A moment later, after watching him until the camera moved away from him again, she went back to her safe, protected environment, full of incubators, and tiny babies on monitors and tubes. And she forgot about Coop and the Golden Globes again. She didn't even see his message on her pager until the next day. He was the last thing on her mind.
But as amused as Mark and Jimmy and Alex had been to see Coop on television, Charlene was considerably less so, as she sat scowling at the TV. He had told her two days before that he couldn't take her to the Schwartzes' because they needed him as an extra man. And he had assured her that she would have been bored to death, which was what he always said when he wanted to go somewhere alone. But going to the Golden Globes with him would have been just her cup of tea. And she was furious with him for not taking her, and going with Rita Waverly instead. But professionally at least, going with Charlene would have done nothing for him.
“Bitch!” she spat petulantly at the TV. “She must be eighty years old,” she said out loud, as Alex had in the waiting room. There was something about seeing people you knew on television that made you want to speak to them. And there was a lot she would have liked to say to Coop. She had seen him put an arm around Rita and lean close to her and whisper in her ear. Rita Waverly was laughing at something he said, as the cameras moved off to another star sitting nearby.
Charlene left half a dozen messages for him, and was seething when she finally reached him on his cell phone at 2 A.M.
“Where the hell are you, Coop?” She sounded halfway between a tantrum and tears.
“And good evening to you too, my dear.” He sounded calm and undisturbed.
“I'm at home in bed, where are you?” He knew what she was upset about. It had been predictable, but unavoidable. Not in a million years would he have taken her to an event as highly publicized as the Golden Globes. As far as he was concerned, their relationship wasn't serious or important enough to warrant publicity. Besides which, being seen with Rita Waverly did him a great deal more good. He enjoyed Charlene, and others like her, immensely but privately. He had no desire whatsoever to show her off to the world. But he assumed correctly that she had seen him on TV.
“Is Rita Waverly with you?” she asked, a tone of hysteria creeping into her voice. She was going to turn ugly soon, Coop knew. Those kinds of inquiries always encouraged him to move along quickly to the next candidate on his list. Beautiful or not, Charlene's moment in the sun was almost up. There were always others waiting for him in the wings. It was time to turn the corner again.
“Of course not. Why would Rita be here?” He sounded innocent, and was.
“You looked like you were going to fuck her any minute when I saw you on TV.” The time had come.
“Let's not be rude,” he said, as though speaking to a naughty child who had just attempted to stomp on his foot. When in doubt, Coop always removed himself, or stomped first. But he had no need to do that to Charlene. He knew that all he had to do was quietly disappear. “It was a very boring ordeal,” he said with a well-staged yawn. “It always is. It's work, my dear.”
“So where is she?” she asked. She'd drunk almost an entire bottle of wine as she tried to reach him all night. But quite reasonably he had turned his cell phone off at the awards, and had forgotten to turn it on again until he got home.
“Who?” He genuinely had no idea who she meant. She sounded more than a little drunk. She'd gotten upset waiting to talk to him.
“Rita!” Charlene said insistently.
“I have no idea where she is. In her own bed, I assume. And I, dear lady, am going to sleep. I have an early call tomorrow for a commercial. I'm not as young as you. I need my sleep.”
“The hell you do. If I were there, we'd be up all night, and you know it.”
“Yes,” he smiled, “I'm sure we would, which is why you're not here. We both need some sleep.”
“Why don't I come over now?” she asked, slurring her words. She was sounding even drunker than she had at first, and she was still drinking while they talked.
“I'm tired, Charlene. And you sound under the weather too. Why don't we let it go for tonight.” Boredom had crept into his voice.
“I'm coming over.”
“No, you're not,” he said, sounding firm.
“I'll climb over the gate.”
“The security patrol would pick you up, which would be embarrassing for you. Let's both get some sleep and talk about it tomorrow,” he said gently. He didn't want to get into a fight with her, especially if she was drunk and upset. He was smarter than that.
“Talk about what tomorrow? Are you cheating on me with Rita Waverly?”
“What I'm doing is entirely none of your business, Charlene, and the term ‘cheating’ presumes some kind of commitment on either of our parts, and there is no such thing between us. Now, let's keep a little perspective here. Goodnight, Charlene,” he said firmly, and promptly hung up. His cell phone rang again almost immediately and he let it go to voice mail, and then she tried his house. She called for the next two hours, and he finally switched off the phone, and went to sleep. He hated possessive women who made scenes. It was definitely time for Charlene to vanish out of his life. He was sorry Liz was no longer around. She had always been so good at that. If Charlene had been more important to him, he'd have sent her a diamond bracelet or some similarly impressive gift to thank her for the time they'd spent together. But she hadn't been around long enough to warrant it. And in her case, he knew, it would only have encouraged her. Charlene was the kind of girl you had to cut off suddenly, and stay away from after that. It was a shame she had made a scene that night, he mused to himself, as he drifted off to sleep. If she hadn't, he would have been perfectly happy to keep her around for at least another two or three weeks, but surely no longer than that. But after tonight, she was destined for a speedy exit. In fact, he knew, as he heard his phone ring in the distance for the hundredth time, she was already gone. Bye, Charlene.
