Girls on Film (16 page)
Ben heard Cammie sigh. “It would have been easier if you had. Then at least I’d understand why you broke up with me. Come on, Ben.” Her voice was low, sexy, hypnotizing. “Come out to the desert. It’s a glorious night out here.”
For one instant Ben was tempted by the head below his waist. From a purely physical point of view, there’d never been anyone like Cammie. A night with her could potentially dull the pain he was feeling over Anna.
But no. That would just be one more mistake piled atop a tower of them. “I’m sorry, Cammie. I can’t give you what you want.”
He heard her sob—something he’d never heard from her before—then she clicked off.
Sheesh.
He dove into the pool, then surfaced and floated on his back, trying to pick out a constellation—any constellation—in the night sky. He looked for a long, long time. But what he was searching for couldn’t be found in the stars.
A
s the ochre light of morning streamed through her window, Anna read over the new pages of her screenplay. She’d been up all night revising and had come up with the perfect title:
Three-Way.
The rewrite was a massive improvement, but she still didn’t know whether what she’d written was any good.
The three characters were now renamed: the girl was Nina, and the guys were Dan and Mike.
After having wrestled forever with the dialogue—and deciding at three in the morning that her characters spoke as if they’d stepped out of a Harlequin romance—Anna had finally elected to write three intercuttable monologues where her characters talked directly to the camera.
Dan’s family had recently made a ton of money in the stock market; Mike came from an elite Boston Brahmin family. As for Nina, Anna decided to have her focus on who she was and what she wanted instead of on her background. And in classic Gatsbyan tradition, these hopes and dreams would be in direct conflict to each other: to want a big family and a big career, a simple life and a lot of money, to live a long life but one that involved taking physical risks, and so on.
The three monologues could also be used as voice-overs to the footage that they would shoot.
It probably sucks,
Anna thought as she stood. Time to face Sam. She’d delivered a copy to her early that morning; they’d agreed to meet on the patio at eleven to talk about it.
When Anna reached the dining room’s outdoor patio, Sam was already at a table in the sun, drinking a steaming cup of what she told Anna was Flora BIJA Healing Tea. She wore a stretch Pucci T-shirt in a riot of primary colors and Seven jeans. Her makeup was as perfectly applied as always, and it was obvious that she’d had her hair blown out that morning at the spa salon.
A waiter appeared almost instantly. Anna ordered a lemonade as Sam reported that Susan had gone somewhere with Cammie and that Dee was taking a yoga class.
“Parker’s here already,” Sam said, indicating the outdoor bar. Anna saw him there with a well-preserved middle-aged woman who wore a pink hibiscus behind one ear. Its shocking-pink color matched a fuzzy sweater so small that it made her breasts look like lethal weapons.
“Too bad we’re not getting that on film,” Sam said as the older woman edged closer to Parker with barely disguised lust in her eyes. “Chick’s a classic: grew up in Simi Valley … married some TV industry schlub … rode his gravy train all the way here.”
Anna glanced down at her screenplay—it was on the table, next to Sam’s teacup. Sam was talking about everything but it. Not a good sign.
Anna tapped a finger against the title page. “Do you hate it?”
Sam smiled behind her Gucci aviator sunglasses. “You’re nervous! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you nervous.”
“Well, enjoy the moment.” Anna folded her arms. “So?”
“Okay, okay. What you wrote is good.”
Anna was amazed at how pleased she was at the compliment. “Really?”
“Not great,” Sam cautioned. “We’ll make some last-minute dialogue changes before we shoot, of course. But I already gave Parker the Dan monologue to work on, so that says something. See that guy talking with Monty up at the bar? With the square jaw and the crew cut? That’s Jamie Cresswell. I think his ancestors came over on the
Mayflower
or something.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he told me this morning over egg-white omelets. He’s never done any acting, but he has a rock band. I said the magic words—
Jackson Sharpe
—and then to close the deal, I told him my father is looking for an unsigned group to do a cameo in his new movie. Suddenly he was all jazzed about playing Mike.”
“Is that true?” Anna asked. “About your father looking for an unknown band?”
