And then came Xanadu. Let me tell you, that first day when I walked onto the set at Fiorucci, where you took Gene Kelly to buy an outfit for the big opening of the nightclub, I could hardly catch my breath when I saw all those gorgeous dancers. I’d never set eyes on so many amazing-looking women all in one place.
Then the shooting began—those fourteen-hour days, all those people having affairs with each other (you included, Liv!). It was tempting, but I lived with someone, and just because she had cheated on me didn’t mean I was going to do the same. Besides, I had never gone after any of my relationships—since I wouldn’t dare take the chance of being rejected, I always let others pursue me. And although I was putting together a style that was a little more interesting than my who-gives-a-shit-how-I-look fashion in San Francisco, it was obvious that none of those beautiful dancers were going to be beating down my dressing room door!
Meanwhile Daisy finally got a job (she’s a hairdresser), and started making her own friends at the salon. We both were so busy, we almost never saw each other during the week, and on weekends we’d try to reconnect. But even when we went out to dinner or to a movie, we were feeling really strained. One Sunday when we were cleaning the house, Daisy turned off the vacuum and said, “Maybe we’d be happier if we had an open relationship. Whaddya think?”
Wow. She was already sort of doing that anyway, so I said, “Sure, let’s try it.”
“I think you should have an affair,” Daisy added, and then she returned to vacuuming the hallway. I swear, I’m not making this up. There was my girlfriend, urging me to have an affair!
So back at work we finished shooting the “All Over the World” number at Fiorucci and moved over to the soundstage at Hollywood General Studios to shoot the BIG XANADU FINALE! On our first day at the studio, a few of the dancers were rehearsing part of the production number without you, Livvy. I was watching this inner circle of boy dancers facing an outer circle of girl dancers. Each boy would twirl his girl, and then the girl circle would move one step right so that a new girl stood in front of that boy. Then he would twirl her, and so on. You remember that routine, don’t you?
I was standing there, leaning against a pillar and wondering if the girls felt dizzy with all that twirling going on, when suddenly I spotted her. A GORGEOUS, striking dancer with sandy red hair, radiant green eyes, and a sexiness that exuded in spite of (or maybe because of?!) the baggy overalls she was wearing to rehearse in. She looked like a young Ann-Margret from her Kitten with a Whip days. I’d noticed her at Fiorucci, too, but there she’d been just one of the bevy of beautiful dancers. What made her stand out now was that she was in the boys’ circle, twirling one girl, and then another, and then another. Come on, Livvy, even if you’re not gay, you have to admit that was totally hot!
So I stood there thinking, hmm, Daisy says I should have an affair. Well, why not with this girl? Yeah, right. Like she’s even gay. Just because she’s dancing with other women, it’s choreographed that way. And even if by any remote chance she is gay, like I’m ever going to pursue a totally stunning dancer I’m sure to be rejected by? No way!
By now you’re probably trying to remember the advice you gave me, Livvy. I’m getting there in a sec! So even though that gorgeous girl dancer was completely out of my league (like you were to Matt, see where I’m going?), I had to find out who she was, and I guess Fate played a little part in this because I happened to ask the perfect person: Nick, one of my fellow jugglers, who was standing nearby.
“That’s Celeste,” he answered with a grin. “Did you ever meet my ex-girlfriend Danielle? She manages Fiorucci.”
“No.”
Nick leaned in close and whispered, “A couple of years ago Danielle left me for Celeste.”
Livvy, I almost fainted.
Okay. Here’s where you come in. As we rehearsed over the next couple of days, your song for the finale played again and again and again—hundreds of times a day. Over and over, your words (sung so beautifully, I might add) hypnotically planted the suggestion in my brain:
You have to believe we are magic, nothing can stand in our way You have to believe we are magic, don’t let your aim ever stray And if all your hopes survive, destiny will arrive I’ll bring all your dreams alive…for you.
