She sighs. “Okay. She’s at the neighbor’s house. I’ll have her call you when she gets in.”
“No.” I don’t want to wait. “Could you go get her? It’s faster if you take the trail in the backyard.”
“Charlie, I don’t know where there’s a trail in the backyard.”
“Is Jack with you?”
“He drove up to New Orleans. It’s two hours away.”
“Shit!”
“Just be patient. I promise you, I’ll have her call you. I’m here by myself, so she’ll be back soon. Belmont’s convinced her that I’m some invalid that needs to be babysat. So she’s not going to be gone too long.”
I’m too wound up to comment on the distress I hear in her voice. I don’t know how many ways to tell Jack to give her some goddamn breathing room.
I end the call with Daisy, trusting her to do what she promised. Instead of going home, I stop off at Quarry, a bar off PCH just about a mile from my house. I order scotch on the rocks. As soon as Mitch, the bartender, serves me, I set my phone next to my glass and nurse them both while I wait for Angelina’s call.
About an hour later my cell phone vibrates and chimes. Daisy’s name comes across the screen. I sigh, disappointed.
“Hey, Daisy?”
“Hey.”
I perk up. It’s Angelina. “Hey, how are you?”
“I’m hanging in there.”
“I’m sorry to hear about Josephine. I’ll fly out tonight, just say the word.”
“No, don’t come,” she says.
Shit, that hurt. “Why not?”
She’s silent. “I just need time. I didn’t know you were in love with Daisy.”
I want to say that was a long time ago, but it wasn’t. And how in the world can I say that it was before I met her? No matter how you slice it, I’m the one coming up short. Instead I go with, “I’m not in love with Daisy. I thought I was, but I’m not.”
“Did fucking me fulfill your fantasy?” Her question is harsh, but her tone isn’t.
“Yes, it fulfilled my fantasy. The one I had about you. Angelina, don’t do this to us. I like you, a hell of a lot.”
She’s silent, but I can hear her breathing. “Charlie, my mother just died. Could you please let me handle one thing at a time?”
“What does that mean? Are you over me?”
She chuckles. I remember that sound. Although I can’t see her face, I can visualize her smile. “How could I be over you already?”
“I don’t want you to get over me.”
“I’ll call you. And sorry for not getting back to you sooner. I actually left my cell phone at your house.”
“You did!” Damn, I feel as though I’ve caught a break.
“Yeah.” She chuckles. “Once I left it in a hotel room in Belgium. I also left it on a train traveling from Paris to London. And—never mind.”
I want to be with her, comforting her, making love to her, instead of sitting at the bar, nursing a watery drink.
“Angelina, I think I love you,” I confess. Mitch hears me and lifts his eyebrows. The guy sitting next to me whispers something to his buddy. I don’t give a damn about who heard me.
“Okay, Charlie, I’ll remember that.”
“You do that,” I say.
“The night is bleak and full of ashes,” she says poetically. “Goodnight, Charlie.”
“I can only say good night if the ashes aren’t mine.” She’s silent. “Angelina?”
“They are yours. They’re mine too, and my mother’s, my father’s, and my sister’s, and her husband’s.”
“I still don’t fucking get it.”
“Charlie, relax. We’ll talk and make love again.”
“You promise?”
“Cross my heart and hope to… I promise.”
I end the call, pay for my drink, and drive home sober.
Chapter 10
Crazy on the Set
Call time is at four a.m. All the New York scenes are going to be shot first. I arrive at the lot before then. I couldn’t sleep after that conversation with Angelina. It’s as if we’re back at square one, but I know we’re not. It’s more like we’ve taken an unexpected left turn into a shallow ditch. We’re shaken up, but nothing’s broken.
Bodies are sweeping past me. Everyone’s extra busy. Lights, cameras, and sound equipment are in place. The first scene is in a hospital room. Clara Richardson is having a difficult delivery. There are lots of people on set. I have no idea who’s who. I still don’t know what the hell I’m doing here. That’s why I’m standing out of the way, sipping coffee and pretending to be interested.
