by Josie Brown
It was definitely beautiful. And I should have known, since I’d spent the past two weeks going to fashion designers’ trunk shows and to personal appointments at their ateliers, to find just the right gown for the Golden Globes.
Was this the one? Because I would have to look perfect for Louis. And for us.
I never wanted him to regret leaving the perfect Tatiana. For me.
“Who’s the designer?” I asked as I reached around the back and tried to read the tag upside down. “It says. . . Axis of Evil? That’s an odd name. Could that be right?”
“Dunno. Could be. Like, see, most of our designers are anarchists who work outside the typical capitalist system. They’d rather create just one beautiful perfect something, and not make a bundle off the backs of third world slave labor. That’s why stuff flies out of here so fast. You snooze, you lose.”
Having made a truly heartfelt political statement and perfect sales pitch, my little socialist shop girl went back to reading the latest by Dave Eggers.
I hesitated just a second before looking back into the mirror.
She was right. The gown was gorgeous.
In fact, in it, I was smokin’.
Besides, I could always hedge my bets with another gown. Or two. Or three.
I was finally beginning to enjoy the fringe benefits of dating a Hollywood heavyweight.
“I’ll take it,” I said, as my cell phone chirped. Carefully, so as not to tear the web-thin gossamer strand holding the bodice aloft, I rummaged in my purse until I found the culprit that was keeping the salesgirl from enjoying the darkness of Dave.
It was Freddy, calling to remind me that the Gang was getting together that evening at the Tower Bar, at the Sunset Tower Hotel, to celebrate Christy’s first day (or in this case, night) as an actress on a bona fide movie set—if you could call any endeavor involving Donnie Beaudry bona fide. True, the bar was a bit pricey. But because the restaurant had numerous celebrity investors, it was Christy’s contention that partaking in a White Russian and a Caesar salad at the trendy locale might bring her good luck.
Unfortunately, the date had somehow slipped my mind. I groaned so loud that the kid actually looked up from her book.
“Damn—damn it, Freddy! I… well, I just can’t be there tonight! I’m—gee, you see, I have something that I just can’t cancel.”
“Do tell.” Freddy sounded unperturbed, but I knew better.
He was upset that I was blowing them off.
Again.
“I know it may not sound so important, but I’ve got one last private trunk show to go to, for Dolce and Gabbana. I mean, I still haven’t made a final decision about what I’m going to wear to the Globes! I’m so sorry, but it will look really bad if I don’t show up there, after Monique cleared it and all. Please tell Christy I’m sorry, and that I’ll make it up to her somehow I promise.”
The shop girl snickered and shook her head. Whatever panache I had gained by recognizing true cutting-edge genius in this hovel on Melrose, I had lost through the mere mention of the couture team revered by arm charms everywhere.
“Oh, I’m sure you will make it up to her,” Freddy leered. “Your friendship is turning out to be priceless.”
Of course, Freddy’s jibe hurt. In his defense, though, since Louis and I had become an item, I had pulled a few no-shows on the Gang. And the few times I had made an appearance, I’d either come in too late to join in on the fun, or I’d had to leave early for some other event.
Granted, I had tried to make it up to Sandy, Freddy and Christy by bringing along some sort of a “forgive me” trinket or two. The last time I’d done this, Sandy had seemed somewhat upset with me.
“You don’t have to feel as if you have to buy our forgiveness with a consolation prize, Hannah,” she sniffed. “We’re your friends out of respect and love, not obligation.”
Now Freddy was questioning whether I felt the same way.
I wanted desperately for him to know that I did. “You know, Freddy, that hurt. I can’t feel any guiltier than I already do about this thing tonight! Okay? I mean, really! Do you think I enjoy all of this bullshit?”
“Since you’re asking my opinion, then, yes, Hannah, I do. So, why don’t you just admit it to yourself?”
I didn’t answer quickly, because he had a point. I was enjoying the attention, beyond how it tied me irrevocably to Louis. And I was enjoying it because finally, for the first time in my life, people were paying attention to me.
