Candice scanned the article and jeered, “What a loser! Another L.A. scumbag. Argh, men.”
“Why didn’t it occur to me he was just another player?”
“Mama, it’s called being blinded by the cock. Trust me, I know all about it. I should teach seminars, for crying out loud.”
“It was stupid of me. What a fool I am. I actually thought I was different—that I was special. Arrrh! I need some fresh air before my head explodes. Want to go for a jog?”
Candice’s jaw dropped. “Why don’t you just wait for Miss Xani to kick in?”
“Nah, I need to clean my lungs out. I’ve smoked too much this past week.”
“Xanax cures world hunger in my book. Anyway, I don’t have time. My nail appointment is in an hour. Go clear your head and I’ll catch you later.”
Callie laced up her Adidas and whizzed along Franklin past La Brea. Don’t let this bring you down, she thought, each syllable underlined by the pounding of the pavement. I’m too good for Evan and that dumb movie. Sweat seeped down her forehead and stung her eyes. Fuck them all! She headed back east and grabbed a bottle of Evian at the corner gas station. A voice mail awaited her when she returned to her apartment.
“This is Wilder Productions calling for Callie Lambert. Please give us a call back as soon as possible. We’d like to offer her the role of Layla in the movie Nympho Cheerleaders Attack!…”
18
Virginia DiPrizio inhaled the smell of percolating coffee in her kitchen and sighed. She hadn’t heard from her daughter in weeks. What had Cal been up to? Hopefully the craziness of L.A. wasn’t getting the best of her. She was a smart girl but too impulsive—how could she pack her whole life up and move cross-country to a place known only for crime, earthquakes, and liberal weirdos? And to a city she had never even visited! It was completely irrational—ludicrous—giving up a steady job working for Dr. Ryder in search of fame and fortune. The sooner she learned that, the better. It was only a matter of time before she came to her senses and returned to Michigan. She poured Coffee-mate in her mug until her joe turned beige. The phone rang, startling her.
“I was just thinking about you, Cal. Have you decided to come home yet?” said Virginia, cradling the receiver in her shoulder.
“Gee, Mom, it’s good to hear from you, too,” Callie said evenly.
“Oh, stop; you know I’m happy to hear from you. I never know when to call you, what with our schedules and the time difference.”
“I have good news, Mom. Are you sitting down?”
Virginia planted her sizable rear in a dining room chair. “I am now. What kind of news? You’ve come to your senses and are moving back home?”
“Not quite; it’s far more exciting than that. I just got off the phone with Wilder Productions. I’m going to be in a movie!”
“Wilder Productions? Is that pornographic? There was a report on the news last week about how prevalent pornography is in Los Angeles. I’d drop dead of a heart attack if you got sucked into that.”
“Mom, it’s nothing like that. It’s mainstream. Not only am I a lead but I booked it on my own! I won’t have to give any commission to an agency.”
“Well, that’s good,” Virginia said cautiously. “How did you manage it?”
“Tyler gets the castings from a friend and e-mails them to me. The director really likes my take on the character and thinks my comedic chops are impressive,” Callie gushed.
“I could have told him that; you’ve been a ham since you could talk. This is progress, I’m glad. I was getting a little worried things would never move along for you. What’s the name of the movie?”
Callie hesitated; she wasn’t ready for her mother to pick apart the project just yet. “They haven’t settled on a name,” she lied. “It’s a horror film and it will be a lot of fun. I’m so excited, I can’t even tell you! I can hardly believe it.”
“Tony! Listen to this—Callie is going to be in a movie. One of the lead actresses,” Virginia said excitedly.
“Like, a movie movie? She gettin’ paid for it?” said Tony.
“How much are they paying you? Doesn’t an agent or lawyer have to negotiate that stuff?” Virginia said.
“The pay is a scale rate. It’s a low-budget feature which means the money isn’t great, but the exposure will be awesome.”
“Just so long as they’re not trying to rip you off, I guess that’s all right. Beggars can’t be choosers.”
Callie winced and changed the subject. “How are you and Tony?”