Monroe steps beside me and pinches my ass. “You’re on time.”
“That I am,” I say.
“You don’t sound happy about it.”
I shrug. She’s the last person I want to explain my mood to, but she does smell good. I sneak a peek at her. She’s in a pair of skintight jeans and a T-shirt.
“Do you think you should wear that outfit? It’s distracting,” I say. Two passing crewmen are admiring her tits.
“Oh no, Charlie Lord, you blew it with me.”
“It’s not me you’re distracting.” Right on cue another guy slogs past us, and he too is salivating. “See.”
“If a guy can’t control his dick, it’s not my fault.”
I snort. She’s not dressed that way for no reason. Even her strappy shoes are sexy and impractical. “Well, your choice.”
“I never said this before, but thank you for your involvement,” she says.
I’m taken aback. “What is this—a trap?”
“No, I mean it. “You’re the good guy, and I’m the bitch. It takes a real man to get my ass to follow the program.”
“Okay, then. You’re welcome,” I say, although I’m still cautious.
“I still hate you, though.”
“Why do you hate me?”
She narrows her eyes. “You really don’t know?”
“You and I were never involved.”
“I let you fuck me on the wall, Charlie. I’d say that’s pretty involved.”
I look her in the eyes before I say what I’m thinking. Hell, she was “involved” with Shane too! There’s no need to open that can of rotten worms. “Maybe we can put the past behind us and be friends.”
She sniffs disdainfully. “Friends?”
“Sure.”
“Fuck you, Charlie.”
I throw my hands up. “What did I say wrong? You don’t want to be my friend?”
She narrows her eyes. “You really don’t know?”
I shrug. “What? I’m sorry that I hurt you. I really am.”
“You’re an asshole,” she snaps and storms off. I watch her as she struts away, still managing to shake her ass. I wish Monroe could do it for me, but I’m not even a wee bit turned on. As soon as one crazy chick leaves, another steps up. Mandy is costumed in a hospital gown with a prosthetic pregnant stomach.
“How’s Jack?” she asks.
“Still married.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Still?”
“Yes, still.”
She groans, disappointed. “So… Are you fucking Monroe?”
“Nope,” I say in a jiffy.
She rests her chin on my shoulder. I curve away from the plastic ball around her stomach. “That’s music to my ears. I’m giving you first dibs.”
“First dibs on what?”
She takes my hand and clamps it against her pussy.
“I’ll pass.” I retrieve my hand.
Mandy snorts and glares at Monroe, who’s on the stage talking to Shane. “We’ll see.” She struts off. The chick is certifiable.
I watch as she stands on the other side of Shane and drapes herself across his shoulder. He does a double take, confused by her invasion of his personal space. He quickly directs her to get on with her point. Monroe doesn’t notice that she’s in competition with the actress that she insisted on hiring. She’ll find out soon.
&nb
sp; A young brunette wearing a headset approaches me. “Excuse me, Mr. Lord,” she says. She seems nervous.
“Charlie,” I say with a smile to get her to relax. Her skin turns redder and it looks as though she might hyperventilate if I make her wait a second longer. “What can I do for you?” I ask.
“Here’s your call sheet.” Her hands tremble as she gives me a stack of stapled pages.
“If you can follow me, there’s a seat over here for you.”
I hold up a hand. “I’m fine.”
Her eyes expand. “But you can’t stand here. They need this part of the stage clear.”
“You’ve had coffee already, right?” I smile, hinting that she needs to relax a little.
“Oh, I can get you another coffee.”
Shit, where do they find these people? “Forget it,” I say, “Lead the way.”
She releases a small sigh of relief. I follow her to a tall canvas chair with my name on it. It’s right next to the director’s chair where Shane sits going over the script with some guy. He turns to me as soon as the guy walks away.
“First day.” His enthusiasm isn’t infectious.
