Another one of the girls, who had long reddish-brown hair and bangs and the body of a supermodel, crossed her long legs and held out her hand to me. She wore a cocktail ring with the biggest emerald I’d ever seen. I had a feeling it was real. “Come, sit with us,” she said, in an accent I guessed might be French.
I sat down on the floor with them, shifting to keep my knees together in my mini dress. The French girl eased my heels off and rubbed the bottoms of my feet. I was surprised—but it felt really good. Brooke put a pink lemonade mojito in my hand and I sipped it gratefully. “I hope I made this the right way,” she said. “I’m so, so sorry about Tony. I should have done more research.”
“It’s OK,” I said. “How would you know? I did like him. He’s actually a pretty decent guy.”
Brooke sat down next to me and put her head on my shoulder. She was really drunk. I could smell the fumes rising off her. Or maybe it was me.
“You’re so nice,” she said. “I wish Frank was as nice as you are.”
“I’m really not that nice,” I assured her. “Like father, like daughter.”
“Yes, you are!” she said, leaning back away from me and looking at me earnestly. “I feel like we’re sisters!”
“No, I’m not nice, and we’re not sisters. I hate to even try to dissect the bizarre idea of us being sisters and what that would mean you were doing with my father. And I’m not nice because I’m going to tell you that you shouldn’t be putting up with him. He’s a jerk to you. You deserve better.”
She looked miserable.
“Tell me you don’t think you deserve better.”
“Your father is … he’s everything!” she protested. “He’s a legend. Everyone knows him. Everyone admires him. Worships him!”
“Everyone on the track worships him, I know that,” I said. “But he’s just lonely. He just wants someone around. He’s wasting your time. The world is a lot bigger than the racetrack, you know. You could do anything. You could have anyone.”
She didn’t answer. I could tell she didn’t believe she could do anything.
The coke was really starting to click. I couldn’t shut up now if my life depended on it, and as long as I’d opened this can of worms, I figured I might as well say what I’d wanted to say to her since the first day I met her. “Look, Frank Brightstone is a coldhearted man who doesn’t know how to love anyone. You’ll always be disappointed. The only thing he really wants to do when he’s not with his horses is sit in that leather chair all day. There’s a stain where the back of his head rests, he’s such a fixture there. He’s boring. He never goes out, and he doesn’t like you going out, either. What does he expect you to do all day? You’re young and beautiful and you’re giving him the best years of your life, and you’re not going to get them back. You’ll never get what you want out of him. He’s not going to marry you. You should cut yourself loose and move on to someone who can appreciate you. He just wants you because you worship him. Wouldn’t you rather be the one who’s worshipped?”
I could tell I was talking too fast. This always happened. I’d hold it all in, then as soon as I drank too much or did any drugs, it would all come spewing out—diarrhea of the mouth. It was a chronic problem.
She started to cry.
“Oh God, don’t do that,” I said. “I just feel like somebody has to say this to you.”
“How do you know he’s not going to marry me?” she sobbed.
I just shook my head. We both deserved better. My father deserved my mother, and she deserved him, and I wished they would have stayed together and spared everyone else from their mutual dysfunction. Brooke, on the other hand, had been nice to me, and although I never would have picked her out as a friend, she was in my life now. I felt like we would probably remain friends, even if she and my father really did break up. I felt obligated to tell her the truth.
“He’s not a total jerk to me,” she said, swallowing. “No, Faith, really he’s not. He acts differently when you’re around. I think you’re projecting your own feelings onto me. I don’t feel like that about him,” she sobbed. “And he talks about you all the time. He thinks you’re wonderful—he thinks you’re a much better person than I am.”
Brooke stopped crying and got very quiet. I put my arm around her. “It’s OK,” I said. “It’s OK. You’ll figure it out. Don’t listen to me, what do I know? I’m just an angry, deprived daughter with a long list of grievances. I’m hardly unbiased. Let’s change the subject.”
