She pulled the elastic off her wrist and looped it around her tresses. Quitting Harry’s was going to be cause for a massive celebration—if the day ever came. The greasy spoon had employed her for three months and she was fortunate to have a job—even obtaining a table-waiting job was competitive in L.A.—but she wasn’t cut out for manual labor.
“Hi, there; what can I get for you today?” Callie gave her best gosh-I’m-so-happy-to-be-your-server expression. The two customers—a decrepit, sour-looking couple—were startled by her cheerfulness.
“We both drink decaf. I’ll have the number one, no cheese, no pickles, and heavy on the mustard. My wife would like your blue plate special, hold the sauce. She doesn’t want corn, either.”
“Do you have coleslaw?” asked the old woman.
“Yes, we do.”
“Which kind? Because if it’s made with vinegar, I don’t want it, I only like the creamy kind.”
“I’ll check on that for you, ma’am.”
“And I don’t want the salad that comes with it. What can I get instead? Do you have Brussels sprouts?”
“No, we don’t.”
The woman looked pained. “You don’t have any? What kind of restaurant doesn’t serve Brussels sprouts?”
“Guess we won’t be coming back here again,” her husband grumbled.
“How about asparagus?” the woman asked.
“The only steamed vegetable we have is corn, which your husband says you don’t want.” Callie considered ripping one of the spongy curlers out of the woman’s hair and beating her with it.
“Just give me the corn. Hopefully I won’t have indigestion but if I do, I’m holding Harry’s personably responsible.”
You old bag. “Sure, ma’am, I understand.” The day she no longer had to serve grub couldn’t come fast enough.
15
“If you haven’t tried the artichoke here, you’re in for a treat,” said Gabby, an avid health nut. She and Callie lunched at the Newsroom.
Callie sucked on the leaf and enjoyed the smoky flavor. She was trying to curb her unhealthy Midwest eating habits—fried food and anything with dairy—in favor of healthier fare. Every actress and model she met in L.A. seemed to be a vegetarian but Callie had no plans of giving up meat; she enjoyed a juicy steak too much.
“How are things going with Evan?”
“We saw each other again the other day. I’m not kidding, Gabby, the guy lasts for hours. He’s not one of those awful ten-minute men.”
“Those kind are the worst. What’s the point? I’d rather be alone and do the job myself,” said Gabby, picking at her tuna salad.
“Tell me about it. He’s handsome, wealthy, great in bed, and has a hot career. The full package. I don’t meet guys like him every day.”
“Whoa, hold on a minute; you sound like you’re in love with him. And judging from the starry look in your eyes, I’d say you definitely are.”
“No, I’m not in love with him. I like him.”
“You like him a lot,” Gabrielle said with a mischievous smile. “I thought you said you didn’t want a boyfriend?”
“I don’t. Besides, he’s not my boyfriend. We’re just seeing each other. No ball and chain, no strings, no drama. Our video is debuting tonight. He invited me to watch it at his house and said to bring a friend. I know it’s last-minute, but would you like to come?” Candice was supposed to accompany her but canceled last-minute after receiving an invite to a party in Miami via private jet. Gabrielle would make a fun replacement.
“Sure, count me in. How do you think you did on that audition yesterday?”
“I don’t have a clue. I thought my first audition absolutely sucked, but they called me back, so go figure. How was yours?”
“Awful. I tripped over a few words and didn’t feel on my game. But I’ve learned over the years it’s when you think you’ve done horribly that you often book the job. Honestly, I’m too old for this, Callie.”
“Are you kidding? You’re young, Gabby, and you could definitely pass for someone in their twenties.”
“Thirty-two isn’t that young.”
“But you look young. I mean it, you look better than most girls my age!”
“Playing the hot babe isn’t something I’ll be able to do much longer. Everyone has a shelf life. And, anyway, what have I accomplished? A few bit parts in film and television, a couple of sexy pictures in magazines—big whoop. When my mother was my age, she had three kids and a PhD! My sister is the vice president of a stock-holding company with a penthouse in Manhattan! Now, those are accomplishments. My mother was right all along. I should have done more with my life, something with substance. I look at women older than me, still playing the acting game, and feel sorry for them. It’s pathetic: forty-year-olds trying to compete with women half their age. That’s not going to be me. Nope, I’m getting out and the sooner the better.” Gabrielle’s gold-flecked eyes were dewy but her voice stayed steady.
