“No, Evan,” she scolded. “That’s where you’re wrong. We’re not at all the same. In fact, we’re built completely opposite. I can be faithful and you cannot. Period.”
“Not at all the case, doll. I—”
“You want to tap everything in heels and that’s your prerogative; do what you gotta do. But don’t expect me to stick around, because I’m not sharing you. Actually, you did me a favor, because the longer you’re away, the more I realize I don’t want to share myself, either.”
“But—”
“And another thing that really chaps me: I gave up lots of auditions—against the advice of my agent, I may add—so I could spend more time with you in London. How sad of me. I have far too much going on to pine over Evan Marquardt and his stuck-on-cruise-control cock.” She rocketed out of the bathroom, leaving a baffled Bedroom Eyes in her wake. Paul held a seat for her at the bar.
“Are you all right?” he asked. “You look pretty riled up.”
“I just ran into an old friend, unfortunately.” Shake it off. “I’m fine. Let’s have a toast.”
Am I really fine?… Yes, absolutely! Who needs a man to be fulfilled, anyway? I have a bona fide career, moola in the bank, and a solid support system. Why would I want a self-consumed prick to complicate things? I deserve much more than that.
Paul handed her a passion fruit martini. “Here’s to you, my dear. To quote that cigarette slogan: ‘You’ve come a long way, baby.’”
“Thank you. Cheers!” Callie flashed her pearly whites and hoisted her glass. “Here’s to me.”
46
“Skank, pass the sunblock.” Tyler slathered lotion on his limbs. “You don’t want a charred gay on your hands, especially with all this ink. Not a pretty sight.”
“Spare me, then, by all means.” Callie waded into the pool. Ahhhh … Eighty-two degrees, the perfect temperature. In the August sun, probably closer to ninety. “This is a perfect afternoon.”
“It would be nicer if the real estate agent had thrown in some muscled-out pool boys, but, yeah, this will do.”
The friends had found the perfect place to share—a rented four-thousand-square-foot hacienda—and moved in earlier in the week. With two of the four bedrooms positioned in complete opposite wings of the house, their Hollywood Hills pad offered a stunning view of the Hollywood sign and the perfect amount of privacy and space. Callie toyed with buying a place—with The Cheerleader Chronicles getting picked up for a twenty-two-episode season, she could afford something magnificent—but her Midwestern frugalness stepped in. Better to stash a sizable chunk for a rainy day. “Save those pennies, honey,” cautioned Esme, and she appreciated her grandmother’s point. The well could easily become dry; what if she never booked another well-paying role again? Banking on “what if” didn’t put food on the table. And even though she rarely admitted it, she was lonely. Ha! Who would have thunk? At the ripe age of twenty-five, she needed more human contact than she did two years ago. In Tyler she found the perfect housemate; he wasn’t home often but when he was, the blend was harmonious.
“There was a story I was going to tell you—what on earth was it?…,” Tyler said.
“If it’s about the Limey, I don’t want to hear it.”
“Lord, girl, take a pill. What, is Aunt Flo in town?”
“I just don’t want to hear about him. I don’t want to know which track he’s working on or how many girls he’s schmoozing. I just don’t care.” She hadn’t spoken with Evan in close to a year and she had almost succeeded in convincing herself he was a mere footnote. She loved him, no question—even after he cheated—but she couldn’t trust him.
“Mmm-hmm. Right. And I got pounded by David Beckham this morning.” Tyler cranked his lounge chair back and covered his face with a fedora. “Anyway, no, it’s not about Evan. It’s that girl he was with, Rachel. I was at the video store yesterday and saw her on a box cover of breeder porn.”
Callie snickered. “I had heard she was doing soft-core, girl–girl fluff, but didn’t know if it was just a rumor.”
“Definitely not a rumor—I saw it for myself. She was buck naked, a big ol’ purple dick in her mouth. I knew you’d get a kick out of that. Guess she got bored with the girly stuff. Can’t say I blame her there.”
“That mainstream career didn’t pan out so well.”
“It sure didn’t. Oh, well. A girl’s gotta eat.”
“True.” Ha! I wonder what Evan thinks of that? Oh, Callie, shut up. Change of subject! She hoisted herself on a boogie board. “I’m flying out to Tucson tomorrow to shoot a spot for the Super Bowl.”