“Please.” Sam waved a dismissive hand. “My father doesn’t deal with those kinds of pissant details. I made it all up, but it’s for a good cause. So I’ll work with the actors this afternoon, and we’ll shoot tonight with cue cards, compliments of Monty and a Magic Marker. It’ll be a cinch to cut it in the editing room. Thank you for making our life easy.”
Anna felt great. Who could have predicted that she’d turn out to be a writer? Her teachers had always told her that she had talent. She remembered a particularly excellent English teacher in middle school who had urged Anna to “let go more” with her writing. Well, maybe she was finally learning to do just that.
“Who’s going to play Nina?” Anna asked.
“How about … you?” Sam suggested.
“Definitely not.”
“It was worth a shot. I’d love to have Susan do it, then.”
“Even less of a shot,” Anna said. “She wouldn’t even let them take her photo for Trinity’s yearbook.”
“Then it’s going to be Dee,” Sam warned. “Unless you change your mind about it being Cammie.”
“No.” Anna was emphatic. “Not Cammie.
Anyone
but Cammie.”
“Speaking of, I have a confession to make. I mentioned to Cammie and Dee about Ben dumping you on New Year’s Eve.”
Anna barely blinked. In fact, she was so taken by Sam’s honesty that she almost smiled. “Color me shocked.”
“Okay, so you thought I would.”
“Let’s just say that the possibility crossed my mind.”
“Fine. In that case, you can’t get mad at me.”
“Who’s mad?” Anna asked. “I don’t care what they know, and I care even less what they think.”
“Cammie says she knows who the chick was.”
“Sam, quit while you’re ahead, okay?”
Sam reached for a crumpet that was on a dish on the table and took a thoughtful bite. “Like you don’t want to know.”
“I don’t,” Anna insisted.
“I’m not sure I believe you,” Sam said. She put one hand atop Anna’s script as if it were Anna’s hand itself. “But you have excellent judgment.”
She took a sip of her tea and made a face, then moved the cup to the far edge of their table. “Ugh. I’m never ordering this again. Look, I’ve always really liked Ben. But your sister is right. Ben’s a player. You deserve better. Someone more tender, who will really understand you. And as smart as you, too.”
“If you mean Adam, I told you before. I’m not interested in guys right now, Sam.”
Sam rubbed a contemplative finger along the fili-greed iron table. “It’s funny, because I’m starting to feel the same way. Sometimes I think all guys are buttholes. Once they get cloning right, men will be obsolete anyway. Ever wonder how much easier life would be if all of the coolest women just went gay?”
“Not really,” Anna replied. This was a
very
strange conversation. “I don’t think it’s something you can choose.”
Sam shrugged. “I’m not saying it’s something that can be faked, but it’s a scientific fact that we’re all inherently bisexual. Something to think about …”
Not likely. At the moment Anna had one or two more pressing things to think about than her own latent bisexuality. Time for a subject change.
“So … what’s our next step?”
“Right. I’ll ask the concierge to make more copies of your script. Then I’ll make some shooting notes. I’ll call at your suite when I’m done,” Sam promised.
“Sounds like a plan,” Anna said.
S
am pushed the familiar number into her cell and paced while it rang. “Pick up, pick up, pick up,” she murmured under her breath. The conversation she’d just had with Anna had been too weird. Because all through it she’d, had to make a conscious effort to look at Anna’s ear or chin. Because she had become so obsessed with Anna’s mouth that it had taken all her concentration not to stare at it. She wasn’t thinking about the movie she was about to shoot. She wasn’t thinking about anything except Anna’s lips.
Since it was a Saturday, she used Dr. Fred’s home number. And while it was true she’d fired her psychotherapist a few days ago, she knew he’d be thrilled to take her back. Dr. Fred might be famous, with his own television show, but Sam’s father had helped him get there by hiring him as her shrink. She’d been one of his first children-of-celebrity clients, and Jackson Sharpe had been one of the first guests on his show. The ratings had gone through the roof. Ergo, he owed her, big time.
“Hello?” Sam recognized his voice, with its distinctive flat midwestern vowels.
“Dr. Fred? It’s Sam Sharpe.”
“Sam! Good to hear from you!”
And so he comes crawling back,
Sam thought.
No more “don’t call me at home” or “wait until your next appointment.” I knew it.
“How are you, Sam?” Dr. Fred went on. “I’ve been concerned about you all year. Of course, the year’s just a few days old.” He laughed at his own unfunny joke.
