by Jordan Cooke
Tanya jumped up and down in her seat and clapped.
“Tans, take it WAY DOWN.”
Tanya sat on her hands.
“Anushka,” said Corliss, “can this wait? Max really needs you on set.”
“No, it can’t wait, ’cause what has happened here is this writer guy—”
“Petey.”
“Whatever—he’s given me a chance to shed my caftans and zinc oxide because he’s still basing my character, Alecia, on you, Corliss, because now you’ve shed your crappy gear and zinc oxide. And I want it to stop. Whatever little lovey-dovey tulip thing you two have going—”
Tanya released her hands and clapped. “Corliss—you and Petey?!”
Petey gave Corliss big lovey-dovey eyes and once again tried to give her the tulips.
“No!” shouted Corliss.
“Whatever it is,” continued Anushka, “it’s o-v-e-r, ovah. At least as far as my character is concerned. I can’t have my entire career rising and falling whenever Corliss dyes her hair.”
“I only did highlights.”
“Highlights!” Tanya clapped.
“TANS!”
“Sorry.”
“Corliss, you have to break whatever hold you have over—over—”
“Petey,” Petey groaned.
“But, Anushka, I don’t have a hold on—”
“Corliss, my comeback is too important!”
“Okay, Anushka, dismiss me from your trailer, whatever, but Max really needs you on set immediately. Everyone’s waiting to shoot the suntan-lotion accident. And it wouldn’t hurt, now that you’re back to spectacular Alecia, to let Max know how grateful you are. He’s totally tweaked right now and it would make a big difference to him.”
“Good idea, Cor. I’m in rehab mode now—and that goes for my sucky reputation, too. I’m gonna be good, just watch. Now everyone out of my trailer while I do one last spray tan.”
“Okay,” said Corliss, heading out and tapping her watch, “but be quick about it.”
Tanya waved bye-bye. Petey went to go, too.
“Not so fast, Petey.”
“Hey,” he said with an astonished look on his face, “you actually called me by my name.”
“Of course I did,” Anushka said, changing her tone. “Petey is a great name.” She knew she had to come up with a plan quickly. “And I think you and I need to get to know each other better…Petey.” She’d said Petey very close to his neck.
“You—you do?”
Anushka threw her shoulders back so Petey could appreciate what happened when she did. Petey avoided looking at her chest as it rose and fell. But as she moved closer to him, she noticed his eyes bulging and his teeth chattering.
“What’s the matter, Petey? Are you coming down with something?”
“N-no, I’m just a little anxious about all the r-r-rewrites I have to do today.”
“You are? Poor baby.” She knew she could easily replace Corliss in his heart. This was the only way she could insure that all future scripts showcased her magnificent lusciousness—not to mention downplayed Tanya’s rising star status.
Petey tugged at his collar. “These trailers are a little claustrophobic, don’t you think?”
“Not if you like to be close to people,” she cooed. “Don’t you like to be close to people, Petey? I noticed you like to be close to Corliss. But wouldn’t you rather be close to Anushka? Petey?”
“Boy, it’s really nice to finally hear someone call me by my name.”
“Petey, Petey, Petey,” she cooed.
“Y-yes?”
“How ’bout you and me hit Area tonight? VIP all the way. You game?”
Anushka was inches from Petey. She fluffed her hair and brushed his face with it.
Petey couldn’t speak. But Anushka felt pretty safe in taking his shiver for a “Yes.”
Hyde Nightclub, West Hollywood—Midnight
Petey could no longer keep track of the fun. It had certainly been an evening to remember—if only he could remember it. The last few hours were a blur of sushi, sake, club hopping, Veuve Clicquot, Anushka, paparazzi, and girls in microminis.
Lights swirled above him. Classic rock blared over the sound system. The backbeat rippled over his skin like a million tiny hands. “Yeah,” Petey said to no one in particular. “Dance to the music!”
He felt a little dizzy. He stopped and looked around until he could focus. He saw crocodiles. No wait, they were banquettes upholstered with crocodile skin. He saw bonfires. No wait, they were candles hanging from the pounded copper ceiling.
