“How are you, kiddo?” Virginia planted a kiss on her daughter’s forehead. “Where’s my hug?”
Callie embraced her mother but was thrown off by her appearance; Virginia’s dark eyes were puffy and pink, as if she hadn’t slept in days. Her coloring was off, too—peaked, a far cry from her usual peaches-and-cream. But the biggest giveaway that something was amiss had to be her lipstick—or rather, the lack thereof. Her lips were bare, and she never so much as picked up the mail without her rosy pucker in place.
“Mom, what’s wrong?”
Virginia waved an index finger in front of her face. “Nothing to worry about.” To Callie’s scowl: “Not now, Cal. Not the right time.”
“Can we talk privately for a minute?” Callie whispered. “I’m pretty bent.”
“Sure. I’ll let Candice entertain her biggest fan.” Virginia led her outside where her black Cadillac was parked and listened as Callie recounted the dinner debacle. “What a shame. Lara must have felt awful. I never pegged Candice as the jealous type, go figure. News to me.”
“Let’s just say it’s been brewing since I booked the film. As if I had any say in who was cast. And I certainly didn’t fly all the way here to be dumped on,” fumed Callie. “It was totally embarrassing. And she calls me her best friend, if you can believe that.”
“Imagine if you weren’t.”
“I’m over it. I can’t change people and I shouldn’t have to. But honestly, Mom, I’m more concerned with you. How are you? You look so … so tired and not yourself.”
“I am,” Virginia said quietly. “I am tired. I haven’t been sleeping so well lately. Do I really look that bad?”
“Umm, no,” Callie said delicately, “but I know you. I can tell something’s off.”
“I’ll save it for another time. Trust me. We should go in and be polite. At least for a little bit.”
“I don’t feel like being polite and I’m in no mood for BS. Please, Mom, level with me; I woke up at four A.M. to sit on a smelly plane all day and this visit is off to a crappy start.”
“Well, I have a confession to make: it’s about to get worse.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re always so impatient, Callie.” Virginia swallowed. “I didn’t want to tell you in this way, but, fine. I’ve been wheezing and coughing, having chest pains for a long time, now—too long to be normal—and I got checked out by Dr. Gerber a few weeks ago. You’ve met Dr. Gerber—I’ve known him for years. Well, I went back for more tests and today I received the results. The news isn’t very good.”
“Pneumonia, bronchitis, what?”
“Heavens, I wish. No, it’s much more serious than that, but he says it’s not hopeless. Not with my attitude. With my can-do spirit, we figure it’s—”
“Mother—what is it?”
“Cancer. I have lung cancer, Cal.”
49
Paul Angers paced across the shag rug in his office, back and forth, to and fro, his worn leather loafers creaking with every stride. “I don’t want you to think I don’t feel terrible about your mother’s illness, Callie,” he said into the phone. “My grandmother and favorite aunt had cancer, so I sympathize with you and your family. I truly do.” Creak. “But the fact of the matter is you’re due on set next month. And those aren’t my orders, either—if it were up to me I’d tell you, by all means, stay with your mother in Michigan, stay as long as you need to—but a contract’s a contract.” Creak. “And while your dedication to her is very admirable, the suits aren’t going to go for it.”
Callie took a deep breath before speaking. “Paul, there’s got to be something you can do. Why can’t they shoot the other scenes that don’t require me at that time?”
“They are. You’re never required to be there if you’re not needed—you know that. But they’ve planned everything out, Callie, and your scenes are scheduled to shoot the last week of October.”
“Give me a break! Nothing in entertainment is exactly ‘planned’ or done by the book. Hollywood flies by the seat of its pants all the time, so why not now?”
“It’s such short notice.…”
“Kind of like when I get a call, ‘Hey, Callie, your schedule’s changed. We don’t need you on set next week after all—we need you at six A.M. tomorrow.’ That kind of notice?”
“Yeah,” Paul said sheepishly, “yeah, that kind of notice. I’ll make some calls. Let me see what I can do.”
