MOVIE STAR

by Pamela DuMond

  “We’ll discuss,” he says. “Let’s get you settled into your room.”

  I follow Jake up three flights of wooden stairs, the laughter and noise fading in the background. We walk down a long carpeted hallway until we reach a room tucked away at the very end. “Welcome to your slice of sanity.” He inserts an old-fashioned key in the lock, opens the door, and gestures for me to enter first.

  I walk in. The suite is bigger than my living room. There are whitewashed plank floors, white walls, and a white wrought iron bed sits in a far corner. Large, overstuffed furniture – a sofa, a loveseat, a few chairs casually rest here inviting occupants to sit back and take in the view over a canyon.

  Jake walks to the window and pushes the paned glass open a few inches. “Come here,” he says.

  I stand next to him. A breeze wafts in carrying hints of sage, eucalyptus, and citrus.

  “What do you see?”

  “A gorgeous, spread out city with pockets of country. Bright lights, broken up with slices of canyon darkness. A ginormous, glorious mish-mash.”

  “Yup,” he says. “L.A.’s funny. When I first got here I thought I’d never call this place home. Home would always be New Mexico.”

  “Do you still feel that way?”

  “I don’t know. It’s been fourteen years. Sometimes L.A. feels like home. Sometimes it doesn’t. I’m not quite sure if I belong here or not.”

  A look comes over him. Something haunted.

  Traces of something stir in me. My heart beats faster. Not from excitement. Not from anticipation. From fear. Unease twists in my gut. I’m finally picking up on Jake. I’m just not exactly sure what I’m picking up on. “Hey,” I say and touch his shoulder.

  He blinks, looks down at my hand, and I can practically see his subconscious retreating. “I’m waxing all nostalgic and you probably think, ‘Jeez this guy’s an entitled douche. Can’t he just give me a little privacy and some downtime?’”

  “I was not thinking that.”

  “Maybe you should be.” He grabs my suitcases. “Where do you want your bags?”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “It’s part of your Welcome to L.A. night,” he says. “Take me up on it. I’ll probably never be this nice again.”

  “I doubt that. Closet?”

  “Closet it is.”

  I stare out at the lights below. I’ve only been in L.A. a few hours and I already know the problem isn’t going to be that Jake Keller’s thoughtless or an asshole. The problem is he’s good-hearted, laid back, and kind. He went from warm to nostalgic to guarded in ten seconds flat. Not enough to give me emotional whiplash but fast enough for me to take notice.

  Jake Keller fits the profile of the perfect victim. The guy people take advantage of. Someone with crazy talent who in spite of his being a smart-ass is generally trustworthy. The kind of person a predator, narcissistic asshole takes advantage of.

  I can almost see the writing on the wall. Someone screwed this guy over and he’s shutting down because that is the only way he knows how to survive. My determination to help him, heal him, is renewed. Now it’s just a matter of getting comfortable in his life, making him comfortable with me, cracking him open, finding the wound, dissecting it out like the alien he joked about.

  This would be three years worth of work for your average shrink. I wish I boasted a doctorate in psychology but I don’t. I’m just a 21st Century Courtesan and I need to crack this man open in a few weeks to a month. It doesn’t matter that I’m tired. I need to shower, change clothes, and get to work. Healing waits for no one.

  He reappears. “Want anything? Food, clothes, help making the bed? Although the maid shows up a few times a day. You have a private bathroom. Everything’s in there should you have forgotten anything in your travels. And,” he fumbles in his pocket and hands me a keyring. “Here’s your key.”

  “Thank you.”

  “See you downstairs?”

  “Absolutely. I’ll freshen up and be right down.”

  “Things are going to get busy around here. Got a new movie coming out. In case I forget to tell you.” He looks at me. His eyes sweet. His lips full. Something about the way the smell of citrus mixing with lavender as it sifts through my room smells like hope mixed with dreams mixed with heartache.

