by Michele Hauf
As I took her outstretched hand, I surveyed her in a new light. There was an impressive determination in her eyes, a tough side to her I’d never seen before, and which I admired. I wondered for the first time just how she’d landed in Hollywood, and what she had to do to accomplish her dream of becoming an actress.
“You know, when I met you, I’m ashamed to say I thought you were silly and flighty,” I confessed softly, as we walked arm in arm back to my car, ignoring the people moving to and fro around us.
Sandra glanced at me, looking amused.
“Don’t worry about it, everyone who doesn’t know me thinks that. I want them to think it. You could say it’s a defense mechanism, this facade under which stars have to hide. Take Marilyn Monroe, for example. She was always perceived as a dumb blonde, a sex symbol without a brain. She despised that image, but she had to stick to it, because that was what made her famous and gave her a chance to conquer Hollywood. Besides, if she made her vulnerabilities public, those who claimed to adore her would have turned against her and chewed her to bits. Everyone who knew personal, intimate things about her used them at one point, and betrayed her trust.” She shrugged philosophically. “That’s Hollywood for you, babe. To survive, you need a mask. Never let them see who you really are, never show your weaknesses.”
I was considering her advice, when we reached the car and Sandra stretched out her hand, palm up. I stared down at it, puzzled.
“What?”
“Give me the keys. I’m not letting you drive and kill us both. Have you had anything to eat today?”
I shook my head. Blowing out a sigh, I fished for my keys inside my bag, then handed them to her.
“Where are we going?” I asked, climbing onto the passenger seat. I realized again how weak I felt because of the lack of food, water, and a complete emotional collapse.
“First, to a fast food joint. Then, we’ll see.” She started the engine and drove off, raising her eyebrows in appreciation.
“I like this baby. It’s a man’s car. Makes me want to dress in a suit and smoke a Cuban cigar, as I drive with the music blaring.”
I chuckled, letting my head fall back on the headrest. “Have you ever smoked a Cuban cigar?”
The question was rhetorical, so I was surprised when she replied, “Sure. Honey, I’ve done just about everything you can think of. I like new experiences.” She waited a beat, then asked, “So, where is Blake? Has he seen the newspaper?”
All at once, I felt dejected again. “He must have, by now. I spent the night at his house, and then this morning I was in the kitchen, waiting for pizza. Blake was upstairs. As soon as I saw the newspaper, I bolted without a word. I don’t know what I was thinking. He tried to call me, but I switched off my phone.”
“He must be worried sick, poor guy,” she said reproachfully. “You’re such an idiot. This man seriously cares about you.”
I gazed out the window, listlessly. Deep in my heart, I knew she was right. After having time to think about the whole situation, I knew Blake would support me. I realized now Richard had made those statements to the press out of spite, because Blake and I were really good together. It must be eating at him slowly—my success, the fact that I was happy. Most of all, he must be consumed with jealousy now that I had a real man by my side. But the question still lingered in my mind, like a nagging pain one can’t exactly locate: “Am I woman enough for Blake?”
A cheeseburger, fries and a large Cola later, I was feeling more energized. I still hadn’t mustered the courage to switch on my phone and call Blake, even though guilt gnawed at me. I knew he must be out of his mind with worry. On top of that, I had abandoned Duke too, burdening Blake with another responsibility. Today was definitely the worst day of my life.
When we climbed back into the car and left the burger joint, Sandra was still behind the wheel. I was leaning back in the passenger seat, but when I saw the route she was taking I became alert. This wasn’t the road to Malibu.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“To show the world how false the tabloid gossip is. Mark’s having a party to celebrate finishing filming.”
I gaped at her. “Are you crazy? I can’t go to a party!”
She shot me a look. “Oh, yes, you can. But for God’s sake, do something with your face first,” she said, dumping the contents of her small black bag in my lap.
I stared dumbly at the pile of cosmetics, but didn’t touch them. “Sandra, I really can’t go to a party. I’m a mess, both emotionally and, as you pointed out, aesthetically.”