“Thank you, Paul, I appreciate it, and I know you’ll get this done.” She hung up and plopped down on the bed in her mother’s guest room. Please. As if they can’t be a little accommodating. I’m the star of the show, for crying out loud! And it’s not like I’m calling in because of a hangover or a PMS attack. Jesus Christ. Why is this business so one-sided?
C-A-N-C-E-R. The six-letter word grasped Callie’s heart like a pair of tongs and squeezed it until she was nauseated. Her mother was never a smoker—and not her sisters or parents, friends or husbands. In fact, she couldn’t tolerate anyone who smoked. Whenever Callie had indulged (behind closed doors) in her now-defunct habit, Virginia would snap, “I smell cigarettes! And don’t tell me I’m wrong, either, missy; you’ve been puffing at some point in the last twenty-four hours, sure as a gun’s iron.” And she was always right on the money, too. Her sense of smell rivaled that of a K-9. If someone so much as lit up from across the street, she’d take off in the opposite direction like a bat out of hell. So, Callie agonized, how could this be? It was Stage II—she couldn’t believe she was saying “Stage II,” as if she was referring to the neighborhood cinema around the corner—and the doctors were confident they could rope in the disease before it spread further. (“Surgery in three days followed up with chemo a month later,” Virginia said. “Funny how you’ve been after me to update my hairstyle—you’ve always hated my poufy hair—and now I won’t have any…”) Callie had planned on a week-long visit but with the unexpected news, she extended her stay.
“Callie, kiddo, I love that you want to help me out, but you have a life back in L.A. and I don’t want to screw anything up for you. You have an important job and—”
Callie interrupted. “It’s not that important, Mom. Trust me, it’s just entertainment. The sun’s still going to rise and shine with or without a new episode of a stupid cheerleader show.”
“Ssh, don’t say that!” Virginia’s well-sculpted brows furrowed. “You’ve worked hard to get to this point in your career, and at such a young age, too. Look at you, everything is at your feet—at the tip of those Fred Flintstone toes of yours. I know I never took this whole acting thing seriously in the beginning—don’t forget I can admit when I’m wrong—but you’ve really done something special and I don’t want you to blow that up. These opportunities are few and far between. Two years ago, if someone had told me, ‘Mrs. DiPrizio, your daughter is going to make hundreds of thousands of dollars running around in a phony cheerleader skirt, killing people with a couple of pom-poms—well, let’s say I would have told them to keep walking straight to the snake pit. But I gotta hand it to you, kiddo—you really have beaten the odds. The taste level could stand to be raised, that’s for sure, but what do I know.” Virginia couldn’t understand sex as a commodity and Callie had given up trying to explain it long ago.
She picked up the new Hermès scarf she’d brought with her and caressed the silky threads. The gift had been intended for Candice but after her childish outburst Callie wasn’t feeling particularly generous. It would be perfect, however, for her mother to wear—especially after her chemo treatments. She sighed and placed the scarf back in its box. Hopefully Paul would get back to her soon.
50
Grandma Esme cradled Callie’s head in her lap and massaged her granddaughter’s scalp with long, fluid strokes. The elderly woman never failed in soothing her, no matter how frazzled Callie was. Her grandma, she was sure, could restore world peace, given the opportunity. No question about it.
“Honey, your mother has a great team
of caretakers, don’t think twice about that,” said Esme. “They’re removing the tumor tomorrow and you’ll get a chance to look after her for a couple of weeks before you head home.”
“But, Grandma, it’s the principle. A dumb soundstage in Burbank isn’t going anywhere. The crew and cameras will always be there. My mother won’t be. I want to be with her. I want to take care of her. I’m her only child. It’s not like I have another parent on standby.” Callie cursed herself for her tactlessness but Esme didn’t seem to notice.
“I know, dear, I know. Mercy, life certainly does throw some curve balls, doesn’t it? Maybe Paul will have good news for you.”
“Maybe.” Rrrrring! Callie grabbed her phone. Speaking of Paul. She stepped outside to take his call.
“Yeah, um, hi, there,” Paul stammered. “Cal, I tried to pull some strings for you but I don’t think it’s going to work out. The Wilders really need you, as originally planned.”
