by Clare Naylor
“He’s a deliberate man, Lizard. Hierba mala nunca muere.” I tried my best to figure it out as José stood staring at Daniel with a steely look I’d never seen before on his gentle face.
“José, I have to admit that I haven’t had time to sign up for those Spanish classes I mentioned. Nothing dead? Is that what it means?” I tried to guess, and he patted my arm as he watched Daniel get into his car.
“The devil looks after himself.”
“Okay. I’ll remember that.”
“You better get moving, little Lizard, or you’ll be late for your big date.” Only when I’d emerged from the garage into the sunshine did I wonder: How did José know I had a date?
I was just sliding into Lara’s shoes when the buzzer rang. It was Jake, sounding very much like the man of the moment. He had a slight lilt in his voice, which always made you believe that at any moment he just might break into song. It was a charming characteristic that made people feel at ease with him, but to unsuspecting girls it was like the song of a man siren, as it had been to me just after the hockey puck, before I’d gotten wise.
“Lizzie, it’s Jake. I’ve come to whisk you off.” I gave myself one last check in the mirror, then ran down the stairs to find him outside my building, leaning against the black stretch limo looking like the kind of man they don’t make anymore. Because despite all the terrible things I thought about Jake, you had to appreciate his style. He let out the best wolf whistle I’d ever heard and opened the door of the limo with an appreciative nod of his head.
“C’mon, darling. Don’t want to be late,” he called out. Then I had a distinctly joyful Pretty Woman moment as I ran toward the car. But my enthusiasm was just slightly dampened when I recalled that Julia Roberts had in fact been playing a prostitute.
“Hop in,” Jake said and theatrically held open the door for me. “You look great, by the way.”
“Thanks,” I said and felt like, well, a movie star, I guess. I ducked under Jake’s arm as he stood looking up at my building for a moment too long.
“Everything okay?” I asked as I slid in against the black leather seats in Lara’s finest.
“Oh yeah.” He got into the car and closed the door. “Everything’s cool.” I inhaled the reassuring air of luxury. Jake sat on the other side of the seat and grinned at me and off we went.
“So this is fun,” I said, suddenly realizing that even though I knew a lot about him (all that I’d gleaned that afternoon on his deck for starters; that wasn’t even to mention the gossip I’d heard and the articles I’d read), he didn’t remember anything about me. So technically we didn’t really know each other very well at all.
“It sure is.” He stretched his long legs out and smiled languidly. “So Lizzie, what did you do before you came to Hollywood? You did say you’d been here about a year, right?”
“Wow, you remembered,” I teased. “I’m impressed.”
“Oh, come on,” he chided. “So what were you, like a heart surgeon or something smart and sexy?”
“Actually no. I worked in politics,” I said before I could engage my brain. Rather stupidly, it hadn’t occurred to me for a second that Jake might have recognized my apartment building, then looked at me and suddenly remembered the hockey puck and that we had dallied before. The reason this slipped my mind was that the man had had at least a hundred other clues as to who I was and had not picked up on any of them, so why would this one be any different? Why would he suddenly put two and two together now? Clearly, I had completely lost my own mind, or begun to massively underestimate Jake’s mind, because no sooner had those words sailed from my lips than he looked very closely at me and squinted.
“We’ve met before, haven’t we?”
“Sure, I’m Lizzie,” I said goofily, thinking that this was just a cuteness of his.
“No, I mean we met before Sundance. Before the plane when you were looking really hot. Right?”
“Ah,” I said, finally getting the picture.
“I knew I’d been to that apartment building before,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “Only when we met on the plane. With Scottie. You never mentioned that we’d already met, did you?” Jake actually looked deeply serious. Maybe even mad. Certainly he wasn’t smiling anymore. And he’d drawn his legs neatly into the seat.
“I don’t think I did mention it, no.” I looked up because, well, he was tall, and tried to gauge whether I was truly fucked.
“You should have.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” Jake Hudson frowned at me. His blue eyes were flecked with yellow and surrounded by wonderful, warm creases. His nose belonged to a sculpture and in the magic hour, with the sinking sun behind him, he looked startlingly perfect.