“Am I supposed to say ‘good luck’ or ‘break a leg’?”
“You’re supposed to say ‘don’t fuck it up’ and ‘make my money back, bitch.’” He laughs.
“Well then, bitch, make me some money.”
He snickers hesitantly with one eye narrowed. I guess he doesn’t find it as funny when I say it. “We never talked about this Monroe thing. How about we grab a drink after we wrap?”
I lift a hand. “That won’t be necessary.”
“But I don’t want any problems, you know?”
“That makes two of us.”
“I like her a lot.”
“Good for you.” I really don’t want to talk about it anymore.
He leans toward me. “But she’s still into you.”
I lean away from him. “Then change her mind.”
Shane pauses before he sits up straight. “I know all about your shit, dude. She can’t stop talking about it.”
Now he’s put the right kind of bait on the hook. “What’s my shit?”
“I can tell you over that drink.”
I frown. “Why the hell are you pushing this drink? You want to take me on a date or something?”
His laugh sounds insincere. “No way. I just want to make sure we’re fine. We were buddies before all of this.”
“Monroe has never been my girlfriend. I don’t want to talk about her anymore, but I do want to know what the hell she said about me.”
“It’s crazy shit.”
Another person wearing a headset gets Shane’s attention. “Are we ready?”
“Let’s do this,” Shane says to the guy. He gives me a thumbs up. “We’re good?”
I lift my thumb.
“Then we’ll grab that drink?”
“Why not,” I say.
For the next six hours I shift in the cloth chair, trying to get through take after take of the same scene. If it weren’t for one of Pearl’s on-set assistants, Shane would probably shoot a hundred takes of the same scene. She keeps reminding him how much time we have and how much it’s costing. Then we take a break. I wolf down coffee, take a piss, avoid Mandy and Monroe, and then we do it all over again.
Ten hours spent in this hellhole before we wrap. Shane and I grab that drink at a bar off Ventura Boulevard in Sherman Oaks. He replays the last six months of my life over two glasses of scotch. I’m in love with my brother’s wife. I flew off the radar until I showed up in a New York bar with an “easy lay.” I’m a junkie, or used to be, at least. I only bought the rights to the film to fuck Monroe. The only reason I went to Louisiana with Angelina is because I’m obsessed with Daisy. That seems to be the consensus.
“It’s all true except the junkie part and what she said about Angelina. I’m not obsessed with Daisy.”
“But have you fucked Angelina Blanchard?”
“I’m not answering that.”
He’s smirking and tapping the bar as though he’s lost in some illicit thought he’s having about Angelina. “She worked on this film I directed a few years ago. She was quiet. And she’s your brother’s wife’s sister?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you know about her and Donald?”
“Not really.”
He studies me with narrowed eyes. “So you did finance the film just to fuck Monroe?”
I shrug. “I was hoping for that bonus.”
“Are you still looking to cash in?” He looks worried.
I shake my head. “No. Things changed, and unexpectedly so.”
Shane nods as though he understands me completely. “Well, if you happen to land Angelina Blanchard, then I’m going to be the first guy to shake your hand.”
“Yeah,” I mutter and chug down the rest of my scotch on the rocks.
I pay for our drinks, and he drives to Monroe’s house and I go home.
For the rest of the week I continue to squirm in my canvas chair next to the director’s seat. Donald keeps his distance, although I catch him staring at me every now and then. I don’t trust him or Monroe. She looks at me when she thinks I’m not watching. I am happy that Mandy is keeping her distance because she’s boning the actor who’s playing the politician. She doesn’t have Jack on the mind at the moment.
A whole week has passed, and still I haven’t heard from Angelina. It’s Monday morning and I lie in bed wondering if I should get up and drive to the set. Today is the last of the New York scenes that will be shot on the lot. Tomorrow they’re filming in Arrowhead. It will be a “lover’s rendezvous” at a chateau in the French Alps. Each day that I show up on set I get a little more disinterested.
