“But you love him, Charlotte! Fight for him.”
“Whether I love him or not seems irrelevant at the moment.” She snapped. Then she sighed and added, “And I’m afraid the fight’s gone out of me.”
Melanie frowned and wrung her hands. “You don’t sound like yourself. You’re always the one with the glass half-full, remember? ‘If you want something bad enough, work for it and you’ll get it.’ That’s what you always tell me. Come on, Charlotte. Listen to your own advice.”
Charlotte looked at Melanie, feeling pity for anyone who could believe such hogwash. “If I remember correctly, you’re the one who’s always saying that men are pigs and aren’t worth the bother. I just happened to discover rather late that you’re right.”
“I could cut off my tongue. Charlotte, I was wrong. Well, sort of. Some men are pigs, but some are not. Michael is in the latter group. Really, Charlotte. Don’t set your heart against him. You had something really special going. Go back to him.”
“All I want to get back to now is my work.”
“Charlotte…”
“Melanie.” Her voice was sharp. “I know you’re trying to help, but you’re not. I don’t care, don’t you understand? I don’t care about Michael, about my face, about anything anymore. My personal life is unpredictable and cruel. I can accept that. But at least I can control my work.”
Melanie’s face was white with worry. “You still haven’t told me what to do if he calls or stops by. He will. You weren’t here the last time when he was tearing up the town looking for you. He was a madman.”
Charlotte tightened her lips and looked at Melanie with eyes wide with frustration. “You weren’t there when he lay motionless on the bed, not speaking a word. He was cruel.”
Both women looked at each other without speaking.
“Well, are you going to call Harmon today?”
Charlotte shook her head. “I’m not having the operation.”
This brought Melanie to her feet. “What? Are you crazy?”
“I’d be crazy to have it. My beauty is all I have in this world. I have no intention of losing it.”
“You are crazy. No, I’m sorry I said that. You’re just upset.”
“Yes, I’m upset. But I’m not crazy. I’m a realist.”
“This is wrong, Charlotte. Your beauty is just a shell. You can’t sacrifice yourself to it. Life is precious. No matter what, you’re lucky to have been born.”
“Lucky to have been born? Hardly.” She thought of the character Marguerite in Camille, of how she ended her suffering by letting her illness simply take her away from it.
“Sometimes, it’s just as lucky to die.”
Melanie’s face paled and she clutched her throat. “You can’t mean that.”
“Oh, but I do,” Charlotte replied with a deadly calm.
“But not to worry. I expect I’m not lucky enough to do either. I expect I’ll simply endure.” She lifted her arm, checking her wristwatch. “I’m late for an appointment.” She picked up her briefcase and strolled to the door. Opening it, she waved briefly at her driver, then turned to face Melanie. Her features softened.
“I know what I’m doing. And don’t worry about what to say to Mr. Mondragon. I’ll have my secretary call and cancel their lawn services. He’ll have no need to bother you.” She stepped across the threshold, then having a second thought, stepped back in and faced Melanie. Her voice was crisp and uncompromising. “Promise me you won’t call him.”
Melanie looked stricken. Obviously she had intended to do that very thing.
“Promise me,” Charlotte insisted.
“Damn you, all right. I promise.”
Charlotte smiled briefly, nodded, then closed the door behind her.
Melanie watched her leave, clutching her sides with worry. She couldn’t call Michael, damn to hell that promise. Damn him to hell for hurting Charlotte this way. But she’d sit by the phone, anyway. She didn’t promise not to talk to him if he called her.
“I want lots of work, Freddy,” Charlotte said, storming into his office and meeting his surprised gaze with a steady one of her own. “Keep me very, very busy.”
“That’s my girl!” Freddy smiled broadly and clapped his hands together before opening his arms and welcoming her. When he stepped back, he peered at her face closely.
“You look good. Much better.” Her hair was sleeked back into a twist, emphasizing her brilliant blue eyes, and she had the sleek elegance he’d come to expect from her.
“I always look well when I’m close to death,” she laughed, quoting a line from Camille.
“How are the aches and pains?”