“Yeah, I should have mentioned it. That was rude of me.” I lifted Lara’s beaded purse onto my lap and prepared myself to have to get out of the car and walk back home with my head hanging down. It served me right for countenancing the office sweepstakes and the betting and for allowing a decent, if fantastically lascivious, man to be used for sport.
“You’re fucking kidding, right?”
“What?” I lifted my shamed head and asked as Jake’s lips broke open to reveal his miraculous teeth.
“That is so fucking funny. You’re the hockey puck chick.” He laughed.
“I know,” I said, still in a state of shock.
“You were hot. I wondered what had happened to you. I called you, didn’t I?”
“I think you did, yes.”
“And you never fucking called me back.”
“Well, I heard things about you. I mean, I was going to, but then I saw you at a party and you didn’t recognize me and . . .”
“This is incredible. You were the hot hockey puck chick. I mean, you are. I love it.” Jake laughed loudly and then kissed me on the lips. Obviously, he figured he’d done the groundwork before. “Lizzie the hockey puck chick and me are going on a date to my premiere. You just blew my mind, darling. I love it.”
And not once in the entire forty-minute drive to the Universal Amphitheater did he try to grope me. Instead, I filled him in on my Hollywood career so far, which took all of one and a half minutes, and then we chatted the rest of the way about what a nightmare the movie had been to shoot and how the director had been kicked off the project halfway through. Apparently the first AD had taken over with the help of the DP and finished the film with the studio’s backing. They’d worked together through the editing process and saved the film. Unfortunately, no one was allowed to divulge this well-known secret as the director had legal rights and the studio could face a lawsuit if it let slip who was really responsible for the final work. As a result, the director would be there tonight smiling at the flashbulbs and taking all the credit for someone else’s labors. The more I learned about the movie business the less I felt I knew.
I had never been to the Universal City Walk, let alone to a movie venue of that size, and as the limo pulled up to the back of the arena, I started to feel my heartbeat under my red satin dress. Though I had seen premieres on E!, I just wasn’t prepared for the sheer magnitude of it all. Not only were there thousands of people waiting outside to get snapshots or merely catch a glimpse of a celebrity, but the noise they were making was almost deafening. A portion of the amphitheater seats (the nosebleeds, of course) had been sold to Joe Public, and the proceeds were being given to the star of the movie’s favorite charity. An enormous scoreboard blinking the name of the film and its stars in electric lights and a TV screen built for a stadium were hung high above the crowd for their amusement. The unrecognizable were ushered down the red carpet at top speed, like cattle being led to the slaughterhouse, as the photographers strained to snap the stars.
As we stepped from the limo, Jake put on his game face, and down the red carpet we went. No one was cheering for us, but you never would have guessed it the way he waved to the crowd. The sheer audacity of it impressed me. Also, the way he sidled up to Julia as the bulbs were pop
ping and planted a big one directly on her lips was pretty mind-boggling. But, just like any other girl, she seemed to enjoy it and kissed him back with similar effusiveness. The cameras had a field day—because although Jake wasn’t a movie star, he was very much part of the Pretty Posse, a clan of powerful yet cool young execs much beloved of the media. Any one of them could have been the captain of the football team in school or perhaps posed for their college calendar for charity. There were a few women involved, but, like most of the film industry, it was still male-dominated, one big fraternity house. They worked ceaselessly to build each other up and were now having quite a remarkable run, with four or five members firmly placed in pole position at studios, agencies, and production companies. They might not always be the brightest of buttons, but they’d chosen the winning team.
As Jake and Julia were exchanging flirtatious anecdotes, I stood a few feet away, like a coat you keep meaning to take to Goodwill. But I didn’t mind—it was all so buzzy. Young girls were screaming, and their faces dissolved into tears when Leo cruised by with a casual wave. I just watched in wonder as the roar exploded anew with the arrival of each actor. Suddenly I was grabbed by the hand and Jake was pulling me along past the fans. Obviously red-carpet time was over, and he had to move on to more serious meet-and-greet.