I’ve been fighting the urge to call Daisy to see how Angelina’s doing. I’ve also done a lot of thinking lately. Angelina said I was air. Air has no weight, no form—it’s nothing. Is that what she thinks of me? Maybe that was her way of saying that after our affair was over, I’d fade out of her life as if I’d never been there in the first place.
I grab my cell phone off the nightstand. It’s three a.m. Call-time is at four. I force myself to roll off the bed. What the hell. I’ll go to the studio anyway.
Chapter 11
The Aftermath
Angelina
Angelina sat alone at the kitchen table, attempting to write out the angst in her heart.
Today I’ll wear black from head to toe. I’ll ride in a black car. I’ll face the black sky… She started rather zealously, but that’s as far as she could go.
“Mother is dead,” she whispered to see how it sounded out loud. “Madam Josephine Beauchamp is dead,” she said instead, thinking saying it that way would make it feel real. It didn’t.
The morning after dancing for Josephine and making love to Charlie, Angelina went to her mother’s room. It was then she told the complete truth. She did not return to Yale after graduating from Julliard. She was not registered at the UCLA School of Medicine and never intended to enroll. Josephine yelled at her in French. But in plain English she said, “You crawl in bed with that man and let him defile you? And where is he now?”
She tried to explain that he left for business, but Josephine screamed, “He is lying!” Her mother’s whole body trembled. In all her life Angelina had never seen her mother that angry. Josephine moaned. “I wanted you to be more than me,” she said.
Hearing that broke Angelina’s heart. Not the part about Charlie. Her mother had him all wrong—period. Jacques thought it best for her to leave him alone with Josephine for a while. Angelina did as he asked and walked dejectedly out of the room. She felt guilty because despite her mother’s fit of rage, she had no regrets. The fact that her mother didn’t want her involved in the performing arts when she herself was a songstress seemed absurd, which is why she had never taken Josephine’s forbiddance that seriously.
Angelina had a plan. One day, when she was accepted into the American Ballet A
cademy, she would invite Josephine to her first performance and make her mother proud. She would demonstrate how great an artist she was, how years of training with Karina and Lynnette had made her into a formidable dancer. In college she was known as the girl with the golden feet, who could dance any style of the art with perfect technique, grace, passion, and rhythm. All of her colleagues had thought she would’ve taken the dance world by storm by now. Angelina hadn’t because she’d spent the last eight years feeling guilty about her abilities. So trapped in the purgatory of life, she lingered between both worlds. She figured she’d pursue life passionately but her work objectively. Script consulting paid good money. It was a field that was difficult to break into, and she was actually “in,” which made her feel a small sense of accomplishment. Ten gigs a year, one month per gig, and a few callbacks if need be and she could do whatever the hell she wanted to do the rest of the time. Usually, she’d go to New York and dance in Off-Broadway productions. It was always fun to catch up with friends at parties in the clubs in New Orleans, Atlanta, and D.C. The trick was to hunt down venues where the general public wasn’t invited and she knew over fifty percent of the partygoers. Most of her friends were dancers, musicians, or actors, and if they were in one place, at one party, then she could count on getting down and jamming out until the sun came up. It was like chasing the dragon. Once she thought about it, that’s exactly how she’d been living her life, chasing the dragon. Then Charlie asked her to stay with him after she completed her last job and she said yes. Everything had changed since then.
After Jacques had calmed Josephine, Angelina returned to the room. Her mother looked so small, lying there in her sick bed. Dorothy was adding a sedative to her IV drip. At first they said nothing to each other. They only stared into each other’s eyes.
“I’m not your mama but if I were, then what would be wrong with that?” Angelina asked.
Seconds had passed before she asked Angelina to sit. For the next hour she listened to her mother reminisce about how numerous men had been seduced by her voice, stage presence, and beauty but had left her alone when they realized that she was merely a woman, flesh and blood like anyone else.
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