GLASS: A Standalone Novel

by Arianne Richmonde

  6

  I NEEDED TO TAKE control of my life—control of myself. I’d had it with these obsessive dreams of Daniel. They were stopping me from living, from getting out there and dating other guys. One part of the dream I suspected to be true, which made my situation even more ridiculous; he was still in love with his wife. I knew it, my subconscious knew it. And I’d heard as much through the grapevine.

  Star found me in the kitchen, nursing a coffee at ten a.m. I had gone back to bed and slept like a baby, and only just showered fifteen minutes ago. I remembered I needed to call my dad and little brother, touch base back home.

  “Wow, you’re up late.”

  “You too,” I remarked. Star was still in her bathrobe.

  “Was your bed okay? The mattress not too soft, not too hard?”

  “It was soooo comfortable, I want to kidnap it and take it back to New York.”

  I told Star the events of last night, that I’d crashed out on the sofa in her backyard, dreaming of Daniel. I omitted the “wet” part of the dream, of course. There were limits. But I did tell her, finally, about my general Daniel obsession, which had been going on since I was twenty-one. Two years of unrequited . . . should I call it ‘love?’

  “You’ve got it bad, huh?”

  “I thought I’d gotten over him. It makes me so angry that he has this power over me!”

  “I so identify.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah, Jake made me crazy at one point. All I could think about was him. Meanwhile he was fucking other women and drinking like a sailor, and showing me in every way that he was the last man on earth I should have been with. But then things turned around.”

  “So what did you do while he was being a jerk?”

  “Went away. Abroad, traveled round the world, incognito. Worked in an elephant sanctuary.”

  “Cool. Sounds amazing. Sadly, I can’t do that right now, much as I’d love to.”

  “You need to go on some dates, Janie. Daniel’s very handsome and charismatic and everything—I met him once—but there are other fish in the sea. Right now all you’d be is sloppy seconds. It’s too soon; he must still be mourning his wife.” She shook her head. “What a tragedy that was.”

  Her words reminded me of the very thing I wanted to forget. The wish I’d made, willing Daniel and Natasha to split up.

  “I never seem to meet anyone I find really attractive,” I lamented, “you know, someone who makes my heart race.”

  “That’s because you live in New York. All the good looking guys in New York are gay. Or married.”

  I laughed. Star always got straight to the point. “I know,” I groaned, “it’s true. Every time I see someone hot, the second they open their mouth, the illusion is gone.”

  She padded over to the kitchen table and refilled my coffee. “Have you tried therapy? I know someone who could help you.”

  “I need a hypnotist not a therapist. Someone to make me forget him completely, wipe him, not only from my mind, but also from my deep subconscious. Did you ever read Midsummer Night’s Dream?”

  “Course. Long time ago though.”

  “It’s like that. As if someone put love juice on my eyelids while I was sleeping and the first person I saw when I woke up was Daniel. Like I have a spell on me. After we finished rehearsing, even when I knew he was getting married, I’d walk past his door in hope I’d bump into him. How sick is that? Like I was a glutton for punishment. Knowing he wasn’t into me, yet praying somehow he’d change his mind.”

  “He must have given you some kind of come-on at some point or you wouldn’t have been so hooked on him.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not. He can’t help having piercing blue eyes that shoot straight through to your soul.” And other places. “It’s like the classic student/teacher syndrome. A schoolgirl crush. Just because they show you some attention, your mind fancies there’s mutual attraction, when in reality they think of you as a child.”

  Star reached up for a mug from the kitchen cabinet. The place was sleek, all chrome and white marble floors. Futuristic. It was a lot of prime real estate for someone of her age. I was impressed. “You want some muesli? Toast? I’ll squeeze some orange juice.”

  “Juice would be great, thanks. Nothing to eat though. Maybe later. Sorry to go on, Star, I know I must be boring you.”

  “We’ve all been there. That’s why I’m so glad to be married now even though Jake drives me nuts sometimes.”

  “Where is he by the way? And where are the kids?”

  “You noticed the silence too, huh? They’re on set.”

  “All of them?”