“It sounds like you’ve given this a lot of thought,” Callie said. She couldn’t imagine discarding her own acting ambitions; she’d just as soon nosedive off a cliff.
“I have, trust me. I’ve thought of nothing but turning over a new leaf for the past year. Connecticut is so pretty this time of year, it will be nice going home soon. I’ve certainly had some good times here but Los Angeles has shown me the true definition of ‘ego.’ There’s never a shortage. I’ve had my fun but I’m over it.”
Chatter from a nearby table caught their attention. Two women in hot pink tracksuits and rhinestone-studded ball caps sipped smoothies. Their bronzy-orange skin was tight and waxy-looking. One of the bottle-blondes gesticulated wildly as she spoke, bangles clanking on her arms. “The director was blown away by my read,” she said. “He said the younger girls aren’t as talented as me and the ones my age or older aren’t up to my caliber of beauty.”
“You’ve got it in the bag for sure, Jill,” the look-alike friend said. “That part was written for you.”
“Was it ever. I’m used to being fawned over, but this was something else entirely. By the way, did I tell you the paparazzi chased me down at LAX yesterday? The one time I get recognized and I didn’t have a speck of makeup on. Go figure!”
“Wow. Murphy’s Law.”
Hmmm … Callie turned back to Gabby. “I’m beginning to see where you’re coming from.”
Gabrielle’s expression was one of both sympathy and contempt. “See what I mean? Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt.”
“Sad.”
“Completely. Two walking heaps of utter sadness.”
16
Callie hopped in the seat of Gabrielle’s Mercedes SLK. “Thanks for picking me up,” Callie said. She rubbed the camel leather seat. “This car is beautiful, Gabby. Mmmm, and it smells brand-new, too.”
“It is; I bought it just last week. We’ll easily be there by nine since there’s practically no traffic. How many people are coming?”
“He didn’t say, but I’m guessing it’s going to be just us. It’s been a week since we’ve seen each other and I miss him! I can’t wait to give him a giant smooch.”
It was clear from the noise coming out of Evan’s house that there was quite a crowd inside. The girls stood in the foyer and exchanged surprised glances. Clusters of orchids and Stargazer lilies sprouted from vases in all corners of the candlelit house and a DJ spun tunes from one of the four balconies. The stylishly outfitted guests, about fifty in total, danced and mingled.
“So much for my theory,” Callie said in Gabby’s ear. “We’re so underdressed, look at us! You’re at least wearing heels. I look like I’m going to a ball game.”
“No, you don’t, hon, you look pretty. Everyone wears jeans. Anyway, nothing we can do about it now. I just feel out of place being the only sober ones.” Gabrielle grabbed two flutes of champagne off a tray. “Here, drink up.”
Callie spotted Evan on a balcony talking to several scantily clad women. He gave her a hug and squeezed her
waist.
“Thanks for coming. You look great. Who’s your friend?” he said. He was drop-dead handsome in a pair of black slacks and a simple button-down.
“Evan meet Gabby; Gabby, this is Evan. We met in Vegas last weekend,” Callie explained.
“Pleasure meeting you.” Evan’s eyes nearly burned a hole through Gabby’s cleavage.
“Likewise. I love your new single,” said Gabrielle.
“Thank you. They’re predicting it will hit the top ten any day now. Grab another drink, girls, enjoy yourselves. The caterer has some killer crab cakes, too, so don’t be shy. We’re going to play the video in a bit.” Evan resumed his conversation with the group of admirers.
Jealousy gushed through Callie. That was it? That’s all he had to say to her? He treated her like she was his sister! Why hadn’t he bothered to introduce her? Who were these other girls? He was cordial but nothing more—aloof, even. Was he embarrassed by her? Did he not want anyone to know they had been intimate? True, they weren’t a couple, but she expected more from Evan. She was used to having his undivided interest and it irked her she did not.
