“Of course you have,” she said. “That’s how you roll. Now, what are you going to wear for a wrap?”
A wrap! I hadn’t thought of that! A sweater? A shawl? A scarf? I didn’t have anything that matched. “Oh no! I don’t know!” I shrieked. “Is it too cool outside for this dress without one?”
“It’s getting that way,” she said. “But don’t panic. I think I have something.”
She went into her room and brought out a gorgeous light woolen scarf, incredibly soft, like cashmere, in an exotic pattern of reds, golds, and greens. “This is beautiful!” I said. “What is it? I’ve never seen anything like it!”
“Supposedly it’s called a pashmina,” she said. “It’s made out of some rare type of cashmere. It was really expensive, but I saw it at Bloomingdale’s last week and I had to buy it, now that I’m gainfully employed.”
I rubbed the pashmina between my fingers. “I’m in love with this,” I said. “I can’t believe everybody’s not wearing them.” Perry and I sat out on the veranda watching the waves and she helped me obsess some more, until Vince walked around the house and surprised us. He gave Perry a winning smile. “Good evening, darling!” he said. “You must be Faith’s lovely roommate.”
Perry gave me the “OK, this guy is good” look.
And he looked great. He had more color in his face than I’d ever seen, and he was a little slimmer. He’d always looked like a heavy drinker before, with that characteristic puffiness. Now he looked more like the outdoorsy type. “Arizona agreed with you.”
“That it did, darling, that it did,” he said, as he came over and kissed me on the cheek.
“Would you like a glass of wine or …” Perry looked stricken, suddenly remembering that I’d told her Vince had been in detox—or whatever. “Or … water?” she finished lamely.
“I think we should get going,” I said, glaring at her.
“At your service, Miss,” Vince said, offering me his arm. “Goodbye, dear!” he said to Perry. I realized I hadn’t introduced them, but we were already halfway out the door, so it seemed too late.
I recognized the black Town Car, although the driver standing by the back door was different. I guess Vince must not have his driver’s license back yet. The driver opened the door for us and we climbed in. “I wondered if you knew I moved out of my father’s house,” I said.
He took my hand and kissed it. “Darling, I always know where you are.”
That could be creepy. Or flattering. I decided to go with flattering.
“So… now that you’re all detoxed … do you feel different?”
He turned to look at me. “Interesting question, dear. Actually, yes, I’d say so.”
“And … in a good way?”
“Most definitely in a good way. Let’s say I can”—he brushed his fingers along my thigh—“feel things more sensitively. Probably all the yoga they made me do. And the meditation … ommmmm …” He put his hands palm up on his knees, thumbs and index fingers together, and closed his eyes.
“Mmm, well that sounds nice,” I said. But I had to get to the burning question, at least for me. “And … do you still drink?”
“Now and again,” he said. “If I feel like it. Why, darling? Were you afraid I was on the wagon? It was just a spa.”
He pulled me in closer and kissed the top of my head. “We’ll have a drink together tonight, darling,” he said. “I can promise you that.”
“Maybe even two,” I said.
A few minutes later, the driver pulled up in front of Boa Steakhouse and let us out. We walked under the arched entrance and into the restaurant. It was spacious with cream walls, dark wood, white tablecloths, and globe lamps casting a soft glow over the black leather booths.
“Good evening, Mr. Beck,” said the well-dressed hostess. “We have your table ready. Right this way, please.” It felt funny to be seated by the hostess, instead of being the hostess. But I could certainly get used to it.
I surveyed the menu with both interest and trepidation. Oysters? Crab cakes? Shrimp cocktail? My mouth watered at the thought of the New York strip, but I didn’t dare eat something that rich. Cobb salad? No way. I couldn’t eat all that bacon and egg and avocado. I was starting to get more and more nervous, until the waitress arrived with vodka martinis. Then Vince said to her, “We’d both like the shrimp cocktail, then the New York strip, two green salads with the house dressing, and let’s see, darling, what kind of vegetables do you like on the side? Spinach? Mushrooms? Asparagus?”
