by Zoey Dean
"She can actually write. Her script was better than mine. Well, maybe."
"Did you tell her how good it was?"
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Sam hesitated. She and Dr. Fred had been working through Sam's jealousy issue for a while. Dr. Fred would be very disappointed if he knew that Sam had told Anna her script was good, but "not great."
"Not really."
"Sam, just because Anna's good at something doesn't mean that you're not. There's no limit on how many people can be good at something."
"Okay, I'll work on that," Sam said dismissively. She had bigger fish to fry. "But that's not why I called. I called because I can't stop thinking about her."
"Can you be more specific, Sam?"
"Like ... I want to kiss her," Sam confessed, her voice dropping low.
"Interesting."
"No, it isn't interesting ," Sam snapped. "I told you, things are weird."
"Okay, so you would like to kiss this new friend," Dr. Fred responded. "How is that weird?"
"Let me run it by you again," Sam said slowly. "She's a. girl."
"So, you're concerned that you're having sexual impulses toward this young lady?"
"It's not like I want to bone her," Sam insisted, her heart pounding. "I just want to kiss her. It's sort of like Kissing Jessica Stein, you know? Where the straight girl thinks she's attracted to a girl, but really she's straight and finally she ends up with this great guy in the end."
"Uh-hum," Dr. Fred murmured. "Except in that
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movie the straight girl really is attracted to a gay girl. Is your new friend Anna gay?"
"No. Maybe. I don't know. She told me that she's taking a break from guys. That means she could be gay. Or at least bi."
"Or it could just mean that something happened in her life that makes her want to take a break from guys and concentrate on herself for a change. I think you feel threatened by this impulse," Dr. Fred surmised.
"No. Not really. Why would I be? It's not so unusual, is it? Or am I totally fucked up?"
"All of us have to remember that our self-worth is not determined by our sexuality," Dr. Fred declared. "Have you been repeating your affirmations?"
Dr. Fred and his fucking affirmations. He even had a new greeting card line out with those damn affirmations on them. I create my own reality. I am a perfect being of light. I choose to be happy in the now.
"No. They're stupid."
"How about if you reserve judgment on that. This all may have to do with your father, Sam. And your hostility toward Poppy. For now, say your affirmations and practice those breathing exercises I gave you. Don't be so hard on yourself."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Sam grumbled.
"I can make an opening for you at your old time on Wednesday," Dr. Fred went on. "Shall I expect you?"
"Yeah," Sam said grudgingly. At least Dr. Fred listened to her.
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"Excellent. And Sam? Feeling something and acting on it are two different things. Remember that."
Sam hung up and sprawled out on the Swedish birch bed, directly under the tasteful nude oil painting of Marilyn Monroe. She didn't feel any less anxious. "Feeling something and acting on it are two different things," she mumbled aloud. But somehow it didn't make her feel any better.
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Hello?
"According to Cammie, V's Saturday sunset cocktail parties are infamous," Susan told Anna. They were in Anna's suite, where Anna was dressing for the party. Susan was already dressed: she'd traded in her Lower East Side black for a very fitted red Patricia Field silk knit turtleneck with Chanel paisley velvet pants and strappy Miu Miu red high heels. In fact, the outfit looked like something Cammie would wear.
"Infamous for what?" Anna asked as she went into the bathroom to brush her hair.
"Evidently there aren't enough hetero guys to go around, so the party is the biggest catfight west of the Mississippi."
"Cammie is full of it. Women do not come to spas to get laid," Anna called to her sister through the half-open door. "Maybe too much shopping fried her brain."
Anna knew that Susan and Cammie had spent the afternoon at an off-price discount mall near the freeway. They'd passed it coming to town: it was the size of a small theme park and carried every label from Armani to Zou Zou.
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"How would you know about spa cocktail parties? Whenever we went to a spa with Mom, your head was buried in a book." Susan pushed open the bathroom door and stuck her head inside. "Aren't you going to wear any makeup?"
"I don't like makeup."
"Jane Percy Junior," Susan teased. "So what's the scoop on Parker Pinelli? I met him this afternoon."
