Loved In Pieces (40 page)

I looked at Manuel one last time before closing my eyes. I’d ask him to marry me, for real. The worst that could be lurking would be a tiny tumor causing the hypopituitarism. The doctor would remove it and everything would be great. I’d never speak to Michelle again, but I could deal.
I
had my guardian and
felt fine.

Santa Monica in May was predictably gloomy and cold in the mornings
,
perfect running weather
.
The
bougainvillea
had dropped its pedals and
the fragrance from the
wisteria
faded. But the canyon transformed itself from spring, revealing a new beauty. In the mornings, the fog hid the foliage. The sun usually burned off the
gray haze
by noon—revealing a canvas exploding with various hues of green and shades of brown from the lush trees and shrubs. Sunsets were
phenomenal
.

Although I always tried to find positives about the gloom,
I hated the wait for the sun.

It was dawn when I woke up. I was thirsty and my eyes ached. I tiptoed out of my room and got some Excedrin from the kitchen and a glass of water. I wanted to eat some nuts
.
I always
ate
some nuts to kick-start my metabolism
—
all these tricks
in the industry
to keep
me
from gaining any weight. But I wasn’t supposed to eat anything before my tests. I worried that the pain killer I took would mess up the tests.

Instead of
returning
to bed, I sat on the couch and took in the view for a minute.
The fog rolled over the trees in the canyon below as the
hidden
sun brightened
the light blue sky.
Then I decided to go downstairs and soak
ed
in the hot tub on the terrace. I didn’t turn on the jets
. T
hey were too loud. I just wanted quiet. Knowing someone could see me if I g
o
t in naked, I slipped in the water in my sleep shirt. The shirt w
ould
dry but a picture of me naked on the internet
would be
permanent.

I thought about what
Michelle
had taught me about the industry, about good and evil, greed and good intentions, sincerity and manipulation, beauty and ugliness.  Antonyms, opposites
—
always bein
g present at once, always int
ertwined, always yin and yang, dependent on each other for definition, for distinction, for existence. I reflected about how I knew that I must get into my backyard hot tub in clothes because somewhere out there, in the few homes fortunate enough to have ocean and canyon views, that someone just might see me, take a photo with their zoom lens ready, and make a quick thousand dollars selling
their
photo to a tabloid. Then the masses who love
d
my movies
—
the many individuals who stare
d
at me when I walk
ed
by them, too embarrassed to say
‘
hi,
’
or the few who praise
d
me and gush
ed
over me and want
ed
to be my
character’s best friend
—
gobble
d
up the publication showing my naked body or forward
ed
the
online
picture to all their friends. They want
ed
me to expose who I
was
intentionally in a film to enrich their lives, to entertain them, and then they
we
re thrilled if I stumble
d
, mess
ed
up, expose
d
myself unintentionally.  I
was
a girl playing a character conceived by producers, directors and writers, saying lines that were written by a team of writers, filmed with the clever vision of cameramen, directors, lighting and sound specialists, set designers,
costume
stylists and makeup artist, digital artists and so many more talented individuals, in a film that hundreds of people worked on. The audience love
d
the character; hate
d
the actor. I
hate
d
eating the flies
.

Right and wrong
—
always in conflict
. S
ometimes it
wa
s clear what
wa
s right or what
wa
s wrong. Mostly it
wa
s muddled. Rules help
ed
. But the context of an event influence
d
the perception of that event. Sometimes a monster
was
kind. Sometimes a good person
did
monstrous things. I
was a good person, but to some
I
was
a rich bitch slutty actress who they
wanted to watch
fall.
I was a drunken sixteen-year-old.
To many, I was a pathetic weakling who needed rehab.
I
had premarital sex
. To some, I
was
a sinner. My mother was a virgin when she got married
. S
he
wa
s the Hollywood good girl, the exception. My mother intentionally gave me a drug to keep me beautiful and give me the perfect Hollywood career. To me, she
wa
s a sinner.

I got out of the hot tub when Manuel came outside.
We cuddled next to each other and sat in silence, listening to the birds and to the murmur of the waves hitting the beach. Hearing the ocean seemed impossible from such a distance but it was also
undeniable
that the waves created the sound.

After a
while, I interrupted the silence. “Listen. Do you hear that consistent roaring, as if you were on the beach?”

“
Yeah, it’
s quite peaceful. I was actually trying to figure out what it was,” he pondered.

