be odd to start after you've been divorced for ten years." Anna knew that sounded harsher than she'd intended. But her father had intimated that he wanted to talk about her. Instead, this was all about him.

  "I was a jerk back then." Finally he took a seat

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  kitty-corner from Anna and stretched his long legs out under the table. "People change, though."

  "Good to know."

  Her father wagged a finger at her but grinned gamely. "I know that tone. That's the patented Jane Percy frost-on-the-voice."

  "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, I guess."

  He nodded, turning the goblet between his fingers. "Anna, I really am working on lining up another internship for you. I want you to know that."

  "Thanks. That's nice of you."

  "But you sound like you're talking to a stranger."

  "Well, we kind of are strangers," Anna pointed out.

  Her dad scratched his chin. "Touché. So I should know tomorrow if it's happening. It might be an after-school internship, though. You'll still have to go to classes. Sorry about that."

  "Can I ask where?"

  "Margaret is leaving her agency to help start up a new one. I think they're going to call it Apex. They'll have some actors, but the main focus is going to be setting up novels and plays for the movies. Their long-term goal is to open a New York office and do books, too."

  Margaret was Anna's dad's girlfriend. It was no surprise to Anna that her dad was romantically involved with someone. What was surprising was that she wasn't a Hollywood starlet wannabe, but a woman in her forties who was a dead ringer for Anna's mom.

  Anna grimaced. "I appreciate the effort, Dad. But I

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  really don't want to intern with your ... relationship."

  "If you'd take the time to get to know Margaret, you'd like her. She's like your mom in a lot of ways, but nicer."

  "Ouch."

  Jonathan smiled. "I do value your loyalty. Anyway, you won't be working with her, specifically. If it works out, it'll be with all three partners. I'll let you know as soon as I hear something."

  "I appreciate that, I really do. So, how are you feeling these days?"

  Jonathan looked puzzled. "Oh! You mean the headaches I've been having. Not so bad." He frowned. "Except for a killer one yesterday."

  "You're still... self-medicating?" Anna asked, referring to the lingering odor of pot that even now trailed her dad.

  "Only until my doctor gets back from Hawaii," Jonathan told her, noticing his daughter's concerned face. "Don't worry, that's next week. I don't let anyone else touch me." His voice dropped confidentially. "He's the one who suggested my 'medication.'"

  "Don't miss your appointment," Anna counseled. "I know how busy you get."

  "I've got two secretaries and an assistant to remind me--"

  He was cut off by the ringing of his cell phone. "Jonathan Percy," he answered, and listened for a moment. "Hey! Great to hear from you!" He smiled and mouthed to Anna, "It's your sister!"

  Anna's sister, Susan, was currently three weeks into her latest rehab stint. Alcohol was her poison of choice,

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  though other illegal substances had been known to find their way down her throat, up her nose, or into her veins. When Susan stayed sober, she and Anna had a great relationship. The problem was--for the last few years, at least--Susan never stayed sober for very long.

  Her father was frowning now. He pushed the phone at Anna. "She wants to speak to you," he said coldly.

  Anna took the phone, wondering what her sister had just said that had so angered their dad. "Sooz?"

  "Hey, I've been calling your cell all day. Don't you check your voice mail?"

  "Oh, sorry, I ... lost my phone," Anna said, since it was too complicated to explain.

  "God, I'm reduced to calling our so-called father." Susan shuddered. "How can you stand living with him?"

  Anna flicked her eyes at her father, who was watching her with great intensity. She couldn't understand why Susan was suddenly so furious with him. Yes, he'd neglected them. But his had been sins of omission, not commission. Plus it seemed like change was possible. On New Year's Day, Jonathan had called Susan in rehab and told her how much he wanted to repair their relationship.

  "Everything's fine," Anna said.

  "Bull," Susan spat.

  "Is this what you called to tell me?"

  Now her sister laughed. "No, you brat. I just wanted to say that Hazelden gave me back my phone privileges, and you're the first person I'm calling."

  Anna grinned. Aside from her animosity toward their

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  dad--which was an ongoing thing--Susan sounded good. Maybe this was the time that rehab would actually work for more than a few months. "So how's it going there, Sooz?"