“Everyone, can I have your attention, please!” shouted a balding man with horn-rimmed glasses. He stood in the middle of the living room and clanked a fork against his glass. “Most of you know who I am but for those of you who don’t, I’m Evan’s longtime manager, Gary Benson. I’ve been with Evan through thick and thin and we’ve definitely had our differences at times—” Gary paused purposely and several people laughed. “—but I’m proud to say not only is Evan a trusted friend, he’s a talented and loyal client who deserves every ounce of his success. I’ve just been informed that ‘Keep It Sexy’ has officially cracked the top ten. Sorry, Evan, I hate to break that to you!” Another round of laughter was followed by clapping and congratulatory whistles. “So, without further ado, allow me to present to you the official music video of our new hit, and here’s to Evan shooting all the way to number one!” With a press of the remote, the lights dimmed and the flat screen flipped on.
Evan was breathtaking; on-screen he looked almost as good as he did in person. The man didn’t have a bad angle and it was doubtful he had ever taken a rotten picture in his life. Callie kept waiting for her part to air but it never did. Perhaps they were going to play two versions? The lights came back on as the crowd shrieked their approval. Callie looked perplexedly at Gabby and spotted Jeremy Granger in the kitchen.
“Hi, Jeremy, nice work, but what happened to the footage we shot?” she asked.
Jeremy swallowed a mouthful of shrimp tempura. “I had to cut it. You looked phenomenal and I wanted to keep you but it was his label’s call. They just thought it was better to keep the focus on Evan. Nothing personal, mind you.”
“Of course not, I understand. You win some, you lose some, right?” She slugged her champagne. “Excuse me; I have to go to the ladies’ room.”
Hunched over the bathroom sink was a lanky brunette with a rolled-up twenty jammed in her nostril. She snorted a rail of white powder before looking up and offering Callie the bill. “Want some?”
“No thanks; I’m not in the mood.” She stomped out and found Gabby perched on the leather couch in the living room. “Gabby, do you mind if we go? This night has been awful.”
“Sure, we don’t have to stay. I’m fine with calling it an early night,” Gabby said. “What happened to your part in the video?”
Callie shook her head. “They didn’t want me in it.”
“I’m sorry, hon. That happened to me before, too. Happens to the best of us. Come on, let’s get out of here.”
She was grateful Gabby was easygoing. They dashed without saying a word to anyone.
17
[Chase] Female, early 20s, must have long brunette or auburn hair. Sexy and beautiful but the kind of girl you can bring home to Mom … Guest Star, RECURRING
Callie scribbled the casting office’s address on a manila envelope and stuffed it with a headshot and résumé. She scrolled farther down the computer screen.
Must have martial arts experience.
Damn it. That detail had escaped her. She scrolled down the page until she found another casting to intrigue her.
[Lisa] (21–26) Open ethnicity, pretty, athletic figure, dark hair. A sensitive, sincere young woman who falls for the bad boy every time. No tattoos, WE REALLY MEAN IT!… LEAD
She rubbed the tattoo on her inner wrist: a shooting star next to her father’s initials.
That eliminated Lisa, too. Playing a Goody Two-shoes was never much fun, anyway. She reached the end of the attachment and growled in frustration. The castings were weak; even bimbo roles were scarce. Three weeks had passed since her call-back and she hadn’t heard a word. Not a good sign. She slammed the laptop shut and picked up the latest issue of Got It! from the coffee table. As a general rule, she didn’t read tabloids unless she was getting a pedicure or having her hair styled, but Candice was addicted to them. One of the headlines caught her attention: “Sexy Singer Romancing Nude Model.” Page twenty featured a candid photo of Evan kissing a pretty blonde, along with an accompanying article:
Evan Marquardt sure knows how to pick ’em! The “Keep It Sexy” crooner is always surrounded by lovely ladies but his favorite flavor of the month is Rachel O’Connor, 19, soon to be seen nude in the November issue of Coquette magazine. The tantalizing twosome have been spotted at various Hollywood hot spots and our cameras caught them canoodling on a recent shopping trip to Robertson Boulevard. Hey, kids—keep it PG!
