by C. J. Duggan
‘That role is mine, Ziggy, and I will go down fighting for it.’
Her lips pressed together in a thin line. ‘I just don’t want you to be disappointed.’
What I was disappointed in was her lack of faith.
‘Don’t you think I can do it?’
‘Just don’t put all your eggs in one basket. Here,’ Ziggy took an envelope from her bag and slid it across the table. ‘Here are some other projects that will give you good auditioning practice and, with any luck – ’
‘A beer commercial?’
‘A top beer commercial,’ she pointed out.
‘A non-speaking commercial.’
‘It will be good exposure.’
‘As what, flirty girl at the bar?’
Ziggy clasped her hands together on the tabletop; I could see her patience was wearing thin. ‘Okay, so Monday, after your audition, what then?’
‘I – ’
‘I’ll tell you what you’ll do: you go to another audition, then another, you audition for Burger King if you have to. You line up for as much as you can and submit those sparkly, beautiful new headshots to as many people as you can. You know why?’
‘Because this isn’t Australia, nobody knows me, I know.’
‘Because it’s not all sunglasses and autographs. If you want to make it in this town you have to work for it. Bloody hard.’
‘Like Sienna,’ I scoffed.
‘Abby, jealousy doesn’t become you.’
My eyes snapped up. ‘I’m not jealous,’ I squeaked, clearing my throat.
‘Aren’t you? You should be. There is nothing quite like the burning hatred of a nemesis to fuel the fire.’
I sighed. ‘I just want to do good, give it my all.’
‘Then, in that case,’ Ziggy said, placing on her sunglasses and grabbing her bag. ‘Keep fit, stay out of the sun, and spray booths, drink plenty of water, go to your classes and get a day job.’
‘I never thought this would be part of the plan.’ I sulked.
‘Well, princess, if you want to survive then you’re going to have to make it your plan. It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there, where there are a million Abby Taylors; just let yourself be the smartest one.’
‘I don’t feel too smart right now.’
Ziggy moved, rubbing me on the shoulder. ‘Don’t be too hard on yourself. This is a tough gig. I want you to live as normally as you can in between all the insanity. Lap up anonymity, Abby, you never know how long it will last.’
‘I never thought I would miss being the homewrecker.’
‘Oh, wash your mouth out! Dinner tomorrow night?’
‘Sounds good.’
‘I promise we’ll talk about more fun things next time.’
I knew it was all a part of the tough love she was providing, and maybe it was the hangover, the fight with Billie, and the stupidity of hooking up with Jay last night, but I felt miserable. I had wanted Ziggy to tell me everything I wanted to hear: ‘you’re glowing’, ‘this part is yours for the taking’, ‘Hollywood is lucky to have you’ and ‘of course Jay likes you’. Okay, now I was getting hysterical.
I left Ziggy to her afternoon of laptop by the pool – more Abby Taylors needing her sage advice, no doubt – to wander the city streets looking for some much-needed inspiration, the same warm feelings that had engulfed me when I’d first entered the Roosevelt, surrounded by the ghosts of Hollywood. I wondered how Marilyn felt living there. Her modelling career had been taking off; was she filled with optimism in the beginning? As I looked up at the dirty sky I wondered if it was really pollution or merely clouds of pent-up frustration from all the creative souls riddled with self-doubt. Maybe that’s what the Hollywood sign symbolised: the ultimate, unattainable pinnacle of success, up above the smog, looking down on all the dreamers stuck here, choking.
Wow, I really needed to clear my black mood. And what better way than by passing through the busy intersection, wrapped up among the eager tourists, crossing over to the forecourt entrance of Grauman’s Chinese Theatre, a key stop on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. Celebrations of the industry’s best literally set in stone – well, concrete. Hordes of onlookers walked over imprints of the eyeglasses of Harold Lloyd, the cigar of Groucho Marx and the legs of Betty Grable. Western stars William S. Hart and Roy Rogers left imprints of their guns, while Rogers’ horse left his hoof prints. Herbie, a Volkswagen Beetle, left the imprints of his tyres. John Wayne had surprisingly tiny feet, and there, of course, were Marilyn Monroe’s dainty handprints.