“Mushrooms and asparagus, please,” I said, relieved that he’d ordered, and delighted that somehow, he’d known exactly what I wanted, even better than I did.
“Mushrooms and asparagus it is, then,” he said.
We talked and laughed and drank our martinis and ordered another round and a bottle of wine. I told him about my two jobs and the crazy things Carol Kameron made me do—a complete breach of the confidentiality agreement I’d signed with her, but after a couple of drinks, I managed to forget I’d ever signed it. Vince regaled me with hilarious stories about the network and Hollywood & Highland, and why the pilot for Ocean Avenue didn’t get picked up.
My steak was huge, and delicious, and I could eat only about a third of it, so I had the waitress wrap up the rest to take home. Muffin could have a little treat in her dinner. Vince held my hand under the table and occasionally rubbed my thigh teasingly; throughout dinner he edged closer and closer to me in the leather booth until we were shoulder to shoulder and leaning into each other like honeymooners. The martinis had definitely gone to my head—I was eating mushrooms like they were French fries, and when Vince ordered a slice of New York cheesecake for us to split, I inhaled almost the whole thing while he watched in amusement. “I like a girl with a good appetite,” he said. “It bodes well for her appetite in … other areas.” I just smiled. With Vince, being a big eater seemed like a source of pride.
After dinner, Vince took me to a little out-of-the-way bar he said he liked. He ordered a port and I ordered a Sambuca over ice, and we flirted furiously until finally we had to get out of there. We ended up making out in the backseat of his Town Car again, but this time, he didn’t show any sign of losing steam, or asking the driver to take me home. Whatever they’d done to him at that spa, I liked it.
“Darling,” he whispered in my ear, after kissing my neck. “Do you want to come over to my place? I’ve got a bottle of champagne with your name on it.”
Like I was going to say no to that.
Vince’s driver took me home the next day, late morning. Perry was at the kitchen table drinking coffee when I walked in. She looked at me, in my red dress and smudged mascara and mussed-up hair, humming happily. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said.
I just smiled.
“So, are we going down this road again?” she said.
“I don’t know,” I said. And I really didn’t. But I did know we’d had amazing sex, and he’d been sweet and attentive and generous and gentle, and then I’d fallen asleep in his arms. “But I think this is it. It feels different this time.”
Perry rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Here we go,” she said.
chapter fifteen
With about thirty other girls, Perry and I sat together in a long row of chairs against a wall outside the audition room in a studio space in Burbank. I was nervous, but Perry wasn’t auditioning, so for her, the pressure was off. Her job was going so well, she’d decided to take a break from acting, or maybe even quit. She was just there for moral support.
“Stop fidgeting,” she whispered. “You’ll be fine.”
It was our policy never to show weakness in front of the other candidates at an audition.
The girl next to Perry looked at her anxiously, then looked at me, then turned away. She was fidgeting, too.
I clutched the sides in my hand and looked them over again and again. I’d at least learned by now that I didn’t need to memorize them. I did need to practice them, an
d most of all, feel them. Be the character. I thought I’d gotten a lot better. Even the little bit I’d absorbed from Meisenburg before quitting had probably helped, as had the number of auditions I’d done. I was so much more experienced now than when I’d first started auditioning.
“This part is perfect for me,” I whispered in Perry’s ear, trying to convince myself more than her. “It’s the perfect role to break into film.
It’s a small part, but it’s really interesting, and smart, and potentially memorable. It could be one of those ‘steal the film’ kinds of parts, don’t you think?”
Perry just shrugged. “Whatever.” She was clearly past all this.
An older woman with a clipboard came out of the audition room and called a name. The girl next to Perry jumped up. I noticed her hands were shaking slightly. She steadied herself and went into the lion’s den.
