Brooke grabbed my hand and pulled me through the crowd, around the edge of the dance floor and over to one of the booths, next to the one where the shirtless girl was now sitting, eyes closed, cross-legged, as if to meditate.
She pushed me into the booth next to a tall man with wavy hair cut like a young Elvis. He had dark eyes, great facial structure, a prominent nose, and the body of an athlete—not muscle-bound, but broad and tight. Brooke slid in next to me and leaned over. “Tony, this is my friend Faith. Faith, this is Tony. He’s an actor, and … he’s from New York!” She sat back and crossed her arms, obviously pleased with herself.
I smiled my best movie-star smile. He was handsome in a rugged, Italian sort of way, a little rough around the edges, probably a character actor and not a leading man. No Rob Lowe, but still. I held out my hand. Don’t tell him you want to be an actress, I schooled myself. Be mysterious, don’t be lame.
“Nice to meet you, Tony.”
“Hello.” He smiled and shook my hand, but he didn’t seem particularly thrilled to meet me. I was going to have to win him over. My looks were OK, not great, so that wasn’t going to seal the deal. But my attitude was a ten.
“So, you’re a New Yorker, too,” I said. “Do you ever just hate the fucking sun and pray for snow and cold?”
That got him to laugh. “I know what you mean. I’m shooting a movie in New York next month and I can’t wait to get back, even though it will be August when that beautiful garbage aroma wafts over the city.”
“I miss that smell!” I said, longingly, still in that bitter phase so many transplants from New York linger in, where we all say how much we hate L.A. and long for New York, even though we’ve obviously chosen to live in L.A.
Brooke leaned in. “Faith, you’ve been here for three weeks.”
“I know, but I haven’t met any other New Yorkers here yet. It makes me nostalgic!”
“I know,” Brooke said. “That’s why I found Tony for you!”
Tony leaned in toward me. “How about some X?” He held out his hand confidentially to reveal two brown pills with the word LOVE stamped on them.
“OK,” I said. Let’s get the party started. I swallowed them with the last of my drink, hoping I wouldn’t regret it.
“Do you want to dance?” Tony asked me.
“Sure. Why not?”
He grabbed my hand and led me to the dance floor and we started to dance, shoulder to shoulder with all the beautiful people. I liked that he wasn’t so perfect looking. I felt like we matched. We danced close, moving apart and back together. He began to brush his crotch against my hip. I could feel the beat of the music in my chest. I felt the intense need for another drink.
The lights swirled around me and the whole club looked like a beautiful kaleidoscope. I grabbed on to Tony, feeling a little dizzy. I couldn’t stop smiling. I felt like I’d known him all my life and he was my best friend.
He grinned at me. “Let’s get another drink.”
“I need some water.”
He nodded and guided me through the crowd. I felt like I was with the best man in the whole club. I wondered how successful of an actor he really was. At the bar, he raised his hand for the bartender. He was so tall, his arm extended above the crowd. “Two vodka martinis,” he said.
Brooke slid beside me again and motioned for another sex on the beach. “How’s it going? Do you like him?” she stage-whispered.
“We’re rolling,” I said.
“Cool,” she said.
Tony and I danced and drank all night. We were feeling passionate and thirsty and rubbing all over each other and making out to the waves of euphoria. Occasionally we collapsed in a booth and talked and made out a little. It felt casual and friendly. Then we’d talk some more, telling each other all our stories. He was smart and curious and articulate, in spite of the alcohol and drugs. It was a turn-on. There was also something inaccessible about him, which I took as a challenge. We definitely had sexual chemistry. I told him all about Susan and Donna, and how angry and embarrassed they’d made me. “You’re getting upset about what two immature little Hollywood soap opera actresses think about you? What kind of New Yorker are you, anyway?” he asked.
“Good point,” I admitted.
