“I have to go,” I said.
“Me, too.”
“Are you watching the Yankees tonight?” I asked.
“Yeah, Betances is on the mound. What about you?”
“I have to be somewhere.”
“Oh.”
Say it, Julie. Tell him the truth. “Actually, I’m meeting Thad.”
“Oh,” he said again, without enthusiasm.
“He wants me to go to Los Angeles with him. To work with him and my mother. They have a new production company out there.”
“That’s an exciting opportunity,” he said. “Are you thinking about it?”
“Yes.”
I thought: Tell me to stay, and I’ll stay. Tell me anything, and I won’t go.
“You’d do well out there.”
“You think?”
“Of course. You’d do well anywhere.”
“Thanks.”
“Have fun tonight,” he said.
“You too.”
He bent down and kissed me on the cheek. Peck on the cheek, that’s all. That was how friends kissed. While his face was in the neighborhood, however, our eyes met, and he gave me a real kiss. A full-on, romantic, tender, God-your-lips-are-soft kiss. It didn’t last long – just a couple seconds – and we didn’t touch anywhere else, just lips to lips. That was enough. That sucked all the air out of my chest. He slipped out of the office without another word, but I was still floating and flying. I could taste him, and I thought that taste would linger for a long time.
I wanted it to feel like the start of something, but it felt like the end of something. It felt like our first kiss and our last kiss.
It felt like goodbye.
32
Not long after, I was kissed again.
Thad greeted me in his dressing room by caressing my tonsils with his tongue. He lifted me off the floor. He wore a t-shirt and boxers, and his door-knocker sprang up and knocked on my lower door. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted to have it pay a return visit to the area it was rubbing against.
“You are so beautiful,” he said, putting me down. “Last night was amazing.” His hands had nowhere to go, so his fingertips found their way to my breasts. Unaccustomed to much attention lately from anyone but me, the points immediately hardened, which encouraged more exploration. I didn’t really want to have sex, but then again, my hormones had other ideas.
“Yes, it was,” I whispered.
His fingers kept roaming like ten little Captain Kirks going boldly where few men had gone before. I found myself drawn into his blue eyes and his sweeping blond hair.
“It means something when two people can take up where they left off as if no time had passed,” he said.
“Yes, it does.”
“Let’s make love again,” Thad told me. He didn’t really need to say so. His boxers were doing the talking for him. He undid a button on my blouse, and if I didn’t say anything right away, I would be naked soon, and he would be naked soon, and nature would take its course. Why was I hesitating?
“Thad,” I said.
He heard the turn-off-the-engine tone of my voice and pulled back. “Is something wrong?”
“No, it’s just – it’s been a difficult day for me. I’m not really in the mood.”
“I understand,” he said, but he didn’t. Men never do.
I glanced southward. “I appreciate your being patient with me.”
“I’ve matured, Julie.” He smiled at me. “Anyway, I don’t like to have sex before a performance. It takes the edge off. I’m too mellow. If I’m desperately horny, there’s more tension for the audience to enjoy.”
Thad sat down at a glass table with two comfortable chairs positioned on either side of it. A wildly colorful ceramic teapot sat on a trivet. His dressing room walls were decorated with paintings that could have hung in MOMA. I assume he traveled with them. “Pour out tea for us,” he told me. “We’ll talk instead of doing other things.”
I re-did the button on my blouse. I felt a little off-balance. I sat across from Thad and poured tea for him into a cup with no handle. “Do you have any coffee?” I asked.
“Tea’s better for you.”
Yes, that’s what everyone tells me. I poured tea for myself but didn’t drink it. Thad sipped his tea and ravished me with his eyes. I had to admit, I liked it. It’s like having a staring contest with a lion. It doesn’t hide the fact that it wants to eat you.
“I can’t wait for us to be together in L.A.,” he said. “Making love beside the ocean is the ultimate experience. Remember sex on the beach in St. Bart’s?”
“Of course.”
“It’s like that, but it’s real, not a temporary fantasy.”
“Was that what St. Bart’s was for us?”
He shrugged. “You know what I mean. You don’t have to get away from anything on the coast. You’re already there.”
“It sounds wonderful.”
“It is. I’m very lucky. We both are.” He reached across the table to stroke my hair. “Look at you. Your hair is so lush and thick. If you cut it off, you could sell it as a sex toy, like ostrich feathers.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said. “I may need the money.”
“You’ll never need money again,” he said.
I liked that idea. I’m not in love with money, but you tend to notice the lack of it. The nest egg Sonny left me was a hummingbird’s nest, enough to cover me for a few months. He’d already poured most of his wealth back into the business.
“Have you ever thought about cutting it?” Thad asked.
“My hair?”
“You’d look so elegant with short hair.”
“I like it long,” I said.
He smiled. “Everyone in L.A. is doing the short hair thing now. It’s the Carey Mulligan look. Very trendy.”
“Very not me.”
“Well, you may change your mind.”
Or maybe I won’t.
“You saw the paper today?” I asked, because I didn’t want to talk about my hair anymore.
“What, the Post? The paparazzi photos? Oh, sure.”
“Is there anything you can do about it?” I asked.
