by Lisa Ferrari
Kellan sends a text back to Stacy, informing her that I am indeed cool, and thanking her for her concern.
That evening, the scripts arrive via courier. Uzi frisks the guy before escorting him through the gate so Kellan and I can sign for the delivery. They even brought one for Calista. Sheila thinks of everything.
LATER, IN BED, I’m lying on Kellan’s chest, looking out the windows at the city lights. I begin thinking about the guy who stole my underwear and pointed a gun at me. I still don’t know his name. Kellan knows; he read the report Detective Sharpe wrote. I only saw a few photos of the guy’s house, the weird shrine he had. Kellan suggested that the less I know the happier I would be. I have so far acquiesced to that suggestion. Kellan and I haven’t talked about it that much since it happened. We’ve discussed it during interviews. But privately it hasn’t come up. Which strikes me as odd. A relief, but kinda weird. The cops killed the guy and one officer was seriously wounded, but he’s out of the hospital and from what I’ve heard is planning to go back to work in a few months. I’m glad for him. I hope he doesn’t blame me for anything that happened to him. Kellan has told me more than once that I’m not the one who pulled the trigger. Which is true.
I decide to put it out of my mind (inasmuch as I’m capable of doing so), and to focus on the future, and on what we want.
Chapter 24
THE NEXT DAY, we’re at the Paramount office for the read-through. I’m nervous because our previous meeting got a bit heated and resulted in Captain-and-Cokes and not a lot of work.
We all sit around the room and read our lines while Sheila reads the exposition, non-dialogue parts.
At the end, everyone is happy.
It takes three hours, but we all like the story.
I’m still bummed Kellan’s character gets killed before I exact my revenge, but the matter seems to be closed for discussion.
During a break, Kellan is on the phone with a client so Calista and I take a stroll around the lot.
We find ourselves alone and standing in the shadow of a huge soundstage. I say, “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Just between you and me, no bullshit, totally honest, off the record, are you bummed you didn’t get the lead, and that you got the alien queen instead?”
Calista squints at me through her big tortoise shell horn-rimmed eyeglasses. She’s wearing tight jeans and black high-heeled boots and a white V-neck under a tiny little denim jacket. She looks amazing as always. On anyone else, the glasses would look dorky. But on her they take her from Amazon goddess to Amazon goddess intellectual genius. They make her look even more intimidating.
“Why do you ask?”
Crap. That’s a good question. “I just want to know.”
“Um… honestly, yeah, maybe a little. But I’m also thrilled with the part that I got. I’ve already got tons of ideas about how I can play her. And I think it’s going to be not only a total blast, but good for my career. I’ve never played a villain before. It will be a great way to show my range. Kinda like Anthony Hopkins in Silence of the Lambs. Or Rebecca DeMornay in The Hand That Rocks the Cradle. Or Michelle Pfeiffer in What Lies Beneath. Or Jeff Goldblum in The Fly remake. I want people to watch the movie and not know it’s me. And then, later, they find out and they’re all like, ‘Holy shit, that was Calista Roth? The fat girl from the stoner movies who did that laser thing and the bacon bikini commercials? Wow!’ And I can be all like, ‘Fuck yeah that was me. I told you fuckers I could act.’ And they’ll be all like, ‘Yeah, you can totally act.’ And I’ll be all like, ‘No shit. That’s what I’ve been telling you for the past twenty years. You fucking unsupportive asshole motherfuckers.’ And they’ll be all like, “Gosh, Calista, you’re such a potty mouth.’ And I’ll be all like, ‘No shit, asshole. It’s because assholes like you have been underestimating me my whole life and I’m goddamn fucking sick and tired of it. Now bring me more garlic bread, you diseased rhinoceros pizzle.’”
“Who exactly are you referring to, by the way?”
“Um, mostly my ex-boyfriend from high school who still works at Olive Garden. And my family. But also pretty much everyone I went to high school with. All the guys who always ignored me unless they were drunk enough to ask me to suck their dick at a party but then pretended it never happened on Monday morning once we were back at school.”
