Girls on film: an A-list novel

by Zoey Dean

  "Anna was smart to blow this guy off," Susan plunged on, seemingly oblivious to her sister's discomfort or maybe because of it. "Players are such shits."

  "Yeah," Sam echoed. "You were right to blow him off."

  But ... wasn't it only yesterday that Sam was saying what a great guy Ben is? Anna thought about reminding Sam of this. But she didn't. "If you two don't mind, I'd really rather not talk about him. Or Adam. Or any other guy, for that matter."

  Susan laughed. "That's a joke, right?"

  "No. I'm serious. Right now, I'm not all that interested in guys."

  Sam's heart nearly skipped a beat. Anna wasn't all that interested in guys? Was she trying to send Sam some kind of signal? Or was that just Sam's fevered imagination? And even if she was sending a signal, Sam wasn't exactly sure what she was supposed to do about it. Sam had never

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  really given the next step much thought. Would she have to get Anna alone in a dark corner and make a move? The idea of it was almost too weird to even think about.

  Sam was getting way ahead of herself. What she needed was more information. "So what are you interested in, then?" Sam asked, as casually as possible.

  "Our film," Anna told her. "And me. For a change."

  Oh. So that was what she meant. Sam smiled in relief. She wasn't quite ready to go there . Yet.

  "Sounds good to me."

  Susan nodded. "Mind if I smoke?" she asked Sam.

  "It's your lungs," Sam told her.

  Susan stuck a cigarette between her lips, torched it, and cracked open her window. "Sloppy thirds is a nasty concept, even to me."

  Sam swerved, nearly running onto the shoulder. " What did you just say?"

  "I don't blame Anna," Susan said, making a face and exhaling a smoke ring. "Who wants to be someone's leftovers? First came Cammie, then came Dee."

  Sam blanched. Dee clearly had never mentioned a hookup with Ben.

  "Dee? No way. I can't believe Ben would ... How could he ... ? And then to send you enough flowers to cover the Tournament of Roses parade ..."

  "Ben's ..." Anna stopped. She was about to tell Sam what happened with her and Ben on New Year's Eve. But she'd already talked about it with Susan. Did she have to involve Sam? Look who Sam considered her nearest and

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  dearest--Cammie Sheppard, a girl Anna was pretty sure would stab you in the heart and laugh while you bled just for giggles. Talk about your heart of darkness.

  And yet, Anna really wanted a friend in Los Angeles. She needed a friend in Los Angeles. Sam was the only candidate for the position. Anna thought about her lifelong friendship with Cyn back in New York. Cyn definitely had friends Anna couldn't abide, but Anna didn't hold that against her. Why hold Sam to a different standard?

  "Yo?" Sam prompted.

  "Oh, just tell her," Susan said. "I realize our parents are the king and queen of Keep Your Mouth Shut at All Times, but it's not like either one of them is happy."

  Maybe Susan is right, Anna thought. Besides, I didn't do anything horrible.

  "Sam," Anna began. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell Dee and Cammie what I'm about to tell you."

  Sam laughed. "I don't talk to them about what's really going on in my life, much less yours."

  So Anna filled Sam in, right down to Ben's ridiculous excuse about how he'd abandoned Anna to save some mystery celebrity actress friend's life. "And that," she concluded, "is the whole sordid little tale."

  Actually, it wasn't. She'd left out the details about what had--or hadn't--happened belowdecks on the boat right after the stroke of midnight. The status of her virginity was one thing that was going to remain private.

  "Jeez," Sam breathed. "That's a movie."

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  "I know Ben is a friend of yours, Sam. But maybe you don't know him as well as you thought you did. My theory is, he only wants me back because I walked away."

  Sam looked pensive. "Maybe."

  "Maybe?" Anna echoed. "You don't actually buy his story, do you?"

  "Well, he knows a lot of actresses," Sam said as the heart of Palm Springs finally loomed in the distance. "Half the girls on the WB went to Beverly Hills High."

  Susan scootched forward in her seat. "So who's he friends with?"

  "Let me think...." Sam nibbled at her lower lip. "We went to a House of Blues Christmas party last year and he left with that chick who's on Smallville , what's-her-name."

  "Sorry, I don't watch much TV," Anna said.