And was that Anushka dancing on the bar? It looked a little like her. But the tiny lounge was so packed with starlets that it was hard to tell which one was which…
“If they dropped a bomb in here,” Petey slurred to the tall model-y girl he was all of a sudden dancing with, “the CW would have to show only reruns for the next year!” The model-y girl smiled enigmatically and took Petey by the hips. “Oh…I guess we’re dirty dancing?” The model-y girl pulled Petey closer. “Oh, wow, that’s pretty dirty. Just don’t ask me to krump, whatever you do!”
The model-y girl pulled Petey even closer and whispered in his ear exactly what she wanted to do next.
Petey’s jaw fell open. “Well, you m-m-might have to ask my m-m-mother’s permission about that one.”
With that, the model-y girl produced her cell phone. “Then call her.”
Somewhere Between Hollywood and Malibu—The Middle of the Night
: The
’Bu-Hoo
CUE AUDIO: I’m Bringing ‘Bu-Hoo Back
’Bu babies! Are you ready for some nearly-almost-maybe-not-blind items? Items even Helen Keller could spot in a dark alley? Aiiight.
Oh, mama. It’s been a rough night for a certain Transformer Girl assistant. Last seen through the window of a certain insane director’s trailer, she was ironing his Billabong board shorts. What next? Pressing his monogrammed jock? Can you say ‘above and beyond the call of doody’?
The night has also been wicked hard on the one referred to as “Writer.” Poor kid was spotted facedown on the floor of a certain starlet’s limo. Starlet was still standing, screaming her head off through the moon roof, empty bottle of Bolly in hand…But Writer was lying in a pool of booze-soaked sweat calling “Uncle!”
SEE KEYWORDS: raw fish, Courvoisier, porcelain god
But bodily excretions and the late hour weren’t enough to stop these two—oh no! They kept their party on like pros.
SIGHTING: Limo with STAR4U plates heading south on the 405
But where oh where was this odd couple going as the hands of the clock reached 2 A.M.?
Newport Beach for a late-night swim?
Electrik Krayon Tattoo for a commemorative tat?
The starlet’s pearly gates for, well, pearls?
None of the above, ’Bu-sters. Starlet and Writer were heading to an after-hours club so far downtown it was called Tijuana. Guess Writer’s little crush on Corliss is blown to smithereens and gone with the Santa Ana winds!
HOLD FOR INCOMING SIGHTINGS…
1) Starlet and several new friends returning to her Malibu condo in time to watch the sun rise before the after-party after-party…
2) Writer, butt naked except for a pair of black socks, being surrounded by California state troopers at a McDonald’s while attempting to order an Egg McMuffin on credit.
Oh, it’s a sad, sad scene, ’Bu babies. Definitely one Writer himself could never have imagined. But where is he now? And what is he wearing?
‘Bu-bye 4 now,
MBK
Zuma Beach—11:56 A.M.
Sweat streamed down Max Marx’s face. Not because he’d just emerged from a Jacuzzi. Not because it was high noon and an unforgiving sun was almost directly above his four-hundred-dollar haircut. But because Tanya, in a white one-piece cut down to her belly button, was on the tiny remains of his last good nerve.
Max moved his glistening face close to hers. “When
I say ‘action,’ Tanya, what I want you do is, in fact, act.”
“Uh-huh,” said Tanya.
“You see, the word ‘act’ is actually in the word ‘action,’ Tanya.”
“Oh, right, wow. That’s sooo helpful, Max.”
“Glad to be of assistance,” he said with a sneer. “Now, do we understand each other, former model person?”
“Um, I think so, Max. Although technically I’m still a model. In fact, this weekend I have this toootally awesome shoot for Glamour and—”
Max held up his hand.
“Right, sorry, ‘cease.’”
“Exactly. And when I say act, how you act is this: You are to hit your mark in the sand, say your line like someone who is not developmentally impaired, and then turn and walk out of frame. Is there anything about this you don’t understand?”
“No,” Tanya said as her lower lip started to quiver and tears formed in her eyes.
