Sharleen seemed to let that sink in. “Well, what should I do?”
“Just look at him like this and say, ‘Don’t speak to me that way ever again.’ He’s a bitch, but he’s not stupid. He’ll stop on a dime.”
“Well, maybe for you and Lila, but not for me.”
Jahne stared at her. Boy, oh, boy, the nice-girl, modest-little-homespun act was wearing pretty thin. Then Jahne looked at Sharleen more closely. Was she kidding? This hillbilly bit was unbelievable, but could it possibly be true?
“Sharleen, don’t you know?” Jahne asked her gently.
“Know what?”
“Know that you’re the biggest sensation since talkies. You’re it! Right this minute, there are girls cutting their hair like yours, trying to buy a jacket like yours. Women are naming their babies Sharleen after you. Don’t you get it?”
“Oh, come on.”
“Well, they are.” Jahne took a breath. “Don’t you read the newspapers? ‘Sharleen’s Three Beauty Tips for Teens.’ ‘Sharleen Smith models a dazzling new wardrobe!’ ‘How to be like Sharleen Smith.’ Don’t you see the magazines? Sharleen, you’re about as hot as a star could get right now.”
“Well, me and Dean don’t get out much, and neither of us is much of a reader.”
“Sharleen, I think you should know what’s happening. We’re a phenomenon. Like Garbo.”
“Who’s he?”
“You don’t know Garbo?”
“Don’t think I recollect him. Was he one of the Marx Brothers?”
Jahne laughed out loud. “How old are you?”
“Nineteen.”
Jahne sighed. “Sharleen, you’re very, very popular now. And people already want to know everything about you. Like the Laura Richie woman. All the columnists. The woman’s magazines. People. Entertainment Weekly. They want to eat you up. What you have for breakfast, how much you weigh, where you shop, what your favorite color is.”
“But why?”
“That, my dear, is the riddle. Maybe people are lonely, or bored, and we give them something to do. Or maybe we seem like their neighbors, their community, if they have none. Some people just need to look up to someone. Be interested in someone. Maybe they hope for our good luck. And other people just need to look down on someone. Maybe they feel superior when we have bad luck. So, for whatever reason, a lot of people are really interested in you. They see you on TV, they like how you look and what you say, and they want to know more.”
Sharleen looked upset. “But what I say on TV ain’t my words. The script says them.”
“I know, but people who watch don’t always make the distinction.”
“But I don’t want people messin’ around trying to find out everything about me!” Sharleen cried.
“Well, you can’t have everything. You got money and fame. You can’t have privacy as well.”
Jahne saw the color drain from Sharleen’s perfect face, and something very much like terror welled up in her eyes. The poor kid really had no defenses. For a moment, Jahne felt enormous pity for the girl. After all, if this had happened to you fifteen years ago, she told herself, you wouldn’t have known how to handle it, either; maybe you don’t now.
“Sharleen, it’s not so bad. You just have to be careful in interviews and be sure to be discreet in your private life.”
“Like what do you mean?” Sharleen raised a hand to her forehead for a moment, almost as if warding off a blow, and Jahne saw that the hand was shaking. Jesus, what could a simple kid her age have to hide?
“Well, be careful whom you trust. Be really careful with journalists like that Laura Richie. Don’t tell your secrets to just anyone on the set. Be careful whom you sleep with. Don’t pick someone who might sell his story to the press for a thousand dollars. Don’t keep a diary, don’t trust waiters or hairdressers or your cleaning person. Things like that. They could be reporters.”
“What if I already haven’t been so careful?” Sharleen asked.
That night, after her talk with Sharleen and the long drive home from Pasadena, Jahne had trouble sleeping. But it was a relief to be alone. Sleeping with Michael, like sleeping with Pete, wasn’t really working. Despite his kindness to her, and his gift, she had to admit that she didn’t feel deeply about him. Plus, she didn’t really have time for a sex life and a career. The irony of it was not lost on her: now that she was at last desirable, she had no time for it. Between her evenings with Michael, her thoughts about Sam Shields, and her tension from the set, Jahne hadn’t slept well for several nights. And she couldn’t afford to miss sleep, to look haggard. But since seeing Neil Morelli waiting tables, waiting for his turn at the mike, she just hadn’t been sleeping.
