“Savannah's a designer,” I said quietly. I shouldn't have been surprised when this piqued Chrissy's interest.
“Really? That's cool. Do you have any samples of her work?” she asked. During our lazy afternoons Savannah and I would have sex in my bedroom or maybe the living room. Afterwards I'd watch some TV or read a book while she drew evening gown designs. I didn't know a thing about fashion but even I knew that they were good. I loved hearing her describe how she'd make them too. Though I didn't understand the technical jargon it was really sweet to hear how passionate she was. It made me fall for her even more.
“I have some drawings around the place. You can look at them if you want,” I said.
“I'd like that,” said Chrissy. Then she shook her head pityingly, “My god Dane, you really love this girl.”
“Stop saying that.”
“All right. But just because I'm not saying it doesn't mean it's not true. You're crazy about her, that much is obvious to me. It's sweet, but I hate seeing you so cut up about it. She's just a girl,” said Chrissy. That was what cemented it for me. Chrissy didn't understand at all. Savannah was so much more than just a girl. The 'plenty of fish in the sea' argument didn't apply here. She was too beautiful, too clever, to perfect to be replaced.
“You don't get it,” I said, “This girl is perfect. She's beautiful and so bitchy, not afraid to disagree with me on anything. She doesn't care that I'm a movie star. If she thinks I'm being an idiot she'll tell me.”
“Ah, that's always refreshing,” said Chrissy, nodding understandingly.
“Yeah, it really is. She looks great in my shirts and she has the cutest little laugh. She blushes really easily so teasing her is a lot of fun. She's smart too, a lot smarter than me but I'll never tell her that,” I said. Chrissy was grinning at me now, obviously trying to suppress a giggle, “Do you think this is karma coming back to bite me from all the years I spent fucking girls over?”
Chrissy nodded.
“Without a doubt. That doesn't mean you can't get her back,” she said. I leaned forward, intrigued. I was sure that Chrissy would just spew some problem page advice that didn't apply to my situation at all, but even if she did I wanted to hear it. Any chance of being reunited with Savannah, even if it was only for a day would be worth taking.
“How can I get her back?” I asked. Chrissy laughed.
“Jesus, you really are a changed man aren't you? Why couldn't you have been like this when we were screwing around?” she asked. I didn't even crack a smile.
“How can I get her back?” I asked.
“Get me her sketches,” said Chrissy. For once in my life, I did what I was told without arguing. If this could help me win her back then I was on it. I just hoped that whatever it was that Chrissy was planning would be enough.
It would take a lot.
Savannah
I quickly found a way to pay Mark rent that didn't have anything to do with money or sex. Well, for the most part. A few sacrifices to my dignity had to be made, but nothing major. He didn't insert anything into me and I didn't have to put my mouth or hands on any of his body parts. It was a fair deal.
It was a good thing that I came up with the idea soon because it soon became clear that the sick excuse wasn't going to work for long. Mark's boner for me was persistent and patient. He attempted to seduce me at every chance he got for the first few days until I thought of something to distract him. It wasn't that difficult. I knew men and I knew how they worked. I had to appeal to his ego (which, as a director was rather sizable to begin with). So I suggested we make a film together.
I dropped it into conversation when he cornered me in his home made movie theater and was about to kiss me.
“A film?” he pulled away, “I thought you didn't act?”
“I don't. Well, I didn't. But I was thinking that maybe our film won't need much acting, just like you said. It could be more arty and surreal,” I said. Mark nodded thoughtfully.
“I like it. It could be a character study filmed around the house with some real soft focus. We could play up your ethereal look and make you look like a fairy or an angel -no tacky ass wings, but maybe a flower crown? And a slightly erotic undertone?” he said. I could quickly see the direction his mental boner was pointing in turning from me to the film.
“Sure, that sounds cool,” I said, but 'erotic undertone' made me nervous. Still, if it was what it took to let me stay here I might as well do it. I decided to push my luck a bit, “I could design the costumes?”
“Yeah, whatever. I'm think real flowy and sheer. Inspired by dew drops but like...sexy dew drops,” he said, “Jesus Savannah, this is a great idea! I'm gonna have to get the equipment set up soon.” His focus quickly switched back to me and there was nothing soft about it.
“Wait!” I shrieked when he tried to kiss me again.
“What?” he snapped, irritated now. I had to explain myself quickly.
“I think it's better if we keep the uh, natural sexual tension between us you know? Like, I think abstaining would be a good way to increase the erotic charge of the film,” I said. Mark thought for a minute. I hoped hoped hoped that he would fall for my bullshit idea.
“That sounds brilliant,” he said, “You're a genius.”
“Thanks, I try,” I said. He left me alone.
So that was that. I wasn't pestered for sex anymore. Not to say that Mark didn't still annoy me. No, I quickly found out why Dane hated being directed by him so damn much. He was a total perfectionist, borderline obsessive about things. I spent hours stitching together a gorgeous pearly pink dress to wear in our film only for him to tell me that the color didn't read well on camera and that I'd have to do another.
“What color?” I said, as patiently as I could. He shrugged.