“Listen,” she said on a long breath. “I’m not asking you to wiggle your ass all night long. I just think it’s best you make an appearance and act naturally, to settle all the nasty rumors. We’ll only have a couple of drinks and then I’ll drive you home. After that, I’ll take a cab to get me back to my car. It’s still in the parking lot at the mall.”
“Geez, I haven’t even thought of that. I’m so sorry. I totally screwed up your day.”
“Don’t worry about that. Just put on some makeup. Trust me, it’s better you’re visible today and show off your sexy, charming self.”
“Right. I’m a train wreck.” With a heartfelt sigh, I picked up a tube of mascara. “What will I tell those who ask why Blake isn’t with me?”
“You say he’s too tired, or he has the flu, or whatever. The important thing is for you to make an appearance, and be sure to look your best.”
“Fat chance of that,” I muttered, gazing down at my wrinkled cardigan.
23
Mark lived in a mansion the likes of which I’d only seen in Boogie Nights and other such movies. If I had to use one word to describe the lush vegetation and the white building beyond it, I would use ‘flamboyant’. Or ‘decadent’. The long driveway was jam-packed with expensive cars. As Sandra drove on looking for a place to park my Rover, I could hear the music blaring inside. The deep sunset made the lights glaring in every window seem brighter. I felt as though I was walking into a luxurious Parisian brothel.
We parked and climbed out of the car, then Sandra dragged me to the twin front doors. After a couple of steps I stopped, filled with panic and anxiety.
“Sandra, wait. I can’t do this,” I said, squeezing her hand. “I don’t want to. I should be with Blake right now. He must be out of his mind with worry.”
“We’ll give him a call after we leave. Half an hour, that’s all we need.” Seeing I wasn’t budging, she turned to face me. “Kendra, as your friend I truly think this is the best way for you to treat this situation. The more you hide, the more people will gossip. It’s like a doctor’s appointment,” she said, fluffing her hair. “The sooner you get it over with, the better. Then you realize it wasn’t that bad. Go in there, smile and chat, and if anyone mentions the story in the tabloids, just shrug, giggle and say it’s just one more dumped guy who’s trying to make a buck by spreading lies about the rich and the famous, only because in real life he’s a loser with a tiny dick.”
“Well, that much is true.”
“See? You don’t even have to lie!” she exclaimed, grinning. “Now, come on. Half an hour to laugh this crap off, then you’ll call Blake.”
I started walking again. Sandra was my friend. She only wanted to help, and if she thought this was the best way to resolve this mess, who was I to argue? It wasn’t as if I had a better plan.
I had to stop myself from gaping when we walked into the house. I don’t know which was more dizzying: the music—extra heavy on the bass, or the wall of people enveloping us from every direction. The room we stepped into seemed bigger than any theater, and every inch of it was full of men, women, and teenagers, of all shapes, races and ages. To my horror, I even spotted an alligator-sized lizard crawling on a sofa, next to a guy who was snorting some white powder off a coffee table. Next to him, two women were kissing and groping one another, only half dressed and getting more naked by the second. I stared in shock at this scene straight out of Sodom and Gomorrah
, but no one else seemed to pay attention. I don’t suppose this was anything special in this palace of sin, where tonight anything was allowed.
Someone bumped me from behind, spilling the contents of his glass all over my back. I lost my grip on Sandra’s hand, then in a second I was swallowed by the crowd. Soaked in booze, I made my way through the mass of people, wondering what Sandra had been thinking. No one here had even heard of me, let alone cared what the tabloids wrote about me. I looked around for her, but she was nowhere in sight. I was on my own.
The best thing was for me to find a couple of people I knew, make sure they saw how fine and dandy I was, convince them the tabloid story was a big fib, then get the hell out of there. I frantically searched for a familiar face, trying to glide among the dancing people who surrounded me. My head was pounding from the loud music. Someone—a waiter or caterer—shoved a glass of champagne into my hand.