“Tell me the truth,” I asked quietly. “Am I a bad person for—well, for liking it?”
Silence.
Then he answered: “No, sweetums, you’re not. Any one of us would be totally Lady Gaga over all of that adoration. But if you let it consume you, if you become stupid over it, then you’ll become one of them.”
“What do you mean? A celebrity?”
He laughed as only Freddy could: caustically, sympathetically, and soulfully all at once. “You wish! No, my dear sweet Hannah, celebrities have talent for something, even if it’s only for staying in the spotlight. You’d be something worse.”
“You mean—a Sunset slurpee?”
“There you go! By the way, how’s your supply of Altoids holding up?”
Without saying another word, I hung up the phone.
* * *
I was hurt when I read, in Ted Casablanca’s column in E! Online, that I was considered “that sublimely tarty Mr. Trollope’s delectable dragon lady. Studio wonks cringe when their assistants inform them that she’s on the line. Her demands, made ostensibly on Louis-poo’s behalf, are too outlandish even for the LaLa Land moguls who have seen and heard it all before. The most recent request, reflecting said bf’s Golden Globe nomination glow, was for the use of a movie studio’s private plane for a weekend jaunt over the pond—just in time to make Stella McCartney’s fashion show, in order to pick up that perfect Globe-worthy gown…”
Wrong! That was so wrong! And I thought I had a good rapport with Ted! If he had called me directly, I would have told him that I already had my gown and that Louis had already been promised the jet in order to attend the London premiere of the Rebecca remake.
Louis was almost cavalier about my being raked over the coals.
“Love, you can’t go through life afraid to ruffle some feathers just because it might get you a few lines of negative ink.”
“That’s easy for you to say! I’m the one coming off like the bitch from hell, not you.”
“I thought you enjoyed running interference for me. Well, you can’t have it both ways: running my life and being liked for doing so by those who live to take advantage of me. And as my very public girlfriend, they can take potshots at you out in the open.”
As a concession, he brushed his cold lips on my forehead. “Look, darling, I can just imagine you’ve had a horrendous day. I hate those bullies at the studios, too. You know that! Which, my dearest, is why I truly do appreciate you holding firm on my request for the jet. And hell, with all the box office I’ve made for them, you’d think that they’d have put me on a larger jet, wouldn’t you?”
As he was walking out the door, he added breezily, “And, oh, by the way, don’t feel obligated to tag along. Bad timing, this premiere, coming just a few days before the Globes. You might as well stay and finalize your dress and all, right? In fact, why don’t you tag along with Ophelia? She knows the ins and outs for that kind of thing. Don’t worry, the studio will send someone from publicity to babysit me. Genevieve will fill them in on my routine.”
Not going with Louis meant that we would be apart for the first time since Oregon.
Not going with Louis meant that he didn’t want me along.
As for Louis’s routine: Did that mean he was back to having “massages” in his hotel room?
* * *
In the week prior to his departure to London, I lay sleepless beside Louis.
Sleeping meant visits from Leo, visits in which I was told what I didn’t want to hear:
>
That I was losing Louis.
Then again, staying awake meant fretting over how, why and when that would actually happen.
What had I done wrong? Why was Louis growing tired of me? Couldn’t I stop it from happening?
Or was it inevitable?
Mulling over these questions was why I couldn’t sleep. And why dark circles were forming under my eyes. And why I was losing weight.
Great for trying on gowns, bad for my self-esteem.
Up until the day Louis left, we were in a holding pattern: by day, I’d fight his battles with all the various forces within the town that pulled at him. At night, after we’d attend yet one more star-studded event, I’d battle my suspicions that he was leaving me, as well as my desire to fall asleep.
On the morning before Louis’s departure, he woke up to find me staring down at him.
“That’s some bloody look, love. You’re giving me the willies! Had a nightmare or something?”
