by Carla Hanna
I whispered, “I want you,” while I pulled off his shirt and kissed his very strong chest. I felt the contours of his muscles and noticed how much he had grown since Christmas. I closed my eyes to ignore his tattoo and kissed his chest again. I pushed down his pants and moved my hand over his underwear. I heard him stop breathing. I assured him, “It’s okay, Manuel. I love you.”
“I love you so entirely,” he mumbled and then exploded into action. He had my sun dress off in an instant and roamed my body. I welcomed the touch, thrilled to feel his body. He kissed my neck and carried me to my bed. I wrapped my legs around him and then stretched out my torso to center myself.
“This is surreal.” He whispered, “I can’t believe I get to kiss you, your beautiful body.” He kissed my stomach and then rolled my back against his chest as we got under the sheets. He ran his hand along the contours of my stomach and bra while he kissed the nape of my neck. A tingle ran from my pelvis to my toes. Then in another burst of energy, he pushed my back against the bed and rolled on top of me.
“I love you with all my heart,” I confirmed. I breathed in his essence and relaxed. We smiled at each other. “I feel a tingle. That’s a first.”
He closed his eyes and then kissed my lips while he thrust his body against mine. I worried that it was going to happen. I wanted more tingles first. He rolled us together to our sides, kissed my neck, pulled my top leg over his hip and slid his hand under my panties. I blushed from the embarrassment. He stopped abruptly and opened his eyes.
“You’re not turned on.” He groaned and moved me. “Are you sure, Marie?”
I felt his eyes on me. I nodded even though I was afraid to speak and afraid he’d remove our underwear.
He exhaled and demanded, “This is confusing. You push me to make love but you look scared. I can’t do this, like this. I hoped it would be different with me, but it’s the same old problem, isn’t it?” He pushed me away. “Why are you playing with me? Because you know I’m your faithful little puppy?”
Panic that he’d leave replaced worry that he was angry with me. I explained my actions, “I’m broken. I love you and am supposed to, so I’m not a tease.”
“You don’t love me. You’re…so… full of it!” He sat on the side of the bed, his body stiff with his back facing me, emitting hostile energy.
“Beth’s right. I’m such a weakling around you. I break all my rules just because you smile at me. I need to get out of here, take a walk.”
I desperately wrapped my arms around his tense body. “Please don’t leave me,” I begged.
The anger that flowed from his pores subsided, replaced by his signature calm glow.
He slouched while he picked up the photo of us that was on my nightstand. I realized that for all this time, Manuel contained his passion. It was physical and emotional for him. When he released his tension, he surrendered to me again.
I viewed the photo, too.
It pictured us and our dads in front of the Rainbow Bridge National Monument. Both of our dads are gorgeous men with ethnicity that’s not immediately obvious. Carlos, his dad, is the son of a German Jew and Argentinian Catholic. My dad is Bitterroot Salish Native American. In the photo, Manuel and I were fourteen and did a ‘vision quest’ the night before. We talked and held hands when we slept outside in our sleeping bags after hiking fifteen miles on Navajo tribal lands. I enjoyed the warmth from his hand and breathed in his body’s comforting aroma. That night I first hoped that Manuel would someday be my husband.
He turned to me and studied my face. “I’m sorry. Marie, you’re my best friend. I was mad but not anymore.” He relaxed completely. “I need to understand what’s going on in your mind. You never said you were scared with Evan, just that you guys got frustrated. But to me and Byron you said you’re broken.”
He turned into the bed and covered both of us with the sheets. He asked, “What happened with Matthew?”
Relieved that he understood me, I closed my eyes. “I told you. He would have raped me if Sashi wasn’t there. If I made it public, I’d be skewered in the media and he’d barely suffer. So we punished him by taking away his millions in royalties and dumping his contract. I feel betrayed but also responsible for kissing him when I knew I shouldn’t have. But I hate him. I hate the look he had in his eyes. I hate that he called me a tease.”
