by Tess Little
Tanya knew I needed to be confident. Tanya knew all the tricks. She befriended bouncers and chauffeurs, PAs and nannies, all the club promoters. And once she heard about the most exclusive parties, there was no way we weren’t getting in.
Knocking on limo doors a few yards from the house, so we could make the perfect entrance. Our car broke down and these heels are killing—would you be a sweetheart and take us up the last part of the hill?
Making small talk with a recognizable star, so the doormen assumed we were plus ones. Sorry to interrupt, but do you have a light?
Or simply marching right in. How are you? Tanya and Elle. Yeah, we’re on the list.
Tanya wanted to be an actress desperately, painfully. Afterward, whenever I thought back to that time, I had a feeling she only dragged me to L.A. so she could have a partner in crime: one who was younger, shyer, easy to eclipse. After making it past the door, we could tell—from who was speaking, how many people were listening—who our targets would be. And at that point, it was every woman for herself. Maybe I was prettier than Tanya, but she knew how to turn it on in a way that I could not. When to talk and when to shut up, how to flatter and how to flirt. Mostly, I watched and learned. Tried to imitate.
We managed to make a few connections with this modus operandi—some invites to audition; Tanya got two callbacks, some dates with execs. But we were young and naïve and there were hundreds of girls like us. Our résumés were fictitious and bare. Our headshots had been taken by one of Joe’s pervy friends, in the parking lot behind Food 4 Less. It never quite worked out.
Until Alto’s party. Until I borrowed Tanya’s gold dress. Until I walked down a staircase at just the right moment and a young, handsome British man was waiting for me at the bottom, manhattan in hand.
Sometimes I wondered—sometimes I still do—whether everything might have been different. If only it had been Tanya in that dress, on those stairs, and not me.
* * *
—
I had thought the upstairs bathroom might be more secluded—as, ironically, had others. The door was unlocked but there were two mourners inside, caught in a comforting kiss. They leaped apart. Sabine dashed past.
And there was Kei, holding open the door.
“I’m sorry, I had no idea there were people in…” I blathered. “I didn’t mean…”
“Dude, it’s fine. At least you’re not some undercover reporter.”
“Scout’s honor.” I crossed my heart.
She smiled and hugged me. “It’s good to see you without having to ignore you,” she said over my shoulder. “Want to talk in here?”
“Is that always your opening line?”
“Fuck off,” she said, laughing, as she shut and locked the door.
It was difficult not to warm to Kei; she seemed so friendly, genuine. On the other hand, I could not forget her difficulties with Richard. And she was undoubtedly benefiting from his death now: from the new Dominus audiences, from its critical reevaluation. What had she told me that night? When I’m lying in bed I envision all the recognition I might get.
“So.” I set down my glass and rested against the sink. “I didn’t realize you two were—but it makes sense, thinking back. I guess I was too wrapped up in my own drama to notice that evening.”
“Yeah.” Kei shrugged. “We’ve been together since the Dominus wrap party.” She rolled her eyes. “Cliché, I know. We’re keeping it on the down-low. Better box-office figures if fans can fantasize about Sabine as unattached. Buy her posters, gossip about who she is or isn’t dating. Her manager says we can be more open when she reaches ten million Instagram followers.” I couldn’t tell whether this was a joke. “Whatever, I don’t care, it’s good. Especially this last month—I couldn’t have gotten through any of it without her.”
“Cops went hard on you too?”
“I meant the whole thing, to be honest. The body, Richard.”
I smiled my empathy.
“Sorry, sorry,” she said. “My therapist tells me I need to put the brakes on this guilt. What did you ask? No, the cops didn’t go hard. Well, not on me. They asked about problems during production. Richard was always a bitch to me, and everyone on set knew it. But no matter how shitty he was, he was also supportive. Professionally. My biggest fan, you know. I could never…But Sabine got it really bad.”
“What do you mean?” The officers had not asked me about Sabine at all.
Kei ran her fingers through her hair. “It was fucking awful. The cops had this theory she was sleeping with him, that she was jealous that he wouldn’t leave Honey. Or that he had tried to coerce her into, you know, and she’d had enough of…They had no evidence, other than the fact that she’s gorgeous and he was directing her sex scenes. But they took her phone and laptop and read every message as a flirt. They logged records of meetings. I mean, of course she and Richard met up with each other, they were working together. I don’t think the cops understood, though. How the industry works. How it’s different in…I don’t need to tell you.”
This was an interesting theory, which had not crossed my mind. And it would have made sense: why Sabine would have attended such a small event, why she threw herself into the party. Her white dress, her cold shoulder.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “It must have been awful, not being able to say anything in her defense.”
“I know. Her fucking manager wouldn’t…Yeah, it was a nightmare.”
“But they dropped it?”
“They had to in the end. There was no evidence.”
I sucked in my lips.
“Look,” I said, “I don’t want to create any problems for you guys, but I feel I should mention, I saw Richard and Sabine at the party…”
“Flirting?”
I nodded, expecting Kei to press me for details, but she only laughed.
