“Why didn't you tell me?” I'd asked.
“Because I know you wouldn't have tried to stop me,” she'd said. She was right. I was a shitty boyfriend. The things that seemed to come naturally to other guys just weren't there with me. When Rose said she didn't want a birthday present, I took her at her word and got her nothing. She spent the whole day sobbing her bedroom and refused to come downstairs to see her family. When it came to meeting her folks I made a huge effort, wearing a tie and bringing dessert. It was all for nothing as they took one look at my tattoos and hated me instantly. The fact that I had chosen such an unstable career path didn't help my case. I sometimes wondered if they ever regretted not encouraging Rose to stay with me. Probably not. They must have seen how unhappy that I made her.
Sex was easy. I knew what a clitoris was and that most women don't like guys to fuck them like jackhammers, so I was already ahead of most guys my age. I could please a woman in the bedroom no problem. It was outside the bedroom that was the problem.
I had been an idiot to let Savannah get so attached to me. I'd been equally stupid to allow myself to get so attached to her. Even without me being famous it wouldn't have worked out. I would have ended up disappointing her and breaking her heart.
I watched her drive off in that bastard Mark's car and wondered would she become his girlfriend. He seemed to have a real thing for her, so I wouldn't be surprised. Mark was the kind of guy with the 'nice guys finish last' attitude (though I don't know how he thought of himself as a nice guy.
That was a mystery to me). He was wrong about that. Women like bad boys, sure, but not a much as they think they do. They like to look at us, to get fucked by us and to tell their girlfriends about how big our cocks are. They like the idea of taming us, but only in the abstract. Girls, at least smart girls like Savannah, didn't date guys like me. They knew we couldn't make them happy.
I could never make a girl like that happy. I just had to accept it.
Savannah
I thought that Mark would be surprised to hear from me but it turned out that he wasn't at all. “I knew you'd get over that bastard,” he said, “Everyone does, eventually.”
I just nodded and smiled. Mark's teeth were fixed so I could only see a glimmer of gold when he smiled and most of the swelling had gone down, but his face was still quite bruised. The streetlights shone on his face as he drove and I could see how severe the beating must have been. Dane had really laid into him.
“I hope you don't mind me calling you. I just don't know anyone else in LA,” I said. Mark grinned at me.
“No problem sweetie, I'm at your service. I love a good damsel in distress when I can find one,” he said, “But I've gotta say, I'm surprised you don't know more people here yet. You're a star in the making if I ever saw one.”
“You're too sweet. You haven't even seen any of my designs,” I said. Mark clicked his fingers. “Designs! Right! I knew you did something cool and artistic like that. You're just that kind of chick, huh? That's awesome,” he glanced at me, “Seems a shame to waste such a pretty face though. I wish you'd give acting a try.”
“I can't act,” I said, “I was in a commercial when I was a kid and I had one line. I couldn't even remember that. They kept having to prompt me. I had to say 'I love chicken nuggets' and I just couldn't remember it. When I eventually got it right I didn't say it properly so they got some other kid to do it and I was just in the background. I cried for a week when the ad came out.”
Mark laughed.
“That's hilarious, but I bet you're not that bad. Besides, it doesn't matter much. Film is a very visual medium. More visual than theater. You can be ugly as fuck in theater and no one cares as long as your performance is top notch. Film is kind of the opposite,” he said, before bitterly adding, “After all, Dane's this huge movie star brand name and he can't act for shit.”
I felt personally insulted on behalf of Dane. You could say a lot of things about him but the guy could act. Yes, so he did the cheesy action flicks and the occasional slasher but his dramatic work was really special. I didn't respond to what Mark had said but he picked up on it anyway.
“Oh come on Savannah, you don't think he's talented do you?” he asked. I shrugged.
“I guess you understand film better than I do,” I said. This made Mark smile again.
“Yeah, I guess so. We're almost here.”
Mark's house was no more impressive than Dane's. I'd kind of gotten over the Beverly Hills mansion thing at this point. Even so, I made sure to squeal and show the appropriate amount of enthusiasm. Something told me that Mark would appreciate that and I was right.
“Bet you've never stayed at a place like this before,” he said, though it was practically a clone of Dane's place. The only difference I noticed was the massive swimming pool out front.
“No, I haven't. You're so nice to have me over. I feel so bad not being able to pay you rent or anything,” I said. This was a heavy hint. I hoped that he'd tell me not to worry about it until I got back on my feet. Maybe he had his own private jet too, and he'd offer to fly me home in it. Not that I was certain I wanted to go home. I wasn't an LA girl by any means but small town life seemed so stifling in comparison to life in the big city.
Mark parked the car and turned to me.
“Don't worry honey, you'll make it up to me in other ways,” he patted my thigh. I grinned and pulled away, hoping he wouldn't make a move on me. Thankfully, my prayers were answered, “Come on, let's go inside.”
Mark insisted on giving me a house tour despite my obvious exhaustion. I was shown the main hall where he kept all of his film awards in a big glass case. He made me hold every one of them and explained to me why they were better than Oscars or Golden Globes. Then I had a guided tour of the framed film posters. Most of them were odd, art house films that I'd never seen. Mark was shocked at my ignorance and insisted that we would marathon them all together very soon.
