They talked about staging and did a few passes on the monologue again, this time adding props. Everyone had an easier time when they had an object in their hands, something to play with that linked them to the real world. Maybe they got it. Lisa felt better when class was over.
She straightened her shirt and pulled up her rain hood as she went back out into the weather. Yes. Two could play at this. She would wear blue tonight and she would take Shana off guard.
* * *
Lisa’s last red carpet had been just before she applied to teach at Portland State. She worked on a big budget film, a spy flick with a superstar cast. In the key scene, Channing Tatum rescued Elizabeth Olsen from an iceberg loaded with explosives. Lisa’s job had been doubling for Elizabeth in lighting tests and costume fittings, which meant long hours in a harness, hanging from various high places and being sprayed with fake rain. The film featured an ocean liner, heavy special effects for waves and snow, a speed-boat chase scene, and an extended shootout with the villain, played by Gary Oldman. Because it also included cameos by half a dozen A-list stars, the carpet was packed with people and paparazzi. Lisa’s invitation was a courtesy, an acknowledgment of the time she’d put in on the set and her support of the picture’s female lead. Elizabeth had already requested her for her next role, which was in a superhero film, the first in a series. Doubling was a great opportunity, Lisa knew, especially for someone who loved to act but didn’t covet the limelight. She asked her brother, who was newly sober again, to be her date.
He was supposed to pick her up at four, so they could have “old people dinner,” as he called it. Elizabeth kindly lent Lisa one of her formal dresses, since they had the same measurements, and Lisa zipped herself into it and waited for her brother to arrive. At half-past four, he texted that something had come up and he’d meet her at the theater, but didn’t respond when she called him to ask what was going on. She felt the first tingle of panic.
She caught a cab across town and walked a whole block in her silk stilettos, past the crowd of fans and photographers popping shots of the celebrities as they arrived. The noise was unbelievable. Lisa’s borrowed dress was a doll-pink crepe wool, and she was conscious of how much she was sweating and how she was walking too fast for a dress cut like this. When she got to the front of the theater, she was panting. Someone took a photo of her, mistaking her for someone who was somebody: she had the right coloring, the right body type, the right dress and hair and makeup. She was nobody, though.
The red carpet was lined with screaming people. The sound of their voices filled Lisa’s ears and made her feel disoriented, though she knew it was just adrenaline, and that this was normal for everyone, especially in L.A. She looked around for Jeremy, who’d stopped responding to her frantic texts, and realized that she wouldn’t find him here. He wasn’t coming.
He’d relapsed. She felt it. Maybe—overdosed again.
She stood under the theater marquee long enough for a security guard to come over and ask to see her invitation, which she shoved into his hand before she bolted back toward the curb, frantically waving at the passing taxis. The mass of people parted as she wedged herself through them. The borrowed dress snagged. She felt it tear. Then she got into a cab, and the nightmare of dealing with her brother’s addiction started all over again.
The movie got terrible reviews, but was a hit at the box office, especially in the Asian and overseas markets. The release date fell on a slow week in August; people just wanted something mindless to watch. Lisa never saw it. She sent Elizabeth a message thanking her but said a family emergency had come up and she’d had to change her plans at the last minute. Elizabeth was gracious, of course. Keep the dress; I never wear it, she’d said. Take care.
Pink wool was wrong for a women’s rights gala. In a boutique dressing room, Lisa tried on one thing after another. She appraised her reflection. She cleaned up just fine.
The saleswoman knocked on the door: “Is there anything else? How does everything fit?”
Lisa peered over the door and said, “I think we’re getting close.”
The saleswoman nodded. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I feel like I know you,” she said. “Have we met before? You seem so familiar.”
Her voice, her face. She was a little piece of every actress she’d doubled for. She could have stayed in L.A., working with Elizabeth and following her from project to project. It was better money than teaching, but Portland had better treatment centers and that’s what Jeremy needed.
“I get that a lot,” was all she said.
Dress, eyebrow pencil, legs shaved smooth, powder, scent, the arranging of her hair. She painted her face in the bathroom mirror, which lost its layer of steam as she worked and thus slowly revealed to her the crisp outline of her true appearance.
She sat on the edge of her bed and carefully rolled stockings over her legs, then took her new dress off its hanger, undid the long zipper, and stepped into it so she wouldn’t stain it with her painted face. She was able, with some contortion, to do it up by herself, and then she slipped her feet into the black high heels she’d worn exactly twice. She smoothed the front of the dress with her hands; the satin caressed her palms. She felt delicious. She went down the hallway to the stairs enveloped in gorgeousness. She could not wait to arrive and really show herself off.
The event was inside a campus lecture hall, with armed security at every one of the doors. They checked her purse, patted her body, and inspected her ID. Then they directed her to a queue of formally dressed people who were waiting their turn to walk through a metal detector. She got through, and, as she picked up her bag, her phone started to ring. She assumed it was Shana, with some last-minute instructions, but she fished it out anyway. The number wasn’t one she recognized. She answered.