“Or something,” I answered hollowly. “I dream about Leo now. All the time.”
“Damn!” He laughed. “So, now I’m sharing my bed with him, too?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” Louis was no longer smiling. He ran his hand through his hair, yawned and stretched. The sheet fell to one side, revealing his omnipresent hard-on. He smiled as I glanced up. “Well now since we’re both up—”
“You have to be at Lion’s Gate in an hour. The Brownstein project, remember?”
“Damn! How did you let me get roped into that one?”
“You insisted, remember?” Since there had been—as Ethan had so eloquently put it—a hole in Louis’s schedule with Mindbender going to the wayside, Louis had chosen to fill it with something different. Independent. Edgy. And with a low enough budget—except for his salary, of course—to get it quickly greenlighted.
Besides, it sure beat hanging out on a deserted island with me.
“Saved by the bell, eh?” He rose up from the bed. “You’re beginning to look like a raccoon. Very unbecoming. I think you should see Dr. Manny.”
“Ha ha. I don’t think so.”
“Why? Are you enjoying Leo’s visits too much?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“For once, Hannah, I think you should let me take care of you. You never allow me to act on that primal male urge.”
Louis wanted to take care of me? It had been weeks since I’d ever thought I’d feel that was possible.
“Go to Dr. Manny. Do it for me. For us.”
For us.
“Okay, Louis. I’ll go, if it will make you feel better.”
“Trust me on this one. He’ll have you feeling like a new woman. And right now, I wouldn’t mind a new woman.”
I’ll just bet you wouldn’t.
* * *
During the three days that Louis was in London, I made a visit to Dr. Manolo Lipschitz, as promised.
While I gave him the rundown on myself in extreme detail as per his instructions, he listened intently, his hands clasped over his eyes and his chair angled away from me, toward the window behind him.
At least, I thought he was listening. Until I heard him snoring.
I had almost snuck out, too, when he woke abruptly. “The session is not over yet,” he said unsteadily. “Did I doze off?”
“I’ll say.”
“No reason to be sarcastic. I had—a late night session with Hef and some of the girls, at the Playboy Mansion.” He tried hard not to smile at the memory. “A couple of the ladies are having jealousy issues.”
“Gee, I don’t know why.”
He gave me a sharp glance.
“You know, Hannah, from what you’ve said, you may share some of their symptoms.”
“As long as that’s all we’re sharing.”
“So, what you’re saying is that you’d find it hard to share Louis?”
“I do share Louis. With the world. He’s a star, remember?”
“I mean intimately, with another woman.”
What, was he kidding?
“Dr. Manny, I think you’d agree with me that most women would have a problem with that.”
“But you’re not most women, are you? You’re your father’s daughter, so you understand better than most women. And Louis certainly isn’t most men.”
“Granted, you’re right on both those counts. But still, I don’t see why that should mean carte blanche to—”
“Hannah, admit it: You and Louis need to take sex to a new level. It is no longer fresh, spontaneous. Am I right?”
“Well, yes and no. I mean it’s certainly frequent.”
“I’m not talking quantity. I’m talking quality.”
Ah, yes. When all else fails, there is always that cliché.
“So, what exactly are you proposing, Dr. Manny?”
“Nothing so drastic as you might think. I could suggest a sex surrogate—”
I’ll just bet you could. Which Bunny wouldn’t be willing to work that trade?
“—But I don’t feel that a surrogate would be necessary—for now, anyway. Of course, there is only one way to know for sure.”
He leaned forward in anticipation. A bit of spittle formed at the side of his very thick lips. “For now, I’d suggest that you videotape your lovemaking. Nothing so cinema verité as a handheld camera. Just a simple tripod setup.”
Do tell. “Enlighten me, Doctor. What do you anticipate doing with these tapes?”
His glasses fogged up at the thought. “Well, of course, I’d examine them. In that manner, I can better assess the issues that are blocking your mutual happiness.”
Oh, yeah? And who else would be “examining” them? The boys in the grotto, during movie night at the Playboy Mansion?
