“Star’s—”
“If I were you, I’d go straight in. Sam Myers has another appointment to go to, he won’t like being kept waiting.”
My nervous fingers gave up fumbling with the straps. What was the point, anyway? I knew they weren’t going to hire me; shoes or no shoes. “Sure,” I answered, my throat dry. I walked towards the door in my bare feet, strappy sandals in hand, knowing the fact the receptionist hadn’t even given me a script meant this meeting was bullshit. Not a bona fide audition at all.
I pushed the door open. There was a long conference table and at the helm sat a very fat, oily-looking man: the infamous Samuel Myers. I’d seen his picture on the Internet. He was the producer for that massive blockbuster trilogy with Alessandra Demarr in the lead, the lesbian actress who dated Alexandre Chevalier’s sister, Sophie Dumas. Stone Trooper. I hadn’t seen the movies—they were up to Stone Trooper 3, but they were very popular and had made him, and everyone involved, rich. Stinking rich. Even less chance of him hiring a mere theater actress like me for his new project.
“Come in, Janie,” he boomed in a paradoxically wheezy voice, because booming and being wheezy at the same time shouldn’t have been possible. “Shoes uncomfortable?”
“Shoes a pain in the neck,” I shot back, refusing to let him intimidate me. I glanced along the table. Pearl Chevalier was sitting demurely, with her legs crossed, in what looked like a cream-colored Chanel suit. Tan Louboutins, because I caught a glimpse of the scarlet red soles. Her blond hair was in an elegant chignon, and her pearl earrings shone like the polished jewels they were. She instantly got up. I noticed Samuel Myers didn’t.
“Janie Cole, congratulations on Where the Wind Blows, you were outstanding,” she said, a friendly smile spread across her face.
“You saw it?”
“Of course. It was the talk of New York, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Sam, you philistine, you missed out on a great performance and a stunning play. Shame on you.”
I padded over in my bare feet to shake Pearl Chevalier’s hand. Ladies first. I could feel Sam Myers’s eyes on my backside. As I turned to shake his hand as well, the door swung open.
“Sorry I’m late,” a voice I knew so well said. “Not used to driving. Got caught in traffic.”
I could feel myself go faint and I leaned against the table for support. This I was not expecting. What the hell was he doing here? I spun around.
“Hello, Janie,” he said, his signature blue eyes piercing my psyche, unraveling a year’s worth of inner determination to let him go, in just one easy glance. I felt the air get sucked out of my lungs—the power he still had over me was alarming. I thought I had gotten over him. Obviously not.
“Hi Daniel,” I managed. I sounded cool, because more words escaped me. I should have teased him about arriving late, sent him out of the room, but my brain wasn’t working that fast. What else could I have said? I hadn’t seen him, nor spoken to him, in forever. The flowers I sent to honor his dead wife felt hypocritical—a lie. But I sent them anyway because it was the decent thing to do. But I hadn’t been decent. My thoughts of him never pure. He had controlled me like a puppet. Worse, I had become a feverish madwoman. Obsessed. Possessed by him. Painful, unrequited love that could rival any Shakespeare play. And I never, ever wanted to be in that vulnerable place again.
I turned back to Samuel Myers and said, “So thrilled to meet you, Mr. Myers. Just love the Stone Trooper movies.”
“You’ve seen them?” he asked, an eyebrow suspiciously raised. “Wouldn’t have thought they were your cup of tea—a true thespian like yourself.” His tone was sarcastic.
I gave him a sly smile and said no more. Lying was my job. I lied every day. That’s what actors do; they lie. They trick people. But he had my number. And I could tell already, he didn’t like me.
“Siddown,” he commanded, as he managed to pull a chair out for me, still without getting up. “I want to have you close so I can see what all the fuss is about for myself.”
I wondered where Star was. She should be here by now. But then it dawned on me . . . her visit to the bathroom was a ruse. Maybe she even knew about Daniel all along.
“Siddown, Daniel,” Sam said, “next to our lovely Pearl.”
I had my back to Daniel as I sank into a swivel chair. I could sense him behind me and I felt a nauseous wave engulf me once more. Get a grip, Janie! What is wrong with you? Was it my imagination or could I feel his breath on my neck?