  "Fine."

  "No, really," Anna insisted. "Tell me."

  "I'm fine , big sis," Susan teased.

  Anna laughed. Even though Susan was two years older than her, Susan often joked that Anna acted like the older sister. "You sound better than you did the last time we spoke."

  "I was in an existential funk, questioning the meaning of life, all that. Plus I was coming down from a sugar high. Four Snickers bars with a root beer chaser."

  "Lovely."

  "Well, at least I've started working out again. That feels good. So listen, get a new cell so I can call you, okay? You have my number."

  "Okay, tomorrow," Anna promised. "You really do sound a lot better, Sooz."

  "Hey, I'm the never-say-die girl. So, how long are you hanging at Dad's?"

  "I don't know. Awhile. I'm going to Beverly Hills High."

  "Well, doesn't that suck."

  "Yes, actually," Anna agreed.

  "So you're not, like, leaving anytime soon?" Susan asked.

  What was this about? "No. Why?"

  "So I know where to reach you, Anna."

  "Here."

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  "There. Right. Got it. Okay. Love you, little sis. Talk to you soon."

  Anna handed the phone back to her father. "Did you have a nice chat?" he asked sarcastically. "Because she practically bit my head off."

  "I think she sounded better, Dad," Anna said, hoping her words would placate him.

  He stuffed the phone into a pocket. "Quite a temper on that girl."

  "According to Mom, she got it from you."

  "Maybe she did, maybe she did." He puffed out some air. "You want to go to L.A. Farm for dinner? They've got the best ahi on the west side."

  "I've got a date. Kind of." She rose. "I'd better do my homework and get ready."

  Her father frowned but walked her out of the kitchen. "Not with the schmuck from New Year's Eve, I hope."

  "Definitely not."

  "Well, if he hurts you--whoever he is--let me know. I'll kick his ass."

  "I'll pass on the message." Anna smiled. At least her dad was taking interest, albeit in a Neanderthal kind of way. Maybe it was true. Maybe he was making progress. And maybe Anna could take some of the credit for his change. Maybe by standing her ground, she was finally teaching people to treat her the way she deserved to be treated.

  Maybe this whole L.A. experiment was beginning to work.

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  Big Al's

  D on't blow it , Adam told himself for perhaps the six zillionth time in the last forty-five minutes. He of the "Ben Stiller good looks" was feeling pretty fine with his new buzz cut and the way it showed off the tiny blue star tattoo behind his left ear. His good sense of humor and low-key style had its own unique appeal with the ladies, and his point-guard physique was becoming more sculpted each day. Adam Flood flew on everyone's radar. There wasn't an unkind word to be said about him. But still, Anna Percy was like no other girl Adam had ever encountered.

  Wh
en he'd met her at the Friends of Sam Sharpe table at Jackson Sharpe's wedding, he'd been knocked out by her fresh, natural beauty. Who wouldn't have been? Sure, she'd come with Ben Birnbaum. But during the course of the evening he and Anna had spent enough time talking for Adam to realize that Ben was one lucky guy. Always had been, always would be.

  Adam smiled. What a difference three days could make. Now he was on his way to pick up Anna, and

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  42

  Ben Birnbaum was nowhere in sight. Even better, Anna had told him that she had no romantic interest in Ben at all. Adam had a hard time believing that--he'd seen how Anna had gazed at Ben at the wedding. But still, facts were facts. He was about to spend the evening with her, and Ben was out of the picture.

  Driving his mom's Saturn, he picked Anna up at her father's house--she still managed to look regal in old Levi's, sneakers, and a Trinity sweatshirt--and then fought the late afternoon traffic on Sunset Boulevard, through Santa Monica and the mountainous Pacific Palisades, out to where it merged into the Pacific Coast Highway. A drive up the PCH was an event in itself. Set off a cliff lining the edge of the gorgeous white beach, melting into the endless blue ocean, with the bright yellow sun beating against the cloudless sky, there was nothing quite like it.