“We’re hanging in there,” said Virginia. “Tony’s retirement party is next Friday and on Saturday we’re leaving for the Bahamas with his sister and her husband. I’ve lost twelve pounds since you’ve seen me and can finally fit into my old swimsuit. First time I’ve been able to squeeze into a size ten in years. You should see me—I’m almost as svelte as my old self! Like Candice, only taller. How is she, anyway? That girl always had the best figure. I saw her mother today at the grocery store with a new BMW, a 600 series. Boy, is it something else.”
“Candice is well. She’s been living with me temporarily until she finds a new place.”
“But you live in a studio apartment,” Virginia said incredulously.
“It’s a little tight, but we manage. She’s gone half the time, anyway.”
“You two must be sleeping on top of each other! With the price you pay for that shoe box, you could rent a mansion here in Troy.”
“I have to get ready for work, Mom,” said Callie exhaustedly. “I’ll talk to you later. Have fun on your trip if I don’t speak to you before you leave.” She bitterly wished she hadn’t phoned her mother. What a downer! Why was she riddled with cynicism? Why couldn’t she congratulate her? She always praised Candice’s beauty and admired her family’s wealth but ignored her own daughter’s merits. Grandma Esme was full of adoration and encouragement—why couldn’t her mother be? It was as though she delighted in sapping the energy from a beautiful opportunity. Dad would have approved, wouldn’t he? She was told they shared a similar optimistic attitude and liked to think he would have been proud of her, but there was no way to be sure.
The calendar on her fridge was filled with chicken-scratch: an improvisation class, an eyebrow waxing, a wardrobe fitting, and a read-through with the cast at the Knoxley Theatre. She had forgotten to inquire which actress landed the part of Kiki, Layla’s nemesis, and now she dialed Gabby’s number. But what if Gabby hadn’t booked the part? It would come off as boastful, insensitive. She hung up before the call connected.
Four o’clock—Harry’s in an hour. She made a mental reminder to notify Adam of the dates for her upcoming surgery. The nervousness over Dr. Coop’s scalpel was diminished by the concept of a bump-free silhouette in time for her big-screen debut. Filming wasn’t slated to begin until early October, leaving plenty of time to heal. Her tonsils had to come out, she’d say, and a week or more of recuperation was required. Doctor’s orders. Most likely, management wouldn’t give her a hard time, but if they did, she’d find another job. She pulled a Harry’s Hamlet polo over her head and braced herself for another long shift in hell.
19
The Knoxley was packed with unfamiliar faces; Tom and the Wilder brothers were the only people Callie recognized.
“There’s our Layla!” piped Will, scooping a forkful of rice onto his plate. “Help yourself to all this food I picked up—burritos, quesadillas, tamales, good stuff. We’re going to get started in a minute. It’s great having you on board.”
Callie cracked open a bottle of water. “Thanks, it’s great being here.”
Tom leapt onstage and stuck his fingers in his mouth. His high-pitched whistle quieted the chatter. “Boys and girls, listen up! I requested a meeting with my actors so everyone could familiarize themselves with the story and their characters. We’re going to read the script aloud in its entirety and cover any questions at the end. Who doesn’t have a copy?” Tom paused as a door slammed. The clicking of heels echoed
in the theater as Gabrielle rushed down the aisle. All heads cranked to see who had caused the interruption.
“I’m so sorry I’m late, Tom,” Gabby said, and plopped down next to Callie.
“No problem, babe, we actually started a little early. This is Gabrielle, everyone, better known as Kiki, the resident bad girl of NCA!” Tom ogled Gabby from the roots of her hair down to her peep-toe sandals. “And don’t let those sexpot looks fool you—her comedic chops are razor-sharp. With a little guidance, in fact, I think I may have a modern-day Carole Lombard on my hands.”
She blushed as Tom’s assistant handed her a script.
“I’m so happy to see you!” Callie whispered.
Gabrielle returned Callie’s smile and patted her knee. Not only was Gabby a proverbial face—she could offer acting advice and give pointers, too. She downplayed her experience (“I’m just eye candy. I provide the scenery and occasionally they throw me a bone and let me toss out a few lines,” she had explained) but wasn’t a novice—she had been on many a film and television set over the past six years. Her take on Kiki was high-camp and dripped with saucy gusto.