  “What?” Somewhere in the mish-mash of Jake’s emotions, somewhere in this juxtaposition of city and country, lying deep within the slashes that separate bright and dark is a real man, a real hero, not just an image projected onto a screen. A chill of determination spreads down my arms because I know this isn’t going to be an easy ride. I know shit has happened to him. But I also know I am determined to find him.

  “Thanks for coming to L.A. to help me,” he says. “I appreciate it.” He turns and leaves the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

  The mega-shower in my bathroom has six heads with rotating jets. It pulses hot, throbbing water on my too tight shoulders and I lean into their beat. The jets pummel the sore area between my shoulder blades that seized up last night after I found the box of hair on my bed. After I discovered some asshole had violated me.

  In my rush to get here I had placed being violated on the sidelines. But here they are demanding attention, their jagged edges begging to be butterflied back together. The problem is when you’re a caregiver, too frequently you put your own needs on the back burner.

  ‘Bad news. The violation’s not going to go away overnight,’ Queasy says.

  ‘Good news. Jake Keller’s a decent guy. You’ll figure out what broke him. Relax,’ Hope says.

  I stretch my shoulders, my ribs, and my back. I lean against the pretty sea-colored mosaic tiles. I dial up the jets to strong, the water pummeling me as I shake off the jet lag and wake the hell up. I’m still on central time, but two hours isn’t that huge of a difference.

  When it dawns on me my weariness might be more from the violation and less from the time change. The water pulses on the small of my back and the tight muscles finally relent. If Dylan never gets around to asking me to marry him, I swear I’m going to propose to this shower and slip a ring on it.

  I turn off the faucet and reluctantly step out. I grab a bath sheet, dry off, and wrap it around me. I sample from the variety of body moisturizers on a shelf built into the wall. The first smells of vanilla. The next lemon. The third something herbal, more intriguing. I pick number three, pour the concoction in my palm. I drop the bath sheet, and smooth the lotion over my warm skin. Grabbing the towel from the floor I dry off my hair and walk back to my bedroom.

  A man is standing there.

  “Nice to finally meet the girl with the magic touch,” he says.

  5

  Pretty Doll

  PRETTY DOLL

  Adam, the metro guy from the party sits on the bed in front of me. I’m naked and his gaze roams over me. He creeps me out.

  “Have we been introduced?” I ask, wrapping the towel tightly around me. “Or is this the part where I call security?”

  “No need to call security, darling. This is the part where you thank me for getting you this job. I’m Adam Bachman. Jake’s producing partner.”

  “Call me Evelyn.” I walk cautiously into the bedroom instructing the goose bumps on my body to calm the hell down. I can handle loose boundaries guy. I’ve handled his type before. Besides, if he puts a hand on me he’ll get two fingers in his eye so fast he’ll be lucky if he sees again. “Awesome meeting you,” I say. “I thought Ray Stark hired me.”

  “I was the one who talked him into it.” He pats the bed next to him. Upon closer reflection he’s patting clothes laid out on the bed.

  My clothes. Jeans. A cute top, and a nude bra.

  ‘Oh, crap,’ Queasy says.

  After what happened yesterday maybe I should make a run for it. But adrenaline, the bitch queen of fight and flight, smacks a 12-gauge needle into my heart. It’s all I can do not to punch this guy. “You’re making me uncomfortable, Adam.” I lift my chin and pick up the
clothes.

  “Sorry.”

  But he’s not sorry. He watches me too intently. He’s looking for a reaction. He’s sizing me up, waiting to see how I’ll handle his indiscretion. My heart’s pounding like the drums in a symphony’s big finale. My cheeks warm with blood flooding into them but he could mistake that for me just stepping out of the shower. “I’m going to bet, Adam, you’re not sorry because you let yourself into this room uninvited.”

  “Good call,” he says.

  There’s no sexual vibe between us. He regards me like I’m a pretty doll stuffed onto a shelf that suddenly decided to speak.

