GLASS: A Standalone Novel

by Arianne Richmonde

  The “situation.” The fuckathon, you mean, as Star so aptly described it. “I really have to go, Daniel.” I pulled my arm away.

  “I’m sorry if I came on too strong, I just thought after yesterday’s kiss—”

  That I was an easy target. Your next fuck nicely lined up. “Yesterday’s kiss,” I cut in, “was a mistake.” The words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, and cast his eyes down. I knew that game—the game men so often play when they want to get into your panties; the I’m just a sweet puppy dog and you’ve hurt my feelings manipulation tactic. I wasn’t buying it. This man was in no way ready for a relationship—he’d even said so himself! Yet I’d been so close to falling into my own trap. Luckily, Star had shoved some strong coffee under my nose and I had woken up with a jolt. Now compos mentis, I sure as hell wasn’t going to be his one-night stand—worse, one-afternoon stand—one of his many hook-ups, his sloppy tenths or elevenths.

  “I’ll let you know how the negotiations go,” I said coolly. “And what I think of Cindy Spektor.” I spat out the word Spektor without meaning to.

  “Give me a hug before you race off,” Daniel implored, following me through the front door, a look of incomprehension on his flummoxed and furrowed brow.

  I turned around, blinking so he couldn’t see the tears well up in my eyes, as I let him put his arms around me. He smelled so good. I discreetly breathed him in.

  “You’re special, Janie Juilliard. Don’t let them ever tell you otherwise.” Hugging me close, he whispered in my ear, “Please stay longer. Stay with me. Please don’t go.”

  I had to muster all my strength to pull away. “Sorry, I just can’t.” And I dashed down the steps of this grand Italianate mansion and jumped into Star’s convertible, fired it up and sped off before he could persuade me otherwise.

  Once safely out of the grand gates, and zipping around the precariously curvy mountain road of Mulholland Drive, I pulled over and got out my cellphone. I killed the engine. I still had plenty of time before lunch and my motor-mind couldn’t get off the subject of Natasha Jürgen. Punishing myself, I Googled her. There were pages and pages of images. Red carpet; stunning in various designer gowns. Smiling, resplendent, glimmering. Ophelia in Hamlet, Nina in The Seagull. Modeling photos. In every picture she looked so beautiful. Wavy blond hair cascading over her shoulders. Her full, natural bust evocative yet classy. She was that rare combination of sex siren and beauty all in one. Daniel must have been besotted with her; she’d be a tough act to follow for any woman.

  I pressed “Web.”

  Wikipedia sprang onto the first page. I clicked on it:

  Natasha Katrine Jürgen (1980 – 2015) was a Tony Award-winning stage and screen actress and a former fashion model. In 2000 she came to prominence and critical acclaim in the theatrical production of Hamlet when she played Ophelia, being one of the youngest recipients ever to win the prestigious Theater World Award for her performance. Other awards received were The Critics’ Theater Circle Award for the leading role in Antigone, and a Drama Desk Award for her role of Cordelia in King Lear.

  Early life.

  Jürgen was born in San Diego, California, the daughter of Helen Jürgen, a homemaker, and Steven Jürgen, a lawyer and business owner. Her maternal grandparents were from Germany and Sweden. She was raised in Springfield, Connecticut, with her older sister, Kristin, now a neurologist.

  Modeling career

  At the age of 15, Jürgen entered the Casablanca Modeling Agency’s Look of the Year contest and was chosen first runner-up. The following year, she went to Milan, Italy, to pursue her modeling ambitions. At 16, she was featured on her first magazine cover, the Italian edition of Vogue. Several more magazine covers followed and Jürgen went on to do television commercials for products such as L’Oréal, and editorial campaigns for Roberto Cavalli, and Burberry London. Her modeling career established, Jürgen moved on to a career in film, her first serious role, playing the lead Jacqueline in In Your Dreams, where she was spotted by theater director Gavin Black, who cast her as Ophelia in Hamlet, which was the beginning of a long illustrious theatrical career.

  My eyes scanned down all the endless theater and film credits until I landed on her personal life.