“Tomorrow they’ll be yesterday’s news. Longevity is the key. Once you hit it, never let it get away. That’s what I plan to do. It’s a rocket you hang on to, and I can guarantee those two don’t have a clue,” he said. “Besides, haven’t you noticed how wildly superficial everybody is in L.A.? They’re all big-timers and they’re all fronting. It means nothing.”
“I guess so,” I said. “But they still made me feel like a piece of shit.”
“Come here, I have an idea,” he said. He pulled me out of the booth and led me over to the bar, straight toward Susan and Donna.
“No, no, no, no …” I protested, panicking.
“Stop,” he said. “Trust me. Just pretend you don’t even notice them at all.”
“OK,” I said doubtfully. I was starting to come down off the Ecstasy high and suddenly, everything wasn’t coming up roses anymore.
He put his arm around me, then pretended to bump into Donna accidentally. He looked at her with complete disinterest. “Oh. Sorry. Whiskey soda and a cosmopolitan!” He called out the drinks to the bartender, who immediately stopped what he was doing to start making them.
Donna Shannon turned, and the annoyance on her face melted away as soon as she saw who had bumped into her. Then she looked at me, and then at him again. Her eyes widened.
“Oh,” she said, trying to sound cool. “Hi, Tony.”
Tony ignored her. Her face turned just one shade pinker. She nudged Susan, who turned around and froze when she saw Tony. Who was this guy?
Susan looked at me with alarm. I smiled and looked away. “Thanks, honey,” I said to Tony when he handed me my cosmo. Payback was sweet. We took our drinks back to the table, and I could feel Donna’s and Susan’s eyes on us the whole way.
“Who are you, anyway?” I said as we sat back down.
“Just an actor,” he said, laughing.
“But what are you in?”
“I love that you’re only just asking me that,” he said. “Most girls would have led with that question.”
“I was more interested in your status as a New Yorker,” I said. “But obviously your mere presence impressed the bitches. Why?”
“I’m on a Showtime series called American Money.”
“The one about Wall Street?”
“That’s right.”
“Oh my God. I don’t have Showtime but I’ve heard of it. I thought you looked vaguely familiar.”
“Vaguely, huh?”
“Yes, vaguely. Only vaguely.”
“That’s actually very refreshing,” he said.
The more famous I realized he was, the cuter he got. At one thirty a.m., the bartender announced last call and I hadn’t had a drink in a while because I knew I had to drive home. Tony said, “I know where there’s a great afterparty. Do you want to go?”
“We’ll go,” said a voice from behind Tony. He turned around. Donna Shannon and Susan Terence were there looking hopeful. “We’d love to go. Do you have room for us?” Donna asked, somewhat sheepishly.
Oh, this was too good.
Tony looked at me: my call. This forced Donna and Susan to look at me, too. “I don’t know,” I said. “We’ve got to fit Brooke and Brett and you and I, and that convertible only seats four.” I looked doubtful. Donna and Susan looked desperate.
Just then, Brooke came bouncing up behind me with her pseudo-boyfriend Brett in tow. “Do you want to go to a party?” I asked Brooke.
“I drove my car, so I’ll take Brett,” Brooke said helpfully, with a half smile. “You take those two,” she said, as if she had no idea who they were. “We’ll meet you there.”
Tony gave her the address, then turned to Donna and Susan with a pained look. “Shall we?”
I loved that Donn
a and Susan followed me out of the club. When the valet brought “my” car back around, Donna’s mouth practically fell open. As they climbed into the back, it was with a newfound respect. This is what I’d been looking for all along, even if I hadn’t really earned it yet. They obviously thought I was some rich trust fund chick. If only they knew the truth—that I hadn’t even been able to afford my own apartment. That I wasn’t getting any money from Daddy at all. I was, nevertheless, someone to contend with.
chapter four
Tony pointed west down Hollywood Boulevard, toward the Hollywood Hills, and I was feeling powerful and sexy again, like I could do anything, absolutely anything, not the least of which was to steal my father’s vintage Mercedes and drive a minor celebrity to an afterparty in the Hollywood Hills. I sped down the road, marveling that this was me, that any of this was happening. Tony’s hand rubbed my inner thigh as I drove. The night was clear and cool and perfect.