"Cute, nice, self-involved, not the brightest," Anna said. "If you change your mind and do the part of Nina in our film, you can find out for yourself."
Susan stretched. "I can find out anyway. And I don't care what his IQ is. I'm not interested in his mind.".
"He's still in high school, Sooz. If you don't do Nina, it's going to be Dee."
"I don't even like to have my picture taken, Anna. You know that."
True. "Fine. Dee it is, then. Can you bring me my phone?" Anna remembered that she had to check in with Brock Franklin about the Steinbergs' party and see what time he wanted to be picked up. "And Brock's number at the hotel--they're in my purse."
"Brock is such an asshole. You remember my friend Alexandra Moir?" Susan called, then padded in with Anna's phone and Brock's number. "The one who dated him?"
"I thought you dated him."
"Once. But she was with him for like two months. Remember her?"
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"She had red hair and really cute freckles, right?" Anna said.
"Yeah. Her dad owns half of Lower Manhattan. Your new friend Brock cheated on her with a girl from Wesleyan who got a story into that literary magazine Granta ."
"I'm not dating him. It's for work." Anna sat on the edge of the tub and placed the call--he'd already checked in but wasn't in his room. So she left a voice mail reminding Brock that she was Susan Percy's sister and would meet him at the hotel the next afternoon, at four, before the Steinbergs' party.
"Which Steinbergs?" Susan asked. "The old ones or the young ones?"
"I think the young ones. I know I'm supposed to know who they are, but I don't."
"They're only like the most powerful early-twenties couple in Hollywood. He directs, she writes and produces. The old Steinbergs do movies like--oh, forget it. You don't even care."
"Honestly? Not much."
"Don't be such a snob, Anna. There are movies without subtitles that are really good. We'll go to some when we get back to L.A. Why didn't you tell me in the first place that it was their party? I'd love to go!"
"See how well that worked out?" Anna asked brightly. She reached for a leather cord to tie her hair back.
"Still going for understated, I see," Susan noted.
Anna shrugged. "I'm comfortable with it."
"Comfort is highly overrated." Susan stretched, baring
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her midriff. "God, what's a cocktail party without alcohol?"
"If you don't think you can handle it, stay here. Why tempt yourself?"
"Hide in my suite?" Susan scoffed. "Without temptation, life is boring."
As Susan went to the full-length mirror to check herself out, Anna scrutinized her in a different way. What had happened to her? Was this the Susan Percy who could speak four languages fluently, who always wore expensive and understated outfits in the best of taste? Or was it the Susan who majored in modern European history and wanted to end world hunger? And what about the Susan who lived in the squalid building on Avenue D, with the junkies lolling on her stoop?
"It was Bowdoin," Anna said flatly.
"What was?"
"When you started to drink."
Susan fluffed her hair. "Oh. That. Old news."
"Did something happen to you there, Sooz?"
"I got away f
rom home, that's all. And decided to live the way I wanted to live. Why do you have to make everything into some kind of psychodrama?" There was an edge to her voice.
"It's just that you changed," Anna explained. "And I don't know why."
"Maybe what you should be asking is why you haven't," Susan said.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
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Susan folded her arms. "You told me you came to California to change your life. Only you haven't changed at all."
Anna was taken aback. It was as if her sister was going on the attack. "It's only been a few days, Sooz."
"Yeah, but look who you're dating. Adam the nice guy."
" Nice isn't a dirty word, Susan. And besides, I broke up with him."
Susan looked surprised. "Since when?"
"Since you pointed out the error of my choose-some-one-safe ways," Anna replied. "It felt more like use someone safe. I like Adam too much to lead him on like that."
"Well, aren't you the Girl Scout. So are you going back to the bad boy?"
"I just want to be alone for a while."
Susan laughed. "No girl wants to be alone."
Anna's temper flared. "It's not always about a guy, okay? No one forced you to hook up with that loser you were with in college."
Susan's face closed down. "You never met him. And don't make this about me, Anna."
"Fine, we'll make it about me, then."
