by J. J. Murray
Bianca blinked. “She might not leave her, um, cabin if you scold her. She might not leave her cabin just because you want her to leave the cabin. She might not leave her cabin if she has a hangnail or sneezes just once or doesn’t get her precious chunky chicken salad sandwiches with the crusts cut off.”
Vincenzo nodded and smiled.
“But you have cameras hidden inside her cabin,” Bianca said with a sigh. “I get it. You have her on ‘the set’ no matter where she is. It’s pretty slick.”
And so are you, Bianca Baptista, Vincenzo thought. And this gives me a great idea. He buzzed Penelope. “Penelope, please bring in a Form Fifteen.”
Bianca’s eyes darted from Vincenzo to the door and back to Vincenzo. “Mr. Lucentio, trust me, I won’t say a word about any of this to anyone. You don’t have to have me sign a confidentiality agreement. I mean, I’m going to have a front-row seat to the death of Katha-diva Bologna. I’ll be the first person on earth to see that wench go.” And then, Bianca thought happily, I’ll be free!
Vincenzo chuckled and wrote down “Katha-diva Bologna” on a notepad as Penelope swept into the room and laid a file folder on Vincenzo’s desk. “Bianca,” he said, “this is a standard acting contract. You’re going to appear often on those thousand hours of video, whether we use them or not, so you should be compensated accordingly.”
“Will there be …” Bianca’s eyes widened. “You’re not filming in the bathroom, are you?”
Here we go again, Vincenzo thought. “You’ll only be filmed from the neck up and at the mirror only.” He had an idea. “You could even communicate to us that way if you ever had to, you know, while Katharina’s sleeping.”
“Mirror, mirror, on the wall …” Bianca whispered. “I guess I could. I’ll probably crack myself up.”
Vincenzo filled in the basics on the contract, then looked up at Penelope. “Any suggestions, Penelope?”
“Don’t tell Jim,” Penelope whispered.
“I don’t intend to,” Vincenzo said. “I meant, how much …”
“And pay her SAG dues,” Penelope said, whispering, “She’s very cute.”
Bianca was now sitting up on the couch. “You’re going to pay me?”
Vincenzo glared at Penelope. “If Penelope will just tell me how much.”
Penelope smiled at Bianca. “Have you ever acted before, dear?”
“Well,” Bianca said, “I’ve been acting like a complete moron for the last six weeks working for Katharina Minola. Does that count?”
Penelope nodded to Vincenzo. “She’s experienced. I’d go ten, maybe fifteen, minimum.”
Bianca’s eyes widened. “Ten … thousand?”
Penelope nodded. “At least, Vincenzo. She has presence.” She squeezed Vincenzo’s shoulder, then stood in front of Bianca. “Stand up, young lady.”
Bianca stood while Penelope peered at her face, humming and squinting.
“Good jawline, a softened Maria Shriver,” Penelope said.
Really? Bianca thought. I didn’t know I had a jawline.
“Serious eyebrows like that Jennifer Connelly,” Penelope continued. “Incredible gray-blue eyes. Girl next door quality. Healthy skin tone. Innocent. Could be a cover girl with a touch of makeup.”
“Oh, I never wear makeup,” Bianca said.
“Don’t,” Penelope said. “You don’t need it, which is why I hate you. Hair needs work, but what woman’s doesn’t? Has a fresh, lively voice. Has to be brave to work for Katharina.”
And has to be a moron, Bianca thought.
“Fifteen,” Penelope said.
“Um, hey,” Bianca said, “that’s really generous, but I’m no actress.”
Penelope hushed her. “And humble, too. Twenty.” She narrowed her eyes. “A week.”
Bianca fell back onto the couch. “Twenty … thousand … a week?” Katharina barely pays me two thousand a month! Bianca thought. They have to be kidding!
Vincenzo wrote down the figures. “That’s roughly … one hundred and seventy thousand dollars for sixty days’ work.” He stood and brought a pen and the contract to Bianca. “Unless you want more.”
Bianca looked from Penelope to Vincenzo to the contract in front of her. It looked legitimate. It had all the right amount of legalese, and it had the right number of zeroes. She exhaled slowly. “You two are crazy.” She looked up. “Aren’t you?”
Penelope winked. “I’ve been crazy since the fifties, dear. Vincenzo has only recently become infected.”