I put my hand in his. “You know what hurts, not as intensely, but thoroughly? Ira and Richard would sue me if I quit. Mom won’t support me quitting, either. I can barely breathe when I think about it.”
“You’ve learned to shut up and take it. Please unlearn that—you need to speak up.” He caressed my arm. “Why did you mess around with Bryon so soon?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “The UARYs have changed me.” Manuel knew I talked about the movie awards season. He had an alternative for the acronym: Use Awards and Ruin Yourself.
“I’m so lonely—empty. And Byron has some power over me.” I felt compelled to kiss his chest.
“You were pretty focused on making love just now. Why?”
“Losing Evan cut me but losing you would kill me.”
“I’m not following you. Why would you lose me?”
I admitted, “Evan didn’t think I loved him because I didn’t want to sleep with him. I’m not going to let my dysfunctional body come between us. Elise says it only hurts for a minute. It seems like the price to pay to keep you as my boyfriend.”
“That’s messed up, Marie. You actors think about suffering all wrong. You think that getting reamed is the price of fame. Isn’t it enough that you work so hard so that people can enjoy your movies? I mean, do you think anyone could act? I couldn’t do it. Byron can’t. The director says “go” and you can just put who you are in a safe deposit box and start crying, screaming, pleading, or looking forlorn...”
I interrupted with a chuckle, “It’s not a safe deposit box. We say “emotional safety box.” Mom calls it “compartmentalizing.”
“No. You put all of your treasures and the contracts that bind you into a safe deposit box. You pay fees to have some bank hold your box outside of yourself so you still have everything important to you after your house burns down. I’ve seen you act, and I’m your fee-free bank.”
I stared at him, surprised that he saw my life more clearly than I did.
He asked another question, “Why do you think people have a right to invade your privacy, too, just because you’re paid well? Professional athletes have lives. Doctors and lawyers have lives. Hell, CEOs and Wall Street partners have great, anonymous lives and get paid more than any of you do. No one has the right to destroy you emotionally.”
He was right. I loved his insights. I needed to see life through his eyes. “You’re so smart, my man. Thanks.” I smiled at him appreciatively. “So you’ll stay, wait for me until I get off work?”
He put his hand on my cheek. “Liana Marie, I’m yours, forever. If you start it, I’m gonna want to and will be really mad if you’re playing games. You have to understand, I could never forgive myself if I hurt you. Sure, I’m religious, but I have no problem justifying making love with the only girl I’ve always loved and want to marry.”
He got up and helped me off the bed. He shuddered and smiled when he glimpsed my body. “Wow. You’re impossibly hot.”
“Thanks.”
He kissed my cheek. “I promise; I’m not going to bail on you if I don’t get some.”
I melted into his honest eyes. “I love your values.”
“You have great values, too. You’re a little confused, but I’ll help you get back on track. You’re so strong already.”
I kissed his perfect lips. Comforted, I relaxed for a minute.
* * * * *
2 MARCH
Spring in Santa Monica invigorated me. The weather was predictably warm and sunny, right before ‘June Gloom’ set in, sometime in May. All the trees and flowers blossomed, filling the air with delightful fragrant blends and the landscape with striking color combin
ations. The bougainvillea was a rich fuchsia color against its deep green branches, and the trees along San Vicente Boulevard had bright orange blossoms. At night from my terrace overlooking the Pacific Ocean, I smelled the perfume from the purple wisteria on my patio and heard the waves hit the beach from a half-mile away.
I craved nature’s power since I decided to decline renegotiating all of the existing industry contracts up for renewal. All actors were replaceable. Everyone who owned a piece of me liked to think that I was not. But if I didn’t walk away, I’d be trapped working for the studio for another five years and doing three additional feature films. I’d have to promote those three films. I’d have to maintain my brand. I could no longer do that.
My seventh feature wrapped two months behind schedule. It was time to go home and enjoy being a high school student in love with her boyfriend. It was time to face my fear of speaking up.
~ WHERE’S THE EXIT? ~
Aware of the knot in my stomach, I texted Dad, “Pls call asap.”