Then he showed me the kitchen. It was an equally impressive affair, filled with black marble surfaces and stainless steel appliances that looked brand new.
“I don't really cook,” he said, showing me the inside of the fridge. It's contents were limited to soda and a bottle of vodka, “I forget to eat when I'm editing, usually.”
It only occurred to me how lucky I had been to be treated to Dane's wonderful cooking for so many nights in a row. I would miss it terribly. Especially if Mark expected me to survive on soda and vodka.
Mark had chosen to do without a traditional living room and instead installed a fully functioning movie theater in its place, complete with a lobby. It was decorated to look like a vaudeville theater from years ago. I couldn't help but be impressed.
“Yeah, chicks usually dig the theater. If we make a movie together I can show it to you on the big screen,” he said. I just smiled, hoping that he didn't mean a dirty movie. He got me a gumball from the machine in the lobby and we moved upstairs. This was where I started to get nervous.
I was no fool and I figured that Mark would want some kind of sexual compensation for allowing me to stay over. In the heat of the moment when I called him, I thought that I would be all right with that. Now I wasn't so sure. I wasn't attracted to him, first of all. He was cute in a geeky kind of way but it wasn't my thing. Even so I might have been able to go through with it. Maybe. But I just couldn't get Dane out of my mind. Even though he had made it clear that we weren't in a relationship, it would feel like a betrayal.
Mark showed me the main bathroom and told me that it was one of eight.
“I always hate waiting in line to piss at parties so I decided to get rid of that problem by getting eight bathrooms installed,” he said, opening the door for me, “But this is the best one, for sure. Take a look.”
It was impressive. It was bigger than most bedrooms with delicate blue tiling on the floor. There was an aquarium filled with exotic fish mounted on one wall and a huge walk in shower on the other. It could have fit at least twenty people. In the middle
of the room was a large hot tub slash bath contraption that looked absolutely divine. I remembered my romp with Dane in his Jacuzzi and my heart twinged just a bit.
Mark walked up to the hot tub and gave it a little pat.
“This here is my pride and joy. She's beautiful, isn't she? There's a tonne of settings an you can even do little water displays if you want,” he said, before adding, “And I've heard from the ladies that the water jets feel incredible. Wanna give it a try?”
He winked at me and I felt sick.
“No thank you Mark. I mean, it's really nice of you to offer but I'm starting to feel a little queasy,” i said, which wasn't exactly a lie. I clutched my stomach for emphasis. If there was one thing in the world that wasn't sexy it was vomit. That should put him off nicely.
Mark's face fell.
“Oh god, that sucks. Do you need to go to bed or something? I thought we could hang out for a while,” he said, “If you're not in the mood for the hot tub we can watch a movie.”
“That's so kind of you but I think I need to sleep this one off,” I said. Mark badgered me a little more before he finally gave up and showed me to the guest bedroom. I locked the door when he left, just in case.
I got into bed and looked at the ceiling. This had been the worst night of my life. I cried and cried.
Chapter Ten
Dane
It's funny. People care so much about movie stars in theory, but in practice they don't give a shit. Sure, they want to know about us. They're like vultures picking at every intimate detail of our life that they can get. A broken relationship or a taboo pregnancy is like a jackpot to these people. They live off of our suffering.
I'm not complaining. I get it. I've always gotten it. Movie stars lived privileged existences. We never had to worry about not being able to afford rent or the medical help that we needed. We had teams of expert trainers on hand to make sure we didn't gain weight in the wrong places. Fuck, we even got to skip the line at theme parks most of the time. It was a sweet life in a lot of ways. That didn't meant that there wasn't a price to pay.
People were desperate to know who I was dating and if I'd really settled down or if a bad boy could ever change his stripes. However, after Savannah left and I found myself feeling too depressed to get out of bed in the morning, no one gave a shit. It was fair enough. It was my own damn fault for not dragging myself out of bed, but my energy was completely drained. My argument with Savannah kept repeating over and over in my head. I kept thinking of what I could have done differently. I kept thinking what I could have done to stop her from leaving with that piece of shit. I tried to push the thought of the two of them together out of my mind, but it kept cropping up. I even dreamed about it for fuck's sake. I was
receiving some sort of prestigious award for being the best actor in the universe or some shit like that. Savannah was presenting it to me, wearing a sparkly evening gown and red lipstick. Her smile was so big that I knew she was proud of me. I felt proud too. I'd done something good. Then that son of a bitch appeared from nowhere and grabbed her. He was touching her and kissing her and I could do fuck all about it. I sank into the ground, trying to shout but I couldn't make a sound. It was hell.
I'd lost track of the days now but I could tell by the impressive scruff that was growing on my face that it'd been almost a week since I'd seen her. The only times I'd bothered to get up was to make myself some ramen or to bathe.
My phone was ringing off the hook and I had plenty of people knocking at my door, but I ignored them all. I just couldn't face that shit right now.
