A-List #8, The: Heart of Glass: An A-List Novel (A-List)

by Zoey Dean

  BEN-HUR

  Why would you, a Roman and the son of a Roman, choose to help the Jew?

  MARCUS

  Because, good sir, I have my own brain and my own heart. I have seen your goodness, even after all that they have done to you. I make my own choice, to be here, now, with you.

  [BEN-HUR sees something true in the youth's eyes. He takes MARCUS by the shoulders, then embraces him.]

  BEN-HUR

  I would be honored, Marcus.

  That was the entire scene. But a two-shot with Jackson Sharpe---and an emotional one at that--was exactly the jump-start Parker's career needed. Who knew where it could lead? This was the kind of scene that could end up an Oscar clip. He could be watching it on TV next February. Hey, he might even be at the Kodak Theatre for the awards, with the rest of the BenHur cast, cheering Jackson as he was called to the stage.

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  This was his big break. He'd waited eighteen years for it. He would not blow it.

  Since Jackson was directing as well as starring, he sat behind one of the cameras with his director of photography, assessing the lighting, wearing a tunic similar to Parker's, though more ornate.

  A curvy assistant with a riot of curly black hair spouting from a ponytail on the top of her head came over and asked Parker if he needed anything--sparkling water, protein shake? He shook his head. And then, finally, he saw that Jackson was ready. He stepped out from behind the camera. His makeup was touched up, lint removed from his tunic, and his hair rearranged into Caesar-style bangs. Parker had the same haircut--he'd been shorn in the hair trailer at five-thirty that morning, after a fantastic breakfast at the craft services trailer and tent.

  Because, good sir, I have my own brain and my own heart. . .

  "Places, everyone! Ben-Hur, scene forty-three, take one," called the second assistant director. He held a slate in front of the camera so that the scene could be easily identified.

  "Quiet, please! Quiet on the set!" shouted a blond dreadlocked PA. That cry was picked up all around the set, until no one at all was talking. It was so quiet, in fact, that Parker could hear the sound of the horses breathing and whinnying.

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  And . . . action!"

  He mounted a small crest to where Jackson brushed one of the horses that would be pulling his chariot. Then he fed the other one a carrot.

  Marcus. I am Marcus. Not Parker.

  "If I might be of service?" he asked Jackson.

  Jackson turned. Wham. Parker felt the unexpected full force of the man's movie-star charisma.

  "What is it, Marcus?" Jackson asked.

  "I would be honored if you would allow me to help you prepare for the race, sir."

  Parker felt Jackson's eyes look him up and down, as if he might be carrying a dagger under his tunic. Jackson/Ben-Hur had to be thinking that Marcus might be an assassin. It was a novel interpretation, but thrilling.

  "Why would you, a Roman and the son of a Roman, choose to help the Jew?" Jackson asked.

  "Because, good sir, I have my own brain and my own heart. I have seen your goodness, even after all that they have done to you. I make my own choice, to be here, now, with you." Parker bowed slightly. If Ben-Hur was afraid that he might be a killer, it seemed the right thing to do.

  Jackson came close to him and looked him in the eyes. Then he embraced him with a show of love and respect. "I would be honored, Marcus."

  "And . . . cut!" The assistant director ended the scene. "Okay, back to one. We'll do it again. Same thing."

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  As he went back to "one," meaning the place at the bottom of the swale where he'd started out the scene, Parker thought the scene had gone quite well.

  They ran the scene four times, until Jackson was happy with his work.

  "That's a wrap!" called the AD. "Set for scene fifty-six! Thank you, Marcus!"

  "Nice job," some people called to him as he strode off the set. Parker had no idea whether or not they meant it. Suddenly, he felt just like another small-part actor. They probably didn't even know his real--

  "Can I have your autograph?" a voice squealed.

  He turned. There was Sam, grinning wildly in Diesel jeans and an aqua silk Stella McCartney shirt. "You kicked ass in that scene with my dad. I was watching on the monitors." She motioned to the producers' tent over to the left, where the film's financiers could watch the shoot and listen though headphones.

  Parker was thrilled. "You watched the whole thing? And you really think it went okay?"

  "I'm telling you, you were great. The camera loves you."

  Parker felt so relieved that he threw his arms around Sam and gave her a huge hug. "How can I ever thank you for this?" he whispered.