  “How did you get in here?”

  “Jake gave me a key to this suite a few years back when I crashed here after a bad breakup.”

  I head to the walk-in closet where Jake left my suitcase. The lid is open, the contents neat, but re-arranged: the tops mixed in with the skirts and pants. I drop the towel and shrug on the clothes he picked out.

  “Whatever you think you know about me rethink that,” I say. “I’m here on business. No time for games.”

  ‘For fuck’s sakes,’ Queasy says executing flip-flops in my stomach. ‘Cop an attitude or he’ll continue dicking you around.’

  “Is this how you normally treat Jake’s business associates?” I ask. “You’re a liability, dude. Jake will dump your trespassing ass.”

  “He’ll never do that. Besides, we’ve been best friends since we were kids.”

  “He has handlers.”

  I walk through the suite to the bathroom without meeting his eyes. “Handlers realize when best friends who are producing partners have worn out their welcome. And then they handle it.”

  ‘Oh, snaps,’ Queasy says.

  I open my makeup bag, squeeze foundation onto my fingers, blending it on my face and wonder how long it will take Mr. No Boundaries to join me in the bathroom. Three, two, one…

  He hoists himself up on the blue and yellow patterned Spanish pavers that comprise the countertop. “I’m doing you a favor, Cookie. Melody and her Pussy Posse were laying bets you’d come downstairs wearing something tragically inappropriate.”

  “The thirsty brunette with the too short skirt?” I dab on blush because I could use some color and I need to keep my hands moving cause they’re still a little shaky. I also need to get downstairs and go to work. I’m not getting paid a fortune to relax in a swanky suite with sweeping views of L.A. I didn’t travel 2000 miles to play petty power politics with Adam No Boundaries Bachman.

  “The same,” he says. “They’d snap pictures of you wearing what they thought was basic, or last year. They’d post that shit everywhere, try and shame you before you even hit the ground running.”

  “Good to know the welcome wagon’s up and running.” I swipe on eyeshadow, then liner, the shake in my hands evening out because I’m starting to feel like Adam’s not going to hurt me. He’s just going to irritate me to death one detail at a time.

  “Letting myself in was an intervention, really,” he says. “An act of kindness. I checked in on you in the shower. You seemed to be enjoying yourself, so I took the liberty of picking out your clothes for tonight’s party. FYI, I might be an ass, but I’d never do anything to hurt Jake.”

  ‘Admirable,’ Queasy says. ‘Ditch this loser.’

  ‘Learn something,’ Hope says. ‘Then release him to his higher good.’

  I reach for my mascara but Adam beats me to the punch, handing me the tube. “Thank you,” I say.

  “Welcome.”

  I brush it on. “Besides the wardrobe advice, why are you here?”

  “I wanted to talk with you alone. Explain Jake’s situation. Obviously, I heard about you through people that travel in big money circles.”

  “Yes?” I drag styling crème through my hair.

  “You help powerful men figure out the thing that screwed them up. You spend time with them, get to know them. Eventually you fuck them and they have a mysterious, magical breakthrough. Get their mojo back. And I thought if it works for those other guys, why not Jake?”

  “But it doesn’t work like that.” I sigh. “There is no magic bullet. Besides, I’m not required to have sex with my clients. It’s not a given.”

  “Get out. Sex isn’t a given?”

  “No. I’m not a prostitute.” I walk out of the bathroom and pluck sexy slingbacks from my open suitcase. I sit on the bed and put on the shoes. “I decide who I do what with. And honestly? I’m damn picky.”

  He plunks down next to me. “How do you justify being picky considering the money you’re paid?”

  “How do you justify trespassing into my room? How do you justify talking Ray Stark into hiring me?”

  “Do you know how many people Ray’s hired to help Jake Keller?”

  “No.”

  “Me neither. I’ve lost count. There was the yoga guru – Baba What’s His Name. He downward dogged Jake, opened his chakras, taught him how to chant Sanskrit.”