“It’s fine, I saw it too. Nothing’s ever happened between them. I mean, sure, Sabine is bi, and she does get pretty extroverted after a snort, but that’s just her messing around, joking. She’s loyal as fuck. She would never do that to me. Especially not with Richard—she finds him creepy. I mean, found. She found him creepy. And he knows we’re together—it’s why we were both invited to the party. Knew. Fuck.”
Maybe this was true. But it did not mean Sabine was innocent. She was still involved in the disagreements surrounding Dominus; she would profit from any box-office surge. And could I trust a defense that came from Kei, who was, quite clearly, enamored?
“I’m sorry I said anything,” I said. “I wasn’t trying to—I just didn’t want to see you get hurt.”
“I know,” she said. “I get it, I get what you’d think of Sabine. She was so cold when we first met, but I found out later it was nerves. You know, she really admires you. She told me. She does. But I think the European air makes her seem snooty. Then you see her dancing around after a few drinks, and you think, great, so it was me, she definitely hates me. But that’s not her at all. She just loosens up with alcohol.”
“Loosens up? She was dancing on the table and swimming in the bath.”
We laughed together, then stopped abruptly.
In the quiet, Kei spoke. “Feels weird to be talking about that night, doesn’t it?”
I wrapped my arms around myself. “You’re so lucky. To have Sabine. You know, I haven’t spoken about anything that happened that night, except with cops and lawyers.”
“Any thoughts on who did it?”
“None at all,” I said. “I want to think it was all just an accident.”
“Me too, but I have my suspicions.”
“Who?” I said. “Honey was passed out. Jerry, Sabine, and Miguel were asleep. I mean, I guess they could have woken up, but—”
“Honey passed out? Okay, he fell asleep later. But passed out? Who told you that?”
I froz
e for a second—then remembered. He had been lying facedown, arms cocked at strange angles.
“I saw him passed out,” I said. “I definitely remember—he was gone before Richard even got the gear out.”
“No way.” Kei looked at me, odd, folded her arms. “Don’t you remember him telling Richard not to do it? He hates dope, always has. He’s pretty straight edge when it comes to that. I think it’s his upbringing—like, he’s reserved in certain ways. Passed out? Nah, dude, he’s not a big drinker.”
It made no sense. Seeing my confusion, Kei unfolded her arms and came to hug me.
“It doesn’t matter anyway. Richard’s gone; that’s what we need to focus on today. Let’s meet up when all of this has blown over?”
“I’d like that.”
She pulled away.
“I’ll leave now, you must be desperate. Sorry for keeping you so long.”
As I watched Kei leave, it was there again: that chill creeping up my spine. It was so easy to trust her, a rare confidante. To think that, because of the ordeal we had been through, we were somehow bonded together.
I saw the way he treated you and Sabine, Kei had whispered to Charlie at the bottom of the stairs.
Part of me wanted to forget this. They had all attended Richard’s party; it couldn’t have been that unpleasant, filming Dominus. None of the rumors online of problems surrounding the shoot had involved Kei, Sabine, or Charlie. But another part of me could not forget it. Because I’d heard the hatred, the hurt in her voice. And I knew what Richard was capable of. I knew what he had done to me while filming Anatomy.
Things don’t have to be this way, Kei had said.
I locked myself in and was alone.
* * *
—
I suppose the fact that Richard was charming helped put me at ease when I first met him, at Alto’s party. I never thought he might be important—he was younger than most of the other men, though nonetheless secure in himself, in the crowds. He was funny, and educated, and his blue eyes caught the light, and for the first time since arriving in L.A., I had found somebody who was interested in me and my opinions. Golden girl, he called me, gesturing at my sparkling dress.
Nevertheless, I left the conversation after a few minutes with the manhattan in my hand and a sinking heart. Tanya was beckoning me. I thought she was going to scold me, maybe point out our next target: yet another gray-haired man in a black polo shirt with overly whitened teeth. But instead she hissed, “Richard Bryant? You’re trying to keep him to yourself? Introduce me, introduce me—don’t bogart him, you skank.”
Apparently, Richard had been profiled that month in a Vanity Fair feature on upcoming talent—he had won some award for an indie film. Not quite a box-office hit, but fresh and original. All the hallmarks of a future great.
“And he’s handsome and British, Elle—you’ve got to introduce me.” Tanya bushed up her hair. “Won’t even have to fake it.”
But when we went back inside, he was nowhere to be found. Tanya scowled her pink-frosted lips.
I saw Richard again later, by the pool, when the crowd had grown and the sky had darkened. I was sitting on a lounger, enjoying a solitary cigarette and studying the scene, when his face appeared in the space between two strangers. He had been watching me, watching the crowds. Neither of us smiled. The pool, the distance, prevented any conversation. We simply looked at each other.
And then I knew what I wanted. I wanted to mesmerize him; I wanted to pull him in.
I could hear my pulse in my ears. I stood, still meeting his eye. Then I did the one thing I had never done at one of these parties before: I turned and walked away.
A taxi was dropping a guest outside the house. I waved at the driver, threw myself onto the back seat.
“Where to?” he asked.
I told him to wait a second, a friend would be joining me. He tapped the meter. “Your dime, princess.”