  Star cut some oranges in half and put one into an old-fashioned juice press, drawing down a lever and emptying the juice into a large glass. “Yeah, they’re all working today and I love it. Peace at last. Talk about keeping it in the family. Hero wanted to act, and anything Hero wants Leo wants too. This is the second movie in the trilogy—Jake said no at first, but they offered him so much money he couldn’t refuse.” She handed me a full glass of juice.

  “Love your citrus squeezer.”

  “We keep electric gadgets to a minimum. Someone is always getting up at five a.m. to be on set, so we all learn to sneak around as quiet as mice. Did you check your voicemail by the way? I turned the ring off the landline—didn’t want to be disturbed.”

  “No, why?”

  “Because Pearl called my cell. Twice. I haven’t listened to the messages yet but I’m wondering if she’s trying to get in touch.”

  “With me? I doubt it.”

  “Well answer her. Not only is she a very cool person, but she’s a big player too. I’m going to get dressed—help yourself to anything you want.”

  “Thanks, I will.”

  Star left the room, and I took my juice and coffee to my bedroom. I sat cross-legged on the mattress and stared out at the view. The sun was pretty high and had transformed into a glare so bright I had to look away. The ocean was a dark blue, the horizon a haze of paler blues and gradating turquoises melting into the sky. There were a few surfers dotted about in wetsuits, like bobbing seals. I wondered if there were any sharks in these waters. Wish I’d never seen Jaws. Despite the rubbery neck of the obviously fake shark in the movie, I still feared the ocean.

  I picked up my phone. Again, I scoured through my messages, just in case the “Call me. Now” text really did exist.

  No, it didn’t. Of course it didn’t. When would I learn?

  I listened to my voicemail: “Janie, it’s Pearl. Well, hon, you really have stirred things up with Sam. Telling him ‘no’ has piqued his interest more than ever. He even scoured YouTube and found the video clip of you in Where The Wind Blows. He was about to call your agent, but I told him he should clear it with you first. He is offering you big money, Janie. He wants to cast you in the lead. I agree you’d be perfect. Call me, we need to talk.” No mention of Daniel. Hmm, wonder why?

  The next was from Mr. Grease-Ball Big Shot himself. “Janie,” he said with a snort. At least he got my name right this time. “My Rambling Rose. I get it. I insulted you. I’m sorry. Please forgive an old producer and let’s call a truce. The show must go on. And Janie, you are the show. Or you could be. I’m a tit and ass man myself, so, you know, I didn’t quite get you at first. But I do now. Call me, honey. We need to do business.”

  I stood up on the bed and pranced up and down punching the air, then stopped—didn’t want to break Star’s bed. But the grin on my face stretched so wide my jaw was beginning to ache. Yes!! They wanted me for the part. Holy smoke, this wasn’t another of my dreams, was it? I pinched myself to make sure, then I saw Star standing by the doorway, smiling.

  “I take it you have good news, judging by that inane smirk on your face?”

  “Pearl says they have an offer, I’d better call her back,” I said, grabbing my phone.

  She prized the cellphone out of my hand. “Not so fast. I know I told you to call her back but . . . right now, as thi
ngs stand? Let them stew a day longer.”

  “A whole day? It’ll seem rude!”

  “Trust me, the cooler you are, the higher the offer. If they’re talking money now, which they weren’t before, that means they’re worried. You told them ‘no.’ Your silence will make them open up to negotiation.”

  Negotiation? “I’ve never played this game before, it makes me nervous.”

  “That’s why I need you to meet my agent today. I’ll call—we can see her for a drink this evening, or have lunch. You need guidance. From now on, you do not discuss money. You are the show and your agent is the business.”

  “That’s what Sam Myers said. That I’m the show. What’s your agent’s name by the way?”

  “Cindy Specktor.”

  “She sounds frightening.”

  Star laughed. “Spektor with a K. No C. She is pretty intimidating though. But not with her clients. With us she’s a pussycat, but let’s just say she’s the kind of person you want on your side.”

  “This is all so new to me. So surreal.”

  “This industry is surreal, get used to it.”

  “What about Paula, my New York agent?”