  “Yoga can be healing,” I say. My phone pings wildly.

  “Healing. Ha. Right,” He rakes a hand through his cropped auburn hair.

  Mr. No Boundaries’ bravado is melting like a sno cone dropped on a sidewalk on a hot summer day.

  “Jake nailed his audition for the guy who traveled to India, lived in the slums for two years, and was enlightened. Then he started a tech company, became a zillionaire, and opened free health clinic for the poor.”

  “Good for him,” I say, staring at my phone. My sister has texted. Oh, man, I hope everything’s fine with Mom.

  “Jake turned the part down,” Adam said. “He turned down a ten million dollar acting fee because he didn’t ‘feel like it.’ It wasn’t ‘in him.’”

  Ruby: Luke went back to his wife.

  “Oh,” I say. “I take it this is an ongoing problem?”

  “Yes. It’s one of the reasons why you’re here,” Adam says.

  “Got it,” I say scrolling on my phone.

  Evie: I’m sorry. There will be more guys. I promise.

  Ruby: Luke told me they were definitely divorcing.

  “I was shocked when Jake took the priest role in The Messenger movie,” Adam says. “Considering everything that went down when we were kids.”

  “Right,” I say.

  Ruby: He told me that a hundred times.

  Evie: It’s not easy.

  This flurry of texts is all about Ruby’s love life. No reference to Mom which means she’s okay, thank God. I know she’s not thrilled I delayed our vacation. Change can set her off.

  Ruby: He even met with an attorney.

  Evie: I’m sorry, honey. I’m working. Can we talk about this IRT on the phone soon?

  Ruby: Yes. Whatever.

  “The nutritionist to the stars thought Jake’s indecision was due to chemical imbalances in his diet,” Adam says. “He taught Jake how to make kale smoothies.”

  “Kale’s awesome.” I check my next message.

  Amelia: How’s it going in L.A.?

  Amelia: Is Movie Star as hot as we think?

  Evie: Going OK.

  Evie: Yeah, GF - super hot!

  Evie: Especially his ass.

  “Apparently kale’s good for everything except fixing Jake,” he says. “The nutritionist to the stars tried but failed.”

  There’s something wistful in Adam’s tone. He’s looking more and more like a lost puppy and I’m starting to not hate him.

  Evie: In the middle of work. Talk later?

  Amelia: ’K. Have a great time.

  Amelia: Don’t forget your roots.

  Evie: Had my hair done before I left.

  Amelia: Not those roots, weirdo.

  Amelia: You know -- where you’re from.

  Evie: If I forget where I’m from I’m sure you’ll tell me how to get back there.

  Amelia: Ha.

  Evie: Chat tomorrow?

  Amelia: Can’t wait to hear all!

  I shove the phone in my jeans back pocket. “I need to work
,” I say, snagging the key from the bureau. I stop at the door and look back at Adam who now looks like a puppy that’s been abandoned in the rain. Sad eyes, droopy shoulders.

  “Come on,” I say. “Let’s go. There’s beer and pizza downstairs.”

  “Hear me out.” He stands. “You’re another consultant. Another hired hand to help Jake. Whatever it is that you do, please be the one that fixes him.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “I hate seeing him like this. I haven’t seen him like this in a long time. Whatever this thing is, it’s ripping him up.”

  “I’ll try, Adam.” I hold the door open and he follows me into the hallway. I shut the door behind us and check the lock. “I want my key back,” I say, holding out my hand.

  He pulls it from his pocket and places it in my palm. “I’m sorry.”

  I could hold onto my anger longer. After all, he trespassed. He crossed boundaries. He was an asshole. But I called his bluff, he took a few steps back, and this is a step toward détente. “Apology accepted. But you’re buying the beer.”

  6

  Shark Eyes

  SHARK EYES

  Downstairs the party’s still popping. Adam plucks a cold brew from the refrigerator, cracks it open, and hands it to me.