It wasn’t. I didn’t have the money for it; I was down to my last ten dollars. But some part of me was sure Richard would follow. I could wait until the meter hit five dollars, and if he hadn’t arrived by then, I’d leave. Catch a ride with Tanya and her latest mark.
And so I waited. My heart was hammering. I tidied my hair, picked my nails. I avoided looking back at the house, maybe superstitiously, and fixed my eyes instead on the meter. It crept to four dollars. Four twenty-five. Four fifty. Four seventy-five. I felt sick. I watched it hit five. I caught the driver’s eye in the rearview mirror: He was watching to see if I would bolt.
I told myself Richard was just saying goodbye to the hosts. I told myself he would only be another minute. I told myself he probably hadn’t understood he was supposed to follow; I could go back and find him. The meter reached five fifty. Then I told myself that if he wasn’t following me, Richard wasn’t worth pursuing anyway. I unclipped my seatbelt and leaned forward to tell the driver. There were footsteps outside.
The taxi door clicked open.
“You waited,” said Richard.
I nodded, cool, but my heart was beating fast. He looked at me strangely—eyes narrowed, a measuring glance—then turned to the driver and gave his address.
As we pulled onto the road, Richard sat back. The driver turned up his radio.
“How far is it?” I asked, suddenly aware of his knee, warm, against mine. My legs were crossed, pressing tight together—my dress had ridden up my thighs.
“Fifteen minutes,” he said. “Aren’t we lucky?”
I almost couldn’t think about it: what would happen when we arrived.
“So,” he continued. “The golden girl. Just before your friend dragged you away, I’d given you my name and I believe you were about to tell me yours.”
“Elspeth Bell.”
“Elspeth…Good god. Where did you get an old Scots name like that?”
I shrugged, nonchalant. “It’s a family name.”
“Is that right? I never thought I’d meet an Elspeth in Shangri-L.A.” He rubbed his chin with his hand. “And you’re an actress, is that right, Elspeth?”
He was shockingly handsome, I realized. Not as a sum of parts, though those parts were beautiful—the cheekbones, the stubble, the eyes, the suit—but handsome as a person. The way he sat, the way he watched me, how quick he was to laugh. It was difficult to look at him, alone, in such close proximity. To hear the depth of his voice.
“Correct,” I said, pulling down the hem of my dress. “And you’re a filmmaker.”
We passed a row of streetlamps and the cab was illuminated. He raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. As I recall, we hadn’t quite broached that subject yet. An educated guess?”
“My friend, Tanya, told me. She knows everything about everyone—she’s like that.”
“But you aren’t,” he said.
“No, you’re right. I’m not.”
“You like getting to know people in a different way,” said Richard slowly, as if considering this for the first time. “You prefer to observe them surreptitiously, like when I caught you by the pool.”
“Maybe,” I said, calm, though his diagnosis had shaken me. I had never been scrutinized like this before. It felt like he had seen every inch of my body.
“I think that’s your technique, Elspeth. And I think you’re quite right to do so. You’ll learn much more that way. Is your friend an actress as well?”
I nodded.
“Well, of the two of you, Elspeth, I’d say your methods are far superior….” He caught my smile. “Wait—are you laughing at me?”
I hadn’t been, but the question tipped me over the edge. I let myself giggle, relaxed into it.
“You are, you’re laughing at me. What’s so funny?”
“How you use my name,” I explained. “It’s ridiculous. Only politicians and prostitutes use people’s names like that.”
/> “Like what?”
“Like a sales tactic, Richard.”
I was enjoying the moment. I was feeling clever. The tension between us—the unbearable anticipation—had weakened its hold.
He laughed. “A sales tactic. Okay.” He rested his arm on the back of the seat. Turned to face me fully. Then asked with a grin, “Is it working?”
“No.” I laughed. “Like I said, Richard, it’s too unnatural.”
He gave me the measuring glance again. Shrugged. “Well, I like it—laugh at me all you want. I like hearing you say my name.”
“If that’s what you want, Richard,” I said, meeting his stare, watching for his reaction.
Could he see the goosebumps on my arms?
Thinking back to that drive, fourteen years later, while I sat, abandoned, in the home we had made together, I knew what my mistake had been. I was young and inexperienced, but I had thought I held the power. Of course I did; Tanya and I had always seen ourselves as the manipulators, playing a game to get our way. I thought I was the magnetic one. I thought that he could not resist. And that misconception had taken root as our relationship blossomed. It became the lie that we both tried to maintain.
Richard was stronger, Richard was clever, but it was me who made him weak.
I could not see, in those early days, how he would twist this lie around—use it to justify his actions.
(Good girl.)
Of course, Tanya was furious when I saw her the next day. Even more so when I moved in with Richard, when I started working for him. It was never supposed to be me who made it. She was supposed to win a role first, walk the carpets, grace those glossies—and then, maybe then, she would find me some bit part, put me in touch with her contacts. The problem with Tanya was that she wanted success more than almost anything—almost. Just not enough to swallow her pride and envy. After I got the Anatomy role, every time we spoke she would go on and on about a fictitious “project in the pipelines.” She refused any offers of help. We saw each other less and less, then not at all.