Rachel O’Connor—the name didn’t ring a bell but her face was familiar. The Nordic features and creamy skin … Where had they met? Recognition hit her with the force of a Mack truck—the Coquette shoot! That’s how she knew Rachel! She felt woozy as her brain processed this new twist. Evan was banging that frigid bitch?! How was that possible? Why on God’s green earth would he want her? And Coquette—didn’t they have better taste? What a train wreck of a human being! Callie slammed the magazine on the floor and lit a cigarette. Smoking was a habit she had picked up when she started working at Harry’s. It hadn’t developed into a full-blown addiction—or so she told herself—but she consumed two packs a week, sometimes three. She toked and blew the smoke out through her nostrils. Evan’s new romance was a slash in her skin and Coquette was the salt.
The door flew open and Candice charged through. Her eye makeup was smeared from crying. “I hate casting directors! I hope their balls rot off from syphilis! Guess what happened? Take a wild, off-the-wall guess. Starr Talent arranged an audition for me as the lead in a movie—one of those cheesy horror films. I didn’t think much of it, but I went. And, holy fuck, was I ever on. I owned it. Well, I never heard back from them so I just called Doug to see what was up. Get this: Daniel called him to complain how rude I supposedly was. That I wasn’t on time and my arrogance was, quote, ‘offensive.’ I was only thirty minutes late, maybe fifty. And since when is it a crime to be confident? So I’m a little cocky, sue me. He said he never wants me in his casting office again. Can you believe the nerve? It’s not my fault he’s an uptight fag. I need a Xanax.” Candice popped two pills and offered the bottle to Callie; she swallowed one. Why not? Nothing like a little benzodiazepine to sweeten life’s lemons.
“Was the audition for Nympho Cheerleaders Attack! by any chance?” asked Callie.
“Yes, that’s the name of it. How did you know?”
“I told you about it, remember? That’s the movie I had a call-back for.”
“You did? Sorry, it must have slipped my memory, I’ve had so much shit on the brain. Daniel actually told Doug I was unprofessional. Can you believe that? Me, unprofessional? I don’t understand; no one’s ever said that to me before. How can I really be that awful?”
“You’ve always been aggressive, Candy. Sometimes it rubs people the wrong way.”
She wiped inky mascara from her cheeks with a tissue. “Look, I’m no moron; I know I’m an acquired taste. But banning me from setting foo
t in his casting office? People are so mean. This town is full of nothing but a bunch of pricks with tampons shoved up their asses. Fuck it; it doesn’t matter anyhow since casting’s completed.”
Callie’s heart pummeled. “They’re done casting? Are you sure?”
“That’s what Daniel told Doug today. He said they found the female leads. I guess you didn’t book it, either.” A look of relief passed across Candice’s flushed face.
“Thanks for stating the obvious. Who did they settle on?”
“Didn’t ask, don’t care. First I couldn’t get my call-back rescheduled and now this. I can’t catch a goddamned break. What a bullshit industry.” Candice rummaged through the fridge and bit into a chocolate bar. “Coquette is throwing a big party tonight and they’re paying me to stand around in nothing but body paint. Five hundred bucks to be part of the scenery. Do you want to come?”
“I don’t want anything to do with that magazine,” sniped Callie.
“Oh, come on, don’t be so bitter, Cal.”
The pot calling the kettle black! “I am bitter! I can’t believe they chose Rachel over me. Have you ever met her? She’s a mess.”
“I’ve never heard of her before. But as long as she photographs well, they don’t care how fucked up she is. Besides, do you realize how many tits they see on a monthly basis? Millions. The girls who get turned down the first time are often accepted the second or third time around. I just had dumb luck.” Candice had flown to L.A. to shoot her pictorial in January, a week after mailing Coquette nude Polaroids during her senior year at Michigan State. During her stay in L.A., she met Lars Lindquist at a nightclub and never returned to college.
“All the same, I’ll pass. I’m not in the mood.”
“What’s wrong with you? Something else is bothering you, I can tell. You look royally pissed.”
“Have you read your new Got It!? Here, take a look at this.”
Hollywood Strip Page 6