“I missed you, Janie,” he mumbled in my ear. He splayed his fingers lightly on my shoulder as he said it, his thumb brushing my bare flesh. I shivered. I could feel a familiar pulse between my legs. A pulse that he had always inspired. This man could destroy me. And I couldn’t let him. I had to stay composed.
Daniel quickly moved away and walked to the opposite side of the table, where he sat beside Pearl. He narrowed his laser-blue eyes, studying me as if I were an object of art. Sizing me up. A commodity. A tool for his next success. I assumed he was going to be the director for this movie and that’s what he was doing here. Hell, I still didn’t even know what the film was called—not even the working title—nor anything about it. This whole situation was insane. Unorthodox. They would have called my agent if this were for real.
“Well,” said Pearl, cutting through the terse atmosphere in her Ivy-league educated voice, “you all know why we are gathered here today.”
Gathered here. Made it sound like a funeral. And it was. My funeral. Where I would get buried beneath the complex, powerful character that was Daniel Glass. Where he would mould, and dominate and break me. Make me a whimpering wreck who dreamed about him 24/7. I could feel my core dampen; just thinking about what he could do to me. How hard he could fuck me. How he could make me come a thousand ways if he chose to do so. But he didn’t see me that way. No, I was a vessel for his art, not for his lust or love. If he’d had any interest in me he’d had nearly a whole year to get in touch. Invite me for a coffee. A walk in the park. Nothing. And here he was, suddenly appearing out of nowhere. Obviously he needed me. But not in the way that I’d fantasized about.
“Janie, I want you on board for this film,” Daniel said in a sharp, unapologetic voice. God I loved that voice. Deep, rumbling. That voice had given me so much pleasure. And pain.
“Why didn’t you just call, Daniel?” I threw out, challenging him with an equally sharp look, eye to eye.
“Because the casting is not my final decision, and I didn’t want to get your hopes up.”
“And what makes you all think I want this job so desperately?” I heard myself say. It was as if another character lived inside me. A confident, brash, superstar, who didn’t give a damn. “After all,” I continued, “I haven’t even been sent a script. How do I know what the writing is like? You haven’t even mentioned what part you want me to play, nor anything about the storyline.”
“We only confirmed Daniel as the director two days ago,” Pearl explained. “And it’s true, the whole thing has been very spontaneous and last-minute. Samuel wanted to meet you, Janie. Me too. Daniel has already made it clear you’re his first choice for the role.”
“Mr. Myers might change his mind when he sees a screen test. Maybe I’m unphotogenic, perhaps I don’t have a rapport with the camera the way I do with the audience on stage. I think all this is very precipitous.” Precipitous? Who was this haughty alter ego that was taking me over? I guessed I was doing everything I could to sabotage my chances of being offered the part, whatever the part was. That way, I couldn’t be hurt. Star had instructed me to be nonchalant, but this? My attitude was downright negative, even rude. And definitely ungrateful.
Daniel said in an even voice, “We still don’t have a script, Janie. That’s why we haven’t sent you one. This is going to be very ad-lib. Lots of improvisation. You know, I wanted to go in the direction of someone like the British director, Mike Leigh. That’s why I need a strong, theatrically trained cast. I’m not going to be doing hundre
ds of takes a scene. Not my style. You know, I need actors who can sustain one, long, fifteen-minute take—who know how to choreograph their way around a scene, without fucking up, without fluffing their lines.”
Samuel glared at Daniel. The F word was obviously not welcome, despite his own uncouth manners.
I turned to the overweight producer. Beads of sweat were gathering on his brow. I said, “Excuse me, Mr. Myers, but isn’t this kind of film a little too experimental for the likes of you, whose repertoire is a chain of blockbusters and all-star rom-coms?”
He chortled with a loud snort, his belly jiggling like a greasy chef in a bad restaurant. “Smart girl. She’s onto us, Pearl. Haven’t you heard of such a thing as ‘tax deduction,’ Janie?”
Pearl broke in, “Sam, really! Janie, this is absolutely not why we want to do this film—please don’t be offended. This is going to be an art movie; we need to lend our bigger projects, and Hooked Up Enterprises, more credibility, creatively speaking. I was stunned by your performance, Janie, and I was the one to contact Daniel in the first place. Daniel agreed. An actor of your caliber would do us proud. You could carry this film.”
