by Jaime Clarke
STELLA
Why did you say you would play shows in Japan if you hate the Japanese?
BRYAN METRO
I don’t hate them, man. They hate me.
STELLA
Is this about the maid at the Hilton claiming that you raped her?
BRYAN METRO
(sits up, shocked)
Who told you that? That fuckin’ Roger, I told him to keep his mouth—
STELLA
(cutting him off, laughing)
I heard it on the Internet.
BRYAN METRO
Yeah, well.
STELLA
Is it true?
BRYAN METRO
(automatically)
Next question.
STELLA goes to the edge of the pool and kicks off her sandals, touching her toes to the water. She is still somewhat fascinated by BRYAN METRO, having spent so much time thinking about him. She can’t believe she’s talking to him and is trying to remain calm.
BRYAN METRO
Wanna go to a party?
Scene 5
INT. PRIVATE PARTY AT NAMELESS CLUB. NIGHT. BRYAN METRO AND STELLA are stuffed in a booth with FAMOUS ACTORS AND ACTRESSES from popular film and television. Candlelight is the only light and everyone is chain smoking, talking rapidly. The music, the newest song from the hottest band, is playing too loud and people have to scream to be heard, BRYAN METRO offers STELLA a cigarette and even though she doesn’t smoke, she takes one. The FAMOUS ACTOR sitting across from her lights it and STELLA BLOWS SMOKE ACROSS THE TABLE.
BRYAN METRO
(yelling)
… so I told them to fuck off. Right, man?
FAMOUS FILM ACTOR #1
(yelling)
That’s fuckin’ right, Bryan. Scumbags.
FAMOUS TELEVISION ACTRESS #1
(yelling)
Bryan, where’ve you been? We haven’t seen you in forever.
BRYAN METRO
(yelling)
Camped out. Stella here got me out.
STELLA waves and smiles awkwardly.
FAMOUS FILM ACTRESS #2
(yelling, to Stella)
Are you in the business?
STELLA
(yelling)
Yeah, sort of. Trying to be. (She nods her head rapidly.)
Someone has complained that the music is too loud and it notches down to a decent level.
FAMOUS FILM ACTRESS #2
(to Stella)
What have you done?
STELLA
Mostly I do theater. At the Starion. (No one says anything.) With Craig Copeland.
FAMOUS TELEVISION ACTOR #2
(laughing)
I worked with that dude on La Brea. What a no-talent fuck.
Everyone at the table laughs, STELLA laughs too.
FAMOUS FILM ACTRESS WHO STOPS BY THE TABLE: Bryyyyyyyyyannnnnnnn! (squeals) Where have you been rascal? I’ve been soooooooooo worried about you.
BRYAN METRO
(nonchalantly)
Hey, baby. I’ve been around.
FAMOUS FILM ACTRESS WHO STOPS BY TABLE
(shamelessly showboating)
Why don’t you come around to the Four Seasons? I’m there for a week.
BRYAN METRO
(salutes her with two fingers)
Roger, dodger.
The FAMOUS FILM ACTRESS WHO STOPPED BY TABLE saunters off. The others at the table make scandalous comments about her. BRYAN METRO reaches under the table and puts his hand on STELLA’S inner thigh, which startles her but she lets him as she’s been drinking and is comfortably relaxed in the booth.
Scene 6
EXT. PACIFIC COAST HIGHWAY. NIGHT. STELLA is sticking her head out the window of a black limousine, puking, BRYAN METRO is alternately laughing and trying to remember the words to ‘Billie Jean’ by Michael Jackson.
BRYAN METRO
(drunkenly singing)
She was more like a beauty queen… than popped-cherry ice cream—
STELLA
(pulls her head inside the car)
Maybe the driver should pull over. There’s puke all down the side of the car.
BRYAN METRO
(continues to sing)
I told her my name was Super Queen … and she said …
STELLA
(her head down, eyes closed)
Bryan.
BRYAN METRO
(singing loudly)
I said I am the one, but the kid has got a gun …
STELLA
(yells)
Bryan!
BRYAN METRO
What, baby?