“Are you kidding? They can’t work with me a little here, while my mom gets zapped with chemo? I mean, really?”
“I understand your frustration, but they’d really like you here on set. Money is time and time is money.”
“In other words, they’re demanding it, is that it?”
“More or less. Violating a written contract could really tip the applecart. Will and Wendell said to give you their condolences, however. And they wanted me to mention they just cast a new dynamite actor for you to spar with, an up-and-coming hotshot from Tennessee.”
Those inconsiderate, morally corrupt Hollywood cretins. “Great,” she mumbled.
“If there’s chemistry, they may write him in as a series regular, but as it stands now, he’s a recurring guest star. You’re going to absolutely love Layla’s evolution this season, the script is fantastic and you’re getting a lot of juicy scenery to chew up. Callie, are you still there?”
“Yeah, I’m here.” Heaven forbid family should be put in front of money—oh, the horror! “I guess it’s settled, then. See you in a few weeks.”
“Callie, I realize that—”
She hung up; the bullshit hurt her ears.
Rrrrring! Argh, that shrill clanging! She made a mental note to switch ringtones. Rrrrr—
Callie answered without looking at the caller ID. “Jesus Christ, Paul—what?” Silence. “Hello?”
The person on the other line didn’t immediately speak but when he did, it was most definitely not Paul Angers.
“I figured I’d get your answering machine but I’m glad I was wrong. And all feisty, too, just how I remember.”
The voice was unmistakable. The lilt, that distinct way of speaking—an irresistible combo of sweet and sinful. Callie’s heart thrashed. She bit her lower lip but couldn’t stop the smile spreading across her lips. Bedroom Eyes. I’ll be damned.
51
“Well, well, if it isn’t Mr. Marquardt,” Callie said. That sexy devil. Why couldn’t she tell him to go to hell as she had done back at Nobu? How dare he wait a full year to resurface? The nerve! But she couldn’t say that. She couldn’t find any cruel or witty words to say to him. Despite all of his shortcomings as a boyfriend, Callie had remained mad for him and he was the best thing she had heard in a while. “Sorry, I thought you were my manager calling back. How have you been?”
“Not bad, not bad at all. I’ve been busy producing a bunch of new artists—a jazz musician, a blues band. Established acts, too, of course. It’s been great branching out in a different direction. I’m having a blast really grinding my heels in. And somewhere along the way I also found time to get engaged. I’m sure you’ve heard about all that, though.”
Callie had indeed read about Bedroom Eyes’s whirlwind courtship with twenty-eight-year-old wannabe celebrity, Stephanie Schueller. The three-month romance culminated with a diamond on Stephanie’s ring finger. Specifically, a Fancy Intense Yellow rock, pear shaped, 4.5 carats cradled in 18k two-tone gold. Not that Callie admitted to keeping track, of course. Judging from the bits and pieces she gathered, the Ohio native wouldn’t know the difference between a diamond and a lump of yellow-painted coal. (“She’s not necessarily stupid,” Callie had remarked to Tyler, “just more or less a piece of trash. Stephanie opens her mouth and a trailer park falls out.”) “No, I haven’t heard anything about it,” she said.
“Really, now? Hmmm, I figured everyone had heard. Those silly rags, especially the British ones, keep us splashed on their covers. Anyhow, we broke up. Specifically, I broke up with her.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Evan. Gosh, that’s too bad. What happened?”
“It’s for the best,” he sighed. “She was just too much maintenance. It was a berserk, go, go, go kind of thing—we were always on the move, there was always some sort of drama going on. What goes up that fast is bound to come crashing down, I suppose. I like a girl to be more low-key. But enough about her. Let’s talk about you. Everywhere I turn I see your gorgeous mug and I want to know for myself how you’ve been. And I was tired of waiting on your fine ass to call me so here I am calling you. So, Miss Lambert—how are you?”
Callie broke down and told him about her mother’s health crisis.
“Good Lord. Sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you. The irony is that this is the one time I actually want to be in Michigan and I can’t be. Can you believe it? Go figure.”
“That’s the way the chips fall. God, I’ve missed the sound of your voice, Callie.”