  Adam pulled into Gladstone's parking lot. They bypassed the shivering tourists with their drinks on the boardwalk-size deck and led Bowser down to the floodlit beach. Together they stood in the sand, looking at the ocean as Bowser ran happy circles around them. And now that Adam was ordering him back in the car, he was showing an unusual amount of resistance.

  "Down, Bowser!" Adam instructed as the king-size mutt ran in excited circles around Anna, periodically jumping up to lick at her face. "He seems to have turned selectively deaf. But I think he's in love with you."

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  "Yes, I love you too, Bowser," she said, backing away from the dog. "Now, sit !"

  The dog sat.

  "Impressive," Adam admitted. "Maybe you'd better be the one to tell him to get in the car."

  She did. Bowser obeyed instantly, sprawling across the backseat and staring up at Anna with pure love in his eyes.

  "Maybe you need to be his full-time trainer," Adam told Anna.

  "I suspect that your Bowser is a bit of a con artist. I'd check the bathroom mirror for paw prints if I were you."

  Adam grinned. Was this girl great or what? "Hey, you hungry?"

  "Yes, actually."

  "There's a little burger shack up toward Malibu where we can eat out on a patio overlooking the ocean." He motioned to the throng at Gladstone's that was spilling into the parking lot. "I promise, no tourists."

  "That sounds great." Anna looked down at the dog. "You want a burger, don't you, Bowser?"

  Twenty minutes later, after a reasonably swift drive up the Pacific Coast Highway, Adam turned the Saturn into a small parking lot. "This is it," he announced, pointing at the A-frame structure. "Big Al's."

  Anna peered at the carved wooden sign on the door. "It says Tofu Shack."

  Adam groaned. "Tofu Shack? This is Big Al's! He

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  was an old biker who wouldn't go within a football field of tofu. All meat, all the time."

  "When was the last time you were here?"

  "Summer," Adam admitted.

  "Well, either Big Al had a spiritual epiphany or he sold the place."

  "Tofu," Adam muttered disgustedly. "Edible cardboard. But if you like it, we could--"

  "Why don't we just get something to drink?" Anna suggested. "You said there's a patio, and I'm sure it's beautiful. It's already pretty late."

  "Works for me. And let's bring the dog. If they say anything, I'll tell them we're on the board of PETA."

  But the Tofu Shack had no problems with Bowser so long as he stayed under their table. The aging hippie waitress even brought him a bowl of cold water. Ten minutes later the three of them--two humans and one mutt--were sitting contentedly with their drinks two hundred feet above the Pacific, the waves below them crashing against the beachfront. Offshore, the lights of a few passing boats bobbed gently in the night.

  Anna inhaled deeply. "Mmmm. I love that sea smell."

  "Me too. One of my many life goals is to live on the ocean. Of course, around here, you have to be mighty rich to pull that one off."

  "Is that one of your life goals, too?" Anna asked. "To get mighty rich?"

  "Not really. It's kind of like a sickness in Beverly Hills. 'I'm rich, therefore I am' or something."

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  "Life is easier with money, though," Anna said softly.

  "Yeah, but ... I don't know. Maybe it's overrated. I'm thinking I'll buy some old heap of a sailboat, fix it up, and take it around the world or something."

  "That sounds great."

  He looked surprised. "Are you serious?"

  "Why wouldn't I be?"

  "Most of the girls in Beverly Hills are only interested in yachts. Preferably over a hundred feet, with a service staff of twenty."

  "My mother belongs to a club on Long Island that has several vessels that could float the White House," she said. "I've been on a couple. It's hardly a great adventure."

  "Is that what you're looking for? Adventure?"

  Bowser put his snout on Anna's foot; she reached down to stroke his head. "I suppose I am. That's one of the reasons I left New York."

  "Beverly Hills is not exactly a jungle safari."

  "I don't know about that," Anna said.

  He laughed. "Yeah, I guess it can be rugged."

  "There's just so much jockeying for position here, so much emphasis on superficial things. God, now, that's a cliché judgment if there ever was--"

  "No, I know what you mean. But you can't take that crap seriously. Who got wasted at whose party? Whose outfit is most expensive? Who got the biggest implants? Who cares?"

  "Exactly," Anna agreed. "Anyway, next year we'll both go off to college, and this'll all seem like a bad dream."