  "You know exactly how," she whispered back.

  He smiled. Tit for ... well, for tit. Although touching Poppy's was more than he hoped he'd need to do. At any rate, he was ready to fulfill his part of the bargain.

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  She took his arm as they walked across the set toward the so-called base camp, where everyone associated with the film parked their cars. "Day after tomorrow, you're shooting again, right?"

  "That's the schedule. Two more scenes. Starts early in the morning, like 4 A.M. They're supposed to finish by six--"

  "Perfect. Because my dad's throwing a party at our place. Turns out a few people who are doing cameos-- Tom Hanks, Jean Reno, Maria Bello--won't be around for the official wrap party next month. So he figures it's the least he can do. There'll be a zillion people. It'll be a great opportunity."

  "You mean--"

  "Hells, yeah. Come over and get to work. Let's see what the Stepmother from Hell is really made of."

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  Toga, Toga

  "Miss Sam? Would like some help with your toga?"

  The new maid, Marcella, stood at the door of Sam's twelve-hundred-square-foot suite.

  "Come on in and call me Sam." She reached around but couldn't seem to grasp both sides of the belt at her waist. "Could you just fasten the belt in the back for me, Marcella?"

  "Surely, Miss--I mean, Sam," she said softly. Marcella tightened the fabric belt that had come with the toga, which gave the black silk material some shape. It fell in graceful folds to her ankles, with a slit up one leg, which was just about as much of her thigh as Sam planned to expose, thank you very much.

  It had been Poppy's idea to make the party in honor of the cameo stars in Ben-Hur a toga party and hold it at her father's estate. Because of course the newly svelte, Bodhi yogafied post-baby-weight Poppy would look fabulous in a sheer toga.

  "Great." Sam smiled at the maid. "Thanks for the help."

  "Anything else?"

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  "Just welcome to my father's house. And good luck."

  "Thank you." Marcella slipped out of her room.

  That afternoon a small army from Party Central, Fleur Abra's newest party-planning venture, had turned their backyard--if you could call four acres, complete with pool, tennis court, putting green, and koi pond a "backyard"--into a virtual Roman coliseum.

  Of course, everyone was supposed to come in a toga.

  When she'd invited him, Sam had had a hard time explaining the concept of a toga party to Eduardo, but being the good sport that he was, he'd said he'd rent something from a costume shop. God knew Los Angeles had plenty of those. And tonight would be the night Parker would start making his move on Poppy. Sam couldn't wait for Poppy to expose herself as the cheater that Sam knew her to be.

  Sam eased herself to the center of her three-way, full-length mirror and checked out the rear view.

  "Sam? You look amazing!"

  Dee practically flew through the open doorway. She wore a darling pink toga the size of a postage stamp, sandals that laced up to her knees, and a garland of fig leaves around the crown of her head.

  "So listen," Dee said, perching her tiny butt on the edge of Sam's green marble vanity. "Jack couldn't come. There's some kind of crisis at Fox on some new reality show, and he'
ll be there until midnight at least. Does the name Marshall Gruber mean anything to you?"

  "Is it a rare African disease?" Sam moved to her

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  silver tray of perfumes and decided on a limited-edition Prada that hadn't yet been released to stores. "Is Marshall Gruber curable?" she asked, as she sprayed her pulse points.

  Dee giggled. "It's a person. The guy from Ojai who was my chaperone at prom?" she prompted. "Tall, skinny--"

  "Oh yeah. Napoleon Dynamite. The one you ditched so you could run off with Jack."

  Suddenly it all came back. Marshall had been the comic relief of an evening that hadn't ended comically. "He hooked up with someone on the beach right? Skye, maybe? I was pretty polluted--"

  "I think it was Skye, but whatever. Jack and I were already . . . busy."

  "Which is kind of out there, considering you had just met the guy."

  "Yeah, but who doesn't get wild on prom night?" Dee asked rhetorically. "Besides, for me and Jack it was this instant thing. You know. A thunderbolt of love."

  "Or else you'd been locked away in the funny farm for so long that anything male looked good."

  "Oh no," Dee insisted. "Jack and I are the real thing. Anyway, Marshall will be driving Aaron Steele down from the Ojai Institute. Did you ever meet him? Aaron, I mean, not Marshall."