  "Right. I'm trying to think who else ...," Sam mused.

  "Someone no one would believe is an addict," Susan put in eagerly.

  Anna couldn't believe it. Her sister had been at the princess of Jarudi's eighteenth birthday party because the queen had gone to boarding school with their mother. She'd sat in the royal box at Wimbledon. And now Susan was playing guess-Ben's-mystery-celebrity-addict-wench?

  Maybe it was something in the West Coast water.

  "Okay. Not too many people know this," Sam began, her voice low despite the fact that there were only the three of them in the car. "But after Ben and Cammie broke up, a certain very famous actress--she's been on a

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  sitcom everyone has watched forever and is married to a certain very famous actor ... he's to die for--met Ben at a party. She'd had a fight with her husband because she thought he was smoking pot, so she came to the party without him. She didn't know Ben was still in high school. One thing led to another--"

  "How do you know all this?" Susan asked.

  "For God's sake, Susan, it was my party. And the same people will be at the Steinbergs' party. Can you imagine if she's all over Brad's case for smoking dope when she's the one with the problem?" Sam asked.

  "Brad?" Susan echoed. "Did you say Brad? As in Brad--?"

  "Hold it. Stop right there ," Sam insisted. "I never dish about my friends. I only dish about other people's friends."

  The conversation continued in this vein. Anna didn't participate, but she did, admittedly, listen. And wonder. What if Sam was right? What if Ben really had told her the truth?

  No. It didn't matter anymore.

  Yes, it does, said a nagging little voice in the back of her head, because when you fell asleep before, you were dreaming about him.

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  Me-Me-Me-Whine-Whine-Whine

  V's had no sign, but Sam knew where to find the private road. Tiny white lights flickered in the cactus along the sides of the gravel entrance. It was the first indication of any civilization. Then she rounded a tight bend and pulled to a stop at a guardhouse. A burly man in a khaki uniform stepped out. There was nothing to identify this as the entrance to Veronique's spa. In fact, Anna thought it looked more like an entrance to a right-wing militia retreat.

  "Good evening, ladies," he said. "Name, please?"

  "Sam Sharpe," Sam told him.

  "One moment please, Miss Sharpe." The guy in khaki stepped back into the guardhouse and typed furiously into a computer, then stepped out of the guardhouse again. "You're expected, Miss Sharpe."

  He pressed a button on his beeper. Suddenly the road past the guardhouse was illuminated in breathtaking white and orange light, and a gate blocking their path opened automatically. Two minutes later they reached a grand columned building that looked something like the

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  White House. Three gorgeous young men in khakis and aquamarine golf shirts sprang to action, opening doors and taking their luggage out of the back of the Cherokee. "Miss Sharpe, Miss Percy, and Miss Percy, welcome to Veronique's," said the oldest of them, who had cheekbones that could cut ice. "We'll bring these bags to your suites. Miss Sharpe, here are your key cards."

  The valet handed Sam the key cards for their suites.

  "No check-in?" Anna asked Sam.

  "V keeps a file on all their guests and preps the valet. Check-in was all taken care of by phone. And don't tip. It's tacked on to the bill."

  Anna stretched, stiff from the long ride,
amazed at how chilly it was--the temperature couldn't have been higher than forty-five degrees. Then she remembered that they were in the desert in January.

  "Okay, you're all set," the valet promised. "Go inside and warm up. And don't worry, forecast is for temps in the seventies tomorrow."

  The three girls stepped into the spacious lobby. The air was warm, the lights muted. The colors in the wild-orchid centerpiece picked up the pale lavenders and pinks from the inlaid marble-and-limestone floor. Priceless art adorned the walls--Anna recognized a Monet, a Titian, and an El Greco. In lieu of an actual registration counter, there was a pair of desks with discreet signs that simply said "Guest Assistance." Behind the desk, there was a massive oil painting of a woman who had to be Veronique

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  herself. She bore a strong resemblance to Donald Trump's ex-wife.

  Susan looped an arm through Anna's as they crossed the lobby toward a door that led to their suites. "Ah, the life of the young and idle rich. Aren't we the lucky ones."

  "We are, actually," Anna replied.

  "I know that. I really do." Susan squeezed Anna's hand. "When I get in a me-me-me-whine-whine-whine loop, just smack me across the face, okay?"