  “Call her. But wait till you’ve seen Cindy first.”

  “Cindy might not be interested in me.”

  Star laughed again. “Boy, you really don’t understand Hollywood at all, do you?”

  “Do I sound naïve?”

  “Naïve is good. Naïve sells, don’t worry about it.”

  “You sound so . . .”

  “Jaded? Tough? I’m a product of a greedy moneymaking machine, honey, that is called the movie industry. I can read it like an open book. Get dressed, we need to get moving. Put something sexy on. Not too sexy, remember, you’re a brand now.”

  “A brand?”

  “All actors are a brand whether they’re aware of it or not.”

  “And what the hell is my brand?”

  “Classy, sexy ingénue with social proof.”

  “What? You’re crazy, what on earth is social proof?” I laughed, and opened my suitcase, wondering what I should put on to meet the infamous Cindy Spektor.

  “You have proven talent because of bragging rights to a Tony nomination. Social proof. You don’t need to persuade anyone you can act, the proof is already out there. Be ready in fifteen minutes.” Star sashayed out of the room, her sky-blue silk robe trailing behind her.

  Her observations got me thinking. I had never thought of myself as some sort of “product” before, and it scared me. But also made me remember what she’d said about waiting tables. This was my one big break. I had to do things right or my luck could splinter. I felt disloyal meeting a new agent before I had even spoken to mine, but Star was right; Paula was great for theater but little else. She wouldn’t be able to swim with the Hollywood sharks, even rubbery-necked Jaws (Samuel Myers—fake and full of bullshit but still terrifying).

  With all this swirling in my mind, I suddenly remembered I’d promised to call my dad when I arrived in LA and had forgotten with all the excitement.

  My brother picked up.

  “Hi Will, what’s up? How’s it all going?” Will had started a little business tutoring housewives with mastering the Internet. From learning to do basic stuff for the old folk like sending emails, to learning Photoshop and WordPress for women setting up online businesses, Will was the go-to guy. Or would have been, had his love for video games not gotten in the way. One woman had been taught to play “Call of Duty” when she had asked to learn how to manage her website.

  “Dad’s not home,” he replied distracted.

  “So what’s up, anyway?” I said.

  “What’s down?” He liked to make that joke.

  “What’s the weather like back home?”

  “You know, mud season. Mud season. Mud season.”

  “Yeah, I’d forgotten about that.

  “Gotta go, Janie. You take care now, you hear?”

  “Bye, Will, tell Dad to call me.”

  I knew that this newfound business of Will’s wasn’t going to last long. Too much responsibility. He was twenty-one, but had the mind of a fourteen-year-old. His clients were mostly friends of my dad’s. But because of his autism it was doubtful he’d ever be able to hold down a regular job, and I always worried about how he’d manage financially in the future and wanted to help in any way I could.

  Just then my phone buzzed.

  It was Daniel.

  My heart pounding, I picked up.

  “Janie,” he said. My adrenaline went from naught to a hundred.

  “Hi, Daniel.”

  “We need to talk.” Was this for real?? That’s what he said in my dream—we need to talk. Just showed how well I knew him.

  “I have an agent meeting later. I mean I think I do,” I told him.

  “You’re being seduced, aren’t you? By them.”

  I laughed awkwardly. I wanted to tell him about my dream, how he was the one who’d seduced me. A thousand times, no less. “Seduced?”

  “Don’t lose your integrity, Janie Juilliard.”

  “I’ll be okay, I have a great mentor, someone who can show me the ropes.”

  “Star Davis?” He laughed. “She comes from a different planet than you. She was born into this world. She’s tough; it can’t hurt her the way it can you. You are an actor, not a movie star or wide-eyed starlet. You deserve Broadway, the West End, the National, The Royal Shakespeare Company. You are worth twenty Star Davises. And I won’t be there to protect you.”

  The idea that Daniel Glass wanted to protect me made my heart swell. “Why not? What about the movie?”