“Boring,” she replied briskly, taking the offered seat. She plucked off her gloves in quick movements, eager to get past the chitchat. “I’m on a strict regime of herbs and vitamins. I’ve never felt better and I’m ready to work.” She gave him what she hoped was an enthusiastic smile, one that said she was well in control of her mind and body once again. She felt if she could act happy, she might be able to climb out of this despair she felt in her heart and actually feel happy one day.
“What have you got lined up?”
Freddy’s eyes gleamed in pleasure as he leaned over and buzzed his secretary.
“How about some coffee in here?” He looked over at Charlotte, his brows raised in query.
“Mineral water for me. No, nothing else. Thank you.”
The order was made and Freddy joined her at the table.
“I got to tell you, I was worried.”
She noticed that he looked tired. The planes of his cheeks sagged, and she realized how difficult the past few months of her disappearance had been on him.
“I know. I’m sorry for that.”
Freddy shook his head, almost sadly. Then he set a file atop the table and began to shuffle through it.
“Did I tell you how I closed a deal with John LaMonica and Paramount while he got his nose broke at Morton’s?” He sounded eager to tell the story, eager to please her.
“No, Freddy, you didn’t.” She fixed a polite expression of interest on her face.
“No? Well, I was there eating my dinner with Michael Kuhn, hammering on about distribution, when in walks LaMonica, strutting like a short, collagen-filled peacock after his recent string of box office successes. Trailing in after him are…”
“Please, Freddy. Just the business details.”
Freddy clamped his mouth shut, squinted, then said, “Sure. Okay…” He sat back in his chair and straightened his tie. Charlotte noticed he’d purchased a large diamond for his pinkie finger.
“The bottom line is, you’re hot. Everyone knows you’re poised to win the Oscar for Camille. LaMonica signed you for this action film called Thunder Bay, and wants to roll now. I thought it’d be good to get you into something a little different. Show your range.”
When she didn’t reply, he continued. “The deal’s a sweetheart. Seven figures. Strong distribution. To star with Johnny Depp. You two look good together, everybody says so.”
Charlotte listened to the story, watched Freddy ease back into his chair and lace his hands behind his head and thought to herself, Is this what my life is? Deals and distribution, quips and gossip, grasping at opportunities like wonder-eyed children chasing translucent bubbles?
She shuddered and felt her blood thin and grow cold in her veins. The cold drove inward, imploding, until she felt an aching loneliness.
“So, what do you think?”
“Fine,” she replied at length. “When do I start?”
Freddy dropped his hands and his mouth slipped open. He lay his manicured hands flat on the table.
“Fine? When do I start? That’s all I get after busting my you-know-what out there?”
“What more do you want me to say?” she asked without emotion. “Okay…I’m anxious to look at the script.” She spoke slowly and evenly. “I’ll know more then. I like Johnny. I’m sure we’ll work well together. I’ve never done an action
film before but, hey, I’ll do my best. There. Is that enough?”
Freddy narrowed his eyes and tilted his head, considering. “You still upset about that Frito Bandito? I thought that was all over.” His face registered discomfort when she didn’t rise to the bait. “Don’t tell me you went and got back together with that guy?”
“No,” she replied. “We’re over. You don’t have anything to worry about.”
“Glad to hear it. I was beginning to think that you and he…”
“Freddy,” she interrupted sharply. “Let’s stick to business, shall we? What else have you got lined up? I want to work as soon as possible.”
Freddy’s face sobered, but he nodded and shuffled a few papers on his desk. She knew he wouldn’t argue with her. After all, work was all he ever wanted from her, wasn’t it?
Freddy took Charlotte’s elbow and guided her from the long, sleek limousine to the entrance of Cilantro, Junichi’s trendy California-maki restaurant on the wharf. A string of limos and Rolls-Royces lined the street like a Christmas parade. The two roommates had orchestrated the event to celebrate both the opening of the restaurant and the opening of Camille. It was strictly black tie and all the usual suspects were there.