  "And you do the same for me," Anna said, hugging her sister. "This is going to be fun, Sooz. We haven't spent a weekend together in a long time."

  "Miss Sharpe?" A Scandinavian-accented voice made Anna turn around. A stunning blond woman in a perfectly cut simple blue dress came toward them.

  "Ingrid!" Sam exclaimed. "How are you?"

  "Happy to have you back with us, Miss Sharpe," she told Sam. Only the understated badge reading "Ingrid Svenson" and a simple V monogram gave away the fact that the young woman worked for the spa. "I'm sorry I didn't see you come in. Dinner is being served until ten in the Versailles Room, or you can dine en suite if you prefer. Miss Sharpe, you're in the Marilyn suite, Miss Anna Percy, you're in the Bette, and Miss Susan Percy, we've put you in the Rita." She gestured to the other end of the lobby. "Your suites are just beyond the patio and the pool, through those double doors. A short walk. Or I can ring for Paolo to bring the golf cart if you like."

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  Before any of the girls could respond, a female voice called, "Hey, you three!"

  Cammie Sheppard.

  Anna seethed. What the hell was Cammie Sheppard doing here? She noticed that Sam didn't look at all surprised. Cammie air-kissed Sam, then Susan. Anna, she ignored.

  "This is great, Susan," Cammie exclaimed. "I didn't know you were coming."

  "I didn't know you'd be here, either," Susan admitted.

  Cammie wagged a playful finger at Sam. "Bad girl. You know you're supposed to tell me everything."

  "Sam didn't happen to mention it to me, either," Anna observed, her tone flat.

  Cammie's eyes flicked to Anna. She yawned. "Oh. Hi, Anna."

  "When did you plan all this?" Anna asked Sam under her breath.

  "Cammie and Dee and I booked weeks ago," Sam admitted.

  "You could have told me."

  "It's not like they're going to be in our way. We're here for business, they're here for pleasure."

  "Is Dee here yet?" Anna asked.

  As the double doors swung open, Dee's perky voice answered Anna's question. "Wow, hi, you guys! This is going to be so fun! What suites are you guys in? Want to go have dinner?"

  Anna's head began to pound. "I need to unpack," she said. "And we need to go over my script, Sam."

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  "It doesn't have to be this very minute, does it?" Sam asked.

  "Anna," Cammie sighed. "Can't you see we're making an effort? This our little way of saying we'd like to bond with you."

  "I'm not really very hungry, so I'll see you all later. Susan? Want to come with me?"

  Susan shrugged. "Honestly? I'm famished."

  "Let's do dinner on the patio," Sam suggested. "Is that hot waiter from Denmark still here? What's his name?"

  "Ulrik," Cammie filled in. "Yes, he's here, and he lives to serve. Day and night," she added knowingly. "He's on right now, in fact."

  Susan turned to Anna. "You mind?"

  Yes , Anna wanted to say. But it seemed so ... petty. "Do whatever you want. It's fine."

  "We'll go over the script later, Anna," Sam assured her.

  "All right. I guess it's good this way. I'll have some extra time for last-minute rewrites," Anna added lamely since she wasn't sure what, if any, rewrites she needed to do. She excused herself and took the short walk past the pool until she reached a two-story building built in muted earth tones with an adobe exterior. The dozen suites in the building were listed in alphabetical order on a wooden sign; Anna saw that hers was on the first floor, closest to the mountains. She slid her access card into the front slot, then waited for the green light to blink so she could enter.

  The living room was all white--plush carpet, velvet couch, and chair. A vase of white roses sat in the center

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  of the coffee table. Next to it was a white bowl full of fresh fruit. Anna went into the bedroom. Over the white canopy bed hung an oil painting of Bette Davis wearing a white sarong.

  Anna went into the bathroom, also all white. There was a bathtub deep enough for swimming and large enough for four, with a crystal bowl of rose petals to float on the water should she want them. On the white marble vanity was an array of miniature beauty products, perfumes and oils, shampoos and conditioners, each in distinctive white packaging with a gold V A handwritten note addressed to Anna and signed by Ingrid explained that these were compliments of Veronique and that of course all of them were available for purchase at the spa's gift shop. Or Anna could order via the interactive television in her bedroom.