Bianca took the paper with shaking hands. “This is real?”
“Yes, Bianca,” Vincenzo said softly. “We’ll take care of your Screen Actors Guild dues and fees for a year as well.”
I can’t feel my hands, Bianca thought. Why can’t I feel my hands? “But, I’m not an actress,” she said again, flitting her eyes from Penelope to Vincenzo. “I was never even a tree or a squirrel or a dog in a school play.”
Penelope sat beside Bianca. “All you have to do is be you. Be Bianca Baptista.”
Bianca sighed. “I have to kiss a lot of ass. Oh, I’m sorry. I curse sometimes. Is that all right?”
Penelope put her arm around Bianca. “You are so precious! You can do and say whatever you like, Bianca, and when the time is right, and if I’m reading you right, you can—how do they say it? You can ‘break bad’ on your employer and quit.”
Vincenzo knelt in front of Bianca, Scottie sniffing at his legs. “And you can quit in perhaps the most memorable confrontation in film history. The lowly, long-suffering assistant gets to stick it to her stuck-up employer. You do have a lot to say to Miss Katha-diva Bologna, don’t you?”
Bianca dropped her eyes. “You heard me say that, huh?”
“Yes,” Vincenzo said.
Bianca couldn’t keep her toes still. “I have a great deal to say to Katha-diva. The film may need an intermission. Could we do it in 3-D? There are some shoes and some bread crusts I’d like to throw at her. You may have to do a sequel.”
Penelope hugged Bianca to her. “I wish I was going to be there to see it. I’m a tough old bird, but northern Ontario is not the place for me this time of year. I’ll be in Costa Rica working on my tan and keeping the rest of the porta-posse happy and quiet.” She stood and patted Scottie and Vincenzo on the head. “Good dogs.” She winked once at Bianca, and she left the office.
Vincenzo stood. “If you think you should get an even two hundred,” he said, “just say so.”
Bianca looked up, her eyes shining. “I don’t think I should get even five thousand.” Her mouth dropped open. “Oh no! What if Katharina fires me today, or tomorrow, or only a few days into the shoot?”
“Relax, Bianca. We expect her to try to fire you, and whenever she does, you have to beat her to the punch and quit. Then you will become a technical advisor for the film.” He sat beside her, letting Scottie lick his hand.
“Scottie was licking his penis on the ride in,” Bianca said.
Vincenzo removed his hand quickly, wiping it on his jeans. “How nice. Um, once you quit, you’ll walk off into the wild, hopefully during a blizzard. It’s only about a mile or so to my brother Pietro’s very nice, very warm house where you’ll have a four-room suite all to yourself. We’re filming A Woman Alone on his land.”
“Is that your title?”
Vincenzo nodded.
“Fitting.”
And, he thought, she thinks like me, even says the same things. I am officially intrigued. “Um, once you’re at Pietro’s, you could give suggestions to Walter Yearling, our screenwriter, as you watch Katharina’s further disintegration. He can then fax new script pages to Katharina with your ideas.”
“I don’t know,” Bianca said. “Katharina has a way of changing things, of getting her way, of messing things up. You have this nice plan, but she’s not of this world, okay?”
“We’ll figure it all out.” He bumped her knee with his. “Just don’t quit for at least a week, maybe two.”
“I’ll try not
to.” She signed the contract and handed it to Vincenzo. “Does this mean you own me or something?”
Vincenzo stood and placed the contract on his desk. “Of course not.” He smiled at his shoes. “Not for a few days, anyway.” He looked up. “Sixty days is all we’re asking, whether you’re with Katharina as her assistant or with us as a technical advisor. Do you have any questions?”
“This is going to sound petty, but if Katharina’s luggage is going to Central America, does that mean that my luggage is going there, too?”
“No. Yours will go to a holding area at Val-d’Or Airport in Quebec to be shipped to Pietro’s after you and Katharina leave the airport.”
Bianca shrugged. “I don’t have much, I was just wondering.” She giggled a little. “Could you maybe send my Chacos with Penelope? They’ve never been to Costa Rica. They like the sand.”
Vincenzo smiled. “Sure.”
And I’m starting to like you, Bianca, Vincenzo thought. I really, really am.
