She's The One

by J. J. Murray

  The O’Gara Coach Company of Beverly Hills has taken Katharina to court over nonpayment of a gray-violet Bentley Azure convertible. According to court documents, Katharina placed her order, signed all the necessary papers at noon, and demanded that the Bentley appear in her driveway no later than 8 PM. O’Gara told her that one was available in San Francisco and would have to be shipped south to her. “She wanted no mileage at all on the odometer,” O’Gara Coach Company owner Wilson O’Gara said. “She wanted zeroes all the way across.” O’Gara was able to deliver the Bentley on time, but O’Gara says that Katharina balked when she saw a “1” on the odometer. O’Gara refused to take the car back, and the Bentley still sits in her driveway. The court case is ongoing, and “birds have reduced the convertible top to a chunky, ashen blob of goo” (Los Angeles Times).

  Katharina allegedly calls ahead to department stores and boutiques so that they can clear their stores before her arrival. (Note: She obviously prefers to shop alone and unmolested, another gross form of vanity—Penelope.)

  In her most recent interview, a quarter-page blurb (no picture) four years ago, Katharina said, “I guess I am allergic to marriage. I do not want any man to see how I really look in the morning” (Jet).

  Vincenzo looked glumly at Katharina’s financial information. After My Honey Love, she commanded five million for each of her next three Lucentio pictures, none of which rated more than three stars but did well at the box office. After that, she consistently demanded to be paid as much as “the white heifers in Hollywood” (Variety). She left Lucentio Pictures entirely after that when she was offered fifteen million for Miss Thang.

  She made a total of ten million for her next thirteen pictures, hadn’t worked in over four years, had fired, rehired, and fired her agent, and had to reduce her porta-posse from twelve to four. She retained her makeup artist, dresser, hairstylist, and one assistant, Bianca, who presumably took care of Scottie.

  Why am I about to do this? Vincenzo thought. Oh yeah. I fell in love with Katharina in My Honey Love. We all did. The entire world did. It was Lucentio Pictures’ first hit movie and opened the doors for many more. I was there when they filmed it, I’ve seen it a hundred times, and I still tear up at the end.

  Vincenzo had served as an assistant to the director, and Pietro had had a bit part as a taxi driver in the unforgettable humming scene with Katharina. She handed him a card with an address, she got in the backseat, he drove, she hummed her guts out with tears streaming down her face, and she threw her fare money at him.

  All in only fifteen takes. Pietro did nothing wrong, but Katharina blamed him for her miscues. The shots of Pietro eyeing her through the rearview mirror never made the picture, but the look in his eye said: “She’s the one for me.”

  Either that or his eyes said, “I hope she dies a slow, horrible, painful death.”

  Vincenzo was never quite sure what his brother’s eyes were saying.

  But that was fifteen years ago, when Pietro and Vincenzo were just starting out, learning “the business” from the ground up until they could one day take over Lucentio Pictures from their ailing father, Antonio, son of Frankie Lucentio, the legendary and flamboyant founder of the independent film company. Now that their father had passed away and Pietro had taken his part of the inheritance north of the border to Ontario, Canada, Vincenzo was in complete control of a thriving independent film company, consistently nominated for (though never winning) awards at Sundance and Cannes, and usually doing well at the AFI Dallas, Palm Springs, and Santa Barbara international film festivals.

  Vincenzo buzzed Penelope—ancient but stable, able, and the only person his father and grandfather ever trusted. “I’m ready, Penelope. Send ’em in.”

  Let’s get this charade started.

  Chapter 2

  “We cannot afford to pay her that much!” Jim Block, the director of accounting, shouted as he paced the room. “We’ll be the laughingstock of Hollywood!”

  Vincenzo shrugged because Jim was always saying “We can’t afford” this and “We’ll be the laughingstock” of some place or other. He winked at Penelope, who wore her usual navy blue power suit with a white ruffled blouse. She sat taking notes while seated demurely on his grandfather’s old black leather sofa.

  Penelope rolled her eyes. “Calm down, Jim.”

  “It’s only three,” Vincenzo said.