STELLA
Tell the driver to pull the car over.
The driver pulls over and STELLA stumbles out of the limo. BRYAN METRO follows.
BRYAN METRO
(singing in a high-pitched voice, trying to imitate Michael Jackson)
Hee, hee, hee—
STELLA leans on the trunk and vomits, BRYAN METRO comes up behind her and slips his fingers under her skirt, STELLA passes out.
ACT TWO
Scene 1
INT. BRYAN METRO’S SUITE AT THE CHATEAU MARMONT. EARLY MORNING. The floor is littered with pornographic magazines. Hustler, Playboy, Oui, Penthouse, Barely Legal, etc. The night table is heaped high with bloody tissues. The phone is off the hook, STELLA is in bed, asleep. Her eye is swollen, she has bite marks on her cheek, and her lip is split. Next to an unopened bottle of champagne are needles, a rubber hose, and a small balloon of heroin. Through the bathroom door we see BRYAN METRO curled up on the floor, next to the toilet. STELLA’S eyes open and she stares for a long time without blinking, then closes her eyes again.
Scene 2
INT. BRYAN METRO’S SUITE AT THE CHATEAU MARMONT. EARLY MORNING. There’s a knock at the door. The knocking continues and neither STELLA nor BRYAN METRO gets up from the bed. CHAZ, BRYAN METRO’S dealer, opens the door.
CHAZ
(holding his nose)
Jesus.
CHAZ hears a noise in the hall and checks it out, paranoid. ROGER, BRYAN METRO’S manager, walks in. ROGER is wearing an expensive Italian suit and we get the impression that he expects BRYAN METRO to be ready to make an appointment.—
ROGER
Hey, Chaz. What’s our Boy Wonder up to now?
CHAZ
(pointing at the bed)
Not a lot, apparently.
ROGER goes around to BRYAN METRO’S side of the bed.
ROGER
(shaking BRYAN METRO)
Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up,
wake up.
BRYAN METRO opens his eyes, squints.
BRYAN METRO
What, man?
ROGER
What, man, what? Tell me you didn’t forget our meeting today. Tell me you didn’t forget.
BRYAN METRO
I didn’t forget, man. I didn’t forget.
ROGER
Then tell me who it is we’re meeting. Who are we meeting today, Bryan?
BRYAN METRO
Man, I told you I didn’t forget. Just give me a sec.
ROGER
(impatiently)
Who are we meeting today, Bryan? Who?
BRYAN METRO
(sighing)
I give up, man. Who are we meeting?
CHAZ laughs.
ROGER
Multiple choice: a) the president of the United States, b)
Pope John Paul II, c) your dead parents, God rest their
souls, or d) the fucking people who are financing your
pathetic attempt at a comeback.
BRYAN METRO
(staring at the ceiling)
Wait man, don’t tell me. D?
ROGER
(rips covers back)
Ding, ding, ding.
STELLA, who is nude, reaches for the covers. She’s just becoming aware of other people in the room.
CHAZ
Hey, Bryan. Who’s the chickadee?
BRYAN
METRO
Don’t touch her, man. Not this one.
CHAZ
(holding up his hands)
Easy, Tex. Easy.
ROGER
(sighs heavily)
Bryan, is this another cleanup operation?
BRYAN METRO
(sits up in bed)
No, man. It’s cool. We’re together.
ROGER grabs BRYAN METRO and throws him out of bed. STELLA jumps up and screams.
STELLA
Bryan! Bryan!
CHAZ holds STELLA back.
CHAZ
Easy, easy.
ROGER slaps BRYAN METRO around.
ROGER
When I tell you to fuckin’ be ready, you be ready. You hear? You’re not going to fuck this up. This is your last chance. Comprende? You want David Geffen to see you like this?
BRYAN METRO, who is covering his head, nods, ROGER picks up some random clothes from the floor and throws them at BRYAN METRO, who puts them on.
CHAZ
(to Roger)
What should I do with the girl?
STELLA struggles with CHAZ.
BRYAN METRO
Leave her alone.
