Girl in the Mirror

by Mary Alice Monroe

  Their gazes met and held.

  He was keenly interested.

  She was eager.

  He had the resources.

  She had the ability.

  The tumblers clicked.

  He stroked his chin for a moment, then picked up his phone and buzzed his secretary. “Has Melanie Ward found a new roommate yet? No? Tell you what. Call her now and tell her I’ve found one for her. Charlotte Godfrey. Yeah, the lady here. Give Mel the details and tell her I’ll drop her by soon. Good. Get right on it.”

  Charlotte heard all this with widening eyes. Even if he didn’t sign her as a client, at least Dr. Harmon’s letter of introduction had secured her a place to stay.

  “Got a nice place lined up for you,” Freddy Walen said, hanging up the phone. “It’s a small rental house up north. You’ll have to lease a car, but then again, welcome to L.A. Melanie’s a little loose in the attic but all right. She’s one of my clients. Been around for a long time. She might not be smart in the bookish kind of way, but she’s smart in things that you need to learn about. Things like publicity, promotion, who’s who in town. She’s not doing so well in her career right now.” He shrugged. “Things are slow for aging starlets. So she could use a roommate. Works out well for both of you.”

  “I see. Thank you.” She cleared her throat, ashamed for the question she had to ask. “Excuse me, but how much is the rent?”

  “Don’t worry about it. Jacob’s got you covered.”

  “Dr. Harmon? Why…” This was the first time she’d heard of this arrangement. Pride kicked in. It would be the last. “No,” she said in a clipped voice. “That’s not right. He…”

  “Look, honey, it’s done all the time.”

  “Not by me, it isn’t,” she snapped, putting an end to all speculation about casting couches or whatever kind of lure he was using. “I’ll pay my own rent, thank you.”

  Freddy’s eyes took on that amused gleam again and something else that she hadn’t quite figured out yet. “No problem,” he replied easily. Again that look. “It’s between you and Melanie, then.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Walen,” she began, choosing her words. “If I could prevail upon you one more time. I—I need a job. Right away. Any job that’s decent and provides minimum wage. I’m trained as an accountant and I can get you excellent references. But, in the meantime, I can do just about anything. Secretarial, phones…”

  “What’s all this talk about accounting? What do you think this is, an employment agency? You came to me as an actress. Are you one or not?”

  “Of course,” she blurted out. “It’s just that, well, I thought…” She took a deep breath. “I don’t have any illusions.”

  A smug smile crossed his face. “Illusions are my specialty.”

  He sat forward in his seat, looking at her with unabashed interest. Not sexual. More the way she’d once seen track betters study fillies before the race at Arlington Park. No, she corrected herself, Freddy Walen wasn’t a gambler. He was a handler. Maybe even an owner. Yes, she thought, sitting up in her seat, gaining insight into the question she’d asked herself all afternoon about this man. What she’d thought was amusement in his eyes was in fact the thrill of possibilities.

  “Tell me, Miss Godfrey, do you like to work? Work hard?”

  “I’m a very hard worker,” she answered honestly.

  “Good. Because what I have in mind will require not just long hours of hard work, but dedication. Total commitment. Are you ready for this, Miss Godfrey?”

  Charlotte was long past ready. She nodded her head as hope stirred in her breast.

  “Here, give me your hands.” He unfolded, stretched out his arm with a spark of excitement in his eyes. She hesitated for a fraction of a moment, then leaned forward, stretching across the low table, and placed her hands in his. It was a large hand, very smooth, with long, elegant fingers that wrapped around hers in a possessive grip. She felt a strong, abiding kind of connection with this man. It flowed between them like electricity.

  “There’s something about you,” he said. He squinted, as though seeing something far off in the distance. Then, squeezing her hands, he burst forth with renewed enthusiasm. “You will have to learn how to walk, how to talk, how to dress, how to smile…yes, especially that. A slow, seductive smile to match that husky voice.” He gestured with his hand, as though picking an apple from the sky and bringing it to his lips. “I can create something very special with you.”

  He must have noticed her expression because suddenly he laughed out loud. “Look, your hands are shaking! Are you afraid?” His eyes narrowed. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-one.”