I whispered a silent wish as I bent down, hoping against hope that our hands would be the same size, that if they matched it would somehow mean something, that I was destined for bigger things. But of course they didn’t – my fingers were much longer than hers. It was clear I would not have made it as a Hollywood actress back in the day.
Taking a ride through the Hollywood Hills on a tour of celebrity mansions was tempting, but so was a nap. Clearly I had a lot to learn about living a rock ’n’ roll lifestyle. Man, when had I become so lame? I was twenty-five years old; these were the best years of my life, and I should be really living them!
There was only one person I wanted to do that with, and, talking to me or not, she was going to start living too. Because I really didn’t want either of us to end up like old Veronica on the lower floor, sharing dinners with a little dog and lusting after men forty years her junior.
Nope, nope, nope.
Time to jump on the bus and head back home. Ziggy had sparked something in me, something that had been a long time coming, and stepping into the footsteps (quite literally) of those who had made it set me on fire. I was going to give it everything I had, starting from now.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ziggy had told me to prepare for the worst, and that was exactly the attitude I adopted going back to the condo. Prepped for the silent treatment, even the ‘I don’t think we should live together’ speech, what I didn’t expect were tears – colossal, sobbing tears.
I let my bag drop, quickstepping to the lounge, where Billie’s head was buried in her hands.
‘Billie, what’s wrong?’
She was so upset. I had never seen her like this before; had someone died? There was no blood, no chopping accident in the kitchen – what could it be?
Billie lowered her hands; shaking her head, she looked at me and started to laugh, then cry again, and laugh some more. She looked like a mad woman.
‘Billie, you’re scaring me.’
She wiped her eyes, trying to contain herself before she gripped my hands tightly and looked me straight in the eyes.
‘Abby, I got a job!’
‘Um, okay?’
‘No, more than okay – I got THE job, a make-up job, at the studio, from the person you met last night.’
‘What?’
‘I called him and he wanted to meet me straightaway. We spoke for over an hour, he gave me a tour, I did a test run on an actress, and then he said the job is mine if I want it!’
‘Billie, oh my God!’ I wrapped my arms around her; the universe might not have given me a sign, but this was even better. My best friend, who had been trying so hard for so long, had finally landed a proper gig. In the space of a moment I had gone from never having seen her so upset, to never having seen her so happy.
‘Thank you, Abby, thank you so much. I’m so sorry about last night, the things I said were way out of line and so not true.’
‘I’m sorry, too. I can’t even imagine how weird it must have been seeing me and Jay together.’
An awkward silence settled between us, which told me exactly how awkward it had been. I cleared my throat as a means to break the long pause.
‘Well, hey, you got a job! And not just any job, but THE job! When do you start?’
‘Monday!’ Billie squealed, and I squealed too, laughing like lunatics and squeezing each other.
‘We have to celebrate!’ I said, jumping to my feet and ducking to the fridge, retrieving two l
ame bottles of water. I handed one to Billie, who eyed it sceptically.
‘Aah, I think we have two very different definitions of what celebrating is.’
‘Think of it as a public service announcement; I wish someone had told me to drink plenty of fluids before I went out on the town last night.’
‘You are a gem!’ Billie took the bottle and took a deep swig, gasping before something seemingly horrifying occurred to her. ‘Oh shit.’
‘What?’
Her shoulders slumped. ‘How am I going to tell Jay?’
The mere mention of his name tensed my muscles. ‘What? Tell him you have your dream job, simple.’
Billie shook her head. ‘There is nothing simple about it. I’ve always prided myself on being the reliable one, the one staff member he could count on. He is going to be so pissed.’
‘He’ll get over it,’ I said, as if I really knew Jay, which of course I didn’t; sure, I’d had his tongue inside my mouth, but that didn’t mean I knew him. I had seen a few glimpses of niceness, but I had also seen plenty of the not-so-nice side of him.
I thought for a moment. ‘Are you working tonight?’
‘Nope.’