After a couple of miles, Tony directed me to pull up along the curb in front of a huge, white and red-trimmed, multistoried Mediterranean-style home in Beachwood Canyon. The front gate stood open and people milled around on the wide, sloped driveway with drinks in their hands. The four of us walked past and into the house, which had vaulted ceilings and gleaming white floors with expensive Persian rugs in every room I could see. The black granite kitchen counters held at least forty different bottles of liquor and mixers, and Tony went over to make us more drinks.
I was immediately drawn to the liquor bottles. “I’ll do it,” I told Tony. I began inventing. I loved creating new cocktails, and I was always searching for that one perfect cocktail. Let’s see. I looked in the refrigerator and grabbed a pitcher of lemonade and a bowl of fresh mint. Only in L.A. would you find fresh mint in the refrigerator. I added a splash of cranberry juice to the lemonade to make it pink, then put it with ice, white rum, and mint in a cocktail shaker. I muddled it, shook it, and poured it over ice, topped it with club soda, garnished it with a lemon and a lime, and handed it to Tony.
“Here you go,” I said. “It’s a pink lemonade mojito.”
He took a drink. “Hey, this is really good,” he said.
“Thanks,” I said. “I just made it up.”
“That looks great, what is that?” asked Susan. I had been so absorbed in mixing that I hadn’t heard her come up behind me.
“It’s a pink lemonade mojito,” I said, cooly. “Do you want one?” Secretly, I was thrilled that she wanted something I was making—something I’d invented.
“Sure,” she said. “Thanks.”
I made her one, then started making another one.
“This is really good,” she said. “It’s not too sweet. Perfect. Donna, come here!”
Before I knew it, I was making the drink for everyone, and I loved that they loved my invention. People filled up the kitchen. When Brooke came over, I handed her one, too. “Wow, this is great,” she said. “They should be paying you.”
“Nobody’s tipped me yet,” I complained.
“They should! Here,” she said, pulling a $20 bill out of her purse.
“Ha ha.” But I took it. I was totally broke.
Brett came up behind her. She looked at me, embarrassed, and slapped his hand away. “Stop it, I told you I’m with someone,” she said, but she couldn’t help giggling. I decided not to mention to her handsome but thwarted suitor that “someone” was my father, just in case Brooke’s resolve was actually foreplay.
Brooke turned away, arguing with Brett about something (probably her honor, or lack thereof), and for the first time in almost an hour, nobody was asking me for a drink, so I slipped out of the kitchen and wandered around the dazzling house. Then an arm holding a drink appeared from behind me. I turned and took the vodka martini from Tony.
“I see you’re admiring the house,” he said. “One of my former producers lives here. We met on the set of Murder, Inc.”
I did a double take. “You were in Murder, Inc.?” It wasn’t the greatest movie ever made, but I’d actually seen it, and suddenly I realized I’d seen him in it, too. “Oh my god! Now I know who you are. No wonder those girls were impressed with you.”
He shrugged. “Are you a professional bartender or do you just play one on TV?”
“So now you’re going to ask me what I do for a living?”
“I didn’t ask before because I just assumed actress, and I was hoping you weren’t one. I get so tired of actresses.”
“I happen to be getting a job on Hollywood & Highland,” I said, with more confidence than I felt. “And it’s not an acting job.” I said it with pride.
“Network TV, huh?” he said. “Yeah, TV’s OK. So, do you want to check out the upstairs?”
“I guess.” I had no intention of sleeping with him, no matter how much I drank or how much X I did. I’d intentionally not shaved and worn hideous granny panties to ensure that. My bikini line was a chia pet. And I wasn’t about to give up that much power this soon. Still, I wanted to see the bedrooms. We climbed the polished wooden staircase and peeked into the spacious rooms with windows overlooking the canyon. Everything was so perfect, I found it hard to believe anybody actually lived here. It looked like a magazine home. Of course, they would have a team of housekeepers.