  “Million,” Jim said, his chubby jowls flaring red and contrasting terribly with his maroon suit, crème shirt, and aquamarine tie. “Katharina Minola is not worth one-hundredth of that amount. We’ll be throwing away our money!”

  Vincenzo leaned back in his grandfather’s old chair, swiveling with a squeak to look at the smog perched like an arthritic cat over West Hollywood. “You’re right, Jim. We’re not going to pay her three million.”

  “Thank you.” Jim sighed. “I thought you’d lost your—”

  “We’re going to pay her five million, the same amount we paid her for My Honey Love.” Vincenzo swiveled back to look at Jim’s jowls bouncing off the floor. “Let’s look at this logically, Jim.”

  “Five, five …” Jim stammered. “Your father and grandfather—”

  “I know, I know,” Vincenzo interrupted. “They’ll be rolling in their graves.” But if I know Grandfather, he thought, he’s probably lighting another cigar, nodding, and saying, “Is a good risk.” Vincenzo smiled. “Lighten up, Jim. It’s only money.”

  “It’s only—” Jim started to say. “That’s almost forty percent of the entire budget for this film!”

  Vincenzo smiled, amazed that Jim’s head had yet to explode after serving three generations of stubborn Lucentio men. “That’s why I said we need to look at this logically. Calma, calma, Jim.”

  “I am calm, Vincenzo,” Jim whispered. “You pay me to worry about these things, remember?”

  “Jim, we have deep pockets now, and our ultimate goal will hopefully pay off tenfold.” I trust and pray. “The stage is set. The location is a go. We don’t need to build anything. There’s no need for set designers, painters, carpenters, electricians, or gophers, or the massive amount of food and drink to keep them all happy. We won’t even have much of an electric bill. We can do an entire movie without a caterer, or drivers, or stunt performers, or even grips and boom operators. Costuming will also be at a minimum.”

  “Katharina will probably bring all her clothes,” Penelope said.

  Vincenzo tapped Katharina’s file. “If this is correct, she’ll also try to bring an army of shoes with her.”

  “Such a waste,” Penelope said, and then she laughed. “But then again, where we’re sending her, she won’t be able to use most if any of her clothing and shoes.”

  “And they won’t even get there,” Vincenzo said. “Her luggage will be traveling to Costa Rica.”

  Vincenzo turned to John “Fish” Fisher, one of the few black directors of photography on earth, who stood at the window in a Cubs jersey and jeans. Fish, a Chicago native and rabid baseball fan, was also Lucentio Pictures’ resident computer authority, who loved making his own gadgets. “Are the cameras and mikes all set, Fish?”

  Fish nodded, turning and leaning his shoulders on the window. “I’ve got thirty full acres of mountains, hills, bogs, streams, and fields covered from just about every conceivable angle. As long as Katharina stays within that grid, anything she does and anything she says will be recorded. She burps, we’ll see and hear it.”

  Jim picked up his jowls. “You haven’t put cameras in her bathroom, have you?”

  Fish rolled his eyes. “Just one in the mirror to film her from the neck up.”

  “But if she walks away, um, in the nude …” Jim said. “You know Katharina has never done nude scenes, and Lucentio Pictures does not do soft-core porn.”

  Fish sighed. “Like I told you before, Jim, everything is motion activated. As soon as she’s in range, the camera and sound turn on. As soon as she leaves, it turns off and another camera picks her up. It’s like a chain o
f daisies. As she moves, at least one camera picks her up and hands her off to the next, and all the images will transmit via relays back to a bank of monitors and servers at Pietro’s house and the monitor Vincenzo will have with him. It’s like … it’s like walking away from an automatic urinal in a men’s room, only another camera will pick you up zipping up and washing your hands. Besides, it will be far too cold for her to walk around au naturel.”

  “Won’t she see, um … ?” Jim asked.

  Fish waved his hands dismissively. “These cameras are tiny, Jim, some no bigger than a pencil point. She won’t hear a thing or see a thing. They all blend into the scenery beautifully, and I have Vincenzo’s brother to thank for that. Pietro is amazing at hiding and disguising things.”

