by Lolita Files
There was also a not-so-secret society of wives and girlfriends that she’d had confrontations with about their men. Catfights, phone feuds, death threats—one woman even stuck a potato in the tailpipe of Bettina’s silver Mercedes SLK, a gift from an older lover, an entertainment attorney who had been promising her (forever, it seemed) that he would introduce her to some of his producer clients who he knew could help get her career going. The potato situation destroyed her engine, but the husband of the woman who put it there, a star player for the LA Lakers, bought Bettina another car. A candy-apple red Viper.
She’d been driving it ever since.
Because of her conflicts with women, Bettina was a loner. She didn’t have any girlfriends. Had never had one in her entire life. She’d never really got along with women to begin with, including her own sisters, who were much older.
Her problems with women began early. On her very first day of kindergarten at a refined, highbrow (so her parents thought) Montessori school, four-year-old Francine punched button-cute Bettina square in the face.
Knocked her flat down to the ground. All the other little girls stood around laughing. They didn’t care for Bettina anyway. She was a little too cute for their tastes. Too many boys apparently thought so.
“Jamie’s my boyfriend,” squat little Francine announced, her fist still balled up. “Stay away from him or I’ma kick your ass.”
Bettina was undaunted. It was the first day of school, after all, and boys were open for the picking. Nobody had claimed anybody yet, as far as she was concerned. Besides, Jamie had kissed her, and, because she liked it so much, she let him do it again.
She kicked the portly little girl in the stomach. Hard.
Bettina’s mother had dressed her up like a doll for her first day of school. The pretty, dainty little girl with the radiant smile was the center of Marva and Hadley Hayes’s world, an unexpected baby that had come fifteen years after their last child. They had three other girls, ages nineteen, twenty, and twenty-two. Now in their second wind of parenthood, Bettina was their joy.
So Marva dressed up her daughter to make sure that she would be just as adored in school as she was at home. A frilly, handmade, special-ordered pink dress. Frilly little white socks with pink ruffles around the top. And the shoes. Those lethal-toed patent-leather black things that were the nightmare of every man who’d ever held a child.
Bettina kicked Francine with those shoes. Kicked her in the epicenter of her fatness. Francine’s face balled up into a horrified cocktail of pain and surprise. She fell onto her back and Bettina pounced on her. She pounded the little girl in the face. Within seconds, all the other little girls leapt onto Bettina. When the Montessori teachers finally managed to pull them off, dainty little Bettina was speckled with bruises. The frilly little handmade, special-ordered pink dress hung from her in tatters. The socks were filthy. Her top Up was busted, and her hair was full of dirt.
But the little hard-toed shoes were still intact. And the other girls weren’t without their share of scratches, bites, nicks, cuts, bruises, and missing clumps of hair.
Little Jamie, the catalyst for the schoolyard skirmish, was thoroughly excited by the melee and the sight of the dirty, bedraggled, beaten-down girl standing there, somehow managing to look as sexy and confident as a four-year-old with a shredded dress and a busted lip could. He broke up with Francine immediately, walked over to Bettina, and took her hand.
“Wanna be my girlfriend?” he asked, his front teeth so large he could barely close his mouth.
“No,” Bettina replied flatly. “You like fat girls who fight. I’m a lady. I’m too good for you.”
He offered her a piece of candy.
Bettina looked at it, then looked at him. It was chocolate. She liked chocolate. She reached out with her dirty little hand and took it.
“Now will you be my girlfriend?” he asked.
“Will you bring me chocolate every day?”
He nodded. Bettina smiled, and, to him, even though she was dirty and the teachers were now escorting her away, the brilliance of her teeth and the innocent curve of her lips made her seem refreshingly pure.
He brought her chocolate every day. That is, until she didn’t want them anymore. From him, anyway. Jamie was soon replaced by Oliver, Lenny, Karen (he was Muslim), Damon, and a succession of others.
Over the course of the kindergarten year, Bettina systematically took the boyfriends of all the girls who’d jumped her.
Each of them happily came, bearing the gifts of her choosing.
Since then, she couldn’t care less if the girls didn’t like her.
Just as long as the boys always did.
Bettina learned early how competitive women were for men. It made her that much more determined to always be able to have her pick. Taken or not.
Her looks had helped her get every job she’d ever had. She’d been lucky enough to always be interviewed by men for the jobs she applied for, and she knew how to work her charm. Men loved giving her gifts and taking care of her, at least for a little while. No one ever knew who the men were, exactly. There were always suspicions, rumblings, but never any concrete evidence. Nothing other than a new car here, and a new wardrobe there. Weekend getaways. Nooners. A sudden change of residence and phone number.
Trappings.
Bettina was never seen with her men in any publicly conspicuous way. But it was generally acknowledged that somewhere in the background, somebody was there. For how long, it was never known.
They came and went so quickly, sometimes even Bettina wasn’t exactly sure.
And while her good looks had gotten her many gifts, into many beds, and through many doors, she was still single, and, careerwise, not exactly where she wanted to be. She’d hoped that at least one of her liaisons would bear business fruit to her benefit. Pillow promises had been made. But pillow promises, Bettina found, were hard to confirm once night faded into dawn.