I took in a deep breath. I didn’t know whether to feel insulted or flattered. I was about to be Hooked Up Enterprise’s tax loss experiment. Samuel Myers told it like it was, and I admired his honesty. Especially in the notoriously bullshitty world that was Hollywood. At least I knew where I stood.
“She’s not sexy enough,” Samuel suddenly announced, as if I weren’t in the room. “Sorry, honey, you know it. I know it. This is a hot-blooded love story we’re talking about. A la francais. Close ups in private places. Think Last Tango in Paris. Think Sharon Stone crossing and uncrossing her legs.”
My alter ego took over again. I could feel my cheeks burning, my veins surging with bubbling blood. How dare he tell me that I wasn’t sexy! How dare this pig of a man judge me like a book cover.
I got up from my seat and walked over to Daniel. Startled, Daniel looked up at me as I straddled him, my Halston dress rising high as my smooth bare legs gripped either side of his muscular thighs. I sat on his lap facing him and, leaning in close, started to slowly lay my lips on his. Shocked into stillness, he did nothing. Just closed his eyes in resignation, his nearly black hair flipping over his brow. I could smell him. Clean. Rough. Uncompromising. A bullet of sexuality and intensity straight to my fluttering heart. And elsewhere. In that instant, he was all mine. My tongue darted out and I flicked it on his mouth, trailing it seductively along his full lips. They parted, and I heard him take in a sharp breath. I kissed him. Hard. To my amazement I felt his erection strain against his slacks. I continued the kiss, licking, sucking gently, nipping. I groaned quietly—almost imperceptibly—into his mouth, which tasted of oranges and mint. Then, as abruptly as I’d accosted him, I got up.
“There,” I said. “Consider that my audition.” I turned to Pearl and smiled. “Nice meeting you,” and I made a B-line for the door.
I could hardly believe what I’d just done. What had gotten into me?
Star was waiting outside.
“So?” she said, her eyes wide with expectation, “how did it go?”
“Run,” I cried, grabbing her by the wrist. I realized I’d left the sexy shoes behind, but I didn’t care—they could keep them as a memento. “We need to get the hell out of here before I get arrested.”
4
I RELATED MY OUTRAGEOUS behavior to Star, who was giggling and driving at the same time, the wind whipping her hair across her face.
“It’s not funny, Star. Something in me took over.”
“What you did was puuuurfect.” She slapped her hand on the steering wheel in glee. “You’ll see.”
“What I’ll ‘see’ will be one hundred percent humiliation. Daniel will never want to set eyes on me again; he must think I’m some kind of horny slut. Pearl Chevalier will no doubt be shocked and wish she’d never called me in, and Samuel Myers, despite not thinking me sexy, will go home and whack off, but will still not want me for the role.” I sighed, and gathered my hair into a ponytail to stop it blowing into my lips. “Besides, I don’t want that part anyway. I don’t want to cross and uncross my legs while the camera takes a close up. I don’t want to be ‘fucking’ some lame actor on a high definition screen when I am a respected theater actress. This is not a good move for me professionally.”
“I don’t know. If it’s in the name of art and the shots are cool and interesting and artistic?”
“I doubt they will be if tacky Samuel Myers has anything to do with the creative side of the film.”
“That’s where Daniel Glass comes in. He’ll make sure it looks good.”
“There’s many a slip ‘tween cup and lip.”
“That’s from Hamlet, isn’t it?”
I nodded. “I think so. The old bard was wise. Daniel is a very talented theater director but he has little experience with film, and certainly the Hollywood Machine. Anything could go wrong. Even midway in the shoot. He’d be under Sam Myers’s porky fat thumb.”
Star laughed. “Yeah, I’ve heard old Sam’s pretty slimy, but Pearl seems to have him wrapped around her pinkie finger. She’s clever that way; never antagonistic, but always gets what she wants. Janie, you’re no fool and your instincts could be spot on. Shame, I so wanted for you to be part of my world. Never mind, we’ll find another leading role for you. I’ll call Steven, and I know Sandra has some cool stuff going on.”