“It’
s the ocean, t
he waves hitting the beach. It’
s impossible that we can hear it from so far away
,
but
that sound is so obviously
the ocean. This terrace, the incredible view and peaceful sounds, ha
ve
always seemed like such a contradiction here in Santa Monica. All I hear or see from your home are buildings
, cars,
and noise. Just a few minutes away
—
this. It doesn’t seem possible that I see a blanket of green and earthly colors from here
—
that I don’t see buildings
—
and that I
can’t
hear the cars on the PCH or the noise of people. But listen, look
—
just nature. And listen to what you
can’t
hear.”

I was
outside
too long and needed to
get out of my wet pajamas and damp blanket
. I also needed to text
Michelle
.
“I should
see
what time
church
is
this morning
.
”

Manuel
answered
,
“Let’s go to the 9 am mass.” I was surprised he remembered the time church started.

I kissed
Manuel on the forehead as I left the chaise
and smiled at him. He gave me that stunned look. I noticed
,
but wanted to get inside
.
“
Enjoy the
rolling fog
. R
elax.”

He called after me,
“Hey,
Lia
?” I turned around in the doorway to the mud room.
He laughed
,
“Nice rack and great ass!”

I changed out of my wet sleep shirt and wrapped a towel around me. Upstairs, I just dried off, drank some more water, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and put on a
sundress
. I was thinking of the right words to text to
Michelle
, picked up my phone, and saw that she had tried to call several times and left texts all saying she was sorry and didn’t intend to harm me.

I texted back.
“I’m pissed
.”

A wave of relief coupled with a profound sadness washed over me. I noticed again the conundrum. Opposites intertwining and creating a unique emotion that only ma
de
sense in
that
moment, in
that
context. I felt the emotion of the conflict between feeling pain and betrayal at the
same time as feeling
serenity
and sympathy.

My phone rang, as I expected. Tears already swell
ed
in my eyes. “Hey,” I managed to choke out.

“I’m so….so…sorry.” She was crying so hard that she couldn’t get the words out.

“I know,
Michelle
. But you lied to me, betrayed me, hurt me.”

She was silent. She whispered, “I’m your mom. Please call me Mom.”

I gulped and started crying. “No. You don’t deserve the title.”

She sniffled and sighed.
“I wish I could take it back. I didn’t mean to hurt you.
I was so desperate, so lost without Tom. I couldn’t quit acting when he wanted me to. But then when he left,
I had to succeed.

“My body was aging. Rex looked so good, but he didn’t have plastic surgery. Everyone was getting something done. He told me about the drug, that it was a plastic surgery alternative. He warned that it was not risk free, but no plastic surgery was risk free either. I didn’t want to get another liposuction, ever. Remember how I swelled and vomited for hours? That was so painful.

“When I saw Rex’s doctor, he told me the drug would impede cell growth. I told him how your grandma died from breast cancer when I was young, that I had
polycystic
ovarian syndrome. He said it was conceivable that
x
-nib would reduce my potential to develop breast cancer. I saw
it
as pre-emptive
treatment
for breast cancer. He said the chemo would probably not reduce cyst development,
since
cysts were not t
umors.” She paused for a moment
, self-editing, remembering more that she didn’t want to share.

“Hones
tly, I knew I would take it
any
way
to keep looking young,” she admitted through another sob. I said nothing and waited for her to continue. 

“I took
x
-nib paired with that very expensive immunity supplement, exclusive to Dr.
Mark, when we started the
Le
f
t to Die
project and felt great
,
actually. I didn’t get sick
like
I had expected I would from chemo. Rex said he didn’t get sick, either. It was a miracle. Like you, I had very painful periods my whole life but was completely cramp-free immediately. When I had my yearly gynecological check-up a few months later, the doctor saw no symptoms of polycystic ovarian syndrome. The mammogram showed no cysts in my breasts. Somehow the drug cured my condition. Cysts didn’t
grow
. You were in such pain on the set when you were menstruating and you were so physically matured already. I didn’t want you to be in pain. I told you that the drug was for treating your painful periods and that you had polycystic ovarian syndrome, but I don’t know if you have it
,
honestly.” She had stopped crying and was now easier to understand. I relaxed a bit in my bedroom chair.

“And you were so amazing. You had such potential as an act
or
. Richard and I worked together on the Muse concept. W
e w
rote it
for
you, knowing that you wouldn’t physically change. Ira also agreed to produce the project
, run it through his studio
. You could do it for years. It was a perfect series of films and a TV series. It could be endless. I wasn’t thinking there could be consequences. I didn’t think you would make other choices.

“I’ve always known it was wrong, criminal, to give you that drug. I have always been haunted by what I was capable of.
I’m
so sorry. I…I
will do everything,
everything
, in my power to help you.”