‘Will Jay be at the Saloon?’
‘I think so.’
‘Well, how would you feel about celebrating at the Saloon?’
‘Are you serious?’
‘I know it’s probably the last place you want to be, but trust me.’
‘It’s not the place – I love going there – I just … he is going to be so mad.’
‘Most likely, but I think I have a plan.’
‘Oh God, should I be scared?’
‘No, but I probably should be.’
And as I took a deep swig of my own water, I reflected on my plan. No, I wasn’t scared, I was damn well terrified.
So, my grand plan was more of a loose idea. I had no ample amount of energy, despite swallowing fluids and aspirin all afternoon. I did, however, have an obligation as Billie’s friend to be her wing woman if she needed me to be. There was, I won’t deny it, some butterfly action in my stomach at the thought of seeing Jay again. Before all this, I had tried to think of a solid excuse to cross his path, and now I had it. I would go to the Saloon Bar and support Billie in handing in her resignation; after all, it was kind of my fault – not that I was sorry, and I was sure Jay wouldn’t be either. They had been friends for years, surely he would understand her need to follow her dreams. Oh, wait, that’s right: Jay didn’t believe in those things, even if he had helped me network the other night. Was there ever a more confusing man? I think not.
Getting ready, I pulled my hair from my ponytail; my headache wasn’t quite ready for an ‘up do’ right now, and my stomach wasn’t ready for a figure-hugging outfit. No, tonight I needed comfortable casual, so much so that I was tempted to borrow a kaftan from Veronica. Instead I chose a light shirt dress, and definitely underwear!
It was a mild summer evening so we decided to walk. After nearly a month in LA, I was beginning to see the other side of my neighbourhood. While there were celebrity spottings and nightclub openings, there was also a normal side to living here, the run-of-the-mill stuff that happened all over the world. People still did their food shopping, loads at the laundromat and prescription refills; they just happened to do it in the proximity of the epicentre of the movie industry. Walking past a street performer knocking out a tune on some empty soy sauce bottles, then a man reclining on a rubbish bin, who gave sass to anyone who wanted to throw away their garbage, I realised that this was a town of contradictions. You never knew exactly what you were going to get. I liked the absurdity of it all.
‘So, Jay, huh?’
My attention snapped from the graffiti on the bent and broken fence we passed to Billie, who looked at me expectantly. I knew this was coming. I had coasted through the day without mention of last night, riding the excitement of Billie’s good news, but now, walking in the dusky evening towards the Strip, I finally had to face the music.
‘It wasn’t a big deal. Nothing much happened.’ It felt like a huge lie but, unlike some women, I wasn’t comfortable sharing stories of my sex-capades with the hot boy next door over cocktails. I had never been that kind of person and I wasn’t going to start now, especially not with Billie, who knew both of us so well. It just felt weird.
‘Well, he’s a good guy.’
‘Says the girl who is terrified of telling him she’s quitting,’ I mused.
‘I’m not terrified, I’m just … I don’t want to let him down. He’s been so good to me. And I guess there’s this part of me that is scared of change.’
‘Change is good! And he’ll understand. If he doesn’t, then he really needs to get out of LA and stop being so sensitive.’
‘I think everyone in LA is well versed in rejection; you don’t have to be an actor to feel it. Apartment applications, job interviews, dating – it’s all rather brutal. I mean, it’s one the biggest cities in the world and there’s so much competition.’
Billie’s words felt like a knife twisting in my stomach. I was always about running my own race, convincing myself that ‘I got this’. Despite Billie’s and Ziggy’s warnings, I was telling myself that the role of Annika was mine; I was born to play it. But, thinking realistically, how many other hopefuls were currently telling themselves the same thing? Girls who hadn’t got a dodgy spray tan and then got drunk and hooked up with the boy next door. No, there were probably trained professionals with real American accents who were up for the role, taking it far more seriously than I was.
Walking to the Saloon Bar in the hope of seeing Jay, I had an overwhelming desire to turn back and go home but, glancing at Billie, I knew I wouldn’t. She was next-level stressing, rubbing her hands on her jeans and taking slow, deep breaths as our feet landed on the Strip.