  Anna washed her face with Veronique's complimentary Gentle Glow Washing Emulsion. It smelled like petunias and musk--too cloying for Anna's taste. Next to the bed was a white leather binder with the familiar V monogram. Anna opened it; it contained a detailed description of the endless services that Veronique's offered its guests. She came to the massage section-- thirty seconds in the presence of Gammie and Dee had made her tense. A massage sounded great. There was marine mineral hydromassage. Thai massage. Cedar oil sports massage. Hot lava-rock massage. Ylang-ylang massage with four hands. Four hands?

  Anna unpacked and settled down on the couch to

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  brainstorm a title for her script. Just then there was a discreet knock on her door. When Anna opened it, Dee stood there, holding a bottle of champagne and two flutes. "Can I come in? " she asked.

  Good breeding won out again, which was why Anna nodded.

  Dee stepped in and looked around. "Wow, nice. I'm in Madonna. Madonna is very colorful. But Bette Davis is so soothing. Kind of virginal. You know, all white. Not that Bette Davis was a virgin. I mean, she was married and everything."

  "I really don't know much about her," Anna said, unable to figure out why Dee was paying her a visit.

  Dee gestured toward the couch. "Mind?"

  "A few minutes, that's all," Anna said. "I'm a little tired. And I need to work on my--" She gestured toward the script on the coffee table.

  "I know an herbalist who can tell why you're tired just by washing your hair," Dee said as she put the bottle and flutes on the white coffee table. "So, I'm here as kind of a peace offering."

  "We're not at war, Dee."

  "Yeah, but ..." Dee blew the shaggy bangs off her forehead. "Sam didn't tell you we'd be here, right?" Anna went to sit in the wing chair.

  "Right."

  "We always come here after the holidays. You know, kind of to detox. Oh, speaking of detox, I hear your sister just got out of rehab. That's good."

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  Anna's head started to pound again. "I don't really want to discuss--"

  "No, you're right, I'm sorry," Dee said quickly. "Do you know that Cammie pretended she'd been in rehab, too, so that your sister would feel better? Isn't that sweet?"

  Anna had no idea that Dee knew abou
t Susan. Not that she was surprised. On the other hand, knowing Dee, she could have been making it all up as easily as if it were true. "I doubt that Cammie has ever done anything sweet in her life, Dee."

  "Deep down, she's very kind," Dee insisted. "But after her mother died, she turned very hard on the outside. Anyway, where was I? I kind of wanted to apologize. That we got sprung on you like this."

  "It's not your fault. Sam should have told me."

  "Yeah. She knows you hate our guts. I know you say you don't, but not admitting to anger is really toxic, so I wish you'd just, you know, say it. But I think we got off on the wrong foot. Especially now that you and Ben are history Which is why I thought we could have a toast. To starting over."

  "Shouldn't you be careful about drinking, Dee?" Anna asked pointedly.

  "Oh, you mean--" Dee patted her stomach. She hoisted the bottle. "Sparkling cider. Alcohol-free." She popped the bottle, half filled the flutes, and handed one to Anna. "Here's to a new friendship."

  Anna made a small toasting gesture, then took a sip

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  of the cider. "So ... nice of you to stop by. But I'm sure the others will be missing you."

  If Dee had read the mythical This Is How We Do Things Big Book, East Coast WASP edition, then she would have known that "I'm sure the others will be missing you" was code for "Please leave."

  Unfortunately, Dee wasn't all that well-read.

  She settled back into the couch cushions. "I'm not hungry anymore. I did a lymphatic drainage about an hour ago and it feels wrong to eat after that. You know, tomorrow you should think about doing the rebirthing session with me. It's so amazing. You go into this heated pool naked--"

  "I'll be busy working on the film with Sam."

  Dee's lower lip went out. "Oh. Okay. I just thought maybe we could be friends."

  "Maybe we can, Dee. It takes time."

  Dee nodded solemnly. "Gosh. What's it like to be you?"

  Anna was taken aback. "Sorry?"

  "I mean, you're so perfect. I just wonder what that's like."

  "Dee, I'm not perfect."

  "Yes, you are. You must have done something really great in a past life to luck out so much in this one. That's why Ben is with you and not me. Do you think you and Ben were together in a past life?"