Because of your lyrics, Liv, I was determined to believe that I was magic, let nothing stand in my way, and trust that I could bring all my dreams alive…for me! Too bad I wasn’t dreaming of a huge career break or financial freedom or world peace and justice for all. I was intent on pursuing, wooing, and scoring a dancer on Xanadu.
I decided that during the eleven remaining days of shooting, I would make some sort of move toward Celeste daily.
DAY 1: I walked up to Celeste and told her she was great in the twirling number. She said thanks and turned away.
DAY 2: I smiled at Celeste and asked how her weekend was. “Nice, thanks,” she said, and turned away.
DAY 3: I befriended Mandy, you remember her, the one who did that killer swing dance with her partner? She was Celeste’s friend, and I figured if Celeste saw that Mandy thought I was cool, she might, too. (I really liked Mandy, so it wasn’t entirely scheming!)
DAY 4: When I saw Celeste writing in a notebook, I sauntered over and asked if she could spare a piece of paper. This time I said, “I’m Hillary, by the way.”
She said, “Hi, I’m Celeste,” and we chatted for about three minutes. Actually, I think it was about you and Matt! I tried to be as charming as possible.
DAY 5: In the morning we said hello, and smiled at each other during the day. In fact, several times she caught me looking at her, and a few other times I caught her looking at me. And whenever either of us caught the other looking, we’d quickly turn away. I seemed to be making progress!
DAY 6: I knew Celeste would be at a party one of the dancers was throwing, so I put together my best outfit, which included a black bowling shirt with “Betty” embroidered in red over the pocket. I felt sorta cute at the party until I laid eyes on Celeste. She was wearing a sixties minidress, the bottom black-and white-striped and the top a lime green material, with a green bow around her narrow dancer’s waist. Her vintage black patent leather spiked heels matched her purse, and she wore sixties makeup with the eyeliner extending into cat eyes. She looked unbelievably, stylishly, fabulously, extraordinarily, well, unbelievable! We smiled at each other from across the room, but an hour passed with no contact. Finally when I saw she was getting tipsy, I made my way over to her. We talked awhile, and then she suggested we go together on a “mission” to capture a bottle of wine and sneak out to my car with it.
“Oh, but there are obstacles,” she declared, pointing at Lonny, “an international spy who has been tailing me throughout Europe and the States.” The ruse went on, becoming more complex, and I joined in, pulling her away to hide from Tanya, her “angry ex-girlfriend who can’t see us together or there will be hell to pay.”
We agreed we must remain cool and discreet. Celeste touched the pocket of my bowling shirt. “Code name: Betty,” she whispered.
I smiled at my own beautiful Ann-Margret and said, “Code name: Ann.”
We were officially partners in crime.
I knew right away that “Ann” was a madwoman. As she drank another glass of wine, an edge surfaced. She was the type whose hostility and bitterness lash out unedited when they’re drunk. But she was gorgeous, creative, and totally fun, so I was thrilled when she sent her friends home, telling them she’d get a ride with me.
By the end of our mission we were sitting in my car swigging white wine from the bottle. Well she was. I don’t really like alcohol, and someone had to drive, so I kept pretending to sip because I could tell that she didn’t want this night to end and, of course, neither did I.
At 3:30 a.m. we went to Canter’s restaurant. When we strolled in we ran into several people we knew, and joined their table. Others arrived and with each new arrival, “Ann” and I were pushed closer together. By sunrise, when I dr
opped her off at home and she hugged me good-bye, I was drunk on her perfume, which I later learned was, naturally, Ambush.
I climbed into bed as Daisy was climbing out to go to work. I told her I’d been out with a bunch of people from the film, figuring there was no sense letting her know that my every nerve ending was electrified and I couldn’t shake the scent of Ambush out of my head.
DAY 7: It was dark and pouring rain all Monday. I wasn’t scheduled to work, and it took everything in me not to stop by the set anyway.