  Sam shook her head. "I don't think so. His father used to be a good writer and then he lost it. I think it happened when he wrote that tell-all book dissing

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  everyone in Hollywood--like they were going to work with him after that."

  "Do you know if Skye will be here?"

  Sam grinned. "Skye plus Marshall equals you alone with Aaron?" she figured. "What about how you and Jack are soul mates?"

  Dee sighed. "I don't know. I think my soul might be expanding its horizons. So? Skye?"

  You're in luck. She is."

  "Miss Sam?" Marcella appeared once again in the doorway.

  "Yes?"

  "Senor Eduardo estd aqui. He is waiting downstairs for you. En la biblioteca. In the library. Also, your father wishes that I tell you the guests are arriving and the party is beginning."

  "Muchas gracias, Marcella. And por favor, Marcella. Please, lose the 'Miss' thing with me. Really. It makes me nervous."

  "Okay, Miss--I'm sorry. Okay, Sam."

  Marcella fled. Sam and Dee spent the next five minutes touching up each other's makeup, and then they went downstairs together. Sure enough, they found Eduardo waiting in Jackson's teak-paneled library. He looked elegant in his rented classic white toga.

  Eduardo kissed Sam's hand. "You are ravishing."

  "Oh!" Dee cried. "That is so romantic. Jack never tells me I'm ravishing."

  "That's because he is an American," Eduardo explained.

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  "He would sound ridiculous. The party is under way. Shall we?" He offered both Dee and Sam his elbows. "Mujeres y caballeras? Con migo,por favor."

  Sam and Dee took his arms; they wound their way through the house and down the steps from the deck to the backyard. The party had indeed begun. There were hundreds of people in various togafied states of dress and undress in the backyard.

  "Dee! There you are!"

  A guy Sam had never seen before jogged over to Dee and hugged her. He wore a white bedsheet knotted at one shoulder. Had to be Ojai Guy. Only someone without access to a costume shop would make a toga out of a sheet. He was tall and well built, with the perfectly naturally blond highlighted hair of a surfer.

  "Is it really you or am I dreaming?" the guy asked, staring at Dee.

  "It's me," Dee replied. "And I'm so glad you're here. Sam and Eduardo, I want you to meet my friend Aaron Steele. Aaron, this is Sam Sharpe. She's kind of our hostess, or at least her dad is. And this is her boyfriend, Eduardo Mufioz. He said Sam looked ravishing."

  Aaron laughed and shook Eduardo's hand. "I thought I was the only one who could say stuff like that."

  Dee shook her head. "Nope. You're American. You'd sound like an idiot."

  "I'm not American. If you asked my dad, he'd tell you I was from Mars," Aaron joked. "Sam, it's great to

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  meet you. I think your father paid for my father's Bentley."

  Sam laughed. She knew exactly what Aaron was talking about. Jackson had asked the immensely talented and immensely egotistical James Steele to do uncredited rewrites on two of his pictures--he'd gotten high six figures for about a week's worth of work.

  "Aaron! Aaron! The deal is that you have to be in my line of sight at all times." Marshall came loping over to them. Now that she saw him and heard his distinctive high-pitched voice, Sam remembered Marshall only too well. His Adam's apple was so large he looked as if he'd swallowed a Ping-Pong ball, and he was the only guest in sight not wearing a toga. Instead, he sported plain black trousers and a hideously tacky short-sleeved white shirt with a single chest pocket. There was no misidentifying him, either--around his neck hung a name badge identifying him as MARSHALL GRUBER, STAFF INTERN, OJAI INSTITUTE.

  Yet Aaron took his arrival in stride, even with impressive kindness. "Right, Marshall, sorry. But honestly? If I'm with Dee, you've got no worries. I know Dee. She's a rock."

  Huh?? Was he talking about the same Dee that Sam knew? Maybe Dee really was changing.

  "How about we dance?" Eduardo asked Sam. They excused themselves; he took her hand, and led her down the brick path to the dance floor. Earth, Wind, and Fire were doing a cover of "Since I Fell for You."

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  Eduardo sang softly in Sam's ear as he took her in his arms.

  She pulled back and looked into his eyes. "You can sing, too?"