I turned to the group of women on the floor with us, looking for a way to redirect the conversation. Every single one of them was beyond stunning. “So, what do you all do? Are you with some Gorgeous Women of the World Club?” I asked.
Sandra laughed. “In a way,” she said. “We run a … well, sort of a talent agency.”
My ears perked up. “Talent agency? For what kind of talent?”
A creamy-skinned Japanese woman answered: “We hire beautiful girls to attend events.”
I looked around at them all, with their expensive clothes and alien glamour. “Events … involving your vagina?” I asked, suspiciously. Everyone laughed.
“It’s a social group,” Sandra said. “A very exclusive social group.”
“You should come out with us sometime. We have a very good time,” said the French woman. Everyone laughed again.
Sandra handed me a personal business card. “Call me if you’d like to go out some night.” I couldn’t really figure out what the game was, but whatever it was, it sounded fun.
“Sure,” I said, taking the card.
The party was getting more crowded. So what? I didn’t have anywhere to be. I looked at my watch: four a.m. We heard shouting out on the back patio, so Brooke and I went to see what was going on. Two men were shoving each other and bellowing. A girl in the swimming pool looked up at them. She was topless, and probably bottomless, I couldn’t quite tell. In what was probably a burst of drug-fueled energy, the smaller man shoved the larger one backward into the pool. The girl shrieked and jumped to the side. Yep, bottomless.
Suddenly, people all around us started peeling off clothing and jumping into the pool. I looked at Brooke. “Don’t you dare,” she said. Of course, that’s all I needed to hear. I pulled my dress up over my head, tossed it to her, and jumped into the pool in my granny panties.
The shock of the water felt enlivening, but didn’t sober me up at all. My head spun a bit as I dove under the water and came up right in front of Brett. He really did look like Rob Lowe.
“Hey, beautiful,” he said. “Where’s your movie star man?”
“Upstairs in the bedroom, being married,” I said.
“Ah. Well, I’m not married at all,” he said.
“Not even a little?”
“Not in the slightest.” Underwater, his hand slid down over my hip and under the panties. Had he noticed how lame they were?
“You’ve got a lot of balls. Is that an actor thing?” I asked.
“I have a feeling yours are bigger than mine.”
“Oh, they are,” I said. “I can guarantee it.”
“Let me feel,” he said, groping at my underwear.
I pushed his hand away. “Creep.”
“Sure I am, in the best way,” he said, moving closer. I felt dizzy. He was really hot. When he leaned in to kiss me, I thought, This is nice. Then I remembered who and what he was—Brooke’s sloppy seconds. I pulled away and looked up. Brooke was still standing at the edge of the pool, staring at us. Her face was red. She turned and ran into the house.
“Shit, I’ve got to go,” I said.
“Wait,” Brett said, grabbing my arm. “Just wait. She’ll be OK. She was never going to let me get anywhere anyway.”
“And you think I will?”
“I just got more from you than I ever got from her,” he said.
“That’s because she lives with my father, you jerk,” I said.
“Your father?”
“Yes. Her boyfriend is my father
, idiot! I’ve gotta go.”
I climbed out of the pool, found my dress lying on the pool deck, and slid it back on.
I had to get out of here. It was all going bad. “Brooke!” I called as I ran into the house. I didn’t see her. People were passed out everywhere. That looked so nice. I wished I could fall asleep in one of the well-furnished corners, but I had to find Brooke. She was too upset and drunk to be driving, and my dad would never forgive me if anything happened to her.
I opened the front door and ran out into the driveway. Then I saw Brooke’s Jaguar pulling out. She was leaving me here. “Brooke! Wait!” I yelled and waved my arms. “Don’t be so sensitive! He’s a creep! I told you I wasn’t nice!”