  “Ah, the age of consent. Don’t frown. I’m old enough to be your father. But I’m not. I’m a businessman. People are my business. I see you as an investment. When I die, people will remember that I gave you to the world. Do you believe I can do this?”

  She did. Completely. How could this be any more of a miracle than what Dr. Harmon had done with her face? He couldn’t possibly understand how complete a transformation she’d already undergone. This was the second time in her life a man wanted to create something special from her. She nodded, unaware that she was holding her breath.

  “This kind of arrangement goes beyond a mere contract,” he said. “It’s a commitment. Heart and soul.”

  “You’re asking me for a leap of faith, Mr. Walen. Let’s just say, I’m no longer a believer. As you said, this is business.”

  Freddy smiled openly now, appreciating her intelligence and straightforward manner. “Miss Godfrey, has anyone ever pulled the wool over your eyes?”

  “The whole blanket, Mr. Walen. Let’s just call our arrangement mutual consent.”

  He laughed heartily and stuck out his hand. “Then it’s a deal?”

  “Mr. Walen,” she replied, shaking his hand with a strong, committed grip. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

  “Babe,” he replied, releasing a pleased, crooked smile but keeping a firm grip on her hand. “Deal is my middle name.”

  Freddy drove Charlotte along the crowded freeway, whizzing out from the city, pushing on past the suburbs, climbing the inhospitable terrain of a steep mountain toward a house that she would soon call home. The powerful Mercedes looped around countless curves, past looming cypress and pine, ending the forty-minute journey with a sharp turn into a dirt driveway barely wide enough for his large black car. Gravel crunched beneath the wheels as they continued up a sharp incline for another twenty yards. Charlotte looked around, breathing deep to calm the pounding of her heart.

  The lot was as scrubby as the coarse wild grass that filled it, and straight ahead, perched on the ledge of the cliff, squatted a sixties tract house, skimpily constructed of a soft beige stucco that looked like someone spilled cottage cheese over it. A wide, rotting wooden pergola overrun with thick twisting cords of wisteria tilted over the front door.

  “Here we are,” Freddy announced, yanking up the emergency brake on the steep incline. “Doesn’t look like much, I know, but it’s a good place. Let’s take a look around.”

  Walking up the pebbled path, Charlotte saw that the little house was poorly maintained. The yellowed paint was chipping on the small, square windows, dirt and debris littered the corners of the tiled front patio and the screen on the front door was torn and curled at the edges. She might have felt disappointed by its shabbiness if she’d had prior expectations. But she’d had none. To a girl who’d spent a lifetime in a dingy apartment on a bus route, this was a real house. She sniffed the air. Spring, with its warmth and color, was only a breeze away. Birds sang in the greening trees, and hearing them, Charlotte felt welcomed. Her left hand tightened its hold on her suitcase, and with her right, she pressed a bouquet of daisies close to her heart.

  At the entrance, Freddy made a fist and banged the door three times. After a short wait, a sexy, kittenish woman with pumpkin-hued hair and large hazel eyes opened the door. When she saw Freddy, she leaned against the
door frame in an insolent pose, exposing a slim midriff under a baggy T-shirt.

  “Freddy…Long time no see.”

  “Melanie Ward, meet Charlotte Godfrey.”

  Charlotte offered a polite smile, thinking Freddy was accurate if not gallant.

  “So, you’re my new roommate,” Melanie said, arching one brow while she openly assessed Charlotte. Her voice was unreal, very high and breathy. “Haven’t had one of those since college—at least not a female one. And don’t even ask how long ago that was. I don’t believe in age.”

  With that pronouncement, she released the door and extended a delicate hand with long, coral-tipped nails and three rings, one of them on her thumb. “Well, Charlotte Godfrey. Welcome to L.A.”

  Regardless of whether Melanie believed in age, Charlotte immediately knew that Melanie was older—and most certainly wiser in the ways of the world—than she was. But it was anybody’s guess just how old the beautiful bombshell was. Melanie was dressed as though they’d just interrupted her aerobic session. Her eye-popping body was as taut as a young girl’s and she had a streetwise manner. It was in her eyes, however, eyes that were edged with telltale lines, that Charlotte saw a warmth that could only come from a big heart.