DAY 8: I saw Celeste first thing in the morning, and although I greeted her warmly, she was frosty and distant. Shit. Maybe she realized I was interested in her and this was her way of showing me she didn’t return the feelings? Most of the day I didn’t see Celeste—she was rehearsing a number with you, Livvy, while the other jugglers and I were working on the bit where we passed clubs over your co-stars’ heads as they entered the nightclub under the arch of our pattern. That evening, when we wrapped for the day, I asked Mandy and a few other girls if they wanted to go out for a drink. Mandy invited Celeste (as I’d hoped she would!). On the way out of the studio, Celeste walked over and uttered her first words to me all day: “You comin’, Betty?”
“Yeah, I am, Ann.”
From that moment on, we referred to each other only as Ann and Betty.
Six of us sat around a table at the Gold Coast bar in West Hollywood talking about who was sleeping with who on the set, when Ann excused herself to go to the ladies room. As she stood up, she kicked me under the table and subtly motioned with her head for me to follow.
I waited the longest minute of my life then excused myself. Just as I approached the door it creaked open, and Ann extended an arm and yanked me inside. She pushed me against a wall and began to kiss me furiously. We couldn’t keep our hands—or our mouths—off each other. Frenzied, heavy-breathed excitement mixed with slow, deep exploration, nails digging into skin, tongues swirling, lips smothering.
Twenty minutes later when we finally returned to the table, the others laughed and gave us knowing looks.
“What?” Ann asked. “There were people in line, we had to wait.”
Later, in the parking lot, we waved good-bye to our friends, and the moment they were gone, Ann and I lunged for each other. We leaned against her car, a brilliant 1961 black and yellow Metropolitan with plaid seats, and began to make out some more.
A policeman walked by. We stopped. When he was out of sight, we moved a few rows down to my car and continued to kiss. The cop walked by again. We ducked. Everything about Ann was thrilling and dangerous.
That night I decided to come clean with Daisy—well, maybe not full-on shower clean, but at least sponge-bath clean. I told her I had met someone I was thinking about having an affair with.
“Good,” she said.
I could tell Daisy was pissed, though she didn’t have the right to say anything more. She sort of swallowed hard and said, “By the way, remember the other night when I came home so late? I slept with a guy from work.”
“You what?” I yelped. I couldn’t believe it.
“I mean we decided it’d be okay, didn’t we?”
I caught my breath, which had gone missing when she delivered the blow, then decided to see this as my chance to be with Ann. “Fine. Yeah, we did,” I answered.
DAY 9: Another day off for me. As it was nearing Christmas, days were getting colder, but this day was rain-free. I bundled up in a heavy coat and scarf, packed a picnic, drove to the set at lunchtime, and picked up Ann. Off we went to a nearby park that was full of cholos drinking beer, mothers gossiping, and children screaming as they played, so we couldn’t exactly continue where we’d left off last night. We talked instead.
“This is all pretty intense,” I said.
“Yeah, I know.”
“What are we gonna do about it?”
“I’m not sure.” Ann knitted her brow. “I just wasn’t planning on this….”
Of course she wasn’t. This was all your doing, Livvy!
“And, well, you should know….” Ann picked at a baguette and tossed crumbs to nearby robins. “I have a girlfriend.”
Damn. Now what? Maybe I should just stop while I was ahead? After all, I’d proven I could actually pursue a woman who was seemingly out of my league and succeed. What more did I want?
And then it occurred to me. Maybe the fact that she was with someone made this even easier. I could do what Daisy was encouraging—just have an affair. Daisy had managed to do that and remain “hopelessly devoted” (get it?!) to me. Why couldn’t I?
“Perfect,” I told her. “I have a girlfriend, too.”
That night Daisy pushed and prodded. “Details, I want details,” she said. So I gave her some details. And what did she do? She freaked out. “Everyone I’ve slept with has been just about sex,” she shouted. “There wasn’t any emotional connection, but I can tell.”
“You can tell what?”
“You’re totally into this girl.”
Then she stormed into the guest bedroom and slept there.