Once we were inside the amphitheater, the noise of the fans faded to a gentle din. Jake was smiling like the cat who ate the canary.
“God, Elizabeth, it gets me every time. I mean, it’s such a rush. I never quite get over it, and it happens a couple of times a month. All those people fucking cheering and screaming, just dying to be me.” His eyes were shining as he looked at me. “Doesn’t it make you horny?”
Even if I hadn’t been speechless, I wouldn’t have been able to say anything, because he pushed me against the wall in his euphoria and kissed me. Suddenly, in the exceptionally public environs of the Universal Amphitheater, I was kissing a man who made Heidi Fleiss look like the Virgin Mary. And despite his sweetness when he picked me up and our nice talk on the limo ride, he was still Jake Hudson, so I just wasn’t really that into it. I glanced over his shoulder, hoping to find some excuse to escape, but what I found instead was an appalled glare. Luke Lloyd was back from France.
“Hello, Elizabeth.” Luke pointedly ignored Jake, who slapped him on the back as he quickly disengaged his tongue from my tonsils and wiped his mouth.
“Luke, buddy! How’s the picture going? I can’t wait to see the finished product.”
“The film is in the can. I just got back from scouting locations for my next project.” Luke continued this conversation without once taking his eyes off me.
“Yes. I heard you were very busy in France.” I couldn’t help but drive the final nail into the coffin of what had been my last hope for true love in Hollywood. Just in case the Jake kiss hadn’t done the trick already.
“Cool. Lucky you, those women in France are fierce. Weren’t you dating that actress? The really sexy one who was in that sci-fi movie last year? What was her name?”
“Emanuelle,” I replied with a sneer as Jake put his hand on my ass.
“Actually, Jake, we’ve split up. And I would have ended it sooner, but I’ve just never been a believer in ending relationships over the phone,” Luke said grumpily. Not that Jake seemed to notice the lack of humor settling like a black cloud over our friendly banter.
“Yeah, you’re right. Always easier not to end them at all. Eventually the gal gets the message.” Jake laughed, and Luke winced. “Well, Luke, good seeing you, and for fuck’s sake bring me your next project.”
Jake hooked his arm casually around my shoulder, and off we went. I longed to look back, but I knew that in order to preserve what little dignity I had left, I needed to tuck myself into Jake and walk the straight line. I held on for dear life in the rushing river of backslaps and handshakes that followed.
“You having some fun, Elizabeth?” Jake whispered in my ear as we walked up to the VIP seats, roped off for those directly involved in the film on strictly an above-the-line capacity.
“It’s great fun. Amazing,” I assured him as we found our seats. At last a chance to sit down and for the lights to go dark so I could rehash my encounter with Luke Lloyd. I had been so surprised to see him that I’d struggled to make sense of anything he said. My head was just starting to ache when we were accosted by an overenthusiastic publicist heaping praise on Jake’s already overinflated ego. She gave Jake an extremely familiar kiss, and for the hundredth time that evening, I thanked God that forewarned was forearmed. Or I’d be in the bathroom by now in tears as my date spread himself very thinly among the womenfolk.
“Jake, sweetie, I made sure I’m sitting next to you,” she brayed in an English accent as she tossed back her badly bleached hair.
“Fabulous, darling,” Jake said absentmindedly.
She gave me the once-over and immediately dismissed me as unimportant. I knew that she was wondering what my secret was. How had a regular girl like me snagged Jake—and for the most coveted ticket of the year? I longed to be able to tell her that I had something that she didn’t—indifference.
Jake slipped off his jacket and placed it in his lap as I looked around at our seat positioning. I quickly realized that we were bang in the middle of the cast row, with everyone in the theater straining to get a look at the key players of the evening. In such a high-tech place as Hollywood, I loved the practically rustic methods used to assign seats. They’d just printed up a few sheets of copy paper with everyone’s name on them in boldface and Scotch-taped them to our places. It was the same for Cameron, Ben, Jen, et al. Such equality made my heart soar for a second. I also noticed that the infamous Tony was positioned just a few seats down from me, and I thanked my lucky stars, no pun intended, that he had never actually met me, or there might have been a ruckus.