  "I am a man of many talents," he teased, and pulled her close again. Over Eduardo's shoulder, Sam saw Anna dancing with Caine. Anna looked amazing in a long white gown, very simple, knotted under the bust. Caine looked like he'd rented his toga from the same costume shop where Eduardo had gotten his.

  "Interesting party," Eduardo went on. "Do you think anyone will really climb into the wine goblet?" Eduardo motioned to an enormous wine goblet filled with grapes that was set up off to the side.

  "No doubt. Some starlet will be first. She'll fling off her clothes to show off the boobs she paid for. Any publicity is good publicity in La La Land."

  "You have such disdain for the water in which you swim," Eduardo mused. "And yet you want to become a film director."

  "I won't be like them," Sam declared. Then she laughed and added, "Everyone says that."

  "I think it's possible," Eduardo encouraged.

  Sam smiled up at him. "I do too. I think. I hope." That is, if she weren't addicted to the attention and the swag that came with being Jackson Sharpe's semi-famous daughter. Who knew?

  "Are you chilly?" Eduardo asked solicitously.

  "I'm fine. I'm with you, aren't I?"

  They danced some more, until Sam saw Parker cut

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  through the dancing couples. She grinned, because he was wearing the same tunic he'd worn for his movie scene with her father. He'd probably cut some sort of a deal, or charmed one of the costume assistants. That was just so Parker. He looked incredibly hot in it. That was also so Parker. He tapped Eduardo on the shoulder.

  "Hey Eduardo, mind if I cut in? That's what it's called, isn't it? I have zero designs on your lady, man," he added hastily. "I just want to talk to her."

  "Relax, Parker. You're the man who helped make peace between us. Now, if you kiss her like you did on prom night, I'll have to call in the Peruvian Air Force for some close combat support."

  Sam was amazed that Eduardo could joke about Parker kissing her. She'd almost lost him forever over it. Man. Eduardo was confident. She loved that about him.

  "So, how goes seducing Stepmommy Dearest?" Sam asked, when Eduardo had departed.

  "Sad, really. I ran into your stepmother by the hot tub. Heavy eye contact and some very unsubtle conversation about just how relaxing a hot tub can be."

&
nbsp; "You're kidding." Sam wasn't surprised to hear that Parker had made progress, but she hadn't expected it this soon. Jeez. The party wasn't a half-hour old yet.

  "Look, I hope you appreciate that this is hard for me," Parker said. "To let your dad's wife hit on me--"

  "You're doing him a favor," Sam insisted. "And me. How far did it get?"

  Parker sighed and then showed Sam the back of his hand. On it was written an unfamiliar cell phone number.

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  "Hers?" Sam asked.

  Parker nodded.

  "I don't even recognize that phone number. Did you give her your number, too?"

  "She asked for it."

  "Wait for her to call you," Sam suggested. "And don't worry. I will not let you down. No matter what, no one will know it was you."

  The song came to an end. People stopped dancing to applaud. Suddenly, a crowd started chanting as a girl who played a handmaiden in the movie, chosen for her eye-popping and entirely unnatural curves, did a swan dive into the goblet. Two buff guys were already climbing a ladder to join her.

  "And . . . off comes the toga," Sam said, watching the girl swing it over her head.

  The crowd whooped its approval.

  "Where's Cammie?" Parker asked, scanning the crowd of strategically sheeted people.

  "I'm not sure. I invited her. She'll show. I'm going to catch up with Eduardo. Thanks, Parker. I mean it."

  "Cool. I'll keep you posted. I'm going for some mead." He gave her a little wave and headed for one of the bars. Meanwhile, Sam drifted toward the buffet, looking around for Eduardo. Instead, she saw her father and Poppy with their arms around each other, talking and laughing with the British producer of American Idol.

  Go ahead and fake it, Sam thought bitterly, staring at her stepmother. I am so onto you.

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  "Great party!" Dee exclaimed, strolling up next to Sam. She was hand in hand with Aaron, who was looking at Dee with something approaching adoration.

  "It's awesome," Aaron agreed. "But I'll tell you, once you get straight, you really notice how this whole industry is fueled by booze and drugs. It's real messed up."

  "Facing reality is so much more meaningful," Dee agreed.

  Only Dee could say a sentence like 'Facing reality is so much more meaningful' with a straight face.