Oh, Livvy, I guess you didn’t address the hard part of “magic” in your song!
DAY 10: We started to shoot the juggling scene—that’s when I had to wear that cheesy white mime makeup. And Livvy, we all know that mimes are anything but sexy. I can vouch for that cuz the first guy I really made out with when I was in junior high school was a professional mime, and kissing him made me gag.
So, understandably, Ann kept her distance. During the lunch break I didn’t see her at all, so I was convinced she had totally withdrawn again. Later in the day shooting began on the roller skating part of the finale, which neither of us were in. I was hanging out, talking to some friends, trying to decide whether or not to approach Ann, when she beat me to it.
“Betty, can you help me with my costume for a minute?”
“Sure.”
She was wearing a slinky black dress that looked more than fine to me.
“I think there’s a safety pin in one of the trailers,” she said, all blasé, acting like we were pals and nothing at all had ever happened between us. She led me through the lot into a trailer that was empty except for a dresser, a mirror, and the late afternoon sun pouring in through a small window, casting a spotlight on…A BED.
Ann pushed me into the sun’s rays and climbed on top of me. Her lips consumed mine. We kissed for what seemed like an eternity but at the same time only a second. When we finally came up for air, we both began to laugh. Her impeccable makeup was blotted with white mime paint; my face was one big smear.
“What if we’re called to shoot?” I asked.
“How can we be called to shoot,” she said devilishly, “when no one knows where we are?”
The responsible, don’t-let-anyone-down, do-the-right-thing girl in me disappeared when Ann grabbed me again, continuing our three-way with the sun.
That weekend Daisy decided to get away to San Francisco. I was thrilled to have the opportunity to see Ann, but despite leaving her two messages, I didn’t hear back from her all weekend. I assumed she was with her girlfriend, and I tried not to let that disturb me.
I began to wonder what would happen when, after the next day, our last day of shooting, Ann and I weren’t around each other every day. Liv, I should have asked you to tell me more about movie-set flings. But I guess whatever you might have said wouldn’t have mattered. I was already hooked.
DAY 11: Ann and I spent most of the day stealing off to our private trailer. When we were shooting the part of the finale that featured you singing “Xanadu,” I couldn’t help but believe you were, once again, my own personal muse, singing right to me.
“And now, open your eyes and see what we have made is real….”
Indeed, Livvy. We did it. You and Matt; me and Ann. And, for me, in only eleven days, right on schedule! That night I convinced Ann to join me at Fiorucci, where my old friend Greg, now an established clothing designer, was having a fashion show. Our first date i
n public. Dozens of stars, models, and paparazzi swarmed under the hot lights as a live DJ played pounding music. Ann ran into someone she knew and hugged the attractive girl whose green eyes were even more intense than hers, if that’s possible. Then Ann said to me, “This is Danielle, she manages Fiorucci. Danielle, this is Betty…well, Hillary.”
“Don’t ask,” I smiled.
“Don’t need to,” Danielle joked. “She’s always up to something. I know that.”
Then I remembered. Danielle was the one who had left my juggler friend Nick to be with Ann a couple of years ago. Sure Ann had a girlfriend now, but because I’d never met the “other woman,” she didn’t seem real. Danielle was there in the flesh, and it was hard not to feel jealous seeing Ann with an ex, especially one so charming.
At midnight when I dropped Ann off and we kissed good-bye in my car, I was busy wondering if and when we would kiss again. And if we’d ever get a chance to do more than just that.
The next evening Daisy returned from San Francisco, and I decided to cook dinner for her, which I never did because my cooking sucks. When she walked through the door, smelled curry and saffron, and saw the candlelit table, she burst into tears. This was something Daisy did about as often as I cooked.
“What’s going on, Honey?” I asked. “Talk to me.”
Between sobs she pushed out short sentences. “So much easier up there.” “Too hard here.” “Not good for us.” “I’m moving back.”
I started crying, too.
Queen of the Oddballs Page 10