  Personal life

  Jürgen was married to theater director Daniel Glass from 2013 to 2015. They did not have any children although it was rumored that she was pregnant at the time of her death. She tragically died of an epidural hematoma after being hit by a bicycle while crossing the road in Central Park in 2015.

  I didn’t go over the details of the “Injury and Death” part that followed. I’d read the story a hundred times. But the pregnancy? That wasn’t on Wiki the last time I looked! I felt faint. She was pregnant? Poor Daniel, not just losing his wife, but his baby too. Not only had I jinxed Natasha, but an innocent baby! No wonder his head was all over the place right now. And I had been responsible, with my wish-they’d-split-up thoughts.

  But my sympathy and self-hatred soon morphed into jealousy at the thought of someone else bearing Daniel’s child. I was sick. Mentally unhinged. Identifying with Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction, even. Shut up already about Daniel Glass, Janie! He was off limits! Yes, he’d said flattering things to me, but he had probably done the same with all the other women on his roll call. Men like him were used to getting anything and anyone they wanted.

  I put down my phone, took in a deep breath, and sank, defeated, into my seat. Daniel had it all: brains, wealth, sophistication, beauty, talent, the works. I was just his little actress in his eyes. I had to get him out of my mind before I drove myself crazy!

  I needed to get a grip, get on with my life and seize the opportunities given to me without sinking into marshmallow-brain-land when it came to Daniel.

  I started the car and continued my drive. The sun was beating down and I welcomed every second of it. How many actors were given the chance I was being offered? One in a zillion! And there was no way I was going to let my obsession with Daniel spoil my chances.

  8

  I WANTED TO HATE CINDY, but I couldn’t. She was friendly and had a fun sense of humor. Blond, busty (LA style busty—we all know what that means), she carried a cute Chihuahua named Ditzy, with a pink, diamante collar. Perfect, manicured nails (both the dog and her owner). A two thousand-dollar purse. The type of woman who was tough enough to have a one-night stand and not let it bother her. The sort who would initiate sex on the first date, have some fun and then move onto the next guy, maybe even negotiating a deal while she was at it, without blinking an eye. She was a warrior, a hustler, a businesswoman who put emotions on the back burner. At least, that’s the impression she gave. I so wanted to ask her directly about Daniel, but when I brought him up, she just said, “He is quite something that Daniel Glass and I want him on my books! We’ll see.”

  “He mentioned you hooked up yesterday,” I ventured, the “hooked up” purposefully ambiguous.

  She grinned and said, “We sure did, but you know, he doesn’t feel like committing right now. I’ll keep in touch with him though—you can lead a horse to water but. . . ” –she fixed her gaze on me and added—“which brings me to you, sweetheart, we need to talk about your future!”

  I decided to drop the Daniel subject—if she’d fucked him that was her business, not mine. I smiled at her, forgiving her in my mind for trespassing on what I ridiculously, psychopathically believed to be my property.

  Star broke in, “Cindy can help you seal a lucrative deal. They’ll be banking on you being overcome with excitement at being offered a movie. It happens all the time when someone comes from a theater background. Often the actor is so desperate for the part, they offer to do it for scale. The money sounds like crazy money compared to what they’ve been earning. You need to stay cool, Janie.”

  “I can negotiate your deal,” Cindy suggested. “Studio cost-cutting has meant that mid-level stars are being nickel-and-dimed in ways that would
have been unheard of in the past, and we don’t want that to happen to you, Janie. Right now, they may be tempting you with big bucks, but when it comes to the small print they may try and skimp and save. We need to make sure you get those extra perks, residuals, and expenses, and that you aren’t minimalized in any way.”

  “Minimalized?”

  “Billing. You want top billing.”

  “What about nudity? I don’t feel comfortable taking off my clothes.”

  “Fine, I have a great entertainment lawyer who can go through your no nudity clause with a fine toothcomb.”

  I sighed with relief. I trusted Daniel to make the film tasteful concerning nudity, but who knew in what direction it would go now?

  “When we spoke yesterday,” I said, “at the meeting with Daniel, we were discussing using improvisation as a vehicle for the movie, but now I don’t even know who the director is. Will there be a script?”