Providence must have heard my desperate inner shout for help, because suddenly I bumped into Denise. She was staggering from another corridor, holding a pink cocktail glass in one hand and a joint in the other. She was wearing a minuscule sparkly tank top and an even smaller skirt. It took me a couple of seconds to recognize her beyond the screaming slutty makeup, but when I did, I grabbed her arm and pulled her to one side.
“Hey, Denise, how are you doing?” I said, smiling brightly as I attempted to gauge how drunk or stoned she was. It wasn’t worth talking to her about the tabloid crap if she wasn’t going to remember anything the next morning.
“Heeey!” She stared bleary-eyed at me for a moment, then her eyes cleared a little. “Kendra, so glad you’re here, girlfriend! Come on, let’s par-tee!” she squealed, grabbing my arm and nearly burning me with the joint.
“No, wait. I... Just dropped by to say hi. Do you know where Mark is?”
She gazed around vacantly, as though expecting Mark to materialize from the walls. “Saw him at one time or another. Don’t know where he is now, but he’s a fucking excellent host, I’ll tell you that,” she said, waving the joint as a magic wand. Then she focused her gaze on me again. “Didn’t expect you to be here tonight.”
“Why not?”
“Well, I read that tabloid crap thingy. Not that anyone believes any of it,” she assured me, her speech a little slurred. “I mean, everyone thinks—and I agree—that you must be a firecracker in the sack, if Blake is so hooked on you. We all figured this wiener ex of yours is just insanely jealous and wants to make trouble for you. Like the serpent, you know.”
“Serpent?”
“Yeah, it’s in the Bible,” she said, peering down her nose at me. “This serpent guy, who turned out to be the devil, was trying to break off Adam and Eve. I guess he wanted Eve for himself,” she mused philosophically, taking a swig from her cocktail.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. I don’t know what kids nowadays learned in schools, but there had to be something wrong with the system. This was one Bible story I’d never heard.
“So, back to the point. Are you saying no one believes the story in the tabloids?” I asked, watching her insistently to capture her attention.
“’Course not! This is Hollywood, girl. You can’t possibly imagine what goes on around here, both in reality and fic-... fictionally,” she enunciated carefully. “I wouldn’t give it another thought if I were you.”
“Great. Thanks, Denise. Have fun!”
Before she could stop me, I escaped down the corridor the way she’d come. Maybe Sandra had a point, but I didn’t think I was going to find anyone sober here tonight, so any further efforts of saving face would be futile. I had to look for a way out, even if it meant climbing down a terrace vine. I was hoping for something less dramatic though, and in that hopeful spirit I opened the first door I came across. I regretted my decision immediately, because on the king sized bed was a naked couple—man and woman this time—in full copulation.
“Holy shit, holy crap!” I breathed, quickly closing the door behind me. I leaned against it for a moment, not sure if I was going to laugh, or cry, or both. The image of a hairy ass pumping away was burned into my retina. Surely one day this unfortunate adventure was going to be written for posterity in a book, but right now all I wanted was to get out of there and be with Blake.
“Something wrong?”
The voice coming from the darker end of the passage scared me out of my wits. The music wasn’t so loud here, so I was able to hear it clearly, even before I saw the man step out from the shadows. When I recognized him, it took all of my self-control to keep a poker face and not bang my head against the door.
“Danny. I didn’t expect to see you here,” I said, convinced my smile was faker than a pair of silicone boobs.
“I can say the same,” he replied, moving toward me, one eyebrow raised.
He looked as handsome as ever, dressed in a black silk shirt open at the neck and tailored black slacks. He was holding an almost empty whiskey glass in one hand. As he approached me, the unfamiliar glint in his dark, slightly blurry eyes made me think he’d had more than one drink tonight.
“So, where’s your boyfriend? Don’t tell me he left you because of that mean piece in the newspaper?” He gave me a reptilian smile that made my skin crawl. “Did you come here tonight to kill the rumors?”
There was something in his demeanor that made me want to take a step back. Since I was still glued to the door, I shifted and moved a bit backward, trying not to make it obvious I was ready to flee.
“Surely you know by now you can never believe what you read in the tabloids,” I said, taking a casual sip from my champagne. “In fact, it was the other way around with Richard and I—not that it’s any of your business.”