  But without a wife to amaze, Vincenzo thought. Pietro has had six straight broken engagements to the most erotic and exotic women. Vincenzo looked at the ceiling. Except for the last one, the Amazon woman. She was scary. Very big teeth. Wide jaw. She made me think “Horse Woman” the first time I saw her. “How is Pietro?”

  Fish shrugged. “Same as always. Quiet. Staring. Brooding. A workaholic. Hairy.” He laughed. “He dug a thousand-foot trench to bring electricity and a phone line for the fax from his house to Cabin 3, laid all the conduit and lines, and covered it over. You can’t even tell he dug the ditch at all, and the soil up there is practically permafrost.”

  And he did it completely by hand, Vincenzo thought. Pietro was always the brawny one in the family.

  Vincenzo looked at Walter Yearling, who sat at the other end of the sofa with a notepad. Walter had made a name for himself as a screenwriter with an Oscar nomination for My Honey Love and had gone on to a lucrative career, most of it away from Lucentio Pictures. Vincenzo had asked him back for this project, and Walter had wholeheartedly accepted.

  “How’s that script coming, Walt?” Vincenzo asked.

  Walter smiled. “It isn’t.”

  Vincenzo smiled. “As planned.”

  “But I do have a title,” Walter said, “A Woman Alone”

  “Fitting,” Vincenzo said. “I like it.”

  “Look,” Jim said, spreading to his full five-foot width in front of a bookcase. “No actress worth her salt is going to sign on to a picture without a script. She’d have to be out of her mind.”

  “That’s why we’re going to give Katharina full script approval,” Vincenzo said lightly. “If she doesn’t like it, it won’t get filmed.” Not to her knowledge, anyway. “If the producers of Miss Thang had done that, we might not be here today trying to reclaim her natural talent. Katharina Minola is a smart woman. We’ll give her full script approval, and I know that she will come through.”

  “Vincenzo, please, no one gets full—” Jim started to say.

  “Calma, calma, Jim,” Vincenzo interrupted. “She’ll have full approval for a script that doesn’t exist. Yet. We’ll just dangle the money, the entitlement, and the control she craves, and see what happens.” He turned to Walter. “Are you sure you can do this, Walt? I’m asking a lot of you.”

  “No, you aren’t,” Walter said.

  “Well, I’m basically asking you to write a shaky script that Katharina will want to change,” Vincenzo said.

  Walter nodded. “I’ll have to be at my, um, least creative, but sure. It’ll be fun.”

  Jim sat and shook his head. “I don’t like this one bit, not one little bit. Writing a script for a movie as it happens and sometimes after it happens is absurd.”

  “It will be real, though,” Walter said. “How she reacts to, well, everything that happens to her will determine the direction the script will take. And since she’s going to fiddle with it, anyway, we’ll practically be giving her ideas for her script. It’s foolproof. We could even give her a screen credit as cowriter, or as the only writer, when it’s over.”

  “We could,” Vincenzo said. “Good idea, Walter. Glad you’re back with us.”

  “It’s good to be back,” Walter said.

  “You and Fish can go,” Vincenzo said. “See you up north. Dress warmly.”

  “But Walter and I will be at Pietro’s drinking hot chocolate by the fire,” Fish said. “I don’t plan to go outside for sixty days.”

  “Lucky you,” Vincenzo said.

  Walter stood. “Vincenzo, I just want you to know that this is a revolutionary idea, and I’m glad to be a part of it.”

  “Even if you don’t get a screen credit?” Vincenzo asked.

  “It will be worth it to see Katharina acting like the Katharina of old,” Walter said. “I have missed her so much. I want to see that old magic.”

  After Fish and Walter left, Jim whined, “‘This is a revolutionary idea.’ “He grimaced and rolled his eyes. “This revolutionary idea of yours could one day put us out of business. They let her back into the movies. Just when we thought we were rid of her, here she is again! The shame!”

  Vincenzo smiled. “It won’t put us out of business, Jim.” I hope.

  “What if Katharina catches on?” Jim asked. “What if someone in her porta-posse catches on?”