‘Billie, seriously, you have nothing to worry about.’ And I truly believed it. She had landed her dream role, her next adventure was just about to begin, and I hoped against hope that I wouldn’t be far behind her.
But as we neared the corner, spotting the Saloon Bar in the distance, my plan in my mind, I couldn’t help but feel that what I was about to do was a major step back.
Sure, change was good, but this time, for me, I wasn’t so sure.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Maybe I liked the Saloon Bar because it reminded me so much of a Hollywood film set, like one of those old Westerns, minus the hookers dangling over the second-storey railings. It was also surprisingly gimmicky, not something I would have expected Jay to be a part of, given the sleek lines and clean edges that he liked so much. Still, he probably bought into it rather than built it.
From the small history lesson Billie had given me on the way, I knew that the Saloon Bar’s reputation had grown from being commonly known as ‘the Killing Floor’ in the eighties, where there was blood on the dance floor most nights from wild bar-room brawls, to a deserted money pit in the nineties, only to be revamped, becoming one of the better places to be on any given night of the week. The Saloon Bar had Jay to thank for that, injecting good staff, good food and good music.
While Jay may have changed the Saloon Bar’s clientele and reputation, he’d kept the theme. Standing on the second level and looking down at the sweeping bar that dominated the space, you could almost imagine cowboys playing cards at the tables as a piano played in the background and a handlebar-moustached barman cleaned a glass. There were some modern touches, like the gorgeous wait staff swanning around the place, the tattoo-clad bartender with a nose ring and lumberjack beard instead of a vest and moustache, and the waitress with Jessica Rabbit red hair and the lipstick to match. It made for a stark contrast visually, and I really liked it, just as Billie did.
‘Well, he’s expecting me,’ she said, glimpsing at the door behind us; it wasn’t until that moment that I realised we were standing in front of Jay’s office. Shit just got real.
‘You sure you don’t want me to come in with you? I sort
of wanted to talk to him too.’
‘No, it’s okay, I think I really need to give him the courtesy of a one-on-one, you know?’
‘Okay.’ I guess Jay was Billie’s Ziggy, and I knew all about not wanting to let her down.
‘Well, I’ll be right here,’ I said, squeezing her shoulder.
‘Thanks,’ she said, moving to the door and knocking.
‘Come in.’
Hearing Jay’s voice sent an electric shock through me, every nerve in my body alert to the fact that he was in the next room. I stood to the side, not wanting to be seen when Billie opened the door and went inside, giving me one last thin smile. I swore that if he made her cry, or just made her feel guilty, I would give him what for.
The waiting was interminable; my chin rested on my hand as I leant on the railing, lazily looking around at all the people moving below. I kind of wished it was the eighties – I wouldn’t have minded seeing a bit of action, I was so bored. I had long since given up trying to listen to the inaudible murmurings from inside Jay’s office. Instead, here I was, Billie’s fantastic support service, feeling completely useless, waiting to see if she came out from the office crying or high-fiving.
After what felt like a millennium, the door opened behind me. I straightened and turned quickly to hear Billie laughing as she stepped out on the landing, Jay next to her. His smile slipped away as his gaze locked onto me. He was clearly surprised to find me standing here.
Was it a mistake to come here? I hadn’t seen him since last night, and I could feel my cheeks flush, remembering how I had behaved. Maybe his intention was to give me a wide berth. I hope he didn’t assume that I was here because I was obsessed with him. I knew what men were like – no-strings-attached hook-ups were all the rage – so I should have known better than to show up here so soon after our shenanigans.
‘Oh, um, Jay, Abby wants to talk to you, if you’ve got a sec?’
It couldn’t get much worse; Billie had obviously failed to mention me wanting to talk to him, and now the whole thing was playing out rather disastrously. I had grand visions of walking into Jay’s office under the guise of supportive best friend, there to set him straight if he was going to be a jerk about it. And then – so went my plan – I would wrap up by offering him a deal, one that I hadn’t even told Billie about.