ROGER
(glaring at BRYAN METRO, then to STELLA)
Honey, if I were you, I wouldn’t be here when this
loser gets back. (He pulls out some bills.) I don’t want to
read about this in the National Enquirer either. Got it? (He throws the money down on the bed. Turns to BRYAN METRO.) Ready?
ROGER pushes BRYAN METRO towards the door, CHAZ
throws STELLA down on the bed and smirks, ROGER, BRYAN METRO, and CHAZ leave, STELLA climbs back into bed. The money falls off the bed and into the general litter of the room.
Scene 3
INT. BRYAN METRO’S SUITE AT THE CHATEAU MARMONT. EARLY MORNING. The mess in the room has increased, BRYAN METRO and STELLA are in bed, awake.
BRYAN METRO
(without inflection or interest)
I thought you were going for a swim.
STELLA
I am.
BRYAN METRO
When?
STELLA
Are you trying to get rid of me?
BRYAN METRO
No, baby.
STELLA
Besides, I already went for a swim once today.
BRYAN METRO
That was yesterday, baby.
STELLA
(uncovers her eyes, looks around)
Are you sure?
BRYAN METRO
Pretty positive.
STELLA
What day is it?
BRYAN METRO
I don’t know. It’s definitely after Monday, though. It might be Friday.
STELLA
Well, I’m going for a swim.
STELLA doesn’t budge from the bed.
BRYAN METRO
Okay, baby.
Scene 4
EXT. CHATEAU MARMONT POOL. NIGHT. STELLA is bouncing up and down on her toes at the edge of the pool, as if she is going to dive. She has a determined look on her face. Behind her, a party is raging in one of the cabanas.
Scene 5
INT. BRYAN METRO’S SUITE AT THE CHATEAU MARMONT. NIGHT, STELLA walks in with a robe on. Her hair is dry and she clearly has not been in the pool, BRYAN METRO is sitting on the bed, the rubber hose around his arm, the end in his teeth. He’s about to inject himself with heroin.
BRYAN METRO
(through gritted teeth)
How was the water, baby?
STELLA
Nice.
Scene 6
EXT. CHATEAU MARMONT POOL. MORNING. STELLA bounces on her toes again at the edge of the pool. The party from the night before is still going on. She bounces and bounces.
Scene 7
FADE IN. INT. BRYAN METRO’S SUITE AT THE CHATEAU MARMONT. The room is completely cluttered and the camera pans around, BRYAN METRO and STELLA are in bed, asleep.
FADE OUT.
Daisy
Dear Sara and Keren, I wanted to bring you up to date about what has happened since my last letter, the one I wrote about everything that happened and how we ended up in California. (I got this address from www.bananarama.com. I hope this is the right address, and if not please forward on to Sara and Keren.)
Paque and I always thought the sun shone every day in California, but it rained our first day in Hollywood. The hour or so flight from Phoenix to L.A. was like walking from a sunny day into a darkened room. Stella, who I told you about in my last letter, picked us up from the airport and we gave her Alan Hood’s address on Sunset Boulevard. Paque and I were curious to see where we’d be living—if only temporarily—and got sort of a kick out of telling our friends in Phoenix we’d be living on the famous Sunset Boulevard.
But we had it wrong. Or really Alan told us it was Sunset Boulevard—he gave the address as 21047 Sunset Boulevard. We drove for a while without seeing any numbers, and then we saw 16501 on one of the old-time McDonald’s, the ones that look like the drive-ins from the ’50s. The next thing we saw was Von’s supermarket, 19988. We crossed Hollywood Boulevard where it bisected Sunset and we saw the house, 21047, a smallish white adobe with yellowing patches of grass along a narrow sidewalk. This is 21047 Beaumont Avenue, Stella said. Are you sure it’s the right house? Paque looked back up Sunset and I looked the other way, where you could see Sunset dead-end into a three-post fence with red reflectors nailed to the graying wood.
Alan Hood himself opened the door and we introduced ourselves. Alan shook our hands and invited us in. Even though it was late in the day, he looked like he’d just gotten out of bed. His thick brown hair was misshapen; he ran his fingers through it, piling it high on his head and squinted with his small blue eyes. Stella said, Didn’t you write for that television show La Brea? and Alan was very pleased she knew his name.