Damn you, Bedroom Eyes, for catching me in a vulnerable state! Stay strong, girl. Do not let him work you.
“Let’s talk about us,” he said.
“What do you mean by ‘us’? Last time I checked, there hasn’t been an ‘us’ in quite some time.” Callie kept her tone devoid of emotion.
“That’s just the thing; maybe there should be an ‘us’ again. I miss you, baby. I really, honest-to-God miss you. Have for quite some time. Christ, I really fucked things up for us and never gave you a proper apology.”
“Correct on both accounts,” she said coolly.
“Let me make it up to you. Why don’t we get together when you get back? Or better yet, I’m taking off to London next week for a few appearances. Only a couple of days’ worth, a concert and some meetings, then I’m free to do as I please. Why don’t we take some time off and pal around Europe? Have you ever been to Greece?”
You know damn well I’ve never been to Greece. “Nope.”
“We can take a tour. Go to Mykonos, where your grandmother’s roots are. How is Grandma Esme, by the way?”
“Grandma is fine, thanks. She’s always keeping busy playing cards or baking or watching her soaps. Healthy as a horse.”
“That’s good to hear. I adore that woman, do tell her hello for me. So, picture the two of us in Mykonos. I’ll rent a villa right on the Aegean Sea. We’ll do nothing but soak up the sun and lie around naked and we—”
“Evan,” Callie said sharply, “I just got done telling you my mom has cancer. And, anyway, there is no ‘we.’ No ‘us.’ So just forget it, it’s not going to happen.”
“You cannot tell me you don’t think about me or you don’t care for me, Callie. I don’t believe it for a second.” His low, melodic drawl made Callie’s body crawl with goose bumps. “I know you miss me. Let’s try this again and I promise, I won’t disappoint you this time around.”
Don’t do it, don’t do it … or should I? He may have changed.…
“Give me one week and see if I can’t change your mind. Come on, you little tease, I dare you.”
God, that sounds soooo sexy.… Argh … “Evan, I don’t think—”
“One week, that’s all I ask. Seven days alone with me in Greece and then make your decision. Let me redeem myself.”
Fuck, that sounds fabulous.… Redeem yourself all day long, Bedroom Eyes, till the sun sets. With my legs spread, redeem away.… No, don’t let him.… Or should I? “I can’t do that, Evan. I’m sorry, but the answer is no.”
; “But I’m not used to hearing ‘no,’ doll.”
“And I’m not used to being taken for a fool, Evan. Get it?”
“Gotcha,” he sighed. “Well, can’t say I didn’t try, can you?”
“It was great hearing from you but I really have to go.”
“Likewise. Later, sweets. Take care.” Click.
Callie groaned. It was easier walking a tightrope made of dental floss than maintaining self-control with Evan. She didn’t know whether to congratulate or kick herself. Mostly, she felt like doing the latter, but there was no reason for him to know that. As deep as her feelings ran for him, her pride easily doubled that.
52
Her limbs tingled as if needles poked her arms and legs, dozens at a time. She sat on her icy hands to warm them but it did nothing to remedy her prickling fingertips. Her breathing, quick yet labored, made the oxygen rush to her brain. A cement block pressed against her chest, she was sure of it. Why else would it be so difficult to breathe? The more she focused on a breathing technique, the more light-headed she became. The fluorescent lights of the hospital definitely didn’t help. Concentrate on an object, Callie thought; that’s always helped in the past. Focus on that blue scarf the woman sitting across from you is wearing. Let your mind go blank and center in on that cool, monochromatic turquoise. Soak it in and abandon all the worries swirling through your brain. That’s it, girl, good job. See how easy that is? What a pretty shade of blue.…
“Mr. DiPrizio?” The doctor interrupted Callie’s meditation. Tony jumped to his feet. She had never seen her stepfather’s three-hundred-pound frame move so quickly. “Your wife’s lobectomy went just fine. Smooth sailing. She’s still out and is resting comfortably.”
“Thank you, Doc, thank you. I was sweatin’ bullets for a minute there,” Tony said. He pulled a handkerchief from his Wranglers and wiped his brow.
Hollywood Strip Page 19