“Excellent. Then let’s please try it for the—oh, what is it now?—the seventh time.” Max signaled a PA, who came in with the slate.
“The ’Bu, climax on beach scene fifteen, take seven,” the PA said, putting the slate in front of the camera.
“And…we’re rolling!” the assistant cameraman called.
“And…action!”
But Tanya just stood there. She looked to JB, who was waiting nearby adjusting his too-big shorts. He was mouthing something—probably her line—but she couldn’t tell what he was saying. Just behind the camera, Max was making circular motions with his fingers, prompting Tanya to get going.
“Um…” Tanya said, staring into the sun trying desperately to remember her lines. “Um…”
“Cut, cut, CUT!” Max finally said, kicking the sand at his feet and jumping up and down like a deranged person.
“Sorry, Max. I just got the new lines this morning when I was in hair and makeup and Anushka didn’t have time to coach me—”
“Cease, emaciated person!” said Max with his hand in the air. Tanya froze. JB checked his underarms for BO. The crew exchanged glances. “First of all, you are never, never, never—do you hear me?—allowed to let Anushka coach you ever again. Would you mind if I told you why, Tanya?”
“No, I’d totally appreciate it,” she chirped.
“Because she turns you into a kind of poop.”
“Poop?”
“Yes, poop.”
“Like poopy-poop? Like out my butt?”
Max’s eyes became slits. He thought he might explode into a million sweaty, Prada-covered pieces. He tried to count to ten, but he was so livid he couldn’t remember what came after four. Just then, Corliss ran up with the production phone.
“Max, I’m sorry to interrupt, but you have a very important call.”
“Not now, Corliss, I’m about to bludgeon to death everyone in my direct field of vision.”
Everyone except Corliss took a giant step back.
“But it’s Petey, Max.”
The name didn’t register.
“Writer.”
“Thank God!” Max steered Corliss away from everyone. “I need him to completely write Tanya out of this scene. She’s redefined ineptitude.” Max swiped the phone from Corliss’s hand. “Writer, where are you?” As Max listened, his mouth began to twitch. “I see.” Max handed the phone back to Corliss.
“What is it, Max?”
“Apparently Writer has been charged with several misdemeanors and one felony involving public nudity and those little pouches of ketchup you get with French fries.”
“Oh, no.” Corliss watched as Max silently counted to ten. “What will we do?”
“Nothing,” said Max, who could no longer hide his growing despair, “except watch this day slide further into madness.”
Rocco ambled over. “I think I can help, Max. Shoot the scene with Tanya and JB with the camera on JB. When Tanya’s saying her lines she can read them from a cue card and you can shoot her from behind. You can then cut in Tanya’s reaction shots to what JB is saying. If you edit it correctly, it will end up looking like a real conversation and the audience will be none the wiser.”
Max’s nostrils flared only once. He looked to Corliss for what she thought.
“Max, that’s a really good idea.”
“You’re sure, Corliss? You know how much the pressure’s on. Of course, I do value your oftentimes strange but effective input…”
“My witchy side says yes, it’s a good idea, and so does my psychologically intuitive side.”
“Okay, Corliss, I’ll try it. But we should have a rewrite just in case it doesn’t work. This day has been wall-to-wall poop and I don’t want to take any more chances.”
“Great. Shoot the scene like Rocco said, and I’ve got an idea about how to get a rewrite. But I’ll need your Amex.”
“Corliss, the last time I did that, a seven-thousand- dollar charge for high-end chocolates appeared on my monthly statement.”
Corliss looked sick. “I thought you didn’t look at your monthly statements?”
“I don’t need to look at my monthly statements, Corliss, when some mysterious person is writing a blog about what’s going on right under my nose.”
Corliss nodded. “Point taken. Okay, okay, I can explain that chocolate charge later, but let’s take a breath and think something through here.”
“Please, Corliss, you know my deductive skills are crap when I’m tense.”
“Okay, Max. Here goes—and just off the top of my head. You need a rewrite—I can post Petey’s bail and run him his laptop. On the drive back here to the beach I’ll fill him in on the rewrite we need. By the time we arrive he might just be able to deliver a new scene.”