As soon as she said hello, one of the security team took the phone out of her hand, ended the call, and powered off the phone.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “We can’t allow electronics or recording devices of any kind at this event. For everyone’s safety. You need to leave your phone at the coat check.”
“But what if that was an emergency?” Lisa sputtered.
“Do you know what people can do with a mobile phone? This is a detonator,” he lectured, handing it back to her. “A radio. It’s not safe. And whatever is said tonight doesn’t need to make its way to the Internet. We have instructions for a total blackout. No photos, no audio, no video. If you need to make a call, you will have to leave the building. You will not be readmitted. Coat check will give you a tag, so you can get your belongings back after the event.”
She nodded.
He smiled and turned back to the line of people by the metal detector.
“Thrilling, isn’t it?” said a familiar voice. Shana was at her elbow, materializing as she always did like a demon in a morality play.
“Where did you come from?” Lisa asked.
Shana ignored her. “Angelina is in our row,” she said. “She’s so thin. And shorter than I thought. Actresses are always a lot smaller than they look onscreen. When I was in that film, I was the tallest woman on set. Gigantic.”
Film, even though it was a throwaway, straight-to-video comedy. Lisa tried not to roll her eyes. Shana was right, though: Angelina was thinner than the last time Lisa had seen her. She sat in the center of the front row with an empty chair on either side of her. She was reading. When Shana stood in front of her, she looked up, those famous lips parting in a polite smile.
“It is so great to meet you,” Shana said. She stuck her hand out.
Angelina did not close her book. She took Shana’s fingers and gently squeezed them in the gesture of a queen acknowledging some lesser person. Shana beamed. She opened her mouth, but Lisa, who recognized when a star wanted to be left alone, grabbed her by the elbow.
“Let’s find our seats,” she said.
Angelina’s eyes f
licked over her face. “You worked with Liz,” she said. Her smile was genuine this time, and its warmth felt like an embrace to Lisa. That was star power: When they acknowledged you, you felt really seen. The feeling was addictive. People loved it, and couldn’t help but want more; they would spend hundreds of dollars a year to see pictures of that smile. A billion-dollar industry was built around the simple desire to be in this woman’s presence.
“Last year,” Lisa said. “She’s terrific.”
“She really is,” Angelina said. “She’s coproducing my next project.”
Which, in the language of L.A., meant that Lisa was favored because she was included in this knowledge. Her association with another star meant she could be trusted.
“I can’t wait to see it,” Lisa said. She received another golden smile, which tingled through her body. How could she ever have left this other world, with these beautiful, wonderful beings in it? She took Shana’s arm and steered her away.
Their seats were at the far end of the row, at an awkward angle to the stage. Shana insisted on sitting where she could see Angelina and the other notables. She fluffed her hair and swiveled her head, obviously trying to catch a glimpse of someone worth seeing.
“You didn’t tell me you knew her,” she snarked.
Lisa shrugged. “I don’t. Besides, there is no reason she’d think of me. L.A. is a big town. Once you’re gone, people tend to let you go.”
“You should have asked her to meet us at the reception.”
It was useless to explain what a gross violation of Angelina’s time that would be, so Lisa just smiled and opened her program. The theater filled, and soon she was surrounded by people and their quiet chatter, laughter, and rustlings—audience noise. She felt the tiny rush it created. The familiar, glorious feeling she always got before a show came back. She closed her eyes and let it wash over her. For a moment, time stopped, reversed, changed shape, and curled on itself, purring.
Then she felt a cold hand on her knee. She opened her eyes, but the lights were dimmed. Shana was stroking her leg with icy fingers, working under the hem of Lisa’s dress.
“You never look this pretty,” she whispered in Lisa’s ear. “I see why Angelina remembered you.”
Lisa’s hand slapped down, pinning Shana’s. “Stop,” she said.
“I bet you’re good at being quiet,” Shana said, and Lisa leaned away as Shana’s teeth, along with that lipstick that she hated and the perfume that stank because it was Shana’s signature musk, came close to Lisa’s ear.
“I’ll scream.”
“You will when I make you,” Shana said. Lisa wriggled away from her and stood, even though the applause was surging and the first pair of security guards was coming from the wings to flank the stage. Shana stood, too, and so did everyone else. A deafening ovation flooded the theater.
Shana’s mouth was moving, but Lisa turned away and ran up the aisle toward the exit. The guard at the door let her through, and she went straight into the lobby and pounded on the desk of the vacant coat check window.
“Can I get some help,” she said.
Another guard in a severe black suit got up from her stool and put her phone in her pocket. “Sorry,” she said. “I thought it wasn’t over yet.”
“Hasn’t even started,” Lisa said. She shoved her ticket at the woman and waited impatiently for her to get the plastic bin of phones, each one labeled with a numbered, pink Post-It note. She expected to hear Shana’s shoes clacking toward her at any moment. The guard handed back her device, and Lisa snatched it, said thank you, and darted for the main doors. She didn’t care if she couldn’t come back. She should have known, suspected. She wiped her dress off, trying to get rid of the sensation of Shana’s fingers and the sultry, sticky smell that stayed with her even when she headed through the Park Blocks. Her hands were shaking, but she had her phone, so she felt safe. Even though she had no one to call for help, it made her feel that maybe, if she needed it, she could.