I know the feeling. I’m tempted to tell Calista about the time I vomited Taco Bell all over Warcraft Tommy’s crotch, but Calista says, “So, why are you asking again? Are you worried about something?”
This is the question.
“I don’t know. I’m not sure. Probably. I guess I just want this whole movie making thing to go smoothly.”
“Claire, a guy already broke into your house and wrecked your books and threw pickles in your swimming pool and stole your panties. Then he rear-ended you, pointed a gun at you, and chased you through traffic. Then he sent his drone to your house. Twice. He got fuckin shot because of it. This whole movie making thing has already gone completely off the rails. It’s anything but smooth.”
“I know. But from here on, I mean. When you and I and Kellan and Sheila and Heather and Aaron and Rami and a zillion other people are on set at five o’clock in the morning and we’re still shooting nineteen hours later at midnight, trying to get the shot because Aaron wants to be James Cameron and Stanley Kubrik and John Ford all rolled into one, I don’t want there to be any weirdness between us making the whole process more difficult than it will already be.”
“Claire, the way I see it, you and I are in this together. The best thing we can do is band together and support one another and help each other any way we can because every actor in Hollywood is pissed that we got cast and they didn’t. Any one of them would not hesitate to fuck us over in a heartbeat if it meant they could somehow get the part instead of you or me.”
“Really?”
“Yes. This is the jungle. It’s eat or be eaten. Survival of the fittest. All that Darwinian shit. So, don’t let yourself be paranoid, but watch your back. This is your career we’re talking about. Your livelihood. This is how you make your money now. How you pay your bills. So you have to fight for what’s yours. The same way everyone else does. It’s okay to be nice and to be kind. But not at your own expense. Don’t let anyone walk all over you or push you around. People did that to me when I was first starting out on those stoner comedies. They thought I was just the dumb fat girl there to be the object of the punch line by the sexy male lead. But then I got honest with myself about what it was I wanted out of life and out of this profession and I educated myself on nutrition and resistance training and I lost a hundred pounds and Sheila and I met at a party and hit it off and she told me to call Heather and I did and Heather put me up for a supporting role in Chasing Lazer and lo and behold I got a call back and then another call back and they asked me to read for the lead and I booked it. No fucking idea how, but I booked it. Then I was asked if I’d be willing to wear a bacon bikini to help sell hamburgers and I said fuck it and did it and it was the smartest move I could’ve made. Yes, it was sexist and degrading and I was for all intents and purposes meat and the dogs were slobbering over me, but it was a stepping stone. A big one. Really big. Because look at me now. I’m here. With you. And I get to play the villain in the biggest movie ever. How fucking awesome is that?”
“It’s pretty awesome.”
“Totally. And how awesome is it that you’re here and you get to play the lead?”
“Uh, it’s so awesome I almost can’t comprehend it.”
“I know. I understand completely. I was the same way after Chasing Lazer. But once this movie comes out and makes a half-billion dollars opening weekend and breaks every record for every movie ever, and your career really goes into overdrive, just remember the day we had this conversation so you can try to stay humble. That’s my advice. Don’t turn into a bitch. No one likes a bitch. You need to be professional
and you need to take this seriously and you need to come prepared and you need to be on time and you need to know your lines cold. But you also need to be fun to work with. If you’re a bitch on wheels who wines all the times and is always late, you will eventually get fired. No one is irreplaceable. Look at what happened to Megan Fox on Transformers III. She mouthed off about Michael Bay working her too hard and made some Hitler remark and Spielberg heard about it and they fired her. Just like that the biggest young starlet in Hollywood was out of one of the biggest franchises of all time. No one is immune. So stay humble. Be grateful for what you have, fight for what you want and don’t take any shit because no one respects a weakling, but stay humble.”
BACK AT THE office, we conclude the meeting. Everyone is pleased with the read-through.
Kellan and I head home and decide to work out. We hit the home gym hard, eat, swim, and eat again. We decide to relax for the evening by watching Predator on the home theater. Kellan points out the firefight scene, which is one of his all-time favorite moments in the whole great history of cinema.