Chapter 7
Whom should I call first? Katharina sat on a purple velvet throne chair in her mirrored bathroom at her vanity, at twenty feet long most likely the world’s largest purple vanity, a purple intercom within shouting distance. She wore only a dark purple bathrobe, a matching head wrap, and matching fluffy slippers.
Shoot! I can’t call anyone to gloat. I can’t tell anyone that I’m making another movie.
This isn’t any fun.
It’s only for two months. I can handle that.
Hmm. Whom would I call? Ah. It would be a long-ass list.
She picked up one of the brushes her hairstylist had just used on her and pantomimed dialing a number. “Hello, Cecil? Hi. Katharina. Yes, the Katharina, the Katharina who made you a filthy-rich man. How is the agent thing going for you since you stole my money? I’m sure you’re fatter and sloppier now. Still wearing those tents you called suits? I hope your cholesterol level is pushing three hundred. You see, you sniveling, bloated toad, you just lost out on …” She did the math. “Seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars in commissions. Yes, you are so right. You are a turd-eating, gorilla-butt-sniffing piece of overripe roadkill. I hope you’ve spent all my money by now and are as broke as the federal government. Enjoy your poverty! Get that cardboard sign and squirt bottle ready! I hear you can get maps of the stars’ houses real cheap these days. Adios!”
Who’s next? Oh yes. That wench from that useless TV show, Enter-Slander-Me Tonight.
“Cathleen, hi, this is Katharina Minola. How are you? Yes, it has been a long time. Your show is still on the air? It is? Why? Oh, I just wondered why a dishonest show that treats hearsay, rumor, gossip, and unconfirmed reports as the gospel truth would still be on the air. Didn’t I read that it’s still dead last in the Nielsen ratings? You poor, miserable dear. Oh, I know. Seven o’clock is such a dreadful timeslot when most of America is filling its face or going out for fast food or simply doing something more interesting than your show. Speaking of eating, and I’m sorry if I offend you, but you have gained quite a bit of weight, haven’t you? It’s more like tonnage, actually. Are you expecting quintuplets? No? Are you taking steroids? I hear they bloat your ass. No? Stuck on your time of the month? Terminal bloating? No? You mean, you’re just a freaking fat-ass blimp? Well, I just wanted you to know that I’m making another movie, and that I had to buy a wide-screen TV to take you all in, you bovine, porcine, monolithic cow!”
What was that reviewer’s name … She frowned. There were a lot of evil reviewers. Hmm. I’ll just invent one.
“Hello, Roger Leonard Dick? Yes, it’s Katharina Minola, Mr. Dick. You remember me, don’t you, Mr. Dick? I just wanted to thank you for all the kind words you have said about my abilities over the years, especially that phrase you kept repeating over and over one night on your show—what was it? Oh yes. ‘Community theater.’ Um, how many acting credits do you have, Mr. Dick? None? Then what makes you such an expert on acting, Mr. Dick? Oh, you’ve watcheda lot of movies. My goodness. I guess that makes you the world’s biggest couch potato. You like to eat, don’t you, Mr. Dick? I hope you do, because I am doing another movie, it will be fantastic, and you are going to eat every one of your lies doused in rancid camel snot and goat piss for the rest of your pathetic, limp-dicked, no balls-having life! Ciao, Mr. Dick!”
She slammed down the brush.
She heard a door close. “Ah. Bee-donk-a-donk is back.” She faced the intercom and used her refined voice. “Bianca, darling?”
Was that a giggle? Katharina thought. I don’t pay people to giggle.
“Yes, Miss Minola?”
Was that another giggle? “Bianca, have you been drinking?”
“No, Miss Minola. You know I don’t drink.”
True. The child has no life at all. It’s a good thing she’s working for me or she’d have no excitement in her life whatsoever. “Did you deliver my letter?”
“Yes, Miss Minola.”
She is so mousy, Katharina thought. If I had a cat, she’d be dead and excreted already. “How did Mr. Lucentio receive my letter?”
“He seemed content and relieved, Miss Minola. He also gave me your itinerary.”
Yes! “Has the money been deposited, or do you even know?”
“The money has been deposited to your old Lucentio Pictures account, Miss Minola.”
Really? Wow. Lucentio Pictures is certainly efficient. I’m surprised Cecil didn’t raid that account. “How’s Scottie?”