“Do? Like what?”
“I don’t know. Talk to them. Sue them. Beat them up.”
Thad laughed. “I wish I could, believe me. In the early days, the popzees were a useful annoyance. On those rare occasions when People printed pictures of someone other than Matthew McConaughey, I wanted it to be me. I dated A-list actresses whenever I could, because I knew the cameras would stake them out. Of course, now they’re like mosquitoes, and you just want to swat them. The trouble is, there’s always a dozen more waiting to swarm you. After a while, you stop worrying about it.”
“I was humiliated,” I said.
His face screwed up with concern. He grabbed my hand. “Oh, Julie, I’m sorry. I’m so used to it I didn’t even give it another thought. You’re right, it must have been awful for you.”
“Just tell me you didn’t tip them off.”
He was genuinely horrified. “Me? How could you think that?”
“I’m sorry. You’re right, I know you wouldn’t do that to me. I’m just not used to life in the fishbowl. I don’t know how you deal with losing your privacy like that.”
“It takes time, but you’ll learn to live with it. Believe me, there are still days when you want to shove someone’s camera down their throat.” He added, “I hope that’s not why you didn’t want to have sex.”
I shook my head. “No, I was very tempted.”
“Good. You said it was a difficult day. What’s going on?”
What’s going on?
My list was getting longer. Naked in the Post. Dead reporter. Grilled by the FBI. Naked mother. Flying dog. Gun in my face. King with a bra. Garrett’s lips and my lips sharing the same space.
Oh, yes, and selling my father’s whole life.
“I told Gernestier they could acquire West 57,” I said.
&
nbsp; Thad tried to paste sympathy on his face, but his delight broke through like sun through the clouds. “I know that was very hard on you, Julie, but honestly, I’m happy to hear it. It was the right call. Now you’re free.”
“Yes, I’m free.”
“Have you told your mother?”
“Not yet, but Cherie’s spies have probably already told her.”
“Change is difficult, Julie, but you’ll look back on this as a turning point in your life. A time when everything began to get better. You’ll wonder why you didn’t do it sooner.”
I wanted to believe that was true. After all, here I was drinking tea with one of the most desirable men on the planet. A man who had made my head spin the previous night with the attentions he paid to my body. A man who wanted to carry me off to his oceanside mansion in the warmth of California. He was a man I once loved and – it was true – could easily love again. Yes, Cinderella, the slipper fits. So stick that shoe on your foot and shut up.
There was only one thing that bothered me. Really, just one thing.
I didn’t like tea.
“I have a couple scripts for you,” Thad told me, getting up. He dug inside a Vuitton satchel and found two thin manuscripts and put them in front of me. One was titled, “The Newest Oldest Profession.” The other was titled, “Blowdown.”
“What are they?” I asked.
“Honestly? The first one’s a teenage fart comedy. Mother joins the adult entertainment industry to make ends meet after a divorce, son’s friends hire a hooker for his bachelor party, you can figure out where it goes from there.”
“So it’s based on a Mamet play,” I said.
Thad smiled. “Okay, it’s not high art. It will be cheap to produce and is certain to be profitable. A start-up operation needs a couple sure-fire hits under its belt before raising its sights.”
“What about ‘Blowdown’?”
“Zombies, tornadoes, and blondes.”
“No vampires?”
“One, actually,” he admitted.
“So what do you want me to do with the scripts?” I asked.
“You’ve got the editorial eye. Tear apart the stories. Make them better, look for ways to give them more emotional authenticity.”
“Emotional authenticity? Mom does nudie dance for junior?”
“Cherie and I were thinking of pitching Jennifer Garner as the mother. She’s got the campy chops to pull it off. Besides, it’s all tease, no nude scenes, at least not for the mom.”
“Ben will be relieved.”
“It’s a comedy, Julie. Everything sounds like crap when you boil it down to the elevator pitch. The trick is to do crap really, really well. Truly, these can be terrific movies with your help.”
“I don’t know, Thad.”
He put my hands on the script pages. His fingers were warm. “Julie, your input is absolutely essential. Cherie and I trust you implicitly. Give us a few paragraphs on what you would change in the characters and plot. You have full control; whatever you say, we’ll do. I promise, if you think the scripts are unsalvageable, then we’ll move on. This is the beginning, Julie. We’re going to be hip-deep in projects in six months. The three of us will do great things, and we’ll have fun, and we’ll make another fortune for all of us. You cannot imagine the excitement of creating movies from scratch, not just playing one small part.”
Yes, I could see the credit on the big screen.
Producer With Long Hair.
“I’ll look at the scripts,” I said.
“Excellent. I’ll let Cherie know. She’ll be thrilled.”
“I should go,” I said. “You have to get ready, and I’m meeting Bree for dinner.”
Thad pulled me out of my chair and into his arms. I felt his strength and adrenaline as he folded me into him; it was infectious. Persuasive. He was a man who got what he wanted. “You are an amazing woman,” he said.
“Did you tell your body paint model that, too?” I asked impishly.
“No.”
“You were too busy scraping off the paint,” I said.
Thad grinned. “You’re here, she’s not.”
“True.”