It’s been awhile since I’ve seen it, but I must admit it is an impressive scene. Violent and frightening, but powerful.
After Predator we decide to watch a comedy. We have a Val Kilmer marathon: Top Secret and Real Genius.
Kellan and I are both asleep long before they fill the house with popcorn.
Chapter 25
THE NEXT DAY, Kellan awakens me early in the morning with a kiss and a mug of hot coffee. It’s in a travel mug.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“Get dressed. We’re in the car in ten minutes.” He has a pile of my workout clothes ready on the bed beside me, and my shoes are on the floor beside the bed.
“Are we evacuating? Was there an earthquake? This is L.A.”
“No.”
“Then what’s the hurry. What time is it?”
“Time to go.”
I sip the coffee but burn my mouth. “It’s hot. I burned my lip.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I knew I should’ve let it cool or put some ice cubes in it.” Kellan kisses my lip. “There. All better.”
I smile in spite of myself and in spite of my groggy, inadequately-rested, slightly-pissed-off temperament which tends to plague me in the morning.
Ten minutes later, we’re in the Range Rover heading west on Sunset Boulevard (even though everyone refers to it merely as ‘Sunset’), then south on the 405 freeway, then east on the 10. The freeways here in L.A. are all proper nouns described using definite articles; I still don’t understand why.
Kellan exits and we drive into Venice.
I think I know where we’re going.
A few minutes later, we pull into the parking lot of the Mecca: Gold’s Gym. It’s a few minutes before 5:00 a.m.
We go in and train. There is a huge guy inside whom Kellan knows. Kellan introduces me as his lovely fiancée. The guy’s name is Mac. He has a gorgeous blue-eyed husky dog with him named Frogger.
I ask why her name is Frogger.
He says, “Watch. Frogger, lie down.”
Frogger immediately lies on the floor with her hind legs out behind her like a frog. She’s so sweet. She puts her head down on her paws and her eyes slowly close. “She’s a little groggy in the morning.”
“I know the feeling.” I pet Frogger and she licks my hand before closing her eyes once more.
We train hard.
Mac is crazy. It seems today is leg day. Mac squats five hundred pounds. He does it slowly, too. No cheating. He gets under the bar, sits slowly down on a wooden box, and stands up once again. They’re called Box Squats. It looks like a herniated disc waiting to happen, but whatever. Kellan goes next and is able to do the same weight. We strip half of it off when it’s my turn but Kellan and Mac are both impressed at my strength. Truthfully I am, too. And the super-slow technique is murder. By the time we do twenty minutes of cardio and five minutes of cool-down, my legs and butt are sore. The muscles are pinching deep inside. Pooping won’t be easy for the next 48 hours or so.
Kellan and I say goodbye to Mac and Frogger and we drive down the street to a quaint section of downtown Venice, where a little yellow shack restaurant sits right off the sidewalk.
Inside, pictures of bodybuilders line the walls, each one framed, each one signed. Kellan explains that this place has been around since the 70s. It’s iconic. A local landmark.
Kellan orders us each the Bodybuilder Breakfast: a chicken-and-veggie omelet with mushrooms and green onions, along with their specialty, sweet potato hashbrowns, and a side of pineapple.
Everything is delicious.
It’s only 7:30 and we’re the only ones in the place.
The waitress is a nice woman with short, bobbed blond hair and huge muscles. She eyes us constantly throughout the meal and my jealousy radar starts pinging. She is attentive in her service, refilling our coffee mugs constantly, but I begin to suspect she wants Kellan’s dick. Her tight little grey Lycra shorts hug her muscular round butt cheeks and she’s wearing high-top lace-up sneakers that are fashionable in the bodybuilding scene. My insecurity alarms start ringing in conjunction with the jealousy radar, and I’m starting to dislike this place. Any minute now, she’s going to come over and ask Kellan for a selfie, and maybe a quick, hard screw.
I study Kellan but he’s focused on his breakfast, practically inhaling his eggs and gazing out the window beside our table.