  “All this I can discuss with the producers. Basically, I need to know if you are seriously interested in this project before I start playing hardball.”

  I reminded myself that I had a massive student loan to pay off. And I thought of Will. Dad was pretty useless—ever the penniless guitarist mentality, despite the fact his bespoke furniture workshop was doing okay. Will was only twenty-one but soon he’d be a man. He needed guidance. Financial stability. He hadn’t gone to college because of his autism. Since mom died, I had taken her place.

  “Yes,” I told Cindy. “I definitely want the job.”

  OVER THE NEXT FEW DAYS, Cindy negotiated with Sam Myers, Pearl Chevalier, and the money people. She had come to an arrangement with Paula, my New York agent, that Paula would continue to represent me for all theater worldwide, and any television in New York, and that Cindy would handle everything else. I was a little cog in a massive wheel, with a team behind me, including an attorney. It was daunting but exciting too. I felt so professional.

  They did do a screen test in the end, and Pearl told me that it had come out even better than they hoped. They wanted to see what actor would pair well with me, although they still hadn’t chosen anyone. The script was now underway—the whole artsy, improvisation idea that Daniel had was abandoned. And Daniel went back to New York, glad, it seemed, to have escaped the mayhem and intrigue of The Dark Edge of Love.

  As much as I was glad to move forward, the idea of Daniel going back to New York, and not doing the movie, haunted me. He was the only director I truly trusted. He always made the right choices, he could always help with the motivation of a character. Quite simply, he was the best.

  The casting directors were on the hunt for the perfect sex-god to play opposite me. They had been seesawing between someone very famous and a newbie. Pearl liked the idea of two new faces, of creating new stars. Samuel Myers wanted box office all the way but was also trying to squeeze every dime out of the budget and was reluctant to come up with a multi-million dollar fee. Because he had a bee in his bonnet about hiring only me (as he felt he had “discovered” me), Cindy was able to get me a million dollars—unheard of for an actress starting out in movies. The buzz was out and people’s expectations were already high. I went around with knots in my stomach—fear mixed with excitement. I ran along Malibu Beach screaming till my lungs burst about the million dollars. Daniel not being able to share this joy dampened it just a bit, but hey? How many actors get paid ONE MILLION DOLLARS for a role?

  Star and her family went off for a weeklong vacation, leaving me at their house alone. New scripts were arriving by messenger every day, tweaked each time, till finally, they settled on what they said would be the final copy.

  I lay back in a bubble bath, reading it, trying to work out the tone of the story.

  FADE IN:

  INT. BEDROOM – NIGHT

  A naked young woman is bent over the bed, her hands cuffed together, a blindfold on her face. She is in her early twenties, with long red hair. A man – tall, handsome and rugged, and holding a whip, is standing over her, whispering in her ear.

  EXT. STREET – DAY

  A woman with long brown hair is walking down Fifth Avenue. The street is crowded. The shop windows are decorated for Christmas. The same man we saw before, Jonathon, is running after her shouting the name of Sylvie. He overtakes her and realizes that she isn’t who he thought she was.

  INT. BEDROOM – DAWN.

  Jonathon is putting on his slacks. A blonde is sleeping in a four-poster bed. He grabs his shoes and socks off the floor and quietly sneaks out of the room.

  BLONDE

  (Mumbles into pillow) Hey, where are you going?

  JONATHON

  I warned you I never stay over.

  I took a swig of wine, eased back into my frothy bubbles, and continued reading. So far, this Jonathon character was a jerk womanizer—that much I’d gathered. He was screwing around big time. My character, Sylvie, hadn’t appeared yet, but I guessed that at a million dollars my role had to be important. Obviously there were BDSM themes . . . would I end up getting bruised?

  Perhaps Jonathon had dead wife issues like Daniel, and like Daniel, was on a fuckathon to try and numb his brain from depression. Sex was good for that—at least that’s what I’d heard; sex addicts didn’t do it for the sex alone but because it validated them and took their minds off the real problem. Just the thought of Daniel fucking around made my insides clench.