"I can tell you exactly what's going to happen. You're going to spend about a month on this 'I am woman' thing, and Adam is just going to hang around anyway, waiting for you to change your mind. You'll like that-- because you'll have even more power."
"God, you piss me off, Susan! That's not why I did it!"
"Lie to yourself if you want," Susan said blithely,
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"but not to me. With him you run the show. Anna calls, Adam comes. Literally and figuratively."
"That's low," Anna said.
"And true. But what happens when you aren't in charge? What happens then?"
I know exactly what happens, Anna thought. Ben happens.
By the time Anna and Susan joined the cocktail party, it was already in full swing. As a string quartet played Mozart, the privileged and beautiful people mingled. Parker and Dee were at a table with a gorgeous redhead; Anna could see a copy of her screenplay in front of them. She scanned the bar: the middle-aged woman who had glommed on to Parker earlier was nursing a tall drink, shooting visual daggers in Parker's direction. Nearby, Sam was deep in conversation with Jamie Cresswell, the guy she'd found to play Mike. Monty Pinelli was cradling a handheld, high-resolution video camera and was talking with one of the spa managers.
As Susan and Anna approached, Parker rose to greet them. He kissed Anna on the cheek, shook Susan's hand warmly, and then went to find two chairs. A moment later he was introducing them to the beautiful redhead, whose name was Prima McNaughton. She was visiting with her parents from Texas. Prima had an unusual tic. Whenever Parker faced in her direction, she'd lean in close enough so that her breasts would massage his arm.
Susan looked closely at the girl. "Wait, did you say your name was Prima McNaughton?"
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"Uh-huh."
"Is your mother really slender?" Susan asked.
"Yeah. Why?"
Susan got a concerned look on her face. "Thank God I ran into you. I saw her just now by the valet stand at the main building. She's looking for you. I remember because your name is so unusual. She looked frantic."
"I swear, it's like I'm on a leash," Prima drawled with a sigh. She stood up. "I'll catch up with y'all."
Susan wagged her fingers at Prima as she walked off. "So, Parker, we meet again," she said seductively, and Anna realized that her sister had just pulled what Anna thought of as a Cammie. That is, she'd invented a story to rid the immediate world of Prima so that she could move in on Parker.
"Hey, Susan. You look great," Parker said. "Can we get you ladies a drink?"
"Anything nonalcoholic and fruity," Susan said easily.
"Same for me," Anna agreed.
Parker craned around and waved a discreet finger to get the waiter's attention, then touched the screenplay on the table. "The monologues you wrote are great, Anna," he said. "I had no idea you were a writer."
"Thanks," Anna said. "Honestly? Neither did I."
"I love my monologue, too," Dee said. "T don't even know who I am,'" she recited in her girlish voice, practicing one of her lines. "Wow, that is so true. You could totally become a screenwriter, Anna. Are you going to be there when we film tomorrow morning?"
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Anna had suggested to Sam that they should shoot the monologues off in the desert in the morning so as to take advantage of the early morning sun. She thought that the daylight close-ups would look striking against all the nighttime and indoor shooting they'd be doing. Sam had readily agreed and had even praised her on her visual sensitivity.
Anna nodded. "Yes, in case I need to make any last-minute changes. You never know. In fact, right after this party I'm going back to my suite. I'm not happy with one of the Mike monologues, and I want to do some rewrites. It's weird, like I can't get the lines out of my head."
"You don't need to do rewrites," Parker insisted. "Your first draft is better than most of the crap I have to read at auditions."
"Thanks," Anna said, surprised at the level of excitement over the project. Especially since Sam's response to it had been fairly tepid.
"So, when are you filming the rest of it?" Susan asked after the waiter had signaled he'd be right there.
"Sam and Monty are going to start shooting the background stuff here at the party any minute," Anna told her. "The last sequence will be in the Mount St. Helens sauna late tonight."
"Sounds hot and sweaty," Susan said, laughing. "And fun."
Parker raised his eyebrows and smiled mischievously. "It could be. But I heard you didn't want to be in the film."