“I don't know. Try a few. It's hard to tell until you wear them on camera. If you make five or six dresses we'll have a better idea of what works. And remember, think sheer,” he said. I wanted to slap him but I didn't argue. He wanted six dresses, so he would get six dresses. It was as simple as that.
Why did I want to stay in LA so badly? I asked myself that question every night. The LA lifestyle was so opposed to everything I stood for. It felt ridiculous to be supporting it like I was. I should have flown home weeks ago, but I couldn't quite bring myself to.
I knew the real reason, deep down. It was stupid, but it was also the truth. You could never hide from the truth. Dane was the reason.
I wanted to stay because of Dane. I wanted him to come find me and promise me all of the things I never thought he'd be able to give me. Even if it was all lies, it would be worth it for that one moment of happiness. I missed him so much. He was everything I wanted and everything I could never have rolled into one.
I tried to distract myself. At night I sewed my dresses and assured Mark that no, I wasn't lonely and no, I didn't think we'd captured our sexual chemistry on screen enough yet. During the day I let him order me around.
“More graceful!” he'd shout. I learned pretty quickly that I had two left feet. I might have looked a little bit angelic but I certainly didn't have the mannerisms of an angel. Getting my arms and legs to move prettily just didn't come naturally to me.
“Less obvious!” he's yell, “You're being too literal!”
I'd told him a thousand times that I couldn't act, but he still insisted on trying to teach me. It's hard to learn something that you don't give a shit about. It really is. Even so, I tried my hardest. Every time I got frustrated with him I reminded myself that he was letting me stay in his mansion for free. That thought got me through the toughest shoots.
One evening, after I'd rejected Mark again and retired to my bedroom to sew, my phone rang. That was strange. The only phone calls I'd been getting recently had been from my mother, who was still panicking about me being in LA. Last time she'd called I had to assure her that yes, I was in perfect health and no, I hadn't yet resorted to stripping as a source of income. This number wasn't one that my phone
recognized.
“Hello?” I said. A cheery female voice responded.
“Hi! Is that Savannah Finn?” they asked. I nodded, before remembering that they couldn't see me. This stranger's voice sounded so fa miler and yet so distant. Who was it?
“Yes,” I confirmed, “And who are you? I mean, with whom am I speaking?”
It didn't hurt to be a bit classy about it. The answer she gave nearly stopped my heart.
“This is Chrissy Jones. We met before on the set of Mark's movie? We didn't get to talk much,” she said. Jesus Christ. Chrissy Jones had my number. Chrissy Jones was talking to me on the phone. Chrissy Jones knew my name. It was like a dream come true.
My voice developed a noticeable tremor.
“Hi Miss Jones,” I stuttered. She laughed. Her laugh was like beautiful music. She really was as charming in real life as she was in the movies.
“Please honey, there's no need for formalities with me. Just Chrissy is fine. How are you doing anyway? I hear you're staying with Mark?” she said, as if we were lifelong girlfriends. If anyone else had said that to me I would have wanted to know why they didn't mind their own businesses. But this was Chrissy Jones. If she asked me to take a long walk off of a short pier I most likely would have obeyed. She was just that charismatic.
“Yeah, I am. I mean, just for a little while,” I said.
“Mm hmm, that's great. Mark's a great guy. He must be a good boyfriend,” she said. I could sense that she was deliberately trying to catch me out, but I couldn't say that I minded. I had no problem telling her the truth.
“Oh, Mark's great but he's not my boyfriend,” I said. This seemed to please Chrissy greatly. “Right, so you're saying that Mark isn't your boyfriend,” she said the last part extra loudly, as if there was someone listening and she wanted them to hear that.
“No, he's not,” I said, “Look Chrissy, it's great to hear from you and I'm a huge fan, but I have to ask why you're calling me. Movie stars don't usually have my number.”
There was one movie star who did but I didn't feel like mentioning him just now.
“Ah, yeah, this must seem a bit strange. I promise, there's a good reason. I just wanted to catch up first. You know, see how you're doing,” she said happily, “But I'll get to the point. I have a premiere coming up in a few weeks and I'm still trying to decide what to wear. I have so many designers throwing stuff at me. Chanel, Dior, Prada, Armani, the works. It's really nice to have such a wide choice but I just haven't found anything I like.”
I swallowed. Could she really be suggesting what I thought she was about to suggest?
“Do you need help choosing?” I asked as politely as I could. Surely that was it. It was flattering to think a star like Chrissy Jones would want my advice as a stylist. That would be fantastic. To think that she'd actually want to wear one of my gowns was ridiculous. I should be happy with whatever it was that I got.
Chrissy laughed that lovely warm laugh again. I wished my own laugh was as attractive as that. I probably would have attracted much better guys if it had been.
“No, silly. I want you to make a beautiful evening gown for me,” she said. It was as if she was asking me to pass the peas. She obviously had no idea about the gravity of this offer.
“But...but...I mean, oh my god, oh my god Chrissy I'd love to design for you!” I exclaimed, though my heart was pounding. How would I make a premiere worthy gown in a number of weeks? It didn't matter, I would have to pull through somehow. If I treated the deadline like I treated my deadlines in school I soul be OK.