I was just heating up some leftover noodles one evening when the doorbell rang again. Once again, I chose to ignore it. It was probably Craig, calling to tell me that I hadn't been photographed chasing enough tail lately so the magazines were starting to say I was gay. Whatever. They could say whatever shit they wanted about me and it didn't matter. I didn't feel like being a movie star today. This caller was oddly persistent, however. When they didn't get an answer, they rang again. And again. And again. They knocked too, so hard that their knuckles must have been in immense pain. Jesus Christ, what was with the desperation?
My heart began to beat faster and I wondered if it was Savannah. Could she really have come back? No, of course not. She was as stubborn as a mule. There was no way she'd come back to me after I'd hurt her like that. I didn't blame her to be honest. But then, who was at the door? Craig didn't have the patience for this shit. I glanced at the clock. The person had been knocking for over forty minutes. Maybe I should see who it was.
At least if it was a crazed fan it might lighten up my day. I could show them the state of my beard and my ratty pajamas and dash all of their hopes of what their favorite movie star would be like in person. I was great at doing that. Maybe if I was really lucky they'd murder me and someone would make an award winning documentary about it. That would be a cool legacy to leave behind. Just as long as Mark didn't direct it.
I answered the door and even though I'd prepared myself for disappointment, my heart sank just a little when Savannah wasn't standing there. At least it wasn't Craig. It was in fact Chrissy, dressed down in sweatpants and a hoodie. Not exactly the glamorous attire most people were used to seeing her in. I couldn't blame her for dressing down. Having to be beautiful at all times couldn't have been easy.
“Thanks for finally answering,” she said. Then she took a double take at the sight of me, “Jesus Christ, you look rough! The beard looks awful on you!”
She forced her way into the house before I could close the door on her. I didn't need her coming in and yelling at me about how awful I looked, but it was better than being alone.
“Nice to see you too, Chrissy,” I said, “What do you want?”
Chrissy wouldn't even talk to me properly. Instead, she dragged me upstairs to the bathroom and forced me to shave my face. She even made me have a shower though I told her that I'd had one already today.
“I don't care,” she said, “You need to freshen up. I'll wait downstairs. You better not come down in your underwear by the way! I expect you to be fully dressed. Then we'll talk.”
I wasn't one to take orders (maybe that was why so many directors hated me) but Chrissy had a way with words. I showered, shaved and threw on a fresh t-shirt and jeans. By the time I joined her in the living room I was feeling marginally better.
She smiled when she saw me.
“Now, isn't that much better? You look great,” she patted the spot next to her on the sofa, “Sit with me.”
“Why are you here?” I asked. My tone wasn't aggressive. I was only realizing now how much I missed having company. If that company couldn't be Savannah then Chrissy would have to do. “Because I'm worried about you. No ones seen or heard from you in forever and everyone's worried. The tabloids are saying you have a drug problem,” she said. I rolled my eyes. She should know better than to believe that.
“It's bullshit,” I said. Chrissy nodded.
“I know. At least if you were on drugs there would be an explanation for all this. Why are you hiding yourself away? You didn't come to that premiere the other night for that new movie about the robots. The director was talking about putting you in the sequel and everything. It's not like you to miss an opportunity like that,” she paused and looked me right in the eye, “It's that girl, isn't it? The pretty blonde girl? She's the reason you punched Mark in the face and she's the reason you're acting this way. It's obvious.”
“That's bullshit,” I said, but Chrissy knew me too well.
“Mmm hmm. You just decided to knock a guy's lights out for no reason, right? Come on, we both know that's not true. It's OK to admit you have feelings for her,” she said. I hated that expression. I hated how accurate it was. Savannah gave me so many feelings, so many crazy, contradictory feelings that I couldn't even think straight when it came to her. I had feelings for her all right, and I hated it. I wanted to go back to being the cold, snarky bastard I'd always prided myself on being. The old Dan
e Reynolds didn't have feelings for anyone. He got what he wanted and moved on with his life. That strategy had always worked for me. Things only started to get bad when I messed with it.
“I don't feel anything towards her. We were just fuck buddies,” I lied. It was the only way to get Chrissy off of my case. It didn't work anyway. She saw right through me.
“You love her, don't you?”
“Please don't,” I said. Thankfully, Chrissy didn't push me. I think she was afraid that I might
actually have a break down if she did. Who knows, maybe I would have. I wasn't feeling like myself at all.
“Look, whatever the issue is, you can't lock yourself away like this. Well, technically you can but you shouldn't. Just because you don't have to worry about money doesn't meant that you shouldn't do anything with your life. You need to be out having fun and networking! You're at the peak of your career, honey, but things can get even better for you if you make the effort. You can't let some girl ruin this for you,” she said.
“It's not a girl,” I said, but Chrissy didn't care. She just continued with her spiel.
“Do you realize how many guys would kill to be in your position? You can do anything you want! Wanna start a music career? Record labels will be lining up down the block to represent you. Feel like doing an art show? Any gallery would be happy to display your work, even if it's complete garbage. Fuck, you could even start a fashion line if you wanted to. Lots of famous people have done it,” she said, “I would but I'm not super creative and I don't like the idea of slapping my name on something I didn't do.”
Dane: Hollywood's Finest Page 13