“Corliss, you shame me with your efficiency. Here’s my Amex.”
“Wait!” It was Anushka, looking smashing in a two-piece made of brass rings tied with burgundy silk. “I should pay the bail. Anyway, you can’t post bail with a credit card.”
Everyone looked at her.
“Anushka, I don’t have time for nonsense.”
“But it was my fault, Max.”
“What do you mean?”
“We went out last night—me and the guy who does the rewrites—and he has a real name, too—but I kinda forgot it…after the sixth champagne.” Anushka made a pouty face.
Max pinched the top of his nose and looked skyward. “Anushka, are you telling me you got Writer drunk?”
“I didn’t mean to, Max! Swear it. You know how good I’ve been lately, right? And how hard I’ve been trying?”
Max’s anger was not appeased. “Go. Both of you. Anushka, you are skating on rice-paper-thin ice. I don’t want you in my field of vision until your call tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll make it up to you, Max.”
Max made his close-mouth signal. “Corliss, give me back my Amex. The last thing I need is another investment in retail chocolate. Let Anushka pay the bail.”
“Okay, Max. Give me a couple of hours and I’ll be back with a new Tanya-less scene.”
The 10 West—2:20 P.M.
Petey hammered away on his laptop in the back seat of Corliss’s Mazda. Every few minutes he groaned and Anushka passed him more aspirin and smartwater from the front seat.
“How’s it coming, Petey?” asked Corliss, steering masterfully through traffic.
“Fine, fine,” Petey said. “If only I could stop hearing Electroclash in my head…”
“I’m really sorry, Writer,” Anushka said, stifling a laugh. “But some of it was fun, wasn’t it?”
“If you call being molested by an Amazon with pierced nipples fun, then yes, I guess so.”
Anushka couldn’t help laughing. Corliss frowned.
“What wasn’t fun was being left on the side of the road,” Petey said.
“Yeah, my bad. Look, if I’d known you’d end up streaking through South Central after getting the munchies, I never would have stopped the limo so you could pee against that palm tree.”
“Tha
nks,” said Petey bitterly. “But you didn’t have to drive off.”
“You told the driver to! You said you wanted an adventure! That you were going to go to Mexico and make tacos by the side of the road.” Anushka cackled and hit Corliss in the ribs. “Pretty funny—Writer making tacos.”
“Oh,” said Petey, thinking that sounded familiar. “I think you’re right. I’ve always liked tacos.”
“See?”
“Let him work, Anushka. If we don’t arrive back on set with a new Tanya-less draft of that scene, Max will have our heads.”
“Sorry, Cor.”
“I don’t know why you think all this is funny, Anushka. You heard Max. You’re skating on thin ice.”
“Don’t worry about me, Cor. It’s Tanya’s ship that’s going down. My place on The ’Bu is secure. Especially now that the guy who does the rewrites has decided to write to my true strengths as a sex bomb.”
Petey’s head began throbbing again. “Every time you call me ‘The Guy Who Does the Rewrites,’ I lose sensation in my feet.” He held out his hand for more aspirin. “You called me Petey last night, remember? Even Petey Newsome! When we were best friends?”
“How ’bout Petey Rewrite?” She pinched Corliss on the boob. “Pretty funny.”
“Ow, stop doing that, Anushka, you’re making them swell.”
“That should be a good thing,” Anushka said out of the side of her mouth.
“Hey, don’t talk to Corliss like that, Anushka!”
“I’ll talk however I want!”
“Both of you behave, seriously, or I will pull this car over!”
“Writer started it!”
“I did not! I’m trying to work! Ow, my head!”
“Okay, okay, okay!” said Corliss. “We can work through all this later. If we had a little more time I’d suggest group therapy. But Petey, you need to finish that rewrite now, and Anushka, you need stay in your beach condo tonight and keep your hands off the Veuve Clicquot. Jeez.”
“You’re right, I know,” Anushka said. “I swear, I swear I’ll be good. I don’t know what comes over me sometimes. It’s like this giant brat emerges from deep within and just spews and I can’t stop it!”