Coop mentioned her discreetly to Paloma the next morning when she served his breakfast on a tray. She was doing better than she had for the first few days, although she had served him hot peppers with his poached eggs, and even after spitting them out, his mouth burned all day. She said it was a treat for him, and he had begged her not to “treat” him again.
“Paloma, if Charlene calls, please tell her that I'm out, whether or not I'm at home. Is that clear?”
Paloma stared at him through narrowed eyes. He had finally learned to see her through the rhinestone sunglasses. And in any case, her whole face gave her away. Most of the time, her entire body read disapproval, contempt, and rage. She referred to him as a “dirty old man” to her friends. “You don't like her anymore?” She no longer bothered to use the accent on him. She had other tricks up her sleeve instead. She loved challenging him in a myriad of ways.
“That's not the point. It's simply that our… our little interlude… has come to an end.” He would never have had to explain that to Liz, nor did he want to explain it to his maid. But Paloma seemed determined to be the champion of the underdog, and defender of all womanhood, rather than Coop.
“ ‘Interlude’? ‘Interlude’? Does that mean you're not sleeping with her anymore?” Coop winced.
“That's crude, but correct, I'm afraid. Please don't put her calls through to me again.” He couldn't have said it more clearly to her. And half an hour later, she told him he had a call.
“Who is it?” he asked distractedly. He was reading a script in bed, and trying to figure out if there was a part in it for him.
“I don't know. Sounds like a secretary,” she said vaguely, and he picked up the phone. It was Charlene.
She was sobbing and hysterical, and said she wanted to see him immediately. She said she was going to have a nervous breakdown if he didn't, and it took him an hour to get off the phone. He told her he didn't think their relationship was good for her, and it seemed wiser not to see each other for a while. He didn't tell her that th
ese were precisely the kind of histrionics he avoided in his life, and he had no intention of seeing her again. She was still crying, but less hysterically, when he finally got off the phone. And he went to find Paloma immediately. He was still in his pajamas, when he found her in the living room, vacuuming. She was wearing a new pair of purple velvet sneakers and matching sunglasses, with rhinestones of course. She didn't hear a word he was saying to her, and he turned the vacuum off and stood there glaring at her, as she looked unconcerned.
“You knew exactly who that was,” he said accusingly. It was rare for him to lose his cool with anyone, but Paloma brought out the worst in him. He wanted to strangle her, and Abe, for firing the rest of the staff and leaving him with her. Any benevolence he'd begun feeling for her instantly disappeared. As far as he was concerned, she was a witch.
“No. Who?” she said innocently. “Rita Waverly?” She had seen him at the Golden Globes too, and told all her friends watching it, what an asshole he was. He wouldn't have been pleased with her reviews.
“It was Charlene. That was a rotten thing to do. It upset her terribly and me too. She was hysterical, which is not how I like to start my day. And I warn you, if she shows up here, and you let her in, I'm going to throw you both out of this house, and call the police and tell them you broke in.”
“Don't get so nervous,” she said with a quelling look at him.
“I'm not nervous. I'm angry, Paloma. I specifically told you, I don't want to speak to Charlene.”
“I forgot. Or maybe I didn't know who she was. Okay, I won't answer the phone again.” Her final victory, and yet another task she no longer had to do, which only made him angrier.
“You will answer the phone, Paloma. And you will not tell Charlene if I'm here. Is that clear?”
She nodded, and turned the vacuum on again, in open defiance of him. She did defiance extremely well. And passive aggression too.
“Fine. Thank you,” he said, and stomped back upstairs, and when he went back to bed, he couldn't concentrate on the script. Other than his fury at Paloma, he was extremely annoyed at Charlene. She was being tiresome and hysterical and rude. He hated women who hung on like that. When the romance waned, they had to know how to leave elegantly. But elegance was clearly not Charlene's strong suit. He could sense easily that she was going to be difficult. He was still irritated when he finally got out of bed, showered, shaved, and dressed.
He was having lunch at Spago with a director he'd worked with years before. Coop had called and suggested lunch, he wanted to find out what he was up to. You never knew when someone was making a movie with a great part for him. Thinking about it forced Charlene from his mind at least. And it was only on his way to Spago that he remembered he had never heard from Alex, and he decided to page her again. He left his cell phone number on her pager.
He was surprised and pleased when she answered him immediately this time. He had just put his cell phone on the seat next to him when she called.
“Hello, this is Dr. Madison. Who's this?” She didn't recognize the number, and had her official voice on, as he smiled.