Susan pursed her lips. "I might let you talk me into it."
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Parker leaned closer to Susan. "What would it take to get you to change your mind?"
"Mmm. I'm not sure yet. But I'm willing to find out if you are."
Susan and Parker gazed into each other's eyes, and Anna decided that she couldn't take another moment of it. This party was a waste of time. Every moment that she sat there was another moment that she wasn't working on her screenplay. And Mike's opening monologue was bothering her more and more. Despite Sam's assurances that it was shootable, Anna didn't think it was exactly right.
"Excuse me," she said, rising. "I'm going to go back to work."
Dee said see you later, but all that Susan and Parker could manage was a halfhearted wave. Anna sent up a silent prayer that her sister was using birth control and then departed to her suite. A couple of hours with her screenplay, her laptop, and her printer seemed extremely inviting.
It was a few hours before Anna looked up from her laptop. She'd had no idea so much time had passed. Mike's monologue was much better now, more honest. She reread the last few lines.
"People can call it passion. Or lust. Or obsession. I don't really care. When I'm with her, touching her, is the only time I feel completely alive. If you've never felt the power of that, then I feel sorry for you."
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Anna got up and stretched out the kink in her neck. Before Ben, she never could have written those lines because before Ben, she had never known those feelings. If she could have gone back in time and magically make it so they'd never met, she wouldn't have done it. Because along with the pain was the sweetness of feeling all that she'd felt for him. Part of her wanted him to know that. It didn't even matter about the girl on the promenade.
But how can I? He thinks I'm with Adam, Anna realized. I want him to know that I didn't replace him with anyone except myself. That I don't just date people to keep from being lonely. Ben should know that I'm alone. By choice.
Suddenly, correcting
Ben's impression that she was with Adam became Anna's top priority. She got Ben's number from her PalmPilot. Then she took her cell phone from her purse, but the battery was dead--she'd forgotten to recharge it. Impulsively she reached for the hotel's phone on the desk and placed the call to Ben's cell.
"Hello?"
Ben's voice! Anna's first reaction was to hang up. No, that was ridiculous. She was being mature. She was in control. "Hi, Ben, it's Anna."
"Anna."
His voice was like a caress. Suddenly she felt ridiculous. Was she supposed to just blurt out that she and Adam weren't together? Now, too late, she realized that it would sound pathetically flirtatious. She'd broken up with Ben! Why would he care whether it was because she was with Adam, Mickey Mouse, or anyone at all?
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Answer: he wouldn't.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called," she began.
"Yes, you should!" he said quickly. "I was just thinking about you."
Anna's hand was actually moist on the phone; that was how nervous she was. "I was going to tell you that Adam and I aren't seeing each other anymore. But now it sounds ridiculous."
"Not at all," he assured her. "Where are you?"
"It doesn't matter. I shouldn't have--"
"Would you stop it, Anna? Where the hell are you?"
"It's not what you think, Ben," Anna went on, feeling worse by the minute. "I don't want to be with anyone now."
Silence. "Wait. You called to tell me that you want to be alone?"
"I'm sorry, Ben, really."
"Anna, what the hell--?"
She hung up, her hands shaking. God, what an idiot she was! Why the hell had she called him? What perverse part of her brain had decided that was a good idea?
Anna went into the bedroom and lay down on the bed. What an utterly fucked-up thing to do. She was disgusted with herself. Who the hell was she to judge Susan's behavior when her own was so pathetic?
For that, she had no answer at all.
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Mount St. Helens
The Mount St. Helens sauna at V's spa had gotten its name for a good reason--the lava rocks in the sauna reputedly had been gathered only from the slopes of the active volcano in Washington. Allegedly the sauna had special healing powers. As Anna hurried down the marble staircase to the lower-level saunas in the main spa building, she hoped the sauna lived up to it's reputation, because Sam was going to tear her limb from limb--she was already forty-five minutes late. That she'd been in her suite working on her screenplay and oblivious to the time was a pretty lame excuse. After her aborted phone call with Ben she'd gone back to work and lost track of the time.