One thing she knew for certain: working as a receptionist for five years at Massey-Weldon was not going to cut it. Wade Massey had promised her two years earlier that she wouldn’t be at the front desk for much longer. But that was during a whirlwind week of wining, dining, and late-night grinding at the Park Hyatt in Century City. Anna Weldon had been away on a location shoot in Toronto. The star of one of their most successful shows was threatening to walk out, and Anna went to do a little hand-holding. While she was away, Wade held a lot more than Bettina’s hand. Once she’d gotten him into bed and worked him over, he did everything but promise to have her baby.
A week later, after Anna’s return, Wade was brief and elusive. Bettina hadn’t been able to pin him down, one way or another, since. Meredith Reynolds, the vice president of Entertainment and Development, stuck pretty close to him these days. She’d been sticking close to him for years, but, of late, she was like Velcro. A wedge that came between him and everything at the office, including, sometimes, his own wife.
Bettina hated Meredith. Meredith was the reason, she believed, that she’d been stuck at the front desk for so long. She wasn’t sure, but she thought Meredith suspected what had happened between her and Wade. When opportunities became available in Development, Meredith always passed Bettina over. In most instances, she didn’t even look her way. Bettina had stolen enough men to know that the vibe Meredith was giving off to her had nothing to do with work.
It was strictly a cat thing.
Meredith had pissed around her territory, and she, claws bared, dared Bettina to step into it.
But she wasn’t fretting about Wade Massey anymore. Or Meredith Reynolds. Bigger plans loomed on the horizon. And, from the looks of things, a window was finally about to open.
Randall stood in front of her now, full of nervous energy.
“So, Mr. Big Shot,” she asked, “why are you so giddy?”
He leaned in closer towards her, resting his arms on the reception counter.
“That crucial business dinner I told you about is tonight.”
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“Ohhhh …,” she began excitedly, “the one with—”
“Yes,” he replied quickly, trying to run interference with her overeager mouth. “Now lower your voice before you draw attention. Steve and I are already on edge about this whole thing as it is.”
“Oh. Sorry,” she whispered.
The phone rang again. Randall waited for her to get the call. She quickly dispatched it to the proper party.
“So D-day is still on, right?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am! Any minute now, we’re outta here. Carlos will be on board first. He’s giving his notice a couple of weeks after we leave. Then you’re up next.”
“So you’re really serious about letting me produce?”
“Slow down, Magic Mama, slow down. Work with the team and write a few shows first. Then we’ll see what you can do.”
He called her “Magic Mama” because of her powerful smile. In sweeter days, few though they were, he claimed her smile worked magic on him. Bettina blushed sweetly at his familiarity.
“Did you read my Frasier spec script yet?” she asked.
“I’ve already read the other material you gave me.”
Another call came in. She took it and sent it on its way.
“Why haven’t you read the script for Frasier?” she continued.
“No reason,” he said. “Don’t worry, I will. I’m trying to get a complete gauge of your talent.”
“I thought you already had one,” she said in a soft, sexy tone.
“As a writer, Magic Mama. I already told you, I want you on the team. You’re tenacious as I don’t know what, and you’ve been around this business long enough to know the game. Hell, if people can come to this town with six dollars and become producers inside of a year, there’s no reason you’re not ready.”
“Tell me about it,” Bettina sighed.
“Well, half the time, it’s just about getting a break and knowing somebody. You’ve been the receptionist here forever. Your chance is long overdue.”
The phone rang. She hurriedly answered it. There was no one on the other end. She resumed her conversation.
“I’m glad you see it that way, Randall,” she said. “I’m tired of being ignored around here while white kids fresh off the street are given all types of opportunities.”
“Well, it’s not just about being black, although that’s not something that works in your favor. It’s about being able to show and prove once you get your chance.”
“Well, I’ve already shown and proved with you, I thought.”
She batted her eyes at him.
Randall sighed, then frowned.
“Listen, Bettina, stop going there already, won’t you? That’s under the bridge.”
“I know, Randall. I just like to play with you.”
“Well, stop playing like that,” he replied, his tone serious. “It isn’t and won’t be appropriate for business, under any circumstances.”
“Yeah, yeah, Randall. It was just jokes. Sheeeesh.”
“And, by the way, next time write a spec script for a dramatic show. ER, or something like The Practice. It gives producers an opportunity to see just how dynamic you are. If I had a dollar for all the writers trying to break into the business who had a Frasier spec script…”
“Yeah, I know, but comedy is so popular. It seems like it’s easier to get hired if you can crack a funny on the page. I figured if I can write a funny episode of a high-brow comedy, then I’m a magic mama for real.”
“That’s apparently what you and ten thousand new writers are all banking on as you sit back and draft your Frasier spec scripts,” he said, his tone less harsh. “Look, I gotta get outta here.” He moved away from the reception area.
“Wait!” Bettina whispered loudly. “Does Meredith know yet?”