I practiced the lines in my head. The sides suggested a script that was a lot more intelligent and well written than the script I’d auditioned with for Ocean Avenue, not to mention a thousand other TV shows and indie films I’d seen. This was a part I wouldn’t be embarrassed about. I wanted it so badly, I could taste it. Now that I was officially seeing Vince Beck—or at least, it felt official—I wanted to do something more significant. I had to get this part. I wanted to deserve him.
The girl who had been sitting next to Perry came out, and everyone looked up, to see whether she looked elated, or disappointed, or anything else that would give us a clue, but she wasn’t giving anything away. I stared at the lines again. The words were beginning to blur. Focus, Faith. This is important. Call up every tool you’ve got inside. Be this girl. You can do it. Reel it in. Be the classiest version of yourself. Make it count, before your faith runs out.
The woman with the clipboard came out again. My heart started beating faster. “Faith Brightstone,” she said. She looked around, then looked at Perry. “I don’t have you on my list. Did you want to audition, too?”
“Oh no,” Perry said, “I’m just here for moral support.”
The woman looked at Perry for a moment. “You can come in with your friend,” she said.
“Come in with me!” I said. The idea of having Perry in there made the whole audition seem less intimidating, since I’d spent the last few nights reading the lines with her already.
Perry shrugged. “I guess so,” she said.
“Here goes everything,” I said. Perry patted my shoulder and I stood up. We followed the woman into the room, where two middle-aged men and a younger woman sat in chairs. The director smiled at me.
“What we’re looking for here is a smart, sarcastic, highly educated girl—a painter who cares more about her art than her commercial success. Sarah is self-directed. She sees how scattered her best friend, the lead, can be, and she sees the bad decisions she makes, and provides somewhat of a cynical yet compassionate running commentary about it throughout the film—her opinions are always there in the background, but nobody ever takes her advice.”
“Got it,” I said. “Sounds familiar.” I smiled, hoping to win them over, although the part of the lead sounded more like me. Just pretend you’re your own best friend, giving yourself advice, I thought. But maybe they’d hear me read, and they’d give me the lead instead of the supporting role! Maybe I’d be even better for the part than whatever starlet they’d already cast. I could dream.
“Hey, you know what? You’re closer in age to the other character than I am,” said one of the women holding a script to Perry. “Why don’t you go ahead and read the other part?”
“I guess I could,” Perry said. The woman handed her a script. It seemed strange to me, but I shrugged it off. Perry and I already had a rhythm going, reading these lines together. I’d been making her help me with it all weekend. I’d be better with her reading the lines.
“Are you ready?” the director said to me.
“Sure.” I cleared my throat, straightened my shoulders, and tried to channel “intellectual girl.” “Art girl.” “Smart girl.” The director motioned to Perry to begin.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Perry said. “I feel like I’m everywhere at once, and I want to connect with people but it’s like they don’t even see me. It’s like I’m standing right there in front of people, and they look right through me, and I want to scream, ‘Hey, I’m right here!’”
“What do you see when you look in the mirror?” I said.
“I see … nothing,” Perry said.
“They see what you see,” I said. “If you can’t find yourself in your own mirror, you can’t expect anybody else to find you. I don’t think this is the time to get involved in another relationship. Why don’t you take some time to figure out who you are, on your own terms? Stop trying to be what everybody else wants. What do you want?”
As I read the lines, I began to feel it—I began to understand what it meant to become the character. The words came out of me so naturally, but I wasn’t watching myself, the way I usually did, stuck in my head. I was right there. I was Sarah.
“I don’t know what I want!” Perry said. “I don’t know what I want from myself, but I do know that I want him.”
“You’re not going to find your answers from him,” I said, shaking my head, thinking instantly of Vince Beck. “He’s no savior. He’s a man-child and he just wants to play with you.”
“But I love him!” Perry whined.
“You’re going to do what you’re going to do anyway,” I said. “I don’t know why you’re asking me for advice. Go ahead. Fall in love again. You’re just running around the same track you’ve been around a hundred times before, but what do I know? I don’t even have a boyfriend.”