Freddy stood at the entrance and surveyed the room while Charlotte chatted with Melanie at the door. He had to admit, Melanie looked pretty good these days. Softer, smarter. Not a bimbo anymore. He guessed success did that to a woman. She gave him the cold once-over when she saw him, but what did he care? She was a nobody.
Now, out there were the players, he thought with relish. He’d worked hard to fill the room, and it was standing room only. Too bad Charlotte had insisted she have the party at this joint. It was nice enough. They’d spared no expense in the decorating. Tasteful with lots of fresh holly and crisp white linen. Okay, he conceded, the location on the wharf was decent. But it wasn’t Spago. Charlotte had insisted that everyone would be thrilled for a change in venue. He hadn’t been so sure, but looking at the turnout, he was only too happy to admit she was right.
The power list was here. At the head table sat Joel Schaeffer and the various producers including the Weinsteins, basking in glory from the standing ovation the film had received at its preview earlier that night. Sitting nearby was a collection of master deal makers, super lawyers, producer-financiers, A-list actors…
Yeah, he thought, looking around at all the names and the tight, eager expressions on their faces. It was a good night for showbiz folks. Excitement was in the air. Champagne was being poured. Nothing stirred the blood like a box office hit. Tonight the restaurant was a marketplace.
And he was bringing in the hottest commodity. The buzz was already out that Godfrey was a shoo-in for the Best Actress nomination. Get your checkbooks out, boys and girls, he thought to himself as Charlotte approached him, a dazzling smile on her face that eclipsed even the eye-popping diamond necklace around her swanlike neck.
He escorted her through the crowd with a proprietary air, nodding at people he didn’t know, exchanging quips and barking laughs with those he did. He didn’t blame the men who followed her with their eyes. They couldn’t help themselves.
Glancing at Charlotte, he noted with pleasure that she had an innate sense of dignity. Either she didn’t know that men were dropping like flies around her or she didn’t care. Her brilliant blue eyes were fixed straight ahead, as though she were in her own world. It added to her allure. Freddy relished the attention, and his chest expanded. Mondragon was out of the picture for good. Charlotte was his now. And he was holding on tight.
Melanie’s wedding was the highlight of the Christmas holidays. Charlotte helped her dress in a voluminous white gown with fur trim; she was determined to wear white. With Junichi, Melanie claimed she felt pure.
The ceremony and reception were held at Cilantro, their new restaurant. Charlotte, dressed in poinsettia red and standing beside her as maid of honor, thought Melanie was radiant with joy and happiness. That spirit was reflected in the face of Junichi, and in the faces of the circle of friends and family that surrounded them.
She beamed with pleasure for her friend as she listened to the exchange of vows. Melanie spoke clearly, with the voice of one who had overcome many obstacles in the past and had emerged triumphant.
It was ironic, Charlotte thought to herself as she observed her friend’s luminous face, that the beauty Melanie feared losing with age had, in fact, altered and returned, one hundred times more enchanting. Each wrinkle was a badge of honor, the soft plumpness of womanhood was flattering, the shoulders straight and the gaze steady with confidence. Most of all, her eyes were brimming with love for Junichi.
Charlotte cried into her hankie, sniffling more than Junichi’s mother, who came in a close second. The guests were kind and thought she was merely sentimental. Melanie, who knew better, was reassured when Charlotte wiped her eyes and calmly greeted the guests in the receiving line.
“You are the most beautiful bride,” Charlotte gushed when they were alone.
“Let me remind you of what you once said to me. That the best mirror for reflecting our true beauty is the presence of friends in our lives.” Melanie hugged Charlotte close for a long moment. “You’ve been my best friend. You made me beautiful,” she whispered in Charlotte’s ear.
Melanie drew away, wiping her eyes. “And your gift was too much. Your shares in the restaurant…I can’t say enough. Junichi calls it my dowry.”
“Just promise me to be happy.”
“I am. Deliriously. But don’t think for a moment that I’m abandoning you, roomie. I’m only across town.” She squeezed Charlotte’s hands. “You’re not alone.”
Charlotte’s vision blurred, but she hoisted a resolute smile. “Of course not.”