The car sped off. I threw my purse into the passenger seat of the Mercedes, jumped in, and gunned it down the street. I couldn’t see the Jaguar anymore, but I thought I’d just meet her at home and work it out there. I felt incredibly guilty, and also angry. What was her problem? What did she care if I was making out with some actor jerk when she had my father’s house to live in and his car to drive and his money to spend and his fucking love? I followed the road down out of the Hills and somehow missed Hollywood Boulevard. When I saw Sunset Boulevard, I turned right and began to follow it as fast as I could. I hit the gas harder when I passed Chateau Marmont. Near the Los Angeles Country Club, the road started to wind around and the last thought that crossed my mind was that maybe I should slow down. Then everything vanished.
I woke up in the hospital. Brooke was there, asleep in a chair. When I groaned, her eyes sprang open and she stood up. “Are you OK? Oh God! Are you OK? Were you following me? I’m so sorry I left you there! This is all my fault.”
“Where am I?” I looked around. Oh shit. “Is the car alive?” It was the first thing I thought of—I hoped it was still intact. I might have to be living in the thing because this was going to get me kicked out of my father’s house for sure. I felt my head. There was a bandage on the right side of my forehead.
“The doctor said you were really, really lucky. Amazingly lucky. Somehow, you just have a concussion and a cut on your forehead where you hit the steering wheel.”
“But what about the car?” I didn’t care if my face looked like a burned pepperoni pizza. Was the car OK?
She cleared her throat. “The car is … a crumpled ball of tinfoil.”
“Fuck.”
“But at least you’re OK!” she said, encouragingly.
“He’s going to kill me. What time is it? Is my face OK?”
She reached in her purse and handed me a mirror. A little fearfully, I held it up to my face. I looked hung over and a little pale, but even the forehead bruise didn’t look very bad. “It’s ten thirty,” she said.
“Morning or evening?”
“Morning,” she said. “You’ve only been here for a few hours. Someone saw your car go off the road and called the police right away. You were brought in here at four thirty a.m.”
I didn’t want to know the answer, but I had to ask: “Does he know yet?”
“Actually, he was really terrified that you’d killed yourself,” she said. “When the police called, I answered the phone, and as soon as he heard it was about you, he made us come right down here. He was here by five.”
“Where is he now?”
“He … had to go to the track. But he was scared to death for you, he didn’t even care about the car!”
“I believe he’s at the track. I don’t believe he doesn’t care about the car,” I said, rubbing my face, trying to get the feeling back. God, my head hurt. “He loves that car.”
“He loves you.”
“Uh-huh.” I had to face her. “Brooke, look, I’m really sorry.”
“I know.” She looked down at her feet. “I’m not mad at you. I shouldn’t have been involved with him anyway. I was just trying to get revenge. I was so mad at Frank about … oh, nothing. Never mind.”
I didn’t have to ask. He was cheating. My father had a reputation.
And so, here I was, on Monday morning, the sun pouring in the windows, dialing Larry Todd. Following up. Because it was high time I got out of here and got on with my life. The phone rang three times and a young woman answered.
“Larry Todd’s office.”
“Hi, is this Mia?”
“Yes.”
“Hi, Mia. This is Faith Brightstone. I’m just following up—I called a few weeks ago for Larry Todd.”
“Faith, of course!” she answered brightly. “Larry just got back from Vegas—he’s been at a conference, but he told me he wanted to speak with you. Hold on, I’ll put you right through.”
chapter five
I stared into my closet. I had nothing to wear. Nothing. It was my first day of work on the set of Hollywood & Highland, and my stomach was turning over on itself, I was so nervous. I envisioned me, hanging out with the actors, laughing and talking, being one of them. Even Donna Shannon and I would soon gain mutual respect and go out drinking together. The boys would flirt with me, I’d be clever and make jokes that would have everyone in hysterics … and then, a part would open up on the show….