Dad, Tom Durglo, also turned his back on the film industry before he and Mom divorced, and he lived through it. He thrived actually. Content living in Palo Alto, California with his wife, Celia, he tended to his horses and ran a large animal veterinary clinic in Woodside.
Dad met Mom when she was twenty years old, shooting The Scent of a Rose western in Montana, the sequel to The Mountain Rose. Rose frees a captured innocent Arapaho American Indian from the U.S. Cavalry. In the scene, Rose and the Indian look deeply into each other’s eyes and share a look of compassion and thankfulness before the Indian escapes into the brush and Rose escapes undetected. Dad took the part for fun without the intention of committing to the two sequels that followed. But the scene was so powerful in the theaters that Dad stumbled upon an acting career.
It wasn’t until the next film, Rose Blush, that Dad and Mom became a couple. They married right before the premiere of Rose Blush, and the critics and fans loved the film. Dad was a heartthrob and Mom was critically acclaimed. Then she got pregnant with me. Oops.
Of course, they were both contractually obligated to do the fourth film, A Single Rose, the same name as the TV series. In it, Rose is pregnant, the U.S. Cavalry kills Dad’s character, the community sorts out the injustice, compassion rules, and Rose has the baby. End of movie. The TV series focused on the obstacles Rose faced raising her bi-racial son in Southern Montana and taught compassion and thankfulness to all who witnessed her inner and outer beauty.
But Dad was done. He didn’t want to be an actor. He wanted to be with his wife and have kids, teach them to ride horses and go fishing. Mom was in contract for several more years. Acting was her life, and she was very good at it. They were at an impasse.
Mom’s series ran eight seasons and was getting stale. Instead of walking away from Hollywood, she agreed to co-produce a drama in which she would star as the adult victim of child rape in a small town where I would play the child victim in the flash-back scenes. She thought the drama would be riveting enough to get her back on the A-list. I went along for the ride. And Dad fumed!
It took me a second to realize that I still had the cell phone in my hand when I heard Dad’s ringtone. “Hey Dad, I’m a mess.” I gulped.
“You and Manny?” he worried.
“Nope. We’re in love.” I giggled. “Listen, Dad. I’m not renewing my contracts. This is my chance to get out—not of everything, but of so much. Mom will be beyond mad; everyone will. She emailed me today that she and Martin are on the final draft of the contract. I only have to do another five-year commitment with three feature films and four supporting roles but that will be tons of interviews, promotions, maintaining my brand, plus doing Muse. She’s so happy with herself because it’s for $60 million. Royalties are as gross points. Martin thinks it could easily be worth double now that I have an Oscar, even with a flop. They’re all ready for me to sign it. I’ll probably get sued. Can you help me? I’m so done.”
I exhaled. My chest was ready to explode out from my ribs. I told him what I wanted and felt the disappointment from hundreds of people. Hundreds of people won when I won. I was a known, proven commodity. Thanks to Evan’s sacrifice, I had a huge fickle fan base but strong, established brand. The social media swing to the positive was so powerful that I was now being called things like heroic and inspirational. I ignored it all, knowing it could change in an instant. But, like Mom, I rattled off the script perfectly, expressed the non-verbals, and looked the part. I was a reliable, consistent product.
“I will always support you, Lia Durglo. I will always love you no matter what you decide.”
Hearing my real name hit me. My legal, real name is Liana Marie Durglo, but I was known as Marie Michael and had been since middle school, after the divorce. Only Manuel and the Durglo side of the family called me Liana. Mom joked once to Dad to call me “Marie” because she buried the name “Lia.” None of us really took it as a joke. We knew she claimed me as hers when she created my stage name.
Dad obstinately refused to use the name Marie. I always kept the names separate in my mind. Liana was the Montana girl, part Salish American Indian who was caring and wise. Marie was a high school student, the child of a Hollywood star. I was also a child actor who was guarded and mature. I was both Liana and Marie, but at that moment, I felt buried.