“Thank you,” said the director. “That was very good. But, do you mind switching parts? I’d like to see how it sounds the other way.”
I’d nailed it. I could feel it. And now they wanted to hear more. Maybe they really were considering me for the lead! “Sure,” I said. “I’d love to give it a try.”
In the car on the way home, neither of us said anything. We were both occupied with our own thoughts, but I was feeling hopeful and excited. Something had happened to me in there. Something had shifted in my mind. I kept hearing the words from the audition, the words I’d said to myself: If you can’t find yourself in your own mirror, you can’t expect anybody else to find you. And, you’re just running around the same track you’ve been around a hundred times before.
When we got home, the answering machine light was flashing. Perry pushed the button. “Hi, Faith? This is John Wallace, you auditioned for us today at Studio Z.” My heart leapt.
“This is a bit awkward, but we’re actually trying to track down your friend Perry,” the voice continued. “We understand she wasn’t really auditioning today, officially, but we really felt like she was Sarah. We liked your audition, too, but we just didn’t think you were quite right for the part. You’re very talented, obviously. But we were hoping you could put us in touch with Perry? We would really appreciate it. Just have her call us at this number.”
The director left the number, and the message clicked off.
Perry and I stared at each other for a moment. Then she burst into tears.
“Hey!” I said, feeling like I should comfort her, and trying to swallow my anger and disappointment. “Hey, don’t cry, this is great news! I mean, not for me, but …”
“I’m sorry!” she sobbed. “I know you wanted it, and I didn’t even want it. And now …” She began to cry harder. “Now I want it.”
“Maybe that’s why you got it,” I said, patting her on the back. “Isn’t that the way it always goes? When you want it, you don’t get it. When you don’t want it, you get it. Scared money never wins.” But I hadn’t been scared. I’d been good. That’s what was really beginning to sour me on this whole business. Even when you nail it, you might not get it, and that sucked.
She hiccuped. “I still love acting,” she said, miserably.
�
�Of course you do,” I said, trying to hide my devastation. “This is happy! You did it! You’re going to be in a real movie!”
“If I can work it out with my job,” she said, through her tears. “But I just feel so … awful for”—she gulped and sniffled—“for you.”
“Oh, don’t worry about me,” I said, with resignation. “I’ll be just fine. I’m a survivor.”
I could see the police cars from two blocks away. Three of them were parked in front of the Kamerons’ house, lights flashing. I parked on the street in front of the neighbor’s house and walked up the drive. I wondered if they would stop me, but nobody did. I knocked on the door, and the maid answered.
“What’s going on?” I whispered.
She looked behind her, then leaned toward me. “It was Josh’s writing partner,” she whispered.
“Peter Jarrell?” I whispered back. The last time I’d seen him, he’d been rolling around on the floor at Carol’s big party. “Yes,” she hissed back. “He and Josh were doing a marathon writing session all weekend. This morning, they found him … dead … in the Kamerons’ pool!”
“Oh my God! Are you serious?” I said.
She nodded vigorously, then let me in. I walked cautiously into Carol’s office. It was empty. I peered out into the kitchen. Carol was talking to a police officer. I could see the pool through the glass doors. It looked empty. Then I saw the stretcher and the body bag. I shivered. Carol looked up as she saw me. “Faith, come here,” she demanded.
I went into the kitchen. Carol looked pale and visibly shaken. “This is a nightmare, just a nightmare; what are the papers going to say?” she said. I’d seen her overreact to a million stupid little things, but this one finally seemed worthy of her hysteria. She was standing right next to the refrigerator with a glass in her hand, but she didn’t seem to know where she was. I took the glass from her and poured her some orange juice, which she used to swallow a handful of pills she had in her other hand. “We’re going to have to go away for a while. I just don’t see any other option. Sandy’s prepared a statement and faxed it to everyone,” she said. She seemed to be talking to herself. Sandy was Carol’s publicist.
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