Seeing Neil had been awful. She wanted to run up to her old friend and put her arms around him, comfort him, and tell him how wonderful life had become for her—which, as Jahne Moore, she couldn’t do. But she also wanted to run from the place, hide under a blanket, shut it all out, as if that would make it less humiliating for Neil. Of course, she had read about the cancellation of his pilot in the trades, and she’d seen him working Ara’s party, but when she couldn’t track him down she’d assumed he had returned to New York and picked up where he’d left off. To be honest, she’d hoped he had gone back, so neither of them would have to be going through what she was going through now. Feeling helpless, and sad. And very worried about her old friend.
Neil was no good at handling adversity. And he had already had plenty in his life. But seeing him made her realize that, for Neil, there could be no going back. He had always been a bridge-burner, while she’d been conservative, an appeaser. Of course, she’d burned her bridges since then. Well, now, she thought, we have more in common.
She tossed and turned for several hours. She knew what she had to do—the idea had come to her sometime before dawn—and now that it was morning, she was dialing Sy Ortis’ office. “It’s Jahne Moore. Can I speak to him?” she asked politely.
She didn’t have to wait. “Hi there. All set for your Birth of a Star screen test? They want to see you. But I still say it’s a waste of time. I have at least three better scripts right here.”
She felt her stomach flutter. So, April had given her a callback! She felt herself flush with pride, followed by nerves. Well, she’d have time to get herself together. “Yes, but…”
“I don’t know why you’re interested. It’s a nothing. You know that?”
“Of course. But, Sy, right now I’m calling because I need a favor.”
“Just name it,” Sy Ortis said, as she knew he would. The show, she and Lila and Sharleen, all were hot right now. Now, when she didn’t really need favors, she had only to ask.
“There’s a guy in town, a stand-up comic. I saw him, and I think he’s got a lot of talent. I’d like you to get him a guest shot on Three for the Road, Sy. He’s really good.”
“I’ll give it my best shot, Jahne. What’s his name?”
“Neil Morelli,” she said, and listened to the silence at the other end of the phone. It was a long silence. “Sy, what’s the matter? Ever hear of him?”
Sy found his voice. “Yeah, I’ve heard of him.” Sy paused again. “In fact, my office represents him. Or we used to. And, to tell you the truth, Jahne, I don’t know if getting him a job is the right thing to do. He’s more trouble than he’s worth. Temperamental, or maybe just mental, you know? A real Asshole. He made himself a few enemies from Chakras.”
Jahne wasn’t surprised. “Just do this for me, will you?”
“I don’t know, Jahne. It’s not like I’m the casting director. Grasso is in charge. Maybe they won’t want him.”
What bullshit! Jahne thought. As if Sy couldn’t push his weight around. She hated to act like a pushy brat, but she’d obviously have to. “Sy, listen to me. I had a very bad night last night, and I need to be at my best for my screen test. Now, you represent two of the three costars on 3/4. I say that gives you a little clout with Grasso. All I want is for Neil Morelli to get a s
pot on the show, maybe even a continuing. I’m not saying big. And as soon as possible. Make me happy, Sy.” Jahne hated pushing people around almost as much as she hated being pushed, but it seemed to be the only way to get things done out here.
“Let me ask you, Jahne. Who’s this guy to you anyway?”
Jahne had been afraid of this question, had even prepared an answer. “He’s a friend of someone I used to know. I owe her.”
“Like I said, I’ll give it my…”
Jahne was losing patience. “Like the Nike ad says, Sy: Just do it. This is the only favor I’ve asked of you since you landed me in your stable. Remember you said representation was a two-way street? Well, now it’s coming your way.” She went to hang up the phone, then thought better of it and added, “Thank you.”
Jahne leaned back in the armchair and took a deep breath. Why the fuck did everything have to be so difficult in this town? Such a big goddamned deal? Well, she’d done a favor for a friend. And she had her first screen test coming up. What did she have to bitch about? Things could be a lot worse.