  “They won’t, Jim,” Vincenzo said. “Remember: Three of them are going to Costa Rica for the duration of the shoot, and I’m sure they’ll be happy to get a paid vacation from Katharina for two months. Even Scottie ought to have a good time on the beach. Only Katharina and her current assistant, Bianca—”

  “If she hasn’t been fired by then,” Penelope interrupted.

  “True,” Vincenzo said. We’ll just have to cross that bridge if it comes to that. “We’re hoping that those two will make it up there.” He shrugged. “And what if Katharina or Bianca catches on? It’s not as if they can leave quickly or walk away.” Or even call anyone—except Pietro and me—for help. “Besides, Katharina’s an actress, a real, true artiste. A trooper, as my grandfather used to say.”

  “So you say,” Jim spat.

  “She is a trooper,” Vincenzo said. “She’s just … off her game, that’s all.”

  “For the last fifteen years?” Jim asked.

  Hmm, Vincenzo thought. That is a long time to be off your game. “The three pictures she did for us after My Honey Love were good, Jim, don’t forget that. It was that … that stupid movie.”

  “Miss Thang forgot to leave the role at the studio,” Penelope said.

  “She is still playing that role!” Jim shouted. “Lucentio Pictures has never had a diva like her.”

  Penelope raised her eyebrows. “What about me, Jim? Or are you forgetting my old acting days.”

  Jim waved a hand dismissively. “It was a different time, Penelope. You played the femme fatale. You were expected to vamp.” Jim took a breath. “I want it on the record that I am scared to death about this. Lucentio Pictures makes family-friendly movies, and Katharina Minola is not nor will ever be family-friendly again.” He sat down in a huff on the sofa.

  Vincenzo sighed. “Look, fame just went to her head, Jim. You and I have seen it time and time again. One hit, one award, one monster paycheck, and … poof, a monster is born, and rehab clinics and Entertainment Tonight get calls at three in the morning from police stations. America sees mug shots of their favorite stars on the evening news. Unauthorized videos and photo sessions surface on the Internet. So far, Katharina has stayed relatively clean compared to all of the other fallen stars. She has never been arrested. She has never struck a photographer.”

  “What about her drug problems?” Jim asked.

  “Katharina had her problems with Prozac, but that’s all in the past,” Vincenzo said. “She hasn’t made any sex tapes, hasn’t lowered herself to taking parts where she had to take all or part of it all off, and occasionally she’s had wonderful scenes in otherwise atrocious movies. She still turns down all stereotypical roles. She has never played a ‘mammy,’ the ‘tragic mulatto,’ a criminal, a whore, a drug dealer’s or kingpin’s girlfriend, a ‘kept woman,’ a welfare mother, a battered wife, an entertainer, a criminal, or, since Miss Thang, a true, hatefu
l diva. She has played, well, normal, educated, cultured people who find themselves in unusual circumstances. Her characters hardly ever even cuss.”

  “Because she curses like a sailor off camera,” Jim said.

  “So do a lot of actors, Jim. So do you.” Vincenzo sighed. “Look, Katharina really needs our help, Jim. It’s up to us to bring out the real Katharina Minola, the one who blew the world away in My Honey Love, the one who has been hiding for fifteen years.”

  Jim shook his jowls. “Only now we’re doing the hiding.”

  “The ends justify the means,” Vincenzo said. “We may have to be cruel to be ultimately kind.”

  “This is too much like Candid Camera for my tastes, or—what’s that show?” Jim asked, looking at Penelope. “Punk’d?”

  Penelope nodded. “There are some similarities, Vincenzo.”

  “Only this is real,” Jim continued. “We’ll be filming her every little quirk and habit for two months. We’re like voyeurs, like permanent paparazzi, like—”

  “Permanent paparazzi,” Vincenzo interrupted. “I like that.”

  “What if she cracks up?” Jim asked. “What if she goes completely over the edge? What if while you’re breaking her down, she breaks down? What then?”

  Vincenzo smiled to himself. Then Pietro will just have to save her. “I think she has already cracked up, Jim. She has already fragmented. She has fractured into a person I’m sure even she doesn’t recognize or like very much. We’re going to break her down, sort out the good pieces, and help her put herself back together.”