She had two missed calls, both from the same number.
“Hey, sis,” Jeremy said. “I checked myself out. I’m going downtown right now. I don’t have a place lined up and I know this is short notice, but I was hoping I could crash with you. Everything is fine. Call me back.”
The other message was from one of the counselors at his rehab: They’d found a small, empty vial in Jeremy’s bed. He denied the vial was his, said it was a plant, and walked out when the team attempted to confront him for a drug test. They had no information about where he was and no other way to contact him. The counselor said that, unfortunately, they couldn’t take him back after a blowup like this, and Lisa would need to claim his belongings within the next twenty-four hours before they were donated to Goodwill.
She took a deep breath and put her phone back in her purse. What a night! The only thing she could do was go home and wait for her brother to show up; at least she’d be able to get out of this dress and wash her face. She felt filthy; a creeping dirtiness coated her skin. As she walked down the long, green avenue of trees that lined the Park Blocks, she tried to make herself breathe evenly. This is what she did when she had stage fright: She tricked her body into believing she was safe, that nobody could see her, that she knew what she was doing. She straightened her posture and tried to impersonate a woman who hadn’t just been groped by someone she mistrusted and despised.
“Hey,” said a deep male voice. A figure sat up on a nearby park bench. “Hey, baby.”
Lisa picked up the pace, impersonating a woman who has somewhere else to be. Her shoes slowed her down. She put her hand in her purse, wishing she’d brought mace. Who knew how long it would take for the police to come find her, in whatever ditch this strange man left her.
“I’m talking to you, baby,” he said, and his voice was close, making the hair stand up on her arms. He sounded big. Too big for her to fight off.
“Go away,” she said, and he burst into giggles.
“Leese, it’s me. It’s your brother. Calm down, it’s just Jeremy.”
He came closer, and she saw that yes, it was him, and was so relieved that he wasn’t dead or hurt that she burst into tears. He hugged her tight while she squeezed handfuls of his T-shirt, not caring that he smelled like weed or that he’d been hanging out on a goddamn park bench when he should have been safely in rehab.
“You shouldn’t get into fights,” she said when she’d calmed down.
“You shouldn’t wear makeup. When you cry, you get raccoon eyes.”
“Those people were trying to help you,” she said. “Now what are we supposed to do? Start over, just because you can’t follow the rules?”
They walked up Taylor, toward her apartment. The museums and shops were all closed, and their screened windows and grated doors were like blank, watching eyes on Lisa and Jeremy as they passed. Jeremy took Lisa’s purse and held her hand. He knew better than to defend himself with her. When they got to her building, he handed over her keys.
“I can find another place for the night,” he said, reluctantly. “A hotel or something.”
“You don’t have any money,” she snapped.
“Yeah, I know.”
“You should have stayed in treatment,” she said as she opened the door for him. He went past her with his head down, looking at the carpet.
“I know.”
“They’re trying to help you.”
They went up the stairs and into her studio. She dropped her bag on the floor and kicked her heels under the sofa. She never wanted to see them again.
“Are you mad at me?”
She struggled with her zipper until he came over and carefully undid it for her. The rigid sheath around her relaxed, and she could breathe again. “Of course I am. We had an agreement. We made a plan, and you were going to stick with it this time. You didn’t even last ninety days. Why can’t you get along? Fighting with y
our group, fighting with everyone.”
“Why shouldn’t I fight with them?”
She turned on him, her disbelief making her speechless. Her dress was falling off one shoulder, and she had a run in her stockings. Her mascara was gummy on her lashes and her hair had gone sideways, frizzing into a wad on the top of her head.
“Seriously, Lisa. Why? Just because we have one thing in common doesn’t mean we’ll have anything else going on. If I learned anything, it’s that the person who’s most like me is the last person I can trust.”
He kissed her forehead.
“I’m glad you’re safe,” she said. She tried to impersonate a big sister who was ready to clean everything up and be the responsible one, again.
Her brother settled on the couch and picked up a magazine. “I’m always fine, sis. I’ve got nine lives,” he said. “I came back because you need someone looking out for you.”
“Do not,” she said.
“You’re not fooling anyone,” he called as she closed the bathroom door.
“You better be there when I’m out of the shower,” she shouted back, over the hiss of the running water.
He’d be there; she knew it. That was the thing about brothers. They were no good at pretending. They didn’t need to; they just loved you. They turned up like a lucky penny when you least expected them. They saw right through all your little acts.
“I saw Angelina Jolie tonight,” she shouted. “She recognized me.”
“I guess you’re a celebrity now,” he said.
She rinsed the suds and styling product out of her hair and let the water fill her ears, temporarily deafening her. She felt normal again, clean, her usual un-done self.
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