I was almost eighteen and thought I had my whole life in front of me. My head spun with the guilt of letting everyone down. Why couldn’t I just play out my career, take what would be about $60 million from only five years of work, and walk away when the critics and fans tired of me?
But Mom was still in the business. She still had to work out every morning, eat six carefully prepared meals each day, refrain from any indulgences, manage her time with precision, live in a trailer for months at a time, and work very hard to perform with perfection.
“Dad,” I whispered, “I don’t want to be loveless at 40. I want to marry Manuel, have three kids, and go shopping at the mall with my teenagers without anyone recognizing me. I want to have a happy, full life, not as an actor portraying the lives of characters whose lines are written by a team of writers.”
“Screw the industry leeches. They all want their hand in the pot of gold from your new deal. You’ll only end up with half of the $60 million and then give half of it to the government in taxes. So you’ll only add about $15 million to your net worth, which is already about $25 million. You’re set for life, filly.”
“No, Dad. The new deal is just like the Muse deal. It’s gross points on the royalties. Mom thinks it will add about $30 million to my net worth, after taxes and everyone’s cut. Even though Romeo & Juliet and Muse were both blockbusters, she said I’ve brought in about $8 million from R&J and about $30 million from Muse so far before taxes. She said the difference was because of how the studios handled the gross points. She was mad that I wasn’t more enthusiastic and thought I didn’t understand the deal.”
“Don’t worry about the money. It’s your life, Lia. Not theirs.”
“I know, but I feel bad, trapped. These are good people that depend on me. I like my agent. Leonard and Sage are like family. I’ll let them down, everyone down. Think of David, the AV tech; he’s a wonderful person, loves his wife and kids. He watches out for me. They know they’ll get paid, feed their families. Is there any way I can do this without being bound, stuck to do more projects?”
“If you want to be able to walk away, you can’t renew your agreements with your agent or the studio. You need to change your relationship with Martin. You probably will need your publicist and Sage for the interim. You’ll be eighteen years old, an adult who can make her own choices. You’re very talented, honey. If you decide to tell them you want to take a break, then do it.”
He hesitated to see if I would object to taking a break. The money I’d get for just five more years of work weighed on him, too.
I didn’t feel like talking. I mumbled the words as if I were completely exhausted or hit by a lineman playing f
ootball and was flat on my back after getting the wind knocked out of me. “No. Not a break. I’m seriously done, Dad.”
“I don’t want to belittle my beautiful, amazing girl, but I’ve seen that Hollywood barely misses a beat. Actors come and go, the projects get made, and the show goes on. Yes, many people are attached to your success but they will move on. No one even noticed a month after I quit acting. Now with all this online stuff, things move even faster. The public eye won’t notice you five years from now. Your mom will forgive you. I’ll handle her screaming, be there to take her angry phone calls. Please, filly, do what is right for you.”
I dropped to the floor. It hurt to be replaceable. It seared to know that the only one tying me to contracts that I knew I could get out of was me. The realization that I was really quitting hit me. Was this what I truly wanted? That was the whole point: something had to give or I’d be broken into too many pieces. I managed to get a few words out, “So what do I do tonight?”
“Are you still going to prom with Manny tomorrow?” he asked.
“Yep.” I laughed. I just finished shooting a major motion picture in San Diego, was going to the wrap party tonight, then bailing on the party to rest up for prom. Most of the kids in high school aspired to be a star. I wanted to throw it all away so I could be a high school student.
His voice was reassuring, confident. “Where’s your car?”
“Here.”
“Ok.” He laughed, too. “You’ll get off the floor—I presume that’s where you are. Take a shower. Put yourself together.”
Whenever I got overwhelmed, my knees buckled and I fell to the floor. I never did this when acting in a scene, but did it often in my personal life. I always wondered how I could be so physically weak as Lia, but so strong emotionally as Marie.
Dad continued, “I’ll call your assistant on set and have him pack your stuff while you’re at the party so be sure to pull out what you’re going to wear in the car. Say thanks and bye to the people you love and then just leave. You don’t need to tell anyone what you’ve decided right now.”