The plot of Nympho Cheerleaders Attack! was farcical at best. It revolved around a cheerleading squad, headed by Gabrielle. When her popularity becomes threatened by Layla, the new coed on campus, she stops at nothing to destroy her competition. Brainwashing her fellow cheerleaders into becoming sex-crazed, bloodthirsty demons is second nature to Kiki. She loves nothing more than killing her rivals after bedding them, male and female alike. In Layla she physically and mentally meets her match. But the star of the show was the naked flesh. A bevy of blood and exposed breasts—Nympho Cheerleaders Attack! was a fantasy for the quintessential straight male.
Dawn, a petite brunette, raised her hand. “Is this going straight to DVD?”
“We’ve been promised big-screen debuts in L.A. and New York. Depending on how it fares at the box office, it may go to other cities after opening weekend. We’re going to reach out to as many film festivals as possible. Screamfest, Shriekfest, maybe even Toronto and Sundance. It shouldn’t be difficult with Sal’s huge fan base. As soon as he signed on, we knew this movie was going places. It’s got legs,” said Will. Sal Saunders was a horror movie legend with forty-plus years in the industry. The Wilders hoped his portrayal of Hamsburg, the crotchety college dean, would lend the film commercial viability.
“We’ve got something special, here, folks; the horror genre couldn’t be any bigger at this time and I for one am thrilled. Simply put, one can’t go wrong with beautiful, bare-assed women filling the screen. Gabrielle and Callie, my two main minxes, you’re going to look better than a teenage boy’s wet dream. Trust me—the audience will be eating from the palm of your hand. Celluloid will fly! That goes for all you girls.” Tom surveyed his bored-looking supporting actresses. With his dark facial and body hair, he resembled a wolf.
“Is this supposed to be like one of those B-grade films?” asked a girl with a platinum rocker do. She shooed a fly from her pinto beans.
“Not like, Nicole; it is. I wrote this after downing a twelve-pack during a Russ Meyer marathon,” said Tom.
“Where are we filming?”
“Boyle Heights. The building is a former insane asylum, rundown and completely filthy. When we scouted the property, I found straitjackets and patient documents, even dirty needles. It’s delicious how creepy this place is.”
Nicole scratched her head and exchanged uneasy looks with Brittany.
* * *
“So, what do you think of this craptastic masterpiece?” Callie said to Gabby. They walked to their cars on La Cienega.
“It’s a job and it’s money and God knows I need it,” said Gabby. “Who knows, maybe it will even be a hit. There’s certainly an audience for it.”
“Tom was staring so hard at you, I thought he was going to foam at the mouth.”
“I’m used to it. Trust me, without these air bags, I wouldn’t get any attention. Why I ever let Justin talk me into getting them so big, I’ll never know. I guess I should be grateful; I’d never have booked a single thing without them.” Gabrielle fiddled with her keychain and the lights of her white SLK blinked in the distance.
“You’ve got talent, Gabby. I really believe that. Comedic roles are right up your alley. You didn’t book the part just because of your boobs.”
“Thanks. Either way, it’s fine with me. I’m not one to take myself too seriously. When you lose your sense of humor, things go downhill awfully fast.” With a wave, Gabrielle zoomed off into the night.
20
The nurse inserted an IV into Callie’s arm. The anesthesia quickly took effect and she felt euphoric, limp as a rag doll.
“Okay, darlin’, count backwards for me, starting with twenty,” said the nurse. “Twenty, nineteen, eight…” Callie drifted into unconsciousness and woke up two hours later with her nose in a cast. Breathing was tricky; what the hell was up her nose? She gasped for air. “Breathe through your mouth. You have packing up your nose,” she heard a woman say. Nauseated and disoriented, she tossed in her gurney.
Candice was in the waiting room when they wheeled her out. “Hey, there, mama. Let’s get you home and propped up in bed.”
“Can’t you just gimme a pill?” Callie slurred. Her reflection was unrecognizable to her. I look like a rotten banana. When am I going to be normal again? She hadn’t expected to feel so dreadful. Yellow and purple discolorations surrounded her eyes and crusty clumps of blood filled her nostrils like raisins. On day two, Dr. Coop removed the packing, each strip of gauze coming out of her nostril like a never-ending handkerchief from a clown’s pocket. On day seven, the cast was taken off.