More people were beginning to pass through the lobby area. A few were lingering here and there, having end-of-the-day conversations. The phones were no longer ringing as much.
“Of course not,” he replied, leaning in towards her again. “She’s got no idea. Steve and I have it all figured out. All we have to do is walk. There’s nothing she can do about it.”
He chuckled at the thought, furtively glancing about the reception area to see if any of the passersby might have heard.
“Now how are you going to pull that off?” Bettina asked, bewildered. “That bitch is determined to keep you two under her thumb forever.”
“Well, now,” Randall replied, patting her hand playfully, “we’re just going to have to fuck with her thumb, aren’t we?”
He gave her a wink as he walked away. The heat from his touch made Bettina warm in a familiar way.
Randall glanced back.
“Wish me luck,” he mouthed.
Bettina smiled, giving him the hundred-watt treatment.
The phone rang again.
Randall took off as she answered it, knowing that, even though Bettina’s smile carried more suggestive weight than he had use for, he’d just been given all the luck in the world.
HAVE YOUR CAKE
AND MEET HIM, TOO
Desi walked towards the entrance of the restaurant as the valet driver pulled off with her car. She was nervous. Very nervous. One way or another, after the dinner tonight, her whole life was about to change.
“Table for one?” the hostess, a pretty, blonde, athletically anorexic actress-in-waiting type, asked.
“Actually, I’m meeting someone here. His name is Randall James.”
“Yes,” the hostess said with a smile, not even bothering to check the list she had in front of her. “Right this way, please.”
She led Desi to the dining area outdoors. Most of the tables were filled with chattering people. A cool breeze washed over her from the marina. Desi wondered if it had been such a good suggestion to meet at a place like this to conduct business. It seemed a little too casual, almost kind of romantic. The hostess guided her towards the front. Desi spotted a tall, bald, handsome black man who began to rise as she neared his table. He was smiling broadly.
She was quite sure she had never seen him before.
“Here you are,” the hostess said, waving her hand towards the empty chair across from Randall. “Your waiter will be with you shortly.”
“Thank you,” Desi replied politely. She turned her attention to Randall, who was standing there with his palm outstretched.
“Wow … Miss Sheridan.” He beamed. “A pleasure to finally meet you. Again. You look … fantastic.”
Desi shook his hand, then reached for her chair. Before she could even touch it, he stepped over and pulled it out.
“Please. Allow me.”
“Thank you.”
She’d thought about it and thought about it the night before. She wasn’t going to talk a lot tonight. She wasn’t going to get too excited. This town had let her down ten times too many. Every time she got her hopes up about something, it never panned out, not the way she wanted it to. This time, she’d let him lead the conversation, and she would only say as much as she deemed necessary. What was most important was that she not appear too hungry or desperate, and that she maintain control. That way, she could clearly gauge how serious he was, and how significant this project could be for her career.
The word for the night is terse, she’d told herself on the drive over. Act elusive. Act like a star.
She definitely looked the part. She wore a simply-cut mid-calf-length peasant dress. It was soft teal with red flowers and had an open back with crisscross straps. Her shoes were red leather high-heeled sandals with straps that wrapped around twice and were tied a few inches above the backs of her ankles. A number of heads had turned when she walked in. There were many smiles of recognition. Desi knew the outfit had been a good choice.
Since her hair had gotten wet from the rain the day before, she had decided not to blow-dry it into its usual straightness. The thick naturally curly look worked well with the dress. The highlights of her dark brown hair brought out the richn
ess of her dark brown eyes. She decided to let her mane be.
Why not try something different, she figured. After all, she had nothing to lose.
“I love your hair!” Randall exclaimed as he sat back down across from her. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it like that before.”
“You say that like you know all my looks,” she replied, then caught herself. Damn. She’d said too much. Already, she was messing up her own plan.
The setting, she thought, with darkness creeping across the sky and the relaxing breeze cooling the surface of her warm skin, was definitely too laid-back and romantic for her to be conducting business. She was treating this man like a suitor, something she didn’t have time for right now. Hence the sarcasm. She tried to channel her mind back into a business state.
“Thank you,” she quickly added. “I decided to try something new.”
“Well, it’s perfect,” he said with admiration. “Just perfect. It’s exactly what we’re looking for.”
Desi measured her thoughts before she made her next statement.
Make it about business, she reminded herself. And make it to the point.
“Now that I’m here, I don’t want to hold you up too long. So why not just cut to the chase. What’s this project you wanted to talk to me about?”
There, she thought. Kind of blunt, but not too bad.
“Wow. You don’t mince any words.”
“Not in this business,” she said.
At that moment, their waiter arrived. Also blond, also athletic, he didn’t look like the actor type. He seemed a little more surfer dude.
“Are you guys, like, ready to order?” he chirped.
Definitely a surfer dude.
Randall glanced over at Desi.
“Do you mind if we discuss business over a meal? I was hoping that, since this is a business dinner, we would at least get to have the dinner part to go along with it. I’m starving. I haven’t eaten all day.”
Desi thought she saw a playful gleam in his eye.
Instinctively, she sighed.
“Can I at least have a menu, then?”