When I finally went for the interview, it was nothing like what I’d overplayed in my head. Larry Todd was gracious and incredibly friendly. Normally, he told me, one of his assistants would do the interview, but he had come into the office just for me. He put me at ease right away, giving me a big hug and asking about how I was adjusting to Los Angeles. He explained that the position was a temporary one—I would be a production assistant on the set during the summer, when the cast of Hollywood & Highland was doing a series of episodes at a beach house in Santa Monica. He explained that the job wouldn’t be glamorous, but I read into his words that it would be whatever I would make it. Ever since, I’d been picturing how it would go. When Larry offered me the position, I accepted with a friendly handshake, and I felt like my life was beginning.
He introduced me to Mia, then told me he had to go to a meeting. Mia was tiny and slender and blonde, and one of those few people who can pull off the pixie cut and look sexy. She thanked me for the tin of cookies I’d sent her, and told me how much she and her nieces had enjoyed them. I liked her right away. She wore a cheerful yellow tank top, white jeans rolled up at the cuff, and gold sandals, and she told me that casual dress was appropriate on the set. “You’ll mostly be running around, sometimes on the beach because we’re about to film a resort segment, so you want to be comfortable. T-shirts, shorts, whatever,” she’d said.
“So a thong bikini is fine, then? With heels or flats?”
She laughed. “Definitely flats,” she said. “I’ll need you to be on the set at five every morning, but you’ll be off by three p.m.”
Holy shit balls. Five a.m.? The last time I saw that hour, I hadn’t been to bed yet.
“Here’s the address where you’ll need to be,” she said, then brought out some paperwork for me to sign.
“This is five minutes from where I live!”
“Lucky you! It’s the beach club. See you there!” I stood up to leave. “Oh, and a word of advice,” she said to me as I reached for my purse. “Whatever they ask you to do, do it like it’s the most important job in the world, no matter how trivial it seems. Everything’s your business. That’s how you’ll go far around here.”
“I’m all over it,” I said.
I told my father about the job a few days later and said I’d be out as soon as I got my first paycheck and could afford to pay a deposit on an apartment. He took another one of the raspberry–chocolate chip muffins I’d made that morning and didn’t even look at me. I was even more fired up to please him now that I’d wrecked his Mercedes and told his girlfriend she deserved better, but he made it very clear that he could care less about the job, or anything I did. I told myself that his nonresponse to the news meant he didn’t want me to leave, that he loved my cooking and thought of me as family, but that was just my fantasy talking. I had to get out of there, and I knew it.
“None of my business?” I couldn’t help yelling back. “Your life is none of my business? I’m your daughter. I should be part of your business. What do I have to do to get into the inner circle? You’re the bad influence. She’s too good for you.”
He looked at me for a minute, then said, in a lower, more frightening voice, “Destroying my cars and my relationships isn’t going to work for you.” Then he closed my door.
“I’ll be out of here as soon as I can, so don’t worry about having to put up with me too much longer!” I’d shrieked at my closed door, hating myself for losing my temper when he’d stayed so cool. I felt like a rebellious teenager. I needed to learn to keep my emotions on ice like he did.
So here I was, on the cusp of a whole new stage of my life—and I couldn’t figure out what to wear! I had bought some inexpensive clothes at Rampage that seemed appropriate for the California weather, figuring I could make them look good with the right accessories, but I just wasn’t sure what Mia meant by “comfortable.” Being from New York, I couldn’t quite imagine showing up on my first day of work at a new job wearing a T-shirt and shorts. It just seemed so … disrespectful. Still, I didn’t want to look stodgy and overdressed.
Finally, I decided on a fitted, light cotton sundress and wedge sandals. I looked at the clock. Four-thirty. Kill me now. I had thirty minutes to get there. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about traffic. The set where they wanted me was literally just down the street, in a vacated beach club. I could have walked—but I’d already learned that the rumors were true—nobody walks in L.A.
On the way out the door, I grabbed a light sweater. I’d imagined L.A. would be hot, but it was June Gloom—the time of year when mornings are clammy and chilly and the haze doesn’t burn off until about one p.m. In the morning, it feels like it could snow. By the late afternoon, it’s blazing hot.
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