  Charlotte, as grateful for the warm welcome as a desert for a sprinkling of rain, dropped her suitcase and shook her hand with relish.

  Melanie was taken aback by Charlotte’s heartfelt reaction. Screwing up her large, pouty lips, she looked carefully into Charlotte’s eyes. “I’ll have to do your chart,” she said in earnest.

  “My chart?”

  “Horoscope. You know, Gemini, Aries…the alignment of the moon and the planets. The stars never lie. Unlike men,” she added, casting a loaded glance toward Freddy.

  “Yeah, well I’m getting Cancer standing out here in the sun,” Freddy retorted. “So if you don’t mind, can you girls go on with all that New Age stuff later after I’m gone? I’ve got some important phone calls to make.” He turned toward Charlotte, ignoring the obvious bristling of Melanie. Her feelings didn’t seem to matter much to Freddy, a fact Melanie seemed well aware of.

  “I have a couple of possibilities that I want to follow up on. I’ll be back in a couple of days and we’ll talk specifics. Till then, Melanie here will show you around, help you get your bearings. Won’t you, Mel?”

  “Sure, Freddy.”

  “It’s gonna be great, babe. I promise. Take good care of her,” he called over his shoulder to Melanie, then walked down the path toward his powerful car.

  Melanie let loose a low whistle and shook her head, looking at her with a look of wonder mixed with envy. “Mmm…mmm…mmm, girlfriend. That hound has caught the scent.”

  Charlotte could only blink heavily. The jet lag, the anxiety over the move and the hours without sleep began to hit her as forcefully as the sun overhead.

  “Never mind, honey. In time it’ll all become perfectly clear. Come on in and make yourself at home.” She stepped aside and allowed Charlotte in.

  “Here, these are for you.” Charlotte handed Melanie the rather sad-looking bouquet of daisies as she passed. “I didn’t have much to spend, but I didn’t want to arrive empty-handed, either. I’m afraid they’re a bit wilted.”

  Melanie’s face softened and her guard slipped as she plucked at the straggly leaves. “I can’t remember the last time someone bought me flowers.”

  She pressed them to her nose. Charlotte knew the daisies had no scent and suddenly wished they could have been roses.

  “You know, Godfrey,” Melanie said with a crooked little smile. “I think this might work out just fine.”

  Seven

  Charlotte never knew time to fly by so fast. Spring, summer, fall, winter, she worked for Freddy Walen as she’d never worked before in her life. She wanted to prove to him that she was committed. A winner. For so many years it was easy to blame her failures, her shortcomings, her insecurities on the simple and undeniable fact that she was ugly. How much simpler to own up to the physical imperfections than the ones dealing with intelligence or character.

  Each morning she rose at six, drank a cup of coffee, then traveled in her rental car to various acting, voice and modeling lessons in Los Angeles, to Freddy’s office or, when she was lucky, to an acting gig. Freddy worked hard for her as well. She gained a lot of experience and exposure working for minimum scale on several small films—independent, low budget, documentaries. He also secured bit parts in two major motion pictures. She was making enough to pay her bills and still squirrel some away in a savings account.

  Her friendship with Melanie grew stronger every day, but she couldn’t explain why she preferred to stay home instead of going to parties or bars. She was still gun-shy about meeting new people, especially new men. Men who not so long ago might have made snide remarks. She was more comfortable spending time alone; it was what she knew. Home, books, solitude, a sense of purpose—these were cherished old friends that she needed at the end of a harrowing day.

  Yet, each day she said a prayer of thanks for her new friend. Melanie was the sunshine that forced itself through the dark cracks. She kept Charlotte on her toes, laughing to inside jokes that only roommates can share, teaching her the newest dance steps, buying bright red dinner dishes or painting her nails, helping her, in everyday ways, from slipping into her shell.

  So the months passed while Charlotte kept her mind focused on her training, gearing all her physical and mental energy toward the big deal Freddy promised would arrive.

  After ten months in California, Freddy’s big deal came down.