A great show, Alan said.
Stella said, Yeah, my boyfriend was on it. Craig Copeland.
This is the kind of stuff that drives Paque and I crazy, about how Stella tries to horn in on everything.
Yeah, Alan said. You could tell he didn’t remember Craig.
The house was bigger than it looked from the street, which had to do with the fact that there wasn’t much in the way of furniture. The front room had the most windows but was furnished with only a desk and a computer. Some framed movie posters leaned in the corner near the fireplace, which looked like it hadn’t ever been used. The desk was littered with papers and somewhere underneath the mess a phone started to ring. Leave it, Alan said.
He gave us the tour: the master bedroom, which housed film editing equipment and a small mattress. Several CD racks stood like sentries against the far wall, swollen with plastic cases. Alan showed us where we’d be staying, a room sort of what I imagined a dorm room in college would look like: two beds against opposite walls, two small dressers and a closet. A window between the beds looked out on Sunset and we could see the Von’s from where we stood.
Stella helped us unload our bags and said, He seems like a nice guy. I’m sorry you couldn’t stay with me, she said, but it’s already too crowded with me and Craig.
No sweat, Paque said. Paque didn’t want Stella getting her meathooks into our film or into Alan Hood. I felt bad for Stella myself. She’d had a rough time since moving to L. A. I would run into her mom in Phoenix and she would always shake her head when I asked about Stella.
We were anxious to find out more about Plastic Fantastic II, the film Alan promised to make with us, so Alan took us to lunch at Deep Dish on Vine and told us there was a slight delay because of some financing that hadn’t come through. He explained about his cable-access dating show, Who Fancies Me? which he was about to sell for big money, money he was going to use to finance Plastic Fantastic II.
How much longer, Paque asked, disappointed.
Not long, Alan said, but in the meantime how about being on the show?
Paque asked him what that meant and he
told us how the show worked: contestants came on the show and asked ‘Who fancies me?’ and whoever from the crowd did came up (up to five at the most) and the contestants asked them questions until they’ve narrowed it down to two. Once it was narrowed down, the two final contestants duked it out verbally in front of the contestant, essentially fighting over her or him.
The second person is always a ringer from the staff, Alan said. How would you like to come down and be on the show until we can start shooting the film, he asked.
Shouldn’t we be learning our lines for the film, Paque asked. Alan said he was going to write the script as we shot it so there really wasn’t anything to memorize per se. It’s more spontaneous that way, he explained. So Paque and I said we’d be on Who Fancies Me?
It might be fun, Paque said.
And it was fun. I mean, I was too shy to get up there but Paque wasn’t. We talked to the contestants, who were chosen randomly from a clutter of postcards Alan kept in a box in a cramped office behind the set, which was in this old church right down Sunset from our house. It looked like they still had services there on Sundays. The set was just a stage with a plump red couch on one side (where the contestant sat, patiently awaiting that person who fancied him or her) and on the other side were four recliners of various colors and sizes. If you walked behind the stage you saw the stuffing coming out of most of the recliners.
The contestants, John Blake from Pasadena and Rolf Weddenstein from La Jolla, were OK guys. They were both in college and looked pretty much like hipsters. Alan explained the rules but Rolf said, It’s cool, dude, I watch the show, which made John pipe up, Me too. Alan pointed Paque out, so they would know she was not really a potential idol worshiper and Rolf was perceptibly bummed out, which Paque saw and she gave him a kiss on the cheek for good luck.
I was in charge of letting in the studio audience. Alan explained to me that since one of the worshipers from one of the first episodes went on to become a VJ on MTV, the audiences had been packed with wannabes and a couple times he found out after the fact that scouts were posing as twenty-somethings in the crowd. So keep your eyes out, Alan said. Today we’re shooting two guys, so don’t let any men in, he told me. When do you shoot the women, I asked. Alan pointed at his watch. Men in the morning, he said, and women after lunch.