Sure enough, Miss Blonde-Bobb-Butt-Cheeks approaches our table. I can clearly read her hesitant body language, like she wants to but she’s not sure if she should but her pussy is so wet she can’t help it so fuck it here goes. Tramp.
“Excuse me, you guys,” she says, and wrinkles her nose and raises one shoulder and cocks her hip. Her implants are huge inside her white gossamer tee shirt. Nipples everywhere. “I don’t mean to bother you, and I know you probably get this all the time, but are you Claire Valentine?”
My eyes shoot from Kellan up to Blonde Bobb.
Kellan goes on chewing and washing it down with a swig of black coffee, totally immune.
“Um, yes. Yes, I am.”
“I thought so! Oh my gosh, it’s such a pleasure to meet you and to be able to wait on you. I’m a huge fan.”
OMG, she’s totally geeking out.
Over me.
Not Kellan, as I’d previously surmised, but me.
She’s tanned like most bodybuilders, but is she actually blushing? Then, her nipples get hard. At first I think it’s my imagination. But then it’s definitely not. Because they definitely do.
“Thank you,” I say, trying to mind my manners. And to not stare at her nipples. “What’s your name?” I try to remember all the times I’ve watched Kellan interact with his fans. I try to be smooth but genuine the way he always seems to be.
“Cory,” she says.
I hold out my hand and we shake. “Claire. And this is my fiancée, Kellan.”
“Hi,” she says.
Kellan says, “Hello.”
I feel Cory’s calluses when we shake.
“Sorry, I have huge calluses,” Cory says. “Dead lift. Pull-ups. One-arm dumbbell rows.”
“I know, I have them, too.”
We both hold up our hands to compare.
“Awesome,” Cory says. “So, are you guys getting ready to go train? Fueling up?”
“Actually,” I say, “we just did.”
“Down at Gold’s?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, wow. Good for you. Listen, I won’t bother you but I just wanted to say hello and maybe we could get a pic together before you guys leave.”
“Sure. Where’s your phone?”
Cory lights up and pulls her phone out of the back pocket of her tight little shorts. She has amazing legs. Not as long and shapely as Calista’s, as Calista, I think, is taller, but Cory’s have more mass.
“You have amazing legs,” I say.
�
��Really? Thanks.”
“Do you squat a lot?”
“A little. Squats always hurt my back. I’ve tried everything: stretching, foam rolling, acupuncture, acupressure, chiropractors, heat therapy, cryotherapy, massage therapy, more heat therapy, cupping, squatting with a belt, without a belt… I even went to a guy up at Pepperdine who specializes in biomechanics to help me try to correct muscle imbalances. Nothing’s worked. So mostly I do leg press and hack squats.”
“You probably have tight Achilles tendons,” says Kellan. “And you have long femurs. So you’re at a disadvantage mechanically, which causes you to lean forward during the squat, which is what’s hurting your back.”
“That’s what the guy at Pepperdine said,” says Cory.
“Do you do a lot of calf work?” Kellan asks.
“Of course. Look.” Cory turns around and stands on her toes. Her calves contract. They’re amazing.
“Try this,” says Kellan. “Wait, when is your next leg day?”
“Today, right after my shift.”
“Okay, try this. Get warmed up, especially your legs. Then, spend a good ten minutes or so gently stretching your calves and ankles. What do you normally squat?”
“Warm up is usually one-eighty-five or two-twenty-five,” says Cory. She sounds embarrassed to admit this, which is absurd because that’s a lot of weight.
“Okay,” says Kellan, “today, start with one-thirty-five. A wheel on each side. That’s it. Do that three hundred times. Ten sets of thirty. And do it with a ten-pound plate on the floor under each of your heels. Okay?”
“Okay….” Cory sounds uncertain.
“I know it’s not much weight. But you have to retrain your body. Pretend you’re a toddler and you’re learning to walk. From now on, you’re Baby Cory. Okay? And Baby Cory needs to reprogram her body, particularly the biomechanics of her lower body. Do this two to three times a week for the next fifty-two weeks. Okay? Can you do that?”