The next afternoon, still on location in Pasadena, Sharleen was scheduled for shooting a small scene with Lila. Thank the Lord the Steadicam shot was in the can at last! Since Sharleen’s talk with Jahne the night before, she was feeling a little better about herself and her work. Rehearsing with Jahne was just what she needed. Meanwhile, she only hoped that Lila was in a better mood than she had been in yesterday.
Sharleen was walking to her trailer to get dressed when she saw an assistant come running up to Lila with one of the ubiquitous mobile phones that everyone used on location. “Miss Kyle,” he shouted breathlessly, “it’s Michael McLain!”
Lila turned and grabbed the phone out of his hand, motioning the kid away.
Sharleen froze in her steps. Michael McLain calling Lila? What could he possibly want with her? Sharleen walked up to Lila, who was hunched over a slant board, restlessly playing with a long twist of her hair. She heard Lila say something about taking a ride to a canyon. Sharleen gasped. He wouldn’t be mentioning how he took me to the canyon, would he? Sharleen’s mind was whirling. Or is he planning to do the same thing to Lila that he did to me?
She felt sick. Lila had been unkind to her, but not even Lila deserved this. As a Christian, what should Sharleen do? Sharleen moved in front of Lila. Lila looked up, then turned around, surprised to see Sharleen standing there. Everyone knew Lila was a nut about privacy, and no one went near her or her trailer without an invitation. “Excuse me for a minute, Michael,” Lila said with exaggerated patience.
Lila glared at Sharleen. “Just who do you think you are, standing there, listening to my telephone conversation?”
“Lila, I have to tell you…”
“You don’t have to tell me anything. Just get out of here and mind your own business. Go get ready for the shoot, and don’t screw up your lines like you did yesterday.”
Sharleen tried to speak again, but Lila turned away, and with the telephone glued to her ear she walked to her own trailer. All Sharleen could hear as she disappeared inside of it was Lila’s low-pitched laugh as she continued to talk to Michael.
Please, God, Sharleen prayed, don’t let him mention me to Lila, and don’t let him do anything to hurt her.
11
Hitchcock said it best: All actors are cattle. Ara Sagarian knew that, and over the fifty-one years of his career, it had helped him to deal with all of them, from a hysterical Claudette Colbert, to a raging Joan Crawford, to the tantrums of Sean Penn. The one thing he observed that all his clients had in common was that they all wanted what they couldn’t have. “Ahmon!” Ara sighed, mouthing the Armenian equivalent of “Oy vey.”
Look at Lila Kyle. Posters of her in every shop across the country, her face on half the women’s magazines and on all of the men’s. Truckloads of scripts, a whole department in Ara’s agency devoted to handling Lila’s endorsements alone, national and foreign interviews, even an invitation to the White House. Everything except a mention in Geraldo Rivera’s book, which she could have had and did not want, and a shot at April Irons’ remake of Birth of a Star. So of course it was the part in Birth that Lila wanted—and couldn’t have. Never enough! Ara was tired of the demands, and the demanding. Bagos—crazy. They were all bagos.
He lowered himself onto the downy cushions of the sofa in his office, sat with effort, and punched the speakerphone on the coffee table. “Put her through, Miss Bradley,” he said, and leaned back with a sigh, pulling his legs up to stretch out full-length. “Lila, my dear, how are you?”
“Did you get her?” Lila snapped. Lila had eliminated the courtesy of a greeting dozens of phone calls ago. For the past week, Lila had been relentless. All her calls to Ara—and there had been many, every day—were about one thing, and one thing only: her desperation for the part in the remake of Birth.
“She’s been in New York, Lila. I told you. When she comes back, she will call me. Rest assured, child.”
“I’m not your child!” the girl snapped. “Call her in New York, then. I mean, I can’t understand why she hasn’t called you. It’s not like there are no phones there, Ara. Doesn’t she know who you are? Maybe she never got…”
What, now Lila was going to teach him how to play the phone tag game? Ara had invented it. He could hear no more today. “Lila, darling, April is due into the office this afternoon. If I don’t hear from her by three, I will call her back. Now, be a good girl and keep yourself occupied till I call you. And think instead about the Ricky Dunn movie. That I like.”