A few of the bedrooms had people in them, but we found an empty one. I walked over to the window and looked out. “Nice pool,” I said. I turned around and Tony was pulling out a bag of coke.
“Want some?” he said.
“Um… OK,” I said. What the hell. The Ecstasy had worn off and I could use another boost. I didn’t even like the coke high. God knows I didn’t need anymore nervous energy. But I did like the danger, the intrigue, the ceremony of it, and the tingling sensation in my mouth. More important, it was an appetite suppressant.
Tony portioned out the lines and I snorted one line. That was enough, and I wanted to stay in control. He inhaled the rest. He leaned back on the bed, his arms behind his head, and looked at me. “You’re cool,” he said. “I like you.” He patted the space on the mattress next to him. I crawled over, trying to show my cleavage to best advantage. He put his arm around me. “And you’re so much hotter than my wife.”
“Your wife?” I was angry for about a second. We’d shared so much about our lives in the bar all night, but he’d left out this one minor detail. Then, somehow, I wasn’t surprised.
He looked guilty. “Yeah. She’s back in Brooklyn with my daughter. I really miss them. But I like you. You’re smart. Not like most of the women I meet at clubs. I can actually talk to you.”
“Um … thanks?” I said.
“You’d probably really like my wife.”
I leaned back against the headboard and looked at him. “Yep. I probably would.” We smiled at each other. And another potential soul mate bites the dust.
This confession and my tacit acceptance of it seemed to open a door for him. He told me all about his family, how he had met his wife, how he felt when his daughter was born. He wanted to talk all night. He wanted me to be his shrink. “You’re probably too young to get what it feels like to have that responsibility, but it’s a lot of pressure. It’s great, but it’s also hard. When I’m away from them and I go out like this … it’s just really nice to flirt with someone young and pretty like you. You know what I mean?”
“Not really,” I said.
“I just love talking to you!” he said.
“Tony, I think you’re a sweet guy,” I said. “Handsome and charming and obviously very successful. Your wife is a lucky woman. But you should set a better example for your daughter,” I said, noticing the coke residue under his nose.
“Yeah, I know.” He sniffled a little. Oh God, was he going to cry? “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lead you on. I am an asshole. You should see my daughter. She’s beautiful.” He looked up at me hopefully. “We could still fool around?”
“No,” I said, patting his leg maternally. “We could not.” I got the impression he wasn’t really
the cheating kind. He could probably have been persuaded. But maybe he liked me because he sensed I wouldn’t go there.
I left him alone, staring into space.
I went back downstairs to find Brooke. She was talking to a group of women seated in a circle on the floor. “He’s married,” I said.
“What?” she said, alarmed. “Married?”
“Yep.”
“Oh no, I’m sorry. I really didn’t think he seemed like the type. Isn’t he too young?”
“Apparently not. He’s even got a kid.” Defeated, I threw myself onto a sofa. I felt like I had a motor running in my chest. My heart was beating fast but my body was exhausted.
One of the girls sitting on the floor leaned back against my knees. She had long wavy blonde hair and a perfect tan. “Have another drink, honey,” she said. “Then come talk to us.”
“I’ll get it!” Brooke said, eager to do penance for introducing me to a married man.
“I’m Sandra,” said the blonde. “And you are adorable.” She had a lilting British accent.
I didn’t feel adorable. I could see my stomach pushing against the tight fabric of my dress—and I hadn’t even eaten anything.
“I’m Faith,” I said. “I thought I was getting lucky tonight, but apparently not.”
Sandra laughed. “Men. They’re hardly worth it unless they’re disgustingly rich. And actors hardly ever are.”
“Hm,” I said, nodding as if I already knew this. Which I didn’t.
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