He laughed shortly, taking another step that brought him face to face with me.
“I could’ve bet you’d say that. All women are the same, always ready to badmouth the men who dumped them. This Richard admitted to cheating on you, because you didn’t like sex. He said you were frigid.” His breath smelled strongly of alcohol when he leaned closer and whispered, “Are you?”
My heart was hammering a warning tune inside my chest, but my voice sounded cool enough when I replied, “That’s none of your business either.”
“Oh, I think it is,” he said, tracing a finger down my cheek. “That explains a lot of things, why you were both hot and cold whenever I got close to you. You want it, but you can’t enjoy it, is that it? I bet Mister Hot-Shot Tyler can’t make you even damp. I heard he’s a faggot.”
My cheeks were flaming with fury by now. Some unidentified instinct urged me to get away from him, immediately. I slapped his hand away.
“You’re drunk. I’m leaving.”
“The hell you are.” He grabbed my arm and pulled me toward him so hard the champagne glass fell out of my hand. Danny threw his on the carpeted floor and pulled me close to him, whispering in my ear, “I’m going to show you what it’s like to be fucked by a real man. I’ve been wanting to do it for a long time, and you know what? I bet I can make you beg for more when I’m done.”
He clamped his hand on my jaw and pushed his tongue inside my mouth, cutting off the scream that remained trapped in my chest. I was frantically trying to free myself, but the more I struggled, the tighter he squeezed me. For the first time in my life I experienced true fear, as he dragged me deeper into the shadows. I couldn’t believe this was happening to me. It was surreal, yet I’d never been so terrified.
I fought him as hard as I could, becoming more frightened by the second as I discovered how powerful he was. He had my hands trapped behind my back in an iron grip, and with his other hand he kept my head in place, forcing my mouth to bear his brutal kisses.
I still hoped he wasn’t going to do more than that, but when he opened the door to a room and shoved me inside, my terror was justified. One hard push sent me sprawling onto the bed, even though it was quite far from the door. In the strong fluorescent light I saw his face clearly as he turned the key in the lock and
moved toward me. I knew then he was going to rape me.
Bracing myself, I let out a piercing cry for help, but to my horror, he only laughed and started to unbuckle his belt.
Walking toward me with the confidence of a predator, he said, “You can scream all you want. Do you really think someone will hear you? Or if they do, you think anyone here is sober enough to give a fuck?”
A sob escaped me. This couldn’t be happening to me, it couldn’t. I scrambled off the bed, hating myself for sounding so scared.
“Danny, please, what are you doing? I thought you were my friend. Please, stop this!”
In two strides he was next to me. The next moment he backhanded me so hard I landed back on the bed. It took a few seconds for my dazed brain to register the pain. When it did, I almost fainted. One corner of my mind remained lucid enough to wonder how a single blow can hurt so much. Where was the adrenaline one was supposed to produce in such moments? I’d always believed that, if a woman is attacked, there’s always something she can do, like hit her rapist in the testicles, scratch, fight, anything to keep it from happening. I always had arguments for those who claimed a man’s physical strength surpassed a woman’s by far, no matter how strong she was.
Yet here I was, numbed by pain and fear, able only to utter pitiful sounds, as Danny bent over me and tore off my T-shirt. I wasn’t wearing a bra, so in a second my breasts were bare and defenseless. Like in a nightmare, my legs felt rubbery, my entire body weak, unable to coordinate. I was helpless, and he knew it.
“Do something!” my mind screamed. “For God’s sake, don’t let this happen!”
He was groping my breast mercilessly, hurting me. His knee had separated my thighs, and he was savagely tugging my jeans down. He’d already unzipped his pants. In a moment it would be too late. I had to do something now.
I managed to yank one hand from his grip and raked my fingernails down his face as hard as I could. At the same time, I let out an almighty scream. That made him really mad. Through streaming eyes I saw him grit his teeth. He raised his hand to hit me again, and I thought, “This is it. I simply can’t stop him. He can do anything he wants to me, and I can’t stop him.”