  Relationships are all about timing. In general, when men get married it’s not just because they fall madly in love. No, it’s because there’s a chip in their brain that tells them they are ready to settle down. To commit. Tells them they are ready for love and it’s okay to let go. Meet the right man at the wrong time and you’re screwed. Some lucky woman would meet Daniel in five years, when he’d be ripe to start afresh, by which time I would have long since given up. At least I hoped so, for my own sanity.

  My mind wandered back to the casting of Jonathon. What actor would they choose? I hoped to God he wouldn’t have bad breath or something. We were going to have to kiss with tongues, feel each other up. The camera was only allowed to catch a flash of my side boob—or at least that’s what would appear on the big screen—but I’d still be topless, save tiny nipple covers, and with just the skimpiest flesh-colored covering down below. I needed to get over myself and stop worrying. Nicole Kidman had appeared naked on stage in The Blue Room, in London, early in her career. Lots of actresses had taken off their clothes for the sake of art. But would this be art?

  The thought, though, of Daniel in New York, and me here, being directed by a stranger, left me to wonder . . . what would have happened if things had worked out how they were meant to? Daniel was judging me for taking the role, but he didn’t know what it was like to need money the way I did.

  It’s easy to have highfaluting morals when you’re rich.

  Still, as much as I reveled in my newfound success, I secretly wished he was along with me for the ride.

  9

  MY FIRST DAY ON SET was terrifying. Film wasn’t like theater. They put a bit of silver duct tape on the floor, which you had to reach every single take but without looking down. Casually walk to “hit your mark” as if it was the most natural thing in the world, making sure you stood not an inch away from it. Filming is mechanical; your body has to be at the perfect angle, your eye line hitting the perfect spot, not too far left, not to far right. The crew talked about “crossing the line” which meant that the cameras stayed on one side so you couldn’t double back on an action, or move in the opposite direction, or when it came to the cutting room the scene would be all over the place. Everything took hours to set up. Only two minutes screen time took all day to shoot. I was exhausted and I’d hardly done a thing.

  I was so nervous that I hardly had time to study my co-star, who had not been there for the read-through the week before. His name was Cal, aka Jonathon. Like me, he wasn’t a movie star, e.g. was an “unknown,” although he’d done reams of TV series and commercials. He didn’t appear nervous though, ha
d an easy manner and an engaging smile. Thank God. The last thing I needed was some sort of diva.

  Cal and I were sitting in my trailer, playing Backgammon. Star had given me a tip before filming began. She told me, “Keep your tablet and phone off set and only glance at messages once a day. You’ll need to concentrate and make friends. Get to know every last person’s name, the gaffers, the grips, and electricians, even the runner. Don’t sit in your trailer alone. Socialize. These people will be your family for the duration of the shoot, and sometimes for life.”

  I shook the dice. Two sixes. I smirked.

  “You’re on a roll,” Cal said with a wink. “Make the most of it, babe.”

  I moved my piece. There was something charming about Cal, so I didn’t mind him calling me “babe.” He was tall and slim but with a worked-out body, and so good looking he looked like a model, but his manner was a touch goofy, like he didn’t take himself too seriously. A kind of brotherly type—perhaps the kind of brother Will could have been if he weren’t emotionally “not quite all there.” I never used the word “mentally handicapped” about my brother—for some reason I couldn’t, I just thought of him as less attuned than most people. But having a normal conversation with Will was not easy. His mind wandered.

  “Lucky I’m getting double sixes,” I said to Cal, “because I can hardly concentrate on this game. Shouldn’t we be going over our lines together instead?”

  “You heard what Simon said. Wants it to be fresh, not over rehearsed, spontaneous.”

  Simon was our director, the one who’d taken Daniel’s place. So far, so good. He was friendly at least.

  “I’m just so used to blocking the whole play, scene by scene,” I said. “Not ‘play,’ I mean script, movie, whatever . . . this seems—”

  “Surreal?” Cal suggested.

  “Yeah, surreal is a good word. I mean, half of me is over the moon, but at the same time I didn’t figure on all this hanging around, waiting to work, while they fiddle with lights and camera angles. I mean, I feel guilty for our poor stand-ins. They must be dying of boredom doing nothing under the lights all day.”