As the lights went down, I settled into the picture. Which was nothing if not huge, with enormous explosions and great silences and a screen as broad as the Himalayas. Once he’d finished his complimentary popcorn and spun his ice cubes around in the bottom of his Coke cup, Jake leaned over and took my hand. And in the dark I just pretended it was Luke Lloyd, and during the daylight scenes I cast my eyes around the theater to see if I could glimpse the man himself. But before I could even study the backs of heads in the rows before me for tufty black hair, I was distracted by Jake’s strangely sporadic squeezing of my hand. At first I thought he was getting amorous, but then, when no amour or even acknowledgment of my presence was displayed, I decided it must have to do with scary or sad or even just plain huge moments in the film. And the squeezes were Jake displaying inadvertent emotion. I observed the pattern.
During an endless monologue by a dying soldier, he grabbed my hand with such ferocity I thought he was having a heart attack. But he wasn’t. He was completely absorbed in the movie. Eyes front.
Then, during a breathtaking, sweepingly romantic scene, he began to press my fingers together with rhythmic intensity.
Gun battle. No squeezing.
Landscapes. His squeeze nearly caused my fingers to turn blue and drop off.
Sex scene. Nada.
Finally I came to the conclusion that Jake must really be a country boy at heart. I knew he was from Kansas, but to get excited at fields and cows was almost too sweet for words. My estimation of Jake was starting to rise ever so slightly from the depths of the gutter. After all, Luke Lloyd had never called me, or for that matter sent me flowers, and I had slept with him. Luke was the worst kind of Hollywood male—at least Jake was honest. Luke hid behind morals and ethics, yet he was the biggest liar and sleazebag of them all. But then, just as I was ready to switch allegiances and see the light, Jake’s head collapsed onto my shoulder. I thought maybe he’d fallen asleep, but when I looked down at him, he let out a long groan. And not the kind that’s inspired by a cheesy joke, sadly. This was a groan of satisfaction. And a loud one, too. Thankfully, it was drowned out by the bombing of Berlin, or the e
ntire theater would have turned to check out the live action.
No, this was the kind of groan a man gives before . . . well, in this case before the badly blond publicist slides her hand out of his pants. I blinked incredulously as Jake turned and smiled broadly at me. The publicist just wiped her hand on the armrest of the theater seat before giving me a curt, victorious smile. Never again would I shake anyone’s hand with the same innocent enthusiasm. It was air kissing all the way from now on. The credits started to roll, and the audience rose for a standing ovation. His film was a success, and Jake Hudson’s meteoric rise was assured. Just not with me on his arm. And certainly not holding his hand.
As the lights went up, I winked at him and made excuses about escaping to the bathroom. As I launched myself toward the themed buffet, I caught sight of Daniel Rosen pressing the flesh. As I was deliberating whether I could be bothered to go say hello before he saw me and thought I was ignoring him, I felt a light tap on my shoulder. It was Luke Lloyd.
“Hi.” He just stood there and stared.
“Hi,” I replied, unable to do much better.
“You look beautiful.”
“Thanks.”
“Why are you here with that guy?” He looked like a little baby who’d just spit out his pacifier.
“Why didn’t you tell me about your girlfriend?”
“I wanted to, but . . .”
I knew what came next. The inevitable apology and bullshit excuse that I was so desperate to hear. I wanted to forgive and forget, but my survival instinct took over before I could lay myself bare for more abuse. I put my hands up as a signal for him to stop.
“Never mind, Luke. It doesn’t really matter anymore. It’s none of my business.” He put a hand on my arm, and I moved back a step to break the connection.
“Fine, I understand if you don’t want to be with me. But don’t be with him. He’s scum. Goes through women like boxer shorts. I can’t stand to see you ruined by him.”
“Ruined? What is this, Luke, the eighteenth century? I can take care of myself.”