“I have to shower before I get into costume. Want to join me?”
“Next time.”
I gathered up the scripts and smoothed my hair. I felt the adrenaline, like him. It was almost enough to make me take off my clothes and climb into the shower as a way to celebrate. I thought about my future and imagined sunshine, white wine, warm breezes, film festivals, Oscars, parties, and sports cars. Maybe I would finally learn how to drive.
He saw the excitement in my face. He knew what was going through my head. “I’m heading west in a few days. You can stay at my place. We can do the first production meetings together. Are you in?”
“I’m in,” I said.
I repeated it just to make sure I’d heard myself correctly.
“I’m in.”
33
Bree stared at the huge bowl of her margarita glass. She saw her reflection and used her tongue to squeegee her teeth. “I love saying mar-ga-rita, don’t you? Makes me feel like a flamenco dancer. Makes me want to go ravish Benicio del Toro.”
“Do you need tequila for that?” I asked.
“No, no, I would happily do him sober.” Bree hoisted her glass in my direction. “Here’s to you and your future, darling.”
I shook my head. “No, everyone’s been toasting me lately. It makes me nervous.”
“Oh, well then, here’s to me.”
“Much better,” I said. “Here’s to Bree Cox.”
Bree sucked up salt from the rim. We drank. I was having white wine.
We were in a tapas joint on 46th not far from the U.N. building. It was still early, and we had the restaurant to ourselves. Spanish restaurants don’t really start to crank it up until ten o’clock. Bree had ordered anchovy fillets to get us started. There was a live band tuning up on a stage near us, getting ready for the late-night dancing crowd. The waiters yelled back and forth in Spanish.
Bree flipped through the script pages that Thad had given me for “The Newest Oldest Profession.”
“Tasteful,” she said.
“Very.”
“I like the sushi scene, where they’re plucking California rolls off the mother’s naked body. That’s funny.”
“Thad wants emotional authenticity,” I said.
“Well, nothing says authentic like someone licking wasabi out of your navel.” Bree put down the script and slurped up more margarita. “So Julie Chavan is moving to Los Angeles. That’s a shock, but I guess Cherie always gets what she wants.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“Oh, darling, I wasn’t criticizing. Far from it. You know me, I’m envious. I have to go back to wet, dreary old London soon, but you! You’ll be in a skimpy bikini on the beach, calling me on your cell phone and saying ciao and babe and talking about doing lunch in between your oxygen shots and oatmeal facials.”
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“Trust me, in a year you will own the city. It’s your destiny.” She flagged one of the waiters and shouted across the room. “Fernando, something spicy next, something with chorizo, darling. Make us sweat and take off our clothes.” She leaned forward and whispered, “Should I see if he would lie down and let us eat it off his body? You could call it research for the hooker movie. Tapas served on naked muscle boys, that’s a killer restaurant concept. I should mention it to Gordon Ramsey.”
Bree’s brain hops like a grasshopper, but I was still annoyed with what she’d said.
“Do you think I knuckled under to my mother?” I asked.
She gave me one of those annoying knowing smiles of hers. “Do you?”
“No.”
“Then why do you care what I think?”
“This is the opportunity of a lifetime. I’d be nuts to say no. No one in my shoes would turn this down.”
“Unquestionably,” Bree said.
&n
bsp; “Would you say no?”
“Me? I’d be on Venice Beach with my teeth capped faster than you can say Paramount Studios.”
“So why are you giving me grief?”
“I don’t believe I was giving you anything but kudos, darling. I was envious, remember?”
“The sex with Thad has nothing to do with my decision,” I went on.
“Nothing at all.”
“I have no idea whether he and I are starting something. Right now, it’s just physical.”
“Absolutely. Physical is good.”
“I think I’m going through a grieving process about West 57,” I said. “I think that’s my problem.”
“I wasn’t aware you had a problem,” Bree told me. “It’s all good, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it’s all good.”
Bree finished her margarita and licked her lips with a green tongue. “You know, darling, I will confess that I am just the tiniest bit disappointed. Honestly, I still had visions of our teaming up to form the Cox-Chavan Agency.”
“Chavan-Cox. Alphabetical.”
“Whatever. Can’t you see it? The Cox-Chavan Agency ruling the new media world. Me as queen of the UK, you as queen of the US. It would be a hoot. We’d be like Thelma and Louise.”
“We’d kill each other, Bree,” I said. “We’d drive off a cliff.”
“Oh, eventually, maybe, but we’d have loads of fun along the way.”
“I don’t want to be an agent anymore. I’ve done it.”
“You’re saying it would be emotionally inauthentic for you?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, we can’t have that. Look at me. I’m an emotionally authentic original. One of a kind, often-imitated, never-equaled Bree Cox. Accept no substitutions.”
“That’s you,” I agreed.
“Of course, no man is an island, right? No woman, either. Think about it, darling. What’s Rodgers without Hammerstein? What’s Fred without Ginger? What’s Levi without Strauss?”
“Levi Strauss was one person, Bree.”
“The jeans people? That was one guy? Really?”
“Really.”
“I did not know that. Well, never mind. You get my point.”
“No, I don’t,” I said.
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