“No kidding? And why haven’t you told me this before?”
“I just found out this morning.”
“Typical entertainment. Gotta love how everything’s so organized.” He rolled his eyes.
“It’s a small part, just one day’s work. I’m stranded in the desert with some football players—I never watch sports, so I don’t even know their names—and they mistake me for a cactus. It’s pretty silly but the producer called up Paul and made a nice offer.”
“Who cares if you have to put on a monkey suit and swing from a tree branch? It’s the Super Bowl, for crying out loud. Congrats, that’s fantastic. I’ll be in Palm Beach for a Nylon cover shoot.”
“Nice. Who’s the girl?”
“No idea. Whichever ‘it’ whore is making people moist these days. Being that I’m the same age as Betty White, I can’t keep up anymore.”
“Yeah, almost-twenty-eight is ancient, Ty,” joked Callie. She hopped out of the water and whisked a towel across her body. “Are you in the mood to go to Barneys? I’m having a retail craving.”
“I can’t believe that’s even a question. Do peas come in a pod? Let me take a quick dip first.”
“Take your time. I’m going to shower off and call my mom.” She sashayed through the kitchen and popped her daily Wellbutrin. Her new psychiatrist, Dr. Freisch, was a snooze compared to Dr. Holtsclaw, but she’d gladly take someone sincere over a fame-chasing nincompoop any day.
Ring!
Callie answered the phone. “I was just about to call you, Mom.”
“We must be on the same wavelength,” said Virginia. Callie would never have predicted that Candice’s overdose would begin the mending of her relationship with her mother. They still weren’t close—not the way Callie had always pictured mother–daughter relationships being—but they spoke on a more frequent basis and in softer, less abrasive tones. It was a beginning. “Say, Cal, I have a question for you. Next month will mark the one-year anniversary of Candice’s sobriety and her parents are planning a little celebration. Very intimate, just family and a few close friends. I know how busy you are these days, but this is a big milestone for her and—”
“Count me in,” Callie said.
Virginia gasped. “You’ll come? To Michigan?”
“Of course. I do return from time to time, you know, Mom.”
“I know, I know. But it’s not exactly your favorite place and what with you taping your show and you mentioned you wanted to jet off to Paris for a break.…”
“Filming doesn’t resume for several months and Paris will always be there. I want to support Candice. This hasn’t been easy for her.”
“It certainly hasn’t. Well, kiddo, that’s fantastic. She’s not aware of any of this, so it will be a wonderful surprise. And I haven’t seen you since last year, so I suppose you could say I have a double agenda.”
“Then it all works out perfectly,” said Callie. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
47
“Holy Christ on a cross! What the hell are you doing here?” Candice lunged from the sectional in her parents’ living room straight into Callie’s arms. Her gusto nearly toppled Callie over.
“I thought I’d pop up in your neck of the woods and help you celebrate your milestone. Congratulations,” Callie said. She was struck by Candice’s glow; the whites of her eyes were brighter, her hair held a varnis
hlike luster, and the hollows under her eyes and in her cheeks had filled out. Sobriety clearly agreed with her.
A year had passed since Candice’s move back to Michigan, “with my tail between my legs,” as she phrased it. She was determined not only to hop back on the straight and narrow, but stay there for good. Family and friends were not disappointed; squeaky-clean had become her middle name, and with her addictions under control, she resumed her psychology studies at Michigan State. Ten pounds heavier and infinitely healthier, Boyd was back.
“You look fantastic, Candy.”
Candice beamed and twirled her raven strands. “Gracias. Of course, if you had a strict diet of zero drink, drugs, or dick, you’d look pretty healthy, too. The only thing I’m on these days is my mother’s treadmill. At the rate I’m going, I may as well join the nunnery.”
“You’re doing great. I’m very proud of you and I want to show my support, so here I am, guns blazing, ready to throw down in the Motor City.”
“I love it! I hope you don’t mind Shirley Temples; my parents don’t keep a stitch of liquor around. It’s better for me that way—no temptation. Out of sight, out of mind. And to tell you the truth, after a year, I have no desire to touch anything mind-altering. I’m really getting off on this whole sobriety thing.”