“Great!” responded Chrissy, “I'm so happy to hear that!”
I grabbed a notebook and pen and asked her a few questions about what she wanted. She was gloriously vague about it, basically telling me that I had free reign as long as it didn't make her butt big. She was the dream client that I'd always hoped for.
By the time we finished talking about what she wanted I'd already gotten the preliminary sketch done on a scrap of notebook paper. I described it to her and she squealed in excitement. “You're a genius!” she said, “You deserve this exposure. You're going to have a great career!”
“Thank you so much Chrissy, that means the world to me coming from you,” I said. I couldn't help adding, “But I've got to ask; how did you find out about me?”
She paused thoughtfully before giving me her answer.
“Dane recommended you to me. He told me you were very talented and he was right!” she said. Now Chrissy had a wobble in her voice. I felt my blood boiling.
“Oh, so this is a plot?” I said.
“A plot?” asked Chrissy, “What are you talking about, Savannah?”
“This is plot between you and Dane to get me to start talking to him again. I should have known that this was too good to be true,” I said, “I should have known.”
“Savannah, no...”
“Enjoy your Dior dress, Chrissy. It was great talking to you but I don't have any interest in pursuing this project. Sorry for wasting your time,” I said. I hung up before the poor woman even had a chance to defend herself.
I wasn't sure what Dane wanted from me, but forcing my favorite star to wear one of my dresses was just out of order. It was what I'd wanted for years, but I'd never dreamed that I'd have to give blow jobs or god only knew what in return. Dane was obviously missing my sweet ass. Well, that was tough. I wouldn't settle for men who didn't do commitment anymore. I wouldn't settle at all.
Maybe my movie with Mark would be a surprising smash hit and make us both billions of dollars. It could happen. I didn't need a man. I just needed a lucky break.
I just wished that when I got into bed at night that I could stop thinking about him and wishing that he was next to me.
Chapter Eleven
Dane
Chrissy turned to me in disbelief after Savannah hung up on her.
“I see what you mean about her being stubborn. Jesus, I haven't been treated like that since...well, I can't even think of a time. She's tough,” she smirked, “I kind of like that. Doesn't make it any easier to win her back.”
“No,” I said, “Am I trying to win her back?”
I genuinely wasn't sure. Chrissy sighed and looked at me.
“Dane, you're a very smart man but you're also an idiot. Listen to me please and answer all of my questions truthfully. You want Savannah back in your life, yes?” she asked. I nodded eagerly. “Yes, yes of course I do. I wouldn't be driving myself crazy like this if I didn't,” I said.
“All right, but say she does go back to you. What will happen then?” she asked, “Will the problems you had before be gone or will they start arising again?”
“I don't know,” I said, “Our main problem was me not being able to do a relationship.”
“OK.. So has that changed?” she probed. Jesus, I felt like I was being cross examined here. It was like being in court after being accused of doing something terrible.
“It's bad for my career to be in a relationship,” I said. Chrissy repeated what I said in a mocking tone, “Hey, there's no reason to be a bitch about it!”
“They told me it was bad for my career to marry an older man, but guess what? I don't give a shit. I married him and my careers nowhere near dead. You know what I did to the agent who told me that my marriage would ruin everything? I fired him. That's what you should do too honey,” she said.
The thought of firing Craig was appealing, but then again the thought of choosing a new manager was horrifying. Going through the process the first time around was bad enough.
“But that's not the only thing,” I said, “I'm just not a relationship kind of guy.” Chrissy blew a giant raspberry to show me what she thought of that excuse.
“Bullshit, fucking bullshit and you know it. Any guy can be a relationship kind of guy if they want to be. You just have to want it bad enough. I'm not sure you do, if I'm honest,” she said. I could see what she was doing. She was appealing to my male ego by challenging me to prove her wrong. Too ba
d that her tactic totally worked.
“I do want it,” I said, “I want her.”
“More than anything?” asked Chrissy. Damn it. She had a way of getting me to spill my guts. “More than anything.”
“Then show her,” she said. I wasn't sure what that meant, but I had a feeling that I would soon be finding out.
I'd do whatever it took to get her back. Even if I had to flush my career down the shitter on the way.
Savannah
The morning after my phone call from Chrissy Jones I got another call from an unknown number. It was lucky that Mark and I were on a filming break while he made himself some breakfast. I was sitting in his garden underneath the shade of a lemon tree when my phone buzzed. I considered not answering it for a moment, but my curiosity got the better of me. I needed to know who it was. Maybe Dane had begged some other celebrities to wear my gowns out of pity.
“Hello?” I asked suspiciously. I heard the person on the other end take a deep breath before they spoke. I knew who it was before he said a word.
“Hi Savannah,” said Dane and I suddenly felt so dizzy that I had to lay down in the grass. It felt like years since I had last heard his voice. I hadn't realized quite how much I had missed its deep but gentle tones.
“Hi Dane,” I said, looking around to make sure that Mark wasn't eavesdropping, “How are you doing.”
“I'm all right,” he said, “You?” “I'm good.”
Dane: Hollywood's Finest Page 14