“He’s taking a nap, Miss Minola.”
“Carry on, Bianca.”
Katharina picked up her brush. “I’d like to thank the Academy for finally recognizing the talents of someone who isn’t a bleached blonde or foreign or insane or made mostly of plastic and silicone. I’d like to thank the Academy for giving the award to an actress who doesn’t play a nun, a serial killer prostitute, a dying boxer, a pregnant cop, or the Queen of England. I accept my Academy Award for my miraculous work in A Woman Alone …”
I just wish I had a script to redline and rewrite. Maybe I can get Vincenzo to provide one for the plane ride.
She faced the intercom again. “Bianca!”
“Yes, Miss Minola.”
More giggles? What’s with this girl?
“Bianca, where does the itinerary say we’re going?”
“Um, let’s see, um”—a rustling of papers—”leaving at ten on the twenty-ninth from Bob Hope Airport, private charter, a Learjet.”
Katharina waited a few seconds. “And what else?”
“That’s all it says, Miss Minola.”
“That’s it?” That can’t be it!
“That’s all it says, Miss Minola.”
Katharina scowled. “Did you even ask how we should dress for our destination?”
“No, Miss Minola.”
Katharina sighed and whispered, “All this secrecy shit is driving me crazy.”
Katharina then distinctly heard Bianca laugh. That was no giggle. That was an outright guffaw!
“What is so funny, Bianca?”
“Um, Scottie was just licking my toes, Miss Minola.” Katharina squinted at herself. “I thought you said he was asleep.”
“He, uh, he just woke up, Miss Minola.”
Bianca might finally be cracking up, Katharina thought. And at the worst possible time. She hasn’t even started packing my draws yet. “Make sure you wash out Scottie’s mouth with Scope before his bedtime.”
“Yes, Miss Minola.”
“And get back to work on my shoes, Bianca. Then start on my draws.”
“Yes, Miss Minola. Right away. Thongs and then thongs. Right away, Miss Minola.”
Katharina shook her head and batted her eyes. “‘Thongs and then thongs.’ The child has definitely lost it.”
Still, she thought, Bianca has lasted a long time, and she makes a mean chunky chicken salad sandwich. I just wish that she had a personality.
Katharina raised her eyebrows.
With all this new money, I coul
d probably afford two assistants again. Hmm. It’s about time I had at least one man for an assistant, anyway. Maybe two men, neither of whom speaks English. Yeah. Muscular men, men with long legs and really long …
She cleared her throat.
Fingers.
She “dialed” one more number on her brush. “Hello, Julia? Katharina. How are you, darling? Guess what I’m about to do? Oh, you are so perceptive. You knew they wouldn’t forget about me, didn’t you? You know what they’re paying me? Nope … nope … not even close … You’re just going to giggle like a little schoolgirl when I tell you, and there’s even something called ‘full script approval’ this time….”
Chapter 8
Bianca had to rent the largest truck U-Haul had available to carry more than one hundred pieces of Katharina’s luggage to Bob Hope Airport. They arrived an hour late because Katharina had fallen asleep in the bathtub, woke up “ashier than the moon,” and needed nearly a full bottle of Vaseline Intensive Care Lotion to bring her skin “back from the brink of destruction!” Bianca followed behind Katharina, in her favorite tiger outfit, as she entered the jet.
“Where is everybody?” Katharina asked. “Where’s the cabin crew?”
There would be no flight crew, as Vincenzo could not pay enough to any off-duty crew of flight attendants to serve and pamper Katharina Minola. The pilot and copilot locked themselves into the cockpit twenty minutes prior to her arrival and would not be opening the door for the entire flight.
While Katharina settled herself in a comfortable leather seat on the right side of the cabin, Bianca looked for two seats on the left side. She needed to peel off some of her clothes before she died of heat exhaustion. She was wearing long johns, two pairs of boxers, and two pairs of heavy wool socks under her jeans. Her thermal, waterproof boots barely fit over the socks. And she was wearing a sports bra, a long-sleeved flannel shirt, and a long-sleeved T-shirt under a heavy black oversized fisherman’s sweater. She laid her 3-in-1 winter jacket, a hat and mittens stuffed inside a sleeve, on the seat next to her.
“Bianca, you are going to roast,” Katharina said.