I don’t think so. “Neither Louis nor I would agree to something like that.”
At that declaration, Dr. Manny beamed knowingly. “In fact, Louis is very open with the concept. Very open indeed.”
“I beg your pardon? You’ve already asked him about this, even before this session?”
“Well—yes. Why, we discussed it prior to his leaving. You know, Louis and I have a long history as patient and doctor. We discuss everything.” A bit of drool gave away the underlying meaning of his remark. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
Not until now.
I told Dr. Manny I would think about it.
Instead, I thought about all the other poor, foolish saps who had fallen for his line.
And all the underground celebrity porn he must be distributing, for a mint.
I prayed that none starring Louis would surface.
As for me, well, I’d already had my money shot, and once was enough.
* * *
Louis came home from London the day before the Golden Globes. He was a happy boy. I assumed that seeing his friends and family had been a soothing tonic.
I hoped that was all that was making him smile.
He did not ask me how it had gone with Dr. Manny. My guess was that he had already been given a full report, straight from the quack’s mouth.
My visit to Dr. Manny taught me something, however—to pretend to be asleep, even if I couldn’t doze off.
That mission was stymied the very night of Louis’s return, with a single phone call, at two in the morning, from Christy.
“I just ran off the set! I—I’ve been… ” Christy, sobbing uncontrollably, couldn’t finish her sentence.
“Calm down, and tell me what happened exactly!”
I was whispering so as not to wake Louis. The last thing I needed was for him to be grumpy and upset before the preparations for the next day’s event.
“Everything was fine—at first. You know, we were getting only a few pages of script at a time, because apparently they were always changing the plot, or something, I guess. At least that’s what they told me.”
“Christy, get to the point.”
“I am! You see, last night they d
idn’t give me any portion of the script to read. They said it wasn’t written yet.” She gulped down her sobs. “Okay, I thought, no prob. I’ll just improv when I get on the set. So, when I get here, Donnie comes up to me with these two actors who are starring with me. He tells me how beautiful I am, and how blown away they both are with my skills, and he says that he still needed to cover some of the financing—”
“You mean to tell me he hasn’t gotten all the financing yet? What is he, an idiot?”
“No. I mean, well, maybe. I don’t know! But that’s not the point! What I’m getting at is that—that they wanted me to be nude.”
“And you said no?”
“Not exactly. I said okay—that I was okay with nudity. But that was it.”
I let that sink in. “Then what?”
“Then Donnie said, ‘Well, you’re supposed to have sex, too. With the guys.’ ”
“Both of them?”
“I know! I know! I kind of freaked out, too, when he said that! I’m thinking, ‘What will my folks think?’ You know?”
“Yeah, hon, I know. So, what did you say?”
“I said no. At first.”
At first!
“But then he started to tear up. Said it would ruin him if I didn’t go through with it. Said he’d lose everything. He begged me, Hannah! Said he always felt he could count on me! What else could I do?”
I said nothing. It all sounded so familiar.
“So I said okay. But just—just one guy.”
“Oh.”
“Well, it wasn’t ‘just one guy.’ Donnie—he was standing on the set, sort of coaching me, you know? Well, there I was with the first guy. We’re, like, standing up, doing it. And then I feel something—someone—behind me. And it’s the second guy! So I’m like, ‘What the hell is this?’ And boy, is he rough! I’ve never done it that way, with two guys, and you know. . . anal.”
She whispered the word. “So I start screaming, and I can see Donnie and he’s giving me the thumbs-up! As if it’s all an act or something! Only it was real! The guy—that creep—violated me! And—and Donnie didn’t do a fucking thing!”
She broke down again. This time it took her very long to come back onto the line. “I’m bleeding! And I hurt all over. I’ve never been this sore! Please, Hannah, please! Can you come get me? I grabbed my clothes and ran to an all-night diner. On the corner of Roscoe and Canoga. Please say yes!”