Junichi came over and, after apologizing to Charlotte, escorted Melanie to another smiling couple for a photograph. The foursome exchanged pats and hugs and looked to Charlotte so couple-ish. Around her, people surreptitiously glanced her way, whispering. It was clear that they recognized who she was, were thrilled by it, but did not intrude and speak to her. They of course thought they were being polite by not approaching a celebrity. She was not one of them.
Charlotte stepped back a pace to stand in a quiet corner of the room and observe the party from a safe distance. As she watched the other guests form clusters and chat comfortably, she remembered another Christmas party four years earlier, in Chicago. She shivered from a cold blast that had nothing to do with the brisk December wind whipping the dock and rattling the wooden shutters. Charlotte realized with a sudden intake of breath that she was as isolated being beautiful as she’d ever been ugly.
Twenty-One
Two months into the new action film, Thunder Bay, the cast and crew were sweating bullets, not shooting them. John LaMonica had finally managed to put this film together after two years of negotiating film rights, actors’ and director’s schedules, paying back favors and incurring new ones. Now, just when he got production under way and the cameras were whirring, his leading lady, Charlotte Godfrey, was crumbling.
“You’ve got to do something, and do it fast,” LaMonica told Freddy Walen in his steel gray office. The producer was in no mood to argue. “Or you leave me no choice. I’ll release her from the film.”
“What?” Freddy exclaimed, yanking the cigar from his mouth and leaning forward in his seat, elbowing across the acre of LaMonica’s desk. “You can’t do that. The film’s half shot!”
“I can and I will.” He leaned back in his chair and expanded his chest. He steepled his fingers and looked at Freddy from over them.
Freddy picked up his club soda and swirled the ice, eyeing LaMonica. The man was a bulky, square-jawed pugilist made to look elegant by a fabulous tailor. He was, Freddy reminded himself with a deep breath, the producer.
“What will you gain by that?” he asked, his voice conciliatory. “You’d lose everything.”
“I’ll close down the set and collect insurance before I go through anot
her two months like this. She’ll bankrupt the entire project.”
Freddy champed down on his cigar, holding in the retort. LaMonica was part of a new breed of Hollywood producers who considered themselves honor bound to cut outrageous production costs. He’d built a reputation around his ability to do so, and as a result, was paranoid over rising expenditures. And there was no denying the costs were skyrocketing on the set of Thunder Bay. His mind was racing. He’d heard about Charlotte’s problems on the set, but she was a consummate professional. He never dreamed it could get this bad. He leaned back in his chair, assuming a relaxed position.
“In all fairness, John, you can’t dump this all on Charlotte. It’s common knowledge the computer graphics imaging alone is running into the millions.”
“Hey, the CGI I can handle. It’s budgeted. It’s your star’s emotional life that’s out of my range.” He scowled, then said in a low voice. “What is it, drugs?”
“No, no, it’s nothing like that. Frankly, John, I don’t know what the matter is, except that it’s physical. She’s been sick, and it keeps getting worse. We’ve been to a lot of doctors, but they can’t pinpoint the problem. After the film’s done, we’ll start with the specialists. Check her into a hospital and run the tests.” He saw LaMonica raise his brows. “And I don’t mean the Betty Ford. She’s got something else. Arthritis, maybe.”
LaMonica laced his fingers on the desk and stared at them for a moment, his face troubled. Freddy felt the sweat pouring down his back, but he kept his face cool by force of will. He knew LaMonica wasn’t buying the arthritis line; he didn’t expect him to. He probably thought it was AIDS or something. The question was, would he pretend to buy it? When he cleared his throat, Freddy sat up, to show respect.
“Can you keep her stable long enough to finish the shooting schedule?”
“I give you my word.”
LaMonica stewed this over, deliberately letting Freddy squirm. Fact was, Freddy didn’t know what the hell was going on with her. Some of it was depression he was sure. He remembered the symptoms all too well from years of living with Ali. If Charlotte didn’t pull her act together soon, she was going to be released from her contract. That was suicide in this business. In this case, a double suicide. He’d have to do something fast.
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