  “It’s all arranged,” he said over the phone, his excitement ringing. “It’s a real part, not a blink-and-they’ll-miss-you kind of thing. Here’s the deal. The preproduction was all done for this film, but there’ve been some casting uproars. Suddenly, there’s a juicy part available that has to be filled quick. I tell you, every agent worth his salt was out gunning for this one. My old pal Dave Dole is in charge over at Miramax now. He’s a crony from my days at CAA. He’s willing to meet with you.” She envisioned him grinning over the phone. “I want them to get a good look at you. He’s setting it up for dinner tomorrow.”

  Charlotte’s mind went blank. “How? I mean, it’s so fast.”

  “In this town, baby, it’s all who you know.”

  “But what do I do? What do I wear?”

  “That’s my job. I’ve got you lined up for the whole treatment. Afterward we’ll buy you some pretty things to wear from Giorgio’s. I’ve got to go. Just called to tell you the good news. Now, close your mouth before you catch a fly. All you have to worry about is being ready to roll first thing tomorrow morning. I’ll send a car for you. And no booze or anything else tonight, not even to celebrate. I don’t want any puffiness or anything. Tomorrow’s our big day.”

  “Dinner with Dave Dole?” Melanie squealed in her unreal, breathy voice.

  They were standing in her bathroom, where she was giving Charlotte lessons on how to use an eyelash curler—something that looked to Charlotte more like an instrument of torture. Melanie’s bathroom was a warehouse of beauty paraphernalia—creams, lipsticks, applicator wands of all sizes, liners, an eyebrow tweezer and an acreage of jars of vitamins and pills. It was a shrine to cosmetic beauty.

  “He’s pulling out some big guns, sweetie,” she explained to Charlotte. “I don’t know what he said, but if I know Freddy, I’m sure they’ll ask you to read for a part.”

  Charlotte began feeling a little faint and reached for the counter.

  Melanie pulled out a stool and indicated with her coral-tipped fingers for Charlotte to sit down on it. Charlotte did so, tucking her hands between her knees and exhaling heavily.

  “Calm down, honey, you’re a little pale. Keep doing breathing exercises and I’ll make you a special herb tea to calm the nervous system.” She returned a few minutes later with a steaming cup of chamomile tea sweetened with honey. “Here, drink this down. Then maybe a little blush. You look like death w
armed over.”

  Charlotte sipped gratefully, feeling the warmth of the tea coat her frazzled nerves.

  “Relax. There’s no way you’re going to get this organized in that file cabinet of a mind you have. This is Hollywood. It’s free-falling.”

  “I like knowing what to expect. To be prepared. I’ve waited for this moment all of my life. Now that it’s here, I feel like I’m going to throw up.” She gave a nervous laugh. “I feel like I did when I was in school and I found out there was a big test that I hadn’t studied for.”

  “Oh, yeah, I have a dream like that all the time. I’m standing outside this classroom, right? My arms are loaded with books but I can’t force myself to go in…. I’m like, motionless with fear because I didn’t study.” She rolled her eyes. “Probably because I never did study in school and in real life that kind of thing happened to me all the time.”

  “Not me. I was a nerd.”

  “Kinda figured you were. Well, for you this horrible dream is coming true. Welcome to Lala Land. Where nothing is quite the way it seems.”

  Charlotte gulped her tea and said nothing.

  “If it were me about to be trotted out before studio bosses,” Melanie continued, dabbing at her cheeks with blush, “I’d be starving myself to lose that extra pound, fretting about my hair. Hell, I’d probably call my plastic surgeon for a quick tuck somewhere.”

  Charlotte’s ears perked up at the mention of plastic surgery. “Why? Have you had surgery?”

  Melanie laughed and poked through her box of shadows till she found the right shade of brown. “Me? Oh, sure. Are you kidding? What the good Lord didn’t give me I bought for myself. Besides, at my age, which you’ll never know, I like to think I have some defense against gravity.” She picked up the blush and lazily applied a streak of pale pink to her high cheekbones. “I remember when I first made a splash, I—” A shadow flickered across her face, but she brushed it away with a wave of her hand. “You don’t want to hear about me.”