“Good for you,” said Callie.
“Speaking of getting off, who’s the latest panty creamer in your life?” Candice’s eyes flashed wickedly.
“Honestly, Candy, no one. Zilch. I may have to join you in the nunnery.”
“Oh, c’mon, last we spoke was months ago; you mean to tell me since then, with a hit TV show and this body, you don’t have any men on your leash? I don’t believe it, mama. Not a word of it.”
“I swear. Tyler’s my main man.”
“Humph,” Candice scoffed, “she doesn’t count.” Candice and Tyler had never been chummy, not before she spun a 180 and not after, either.
“Have gay, will travel. Besides, I’ve been so busy working, I don’t have any time to devote to a relationship.”
Candice’s eyes bulged. “Who said anything about a relationship? What about just a lay every now and then?”
“One-nighters aren’t my style. Been there, done that, not for me anymore. I’ll leave those to you,” Callie said.
“I told you, I’m not allowing a random penis to obstruct my vision right now. School and twelve-step meetings—that’s about it for me. Pretty dull, huh? Look at all the crap that went down when I was obsessed with Lars. That prick, I swear, was part of my downfall. I don’t need any male complications.”
“Not at this stage. Keep on doing what you’re doing, because it’s definitely working.”
“That, along with my vibrator,” Candice quipped. “Working like a charm.”
“Do I hear a Miss Callie?” Lara, Candice’s mother, rushed out of the kitchen with a towel in her hands. “My goodness! How are you, honey? It’s been quite some time.” She inspected Callie up and down before giving her a squeeze. “Smokes, you look terrific. If only I had been born with your metabolism. You know, you look heavier on television. Why is that?”
“The camera adds ten pounds, Mom,” Callie said. She often referred to Lara Boyd as “Mom”—though not in Virginia’s presence—and felt she understood her better than her own mother. Lara was warmer, gentler, more nurturing. True, Virginia was learning to be less abrasive (more so than Callie ever remembered) but it hadn’t happened overnight and without much sweat. Lara, on the other hand—with Lara the rapport flowed freer.
“Does it? So in other words, I’d look like an elephant on-screen?” Lara chuckled and patted her stout torso. “I’m top-heavy, that’s my problem. Candy and I both. The big difference, though, is she has a waist and I most definitely do not.” She clutched the girls’ forearms. “Come with me, my little chickadees. Dinner is just about ready and we’re eating on the patio. Just a small group of us, about a dozen, nothing fancy. Since I’ve got all three of my kids with me—four, counting Cal—I don’t need much else. I love this time of year. We have the loveliest autumn here, just beautiful, and I want to soak it up before it turns cold. I have to confess, Callie, your mother told me you were flying in but I didn’t want to spoil the surprise for Candy. Where is your mother, anyway? I spoke to her last week and she said she and Tony would definitely make it.”
“They’ll be here soon. Tony took her to a doctor’s appointment and they’re running a little late. I drove here straight from the airport,” said Callie.
“Say no more. Those offices are always running behind. It’s ludicrous. Callie, you eat pork, don’t you? I thought so. I’ve whipped up some chops and ribs and all the staples of a Midwest feast.”
“Midworst, she means,” whispered Candice, and Callie giggled. They joined the rest of Candice’s family at the table. Her two brothers, nineteen-year-old Luke and twenty-year-old Shane, eyed Callie like a buttery cob of corn.
“Wow,” Shane said, taking Callie’s hand in his. “I haven’t seen you in a couple of years, Callie, not since you got all famous. You look g-g-great. We watch your show all the time.”
“All the time,” echoed Luke. “Cheerleader Chronicles is my favorite. Every Wednesday night, bam, there I am, chillin’ in front of the TV. You’ve got the hottest chicks on that show.”
“You’re the hottest by far, though,” Shane said.
“Like, by far,” added Luke.
Callie blushed and rubbed the back of her neck. “Thanks, guys, thank you. That’s sweet.”
Luke poured a glass of lemonade for Callie. “Here, want me to scoop you some of Mom’s peanut coleslaw? I assure you, it rocks.”