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  40"Do you know where you're going?"

  "Yale. You?"

  "This buddy of mine teaches at a sports academy in inner-city Detroit. I've been thinking about going back to Michigan for a year to help out."

  "A year off? I never even considered that," Anna mused, considering it now and liking what she was thinking.

  "Don't tell my parents. They may look like liberals, but when I mentioned the idea, I thought they were both going to spontaneously combust at the dinner table."

  Anna laughed. Once again Adam nearly had to pinch himself. Sure, he'd had girlfriends before. But none of them had been like this girl. With tendrils of wheat-colored hair blowing against her cheeks from the breeze and her eyes sparkling in the moonlight, she looked so ... alive. So genuine. So like the girl he'd always dreamed of but was sure he could never have.

  Don't get ahead of yourself, he told himself. Maybe she only thinks of you as a friend. Which is the kiss of death.

  Her left hand was near his right one. He could take it so easily. No big deal. All he had to do was--

  At that moment Anna moved her hand away.

  Damn.

  "It's nice out here," she said.

  "Yeah."

  Just friends, he told himself, disappointed. Once again with a girl I really like, it's going to be "just friends."

  Which was why he was so surprised when she leaned over and kissed him.

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  Bloated , Painted Clown

  Okay, dreams don't necessarily mean squat. That's what Sam told herself the next morning as she showered, letting the scalding hot water blast down on her shoulders. Jeez, what a dream. It starred her and Anna. And it was a replay of a real-life moment from Dee's sweet sixteen party, when Dee's parents had rented the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion--the same concert hall where they used to hold the Oscars--for the party. They'd hired a set designer to convert the place into a Vegas casino, complete with showgirls and live animals.

  In real life, someone
had slipped some high-test Russian vodka into the punch, and Sam had gotten totally wasted. Just to be outrageous, she had kissed Dee in the middle of the stage. To her surprise, she'd kind of liked it.

  In Sam's dream it had been her own sweet sixteen. For a goof the party had an Oscar theme--she'd just received the fictitious Academy Award for best director. Anna had been the presenter. When Anna had handed

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  her the gold statuette, she'd kissed her. Not on the cheek, either. But on the lips.

  And ... Sam had kissed her back. Like really kissed her back, as the theme from Titanic had swelled in the background.

  Very weird. Because she was certain she wasn't gay. The lust bunny had jumped into her boy-cut La Perla silk panties many a time for many a guy. She wasn't as slutty as, say, Cammie Sheppard--who was ?--but she'd had her share of hookups. So what was up with the dream, then?

  Maybe it was because Anna had been with Ben, and Sam had crushed on Ben for so long? Some kind of bizarre brain-wave syntax-firing blip?

  It couldn't possibly be because she was gay. No flip-pin' way.

  "Hey, wait up," Sam called to Anna, who she saw walking toward the high school building. It was another beautiful, sunny L.A. morning. Sam hurried to catch up as quickly as her stiletto heels would permit.

  It was three hours later. When she'd dressed, she'd taken a last appraising look at herself in her three-way, floor-length mirror. She loved the Asian-inspired red-and-violet-silk Yohji Yamamoto fitted T-shirt, the cropped red leather Valentino jacket, and the size-eight Gucci jeans, which were surprisingly slimming, considering how low cut they were. Just before breakfast the family limo had arrived with her hair guy, Raymond, so

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  he could do a blowout at home. (Sam couldn't imagine sitting with the other I'm-getting-a-blowout-before-I-start-my-day types at his brand-new salon, Menage.) As usual, Raymond had done a spectacular job; with the help of his new Raymond's Genius hair extensions, her hair looked thick and luxurious.

  But even with all that, plus makeup applied the way she'd learned at Valerie's cosmetics emporium, Anna Percy--who wore nothing more elaborate than a long-sleeved black T-shirt, low-slung black pants, and utterly non-trendy Capezio dance flats--made Sam feel like a bloated, painted clown.

  "Hi, Sam. What's up?"

  "The party-at-my-place-and-film-it thing is out for this weekend," Sam told Anna as they entered the building together. "Listen, how many synonyms do you know for stupid?"