  “I’ve pulled out. Samuel Myers and I do not see eye to eye. Pearl Chevalier seems to be on board with my artistic choices, but Sam Myers is a fat fucking philistine and I don’t trust him an inch. His gig is all about money and nothing else. What started out as an art movie is quickly turning into a high budget sex romance. He’s even talking about BDSM themes, for Christ’s sake. He wants to compete directly with the Fifty Shades of Grey movie, which won’t work as it’s in a league of its own anyway. And he’s adamant that you be his progeny, his star. That stunt you played at the meeting—at my expense—worked.”

  It wasn’t a stunt, it was real. “I . . . I . . .” I stammered, “I don’t know what to say. This is a big chance for me, Daniel. And I’m so sorry if I embarrassed you.”

  “It’s fine. Water under the bridge. Meet me for a coffee, or lunch. See if I can’t persuade you otherwise.”

  “I’ll find out what Star’s plans are and I’ll call you right back,” I said. “Thanks for calling.”

  My head was spinning with all this information. I felt elated, excited, yet at the same time deflated. I’d finally come around to the idea of Daniel directing me again. Seeing him every day. Being mentored by him. But now I’d be on my own—well, I had Star to guide me, but it was true what Daniel said; she was used to this, it didn’t faze her. I was just a tiny fish in a giant unpredictable ocean, with ruthless predators keen to gobble me up and spit the remnants of me right back out. Select my tasty bits and discard the rest.

  I eyed my wardrobe choices. I picked out a pair of jeans and a little white tank. Some Converse sneakers. I put on my simple outfit and looked in the mirror. My nipples showed slightly through the shirt. No bra. Didn’t need one. That, I decided, would be my “brand.” The accidental sex symbol who dresses like a boy. Minimal makeup, minimal effort. Doesn’t give a damn.

  I contemplated the new direction I was taking in my career. For the first time in my life I considered what it was to be famous and more importantly, the money that would come with it. Able to pay my bills, help out my brother. I tasted it like the metallic taste of blood—dangerous, bad for me. But I wanted it anyway. I needed it.

  And I was going to go after it.

  Hollywood, here I come.

  7

  STAR LENT ME HER custom-made, sky-blue Porsche, which had a very fancy, integral GPS system. I ha
d no idea where I was going so I drove blindly, following Snoop Doggy Dog’s instructions (yeah, really), until I ended up on Mulholland Drive in the Hollywood Hills, where Daniel was staying at a friend’s house. The friend was away indefinitely and had lent Daniel his home for as long as he needed it. My dream had me so convinced it was real that I was surprised that he was not staying in Malibu near me, “just up the beach a ways.”

  As I approached a pair of enormous iron gates, I hesitated, but they magically opened so I knew I’d come to the right place. The house was a swanky, Mediterranean style villa, with steps leading up to it, circular balconies, and a sweeping driveway big enough to accommodate a good forty or so cars. There were neatly trimmed hedges, Versailles style, and views looking to the mountains in every direction.

  Daniel was standing on the steps, waiting for me. He was dressed in black. He often dressed in black. It suited his intense disposition. I could make out his pectoral and chest muscles beneath his T-shirt, his strong, tanned forearms—tanned from being here in LA—I supposed. He stood there, legs apart, not smiling, but his penetrating gaze told me he was glad to see me.

  I pulled the car up and got out, swiveling my legs around as if I were wearing a short skirt—then remembered I was just wearing skinny jeans.

  “It’s seems incongruous, doesn’t it?”

  I cocked my head. “What does?” It was that awkward moment; the kiss on both cheeks. When we were rehearsing none of us ever did the thespian air kiss with Daniel. He didn’t like it. He used to say, ‘We see each other every day, for Christ’s sake, save the lovey dovey daahling kisses for opening night.’

  But he stepped down, put his arm around my shoulder and said, “Welcome to La La Land where you and I don’t belong.”

  “How do you know I don’t belong here?”

  “Because I know.”

  “This place is outrageous,” I said, doing a three-sixty. “So flashy!”

  “Did you bring your swimsuit? There’s a heated saltwater pool with cascades, and God knows what.”

  I hadn’t brought my swimsuit, I wasn’t sure how I’d feel being undressed in front of him, so I purposefully left it behind. “I forgot,” I said. “How long are you staying in LA, then?”