“The refinement is subtle yet drastic at the same time,” Dr. Coop said proudly. “Very elegant, even with mild swelling.”
“I feel like a new woman.” She couldn’t put down the handheld mirror; the former asymmetrical, bony bridge was replaced with a graceful slope.
“If I ever need my beak fixed, I’m paying Dr. Coop a visit,” said Candice as she drew Callie a bath. She made a convincing Florence Nightingale, aided by her mother’s twenty years as a registered nurse. “I can’t believe how natural it looks, and after such a short time span, too. Looks like you’ll be ready for your close-up in no time.”
“I hope so. With all the nudity, though, no one’s going to be looking at my nose.”
“That’s so true. Doesn’t it worry you? It would me. The movie could destroy your chances of ever doing mainstream projects. No one will take you seriously. Call me crazy, but it makes me kind of glad I didn’t get the part.”
“You were spread-eagled in a world-famous magazine,” Callie said. “How’s that any different?”
“Coquette is legendary, a global institution. It’s not the same thing at all.”
“I can’t believe you, Candice. That’s so hypocritical!” Who, after all, had shed a pail of tears over the movie in question only days ago?
“We disagree, I guess. Let’s change the subject, I don’t want to argue.”
“Fine by me.”
“Lars is taking me out tonight. Don’t give me that look; I know what I’m doing. It’s only dinner and we’ve decided to still be friends. I’ve got to bolt and go shop for an outfit.”
“How’s the apartment hunt going?” Callie asked as she stepped into the tub. A month and a half had gone by without any mention of Candice looking for new lodgings.
“I’m looking at a place in Beverly Hills next week. A big one-bedroom, one bath. Don’t worry, movie star. I’ll be out of your hair soon.”
Callie sank as deep in the water as she could without submerging her head. As comforting as the water felt, it was difficult to relax—she was too distracted with her issues with Candice, and called Grandma Esme on speakerphone to voice her concerns. “Her laziness is on my nerves, Grandma. And it’s so odd that she resents me for the movie instead of being supportive. Maybe she’s just used to always getting her wa
y. I don’t know what to make of it; she’s never acted like this before.”
“Jealousy is an ugly thing, honey. She’ll come around, don’t worry over it. You’ve got a big gimmick coming up and don’t need anyone bringing you down.” For a seventy-five-year-old, Esme was remarkably modern and nonjudgmental. If filming Nympho Cheerleaders Attack! made her granddaughter happy, then she was all for it, too.
The flipside of her downtime was a treat—cozying up in bed with a tub of Häagen-Dazs, surfing the Web, watching TMC … surgery had its perks. Harry’s was anxious for her return. Ten days seemed a long time to recover from tonsillitis, Adam griped, but Callie held her ground; she was in no shape to be seen. To her delight, Bedroom Eyes resurfaced, beckoning her via text. I miss you. Meet me at my place? Every fiber in her body craved him, despite his involvement with Rachel. That voice, that skin, those eyes … he was completely irresistible. But with her jacked-up appearance, she’d just as soon let the Queen of England see her before Evan. Oh, well. She responded with one word: Busy. How often does a singer with the top song in the country get blown off? Let his balls turn blue, she thought. He’ll just dial his backup lay, whoever that was. Rachel must be out of town or on her period. Or maybe they broke up.…
To get through the boredom of her convalescence, Callie scoured the gossip blogs for an update on the lovebirds (though she’d never admit it to anyone). Evan and Rachel: It’s Love … How Evan and Rachel “Keep It Sexy” … Evan and I Have Sex 8 Times a Day!… Blah, blah, blah. Callie’s face deepened in color with every spicy detail until she felt crazed with envy. Damn that bare-assed trollop! Why couldn’t there be any reference of a split or a hint of trouble? Finally, hours after searching, a negative headline: Nude Pin-Up’s Steamy and ILLEGAL Past Revealed!
Ah-ha!
Aleksandra Gordeeva, madam to the stars, reveals in this exclusive interview how she supplied Hollywood heavyweights with beautiful starlets for over a decade, including nude model Rachel O’Connor.
Hollywood Strip Page 7