“It's Coop. How are you, Dr. Madison?” She was surprised to hear his voice, and in spite of herself, pleased. “I saw you on the Golden Globes last night.” So had half the world, and all of Hollywood. “I didn't think you had time to watch TV.” “I don't. I was walking through the waiting room, looking for one of my patients' parents, and there you were, with Rita Waverly You both looked great,” she said with sincerity. She had a young voice, and the same openness he had liked about her when they met. There was no artifice about her, only beauty and brains, unlike Charlene. But the comparison was unfair. Charlene would have been at a disadvantage with the likes of Alex Madison. Alex had everything going for her, looks, charm, intelligence, breeding. She came from another world. And in contrast, there were things Charlene did that women like Alex knew nothing about. There was room in Coop's world for both of them, or there had been until the night before. But there would be women like Charlene in his world again, Coop knew. There were a lot of them. It was women like Alex who were rare and few and far between. “I think you might have paged me yesterday,” she said candidly. “I didn't recognize the number, and I didn't have time to return the call. I didn't even see it till today. But when it came up again just now, I thought I'd better call. I was afraid you might be a consulting physician. I'm glad you're not.” She sounded relieved.
“So am I, particularly with those little miniature rug rats you play doctor to. I'd rather be a barber than do what you do.” Although in truth, he respected her more than he was willing to admit. But his feigned horror at what she did was part of his game, and she knew it too.
“How was last night? Was it fun? Rita Waverly sure is beautiful. Is she nice?” The question made him smile. “Nice” was not a word he would have chosen to describe Rita Waverly, and she would have been insulted if he had. Nice was not a highly prized virtue in Hollywood. But she was important and powerful and beautiful and glamorous, even if slightly long of tooth.
“I think ‘interesting’ is more appropriate. Amusing. She's very much a movie star,” he said diplomatically.
“Like you,” Alex tossed the ball back to him, and he laughed.
“Touche. What are you doing for the rest of the day?” He liked talking to her, and he wanted to see her again, if he could pry her away from the hospital and her duties in the ICU. He wasn't sure he could.
“I'm working till six o'clock, and then I'm going to go home and sleep for about twelve hours. I have to be back here at eight o'clock tomorrow morning.”
“You work too hard, Alex,” he said sincerely, sounding concerned.
“Residency is like that. It's a form of slavery, I think all you have to do to pass eventually is prove you can survive.”
“It all sounds very noble,” he said blithely. “Do you suppose you could stay awake long enough to have dinner with me tonight?”
“With you and Rita Waverly?” she teased, but it had none of the malice he had gotten from Charlene the night before or earlier that morning. Alex wasn't like that. She seemed all innocence and decency and good spirits. It was very refreshing for Coop, who was so tired of jaded women. Alex was like a breath of fresh air in his very sophisticated existence. She was an entirely different creature, and the fact that she was Arthur Madison's daughter hadn't been forgotten either. A fortune of that magnitude couldn't be ignored.
“I could ask Rita, if you like,” he said sensibly, “but I thought you might have dinner alone with me, if you can make it.”
“I'd like to,” she said honestly, she was flattered to be invited to dinner by Coop. “But I'm not sure I could stay awake long enough to eat.”
“You can sleep on the banquette and I'll let you know what I ate. How does that sound?”
“Unfortunately, very realistic. Maybe if we do something early, quick, and simple. I haven't slept in about twenty hours.” Her work ethic was inconceivable to Coop, but he nonetheless admired her for it.
“It will be interesting to try and meet those specifications. I accept the challenge. Where shall I pick you up?” He wasn't going to take no for an answer.
“How about my place?” She gave him an address on Wilshire Boulevard, in a good but not overly luxurious building. She was entirely self-supporting. She didn't actually live on her resident's salary, but she tried to add very little to it, so as not to set herself too radically apart from the others. She had a very small studio apartment. “I could be ready by seven. But I really don't want to stay out late, Coop. I have to be wide awake and fully conscious while I'm working tomorrow.”
“I understand,” and he respected her for it. “I'll pick you up at seven, and we'll go someplace simple and easy. I promise.”
“Thank you,” she said, smiling at the prospect. She couldn't believe she was actually going to have dinner with Cooper Winslow. If she had told someone, she was certain they wouldn't have believed her. She went back to work a
fter that, and Coop went to his lunch at Spago. It proved entertaining but fruitless.
Things had been more than a little thin for him of late. He'd been offered another commercial, for men's underwear this time, and he had refused to do it. He never lost sight of the importance of his image. But Abe's threats had remained clear in his mind. Much as he hated to be driven by financial concerns, he knew he had to make some money. All he needed was one great, big, fat movie, and a leading role at that. It never seemed impossible to Coop, or even unlikely. It was just a question of timing. And in the meantime, there were cameos and commercials. And girls like Alex Madison. But he wasn't after her money, he told himself. He just liked her.
Coop picked Alex up promptly at seven on Wilshire Boulevard, and she came bounding out the door before he could walk into the lobby. The building looked respectable, though a little worn, and she admitted to him in the car that her apartment was relatively awful.
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