Shane threw his fork on the plate. “Dumbass, you know she’s allergic to peanuts! God, you just got done saying you watch her show every week and you don’t know that? She’s allergic to peanuts and strawberries. She can die from ’em.”
“No, no, guys, that’s just my character,” said Callie. “I’m not really allergic to those things in real life. Only on TV.”
“Boys,” Lara said, “why don’t you let Callie relax? I’m sure she’d like to unwind without getting grilled.”
“Really!” Candice huffed. “She didn’t come to see me to get interviewed by you.”
Callie jumped in. “It’s okay. Really, I don’t mind.” And she didn’t. She found their naiveté and flattery cute. Besides, the soft breeze caressed her face and the crickets had begun singing for the evening; she felt safe amongst the humble surroundings and familiar faces. If it made the brothers happy, fire away.
“Cool,” Luke and Shane said in unison. They both shot a slew of questions faster than she could keep up with.
“What was Sal Saunders like to work with?”
“Was Gabrielle Manx as hot in person as she was in the movie?”
“Are you making a sequel to NCA!?”
“How do they come up with so much blood?”
“What’s up with those cheerleader uniforms? In the movie your skirt is tiny—like, tie-nee—but on TV, man, you’re practically in prairie clothes.”
“Can you hook me up with the blonde? You know, the one with all the piercings?”
Candice’s father, Joe, got in on the act. “Callie, I’m curious how much time they give you to learn your lines. I tune in from time to time and it’s amazing how much dialogue you have to learn. Your memory must be excellent. That’s a talent, for sure.”
Candice flew to her feet. “Okay! Are we done yet? This is my shindig, my sobriety we’re celebrating! It’s about me, get it? Me. All of these stupid questions. Who cares? It’s just a goddamned TV show.” She stomped into the house. The silence at the table drowned out the crickets.
48
Lara broke the lull. “I’m sorry for that, Callie. She knows I don’t tolerate that kind of language. I don’t know what’s gotten into her.” She brushed her bangs away from her red face and avoided eye contact.
Callie folded her napkin on the table. “No worries. Wh
y don’t you guys eat up? I’m going to go inside for a minute.” She searched for Candice and found her in the powder room sniffling in a tissue.
“Ohhh,” Candice sobbed when she saw her friend in the doorway. “I’m an ass, Cal, I really am. I’m sorry. I just—it’s really been tough for me. Here I am in Bum Fuck, Egypt, with nothing exciting happening. Back in L.A. everyone noticed me. I was Miss Social. I was a centerfold and in magazines and at all these glamorous events and parties. I was the belle of the ball! I always got the attention, way more than you.…”
I don’t quite remember it that way, but whatever. “Candice, you’ve always been the competitive one in our relationship, not me. And it’s not like I’m bragging, either; your family is interested in my job, that’s all. They’ve known me since we were teenagers. You gotta admit, it’s not every day a girl on a TV show sits down for a barbecue in Troy, Michigan. They’re not used to that sort of thing.”
“I know, but that used to be my world!” said Candice. “And it’s gone. I’m fatter, man-less, and no one recognizes me anymore. I’m trying to make the most of my new life but I miss my old one, too. Like, a lot.”
“I can understand that.” Callie sympathized with her—she certainly wouldn’t want to move back to Troy—but Candice’s behavior was juvenile and her selfishness had, unfortunately, remained intact. Callie was angry she had bothered coming.
Honnnnnk! Candice blew her nose. “I’m not being fair. This isn’t your issue, I know—it’s mine. Look, why don’t we—? Hold on, someone’s at the front door. Your mom and Tony are here.” She was greeted with a gigantic hug from Tony—a hug that, Callie thought, went on for several seconds too long to be kosher. But Candice didn’t seem to mind.
“How ya doin’, Candy? Lookin’ good, lookin’ good. As always,” Tony bellowed. His eyes fondled Candice’s chest, which was accentuated by her ribbed cotton tank. Tony DiPrizzio had always been, and forever would be, Candice’s number one admirer. Throw her in L.A. or Luxembourg, Troy or Torino, at a buck twenty or ten pounds heavier—in his opinion, she was a goddess anywhere and at any weight. Callie rolled her eyes.
Hollywood Strip Page 18