Steven Spielberg and Sandra Bullock, no doubt. Star knew them all.
“You happy with your agent?” she asked. “You want to meet mine?”
“I’m a loyalist, Star. My agent helped me get Where the Wind Blows. I won’t change her now, whatever carrot is dangled before me.”
“You’re a good person, you know that? Decent. In fact you’re too good for your own good. That’s a lot of ‘goods’ in one sentence! There aren’t many like you in this town.”
I shook my head in denial. I wasn’t a good person. But I didn’t want to tell Star why—share the Daniel story with her. My unhealthy obsession with him, resulting in his wife dying, only days after I’d wished ill on them. I wanted to believe it was fate, a coincidence—nothing to do with me, but deep in my bones I knew that wasn’t true. Thought is powerful. Admitting to myself I had bad karma coming my way was difficult enough, but letting others in on my secret was harder—nobody else needed to know. Maybe Hollywood, with its lies and deception, would suit me perfectly after all.
STAR AND I STOPPED off for a coffee in Brentwood on the way back to her house. She donned the big hat and shades again, and kept her back to the street—we were sitting outside on a terrace. So far, nobody was bothering her. She checked her messages so I did the same.
I listened to my voicemail.
The first was from Pearl Chevalier. She got straight to the point. “Janie, I have to admit I was pretty shocked by what you did in our meeting . . . ”—my stomach turned inside out. I’d embarrassed myself, and her. I listened to the rest of the message—“However, it certainly got Sam’s attention and he has changed his mind about . . . how should I say this? He has a different opinion now about your assets and talent.”
I sniggered to myself. Talent? Straddling and kissing someone is a talent now, is it?
Pearl’s message continued: “But now there’s a new problem. Daniel Glass and Sam Myers do not see eye to eye on how the movie should be shot, the look and feel of it, specifically concerning the sex scenes. And I’m somewhere in the middle. I’ll call again later, meanwhile sit tight.”
The next message was from Samuel Myers himself. Before he even opened his mouth I knew it was him, because there was a bout of heavy, wheezy breathing coming down the line. Finally he spoke: “Jane,” he said, getting my name wrong,” I eat my words. I see who you are now. You are Rambling Rose! And I like it. I like it very, very much. I’ll be in contact. Don’t fly back to New York yet.”
I hoped that there would now be a messag
e from Daniel. Nothing. Daniel was obviously a lot less impressed by my shenanigans. Probably even majorly turned off despite his hard-on, which would have been a normal physical male reaction in any red-blooded man who wasn’t gay. I mulled over Samuel’s words. “Rambling Rose” . . . who, or what, was Rambling Rose? I had humiliated myself with Daniel. He was a theater director, with principles and standards.
Fiddling with my phone, I saw that Daniel hadn’t called my voicemail, but he had left a text. It read:
You’re worth more than that, Janie. Don’t sell your soul.
I felt I’d been stabbed. Only Daniel knew how to wound me so profoundly. But he was right. The direction this movie was taking was the opposite of everything I stood for. I didn’t spend four years at Juilliard, probably the best damn drama school in the country, to simply rip off my clothes and act like a prostitute.
I called Pearl back. She didn’t answer so I left a message.
“I’m so grateful for the chance,” I said, “and I appreciate your interest, but what I did at our meeting was completely out of character for me, and it’s a direction I don’t want to pursue. I don’t know what came over me, and I’m sorry I let myself get out of control. Please thank Mr. Myers but let him know that I do not want the role in his movie, as I do not believe I’m the right actor for the part. Thanks again, and it was great meeting you.” I paused and added (so I didn’t burn all my bridges), “I would love to work with you in the future if you have anything that suits me better. Thank you so much. Goodbye.”
Star stared at me with an open mouth. “What the fuck was that all about?” She took a sip of her coffee and picked at a muffin. “Don’t you think you should have chatted with me about this first? I mean, Samuel Myers may be a jerk but he is very powerful. Janie, you have sabotaged a great opportunity.”
“An opportunity to behave like a slut? To flash my wares on screen in front of millions? That’s just not me, Star. I trained and trained at drama school. Two toads terribly tired tried to trot to Tewkesbury.”
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