“You’re not purposely fucking this up for me, are you, Ara? I don’t give a fuck whether you think it’s right for me or not. I want to see April Irons. I want that part.” Ara could picture Lila saying those words through clenched teeth. Tsk, tsk. Amazing that her enamel had not melted. He shook his head.
Ara knew what Lila really wanted. She wanted to have everything her mother had. Including him. Ara thought maybe Lila wanted to be her mother. “We’ll speak after three,” he said as gently as possible, more gently than he felt, and punched the speakerphone off.
Despite Lila’s desperation, or perhaps because of it, Ara had to stop himself from smiling. It reminded him of one of the oldest of Hollywood jokes—the starlet who begs and pleads and grovels for a part to no avail. At last, she promises the heartless agent that, if only she gets the audition, she’ll take his cock in her mouth and suck on it for as long and as hard as she can. “Yeah, but what’s in it for me?” he asks her. Ara had to laugh.
But it wasn’t a laughing matter: this girl couldn’t act. Surely she knew that. It wasn’t a tragedy. It wasn’t even necessary. Lila was beautiful, no doubt about it, and, more than that, she attracted attention. She had that undefinable something that made people want to watch her, to know more about her. She was like Elizabeth Taylor. All she had to do was pick the right vehicles and be there. It was enough.
But they never knew what was enough.
“It’s Miss Irons, Mr. Sagarian,” Miss Bradley’s voice came through the intercom a few moments later. Ara was still lying on the sofa. “Ench bede nem?” he murmured in Armenian to himself. What to do?
He punched on the speakerphone. “April, how was the Big Apple?” Ara asked.
“Like the Marine who went AWOL, it was rotten to the core.”
Ara chuckled. “I’ll forgive you that, April, if we can have a meeting of minds today. You know why I’ve called you—I outlined it in my fax. Birth of a Star. Lila Kyle.” Ara paused, and used the opportunity to wipe his mouth and mustache with his linen handkerchief. He’d had to use it less and less frequently now, thanks to the therapy he had been receiving at Cedars since his stroke.
“Oh, Ara. I hate to tell you this, but the part has just about been cast. We’re about to test the girl, and she looks good. Sam Shields is sold on her.” Ara could hear the regret in April’s voice. And why not? He had helped her in small but important ways on her rise. And in a couple of big ways, too
. He had no reason to disbelieve April. Ench bede nem? What to do?
Well, there was still hope. “Just about” left some room. “That does put me in a bit of a spot, April. It seems Miss Kyle believes that all she has to do is meet with you and you will jump to offer her the part. Seems to think it’s such a natural for her…and you. I can’t say I entirely disagree with her reasoning, since her mother did do the original.” He wiped his mouth again out of habit, even though it didn’t need it. “Who have you picked?”
“Funny enough, it’s a co-worker, Ara. Jahne Moore. You know, her costar on Three for the Road.”
Ara muffled his groan with the handkerchief. “And who for the James Mason part?”
“Michael McLain may sign.”
“I see what you’re doing. You’re taking a star on the decline, and someone on the way up. Nice yoking. So that it looks like you have two stars, right, April? But you only pay half for each.”
“I hope it looks that way,” she said with a chuckle.
“Then, my dear, why not consider Lila if you’re going with an unknown? What possible difference could it make who the unknown is? I mean, the publicity angle alone of casting Lila, the last star’s daughter, will be enough to ensure some box office.”
“Ara, honey, listen to me. I want seichel, not kitsch. There’s a rumor going around that Jahne Moore can actually act. We don’t want a personality, Ara, we want an actress.”
Ara sighed. “Of course, you’re absolutely right. But, as a favor to me, would you at least meet with Lila as if you were considering her? She has become so obsessed with this that I can’t get her to see how ill-suited for the role she may be. I need to get her focused in other directions, and she won’t take no from me.” Ara hated to do it, but he was tired. If he didn’t get Lila before the producer, then it would be his failure. But if he got her before the producer and she was rejected, then it was her failure. Ara usually tried to protect his people from that very thing, but he couldn’t protect Lila any longer. Maybe she needed a little rejection. Some humility. And maybe he was getting too old and too tired to keep up this charade.
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