Sam figured her best approach was to pretend that firing him had never happened. “I’m in Palm Springs with some friends. Things are weird.”
“How so?”
“Well, there’s this girl here. Her name is Anna. She’s a new friend.”
“Yes?”
“She’s from New York. Smart. Gorgeous. Rich.”
“Yes?”
“She’s amazing. And talented. We’re working on this student film for our English class? And she said she’d write the script for it. And I thought, ‘Yeah, right. Go ahead. Write your script. But it’s going to suck so much that I better write a secret backup script just in case.’”
“And?” Dr. Fred prompted.
“She can actually write. Her script was better than mine. Well, maybe.”
“Did you tell her how good it was?”
Sam hesitated. She and Dr. Fred had been working through Sam’s jealousy issue for a while. Dr. Fred would be very disappointed if he knew that Sam had told Anna her script was good, but “not great.”
“Not really.”
“Sam, just because Anna’s good at something doesn’t mean that you’re not. There’s no limit on how many people can be good at something.”
“Okay, I’ll work on that,” Sam said dismissively. She had bigger fish to fry. “But that’s not why I called. I called because I can’t stop thinking about her.”
“Can you be more specific, Sam?”
“Like … I want to kiss her,” Sam confessed, her voice dropping low.
“Interesting.”
“No, it isn’t
interesting,
” Sam snapped. “I told you, things are weird.”
“Okay, so you would like to kiss this new friend,” Dr. Fred responded. “How is that weird?”
“Let me run it by you again,” Sam said slowly. “She’s a
girl.
”
“So, you’re concerned that you’re having sexual impulses toward this young lady?”
“It’s not like I want to bone her,” Sam insisted, her heart pounding. “I just want to kiss her. It’s sort of like
Kissing Jessica Stein,
you know? Where the straight girl thinks she’s attracted to a girl, but really she’s straight and finally she ends up with this great guy in the end.”
“Uh-hum,” Dr. Fred murmured. “Except in that movie the straight girl really is attracted to a gay girl. Is your new friend Anna gay?”
“No. Maybe. I don’t know. She told me that she’s taking a break from guys. That means she could be gay. Or at least bi.”
“Or it could just mean that something happened in her life that makes her want to take a break from guys and concentrate on herself for a change. I think you feel threatened by this impulse,” Dr. Fred surmised.
“No. Not really. Why would I be? It’s not so unusual, is it? Or am I totally fucked up?”
“All of us have to remember that our self-worth is not determined by our sexuality,” Dr. Fred declared. “Have you been repeating your affirmations?”
Dr. Fred and his fucking affirmations. He even had a new greeting card line out with those damn affirmations on them.
I create my own reality. I am a perfect being of light. I choose to be happy in the now.
“No. They’re stupid.”
“How about if you reserve judgment on that. This all may have to do with your father, Sam. And your hostility toward Poppy. For now, say your affirmations and practice those breathing exercises I gave you. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Sam grumbled.
“I can make an opening for you at your old time on Wednesday,” Dr. Fred went on. “Shall I expect you?”
“Yeah,” Sam said grudgingly. At least Dr. Fred listened to her.
“Excellent. And Sam? Feeling something and acting on it are two different things. Remember that.”
Sam hung up and sprawled out on the Swedish birch bed, directly under the tasteful nude oil painting of Marilyn Monroe. She didn’t feel any less anxious. “Feeling something and acting on it are two different things,” she mumbled aloud. But somehow it didn’t make her feel any better.
“A
ccording to Cammie, V’s Saturday sunset cocktail parties are infamous,” Susan told Anna. They were in Anna’s suite, where Anna was dressing for the party. Susan was already dressed: she’d traded in her Lower East Side black for a very fitted red Patricia Field silk knit turtleneck with Chanel paisley velvet pants and strappy Miu Miu red high heels. In fact, the outfit looked like something Cammie would wear.
“Infamous for what?” Anna asked as she went into the bathroom to brush her hair.
“Evidently there aren’t enough hetero guys to go around, so the party is the biggest catfight west of the Mississippi.”
“Cammie is full of it. Women do not come to spas to get laid,” Anna called to her sister through the half-open door. “Maybe too much shopping fried her brain.”