The Perfect Audition (3 page)

One angry phone call to her publicist and then to the editor himself, a retraction was offered and a lovely donation to a charity of Rose’s choice. It wasn’t that her ex-husband even cared about what she did or said but Rose did. When the article stated that she said that ‘she would never find love like that again,’ Rose was furious.

What she had meant was that there is no feeling like a first love and you think it will never die. When it does die, you go into love with realism, knowing that you need to keep trying but the risk just might be a broken heart. Of course Rose had said all of that but the reporter had chosen only to keep the first part of her words in the interview.

Rose pulled up to her house and pressed the security code, and waiting impatiently as the gates to her property opened.

Lauren, her ever faithful assistant waited for her by the front door, a mobile phone always in her hand and a smile on her face. ‘I see you’ve sorted it all before I had time,’ chided Lauren to her boss who was getting out of the car.

Rose shrugged as she walked inside, ‘If you need something done, sometimes you need to do it yourself. Not that you couldn’t have handled it,’ said Rose, ‘I just wanted that editor to know the power of words taken out of context.’

Rose dumped her Bottega Veneta bag in the hallway and walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge.

‘God, I’m so hungry,’ she said peering inside.

‘Shall I order some takeout?’ Lauren asked, checking emails on the phone.

‘No, no, I can make us something.’ Rose replied, putting some eggs on the bench. ‘You hungry?’ Lauren shrugged. Whether she liked it or not, Rose would feed her, Rose liked to feed the people she loved. Actually Rose liked to feed anyone who passed through her life.

Rose should have had lots of children and a minivan Lauren often thought. She was the most organised, warm person Lauren knew and her energy was unlimited but she often gave it to those around her instead of herself.

Rose busied herself in the kitchen as she gossiped with Lauren and soon a lovely Frittata and green salad with pomegranate dressing was in front of them.

‘You spoil me,’ Lauren grinned as she set the small table outside.

‘I like to,’ said Rose as she put a bottle of sparkling mineral water on the table, ‘It rests my mind, to be busy.’

Lauren’s phone rang and Rose put her hand out to turn it off. ‘Let the beasts go while for a while,’ she said, ‘A good lunch needs to be honoured, now tell me, how are you Lauren?’

And Lauren knew that when Rose made her mind up, there was no changing it, so she let the call go through to voicemail, they could leave a message.

* * *

At the L’Ermitage, Sapphira was bored. Bored of LA and bored of living in a hotel. She had her own house in LA but she didn’t like to live there, it was too alone, too close to her memories. The only furniture she had in the place was from her fathers estate and a few pieces of her mothers before she had become sick. Nothing that meant anything to her but for some reason she couldn’t seem to let go. History was like that, thought Sapphira as she paced her hotel suite. Hard to let go of but too painful to revisit.

Sapphira picked up the phone and ordered a pot of hot coffee and then flicked through her copy of the script for
The Italian Dream
. It was not the usual role that the public were used to seeing her in but Sapphira knew she needed to change and not just in the roles she took.

TG was a great director, it was a wonderful role and filming on location Italy sounded idyllic. It was a wonderful opportunity but something gnawed inside Sapphira, growing every time she thought about Italy.

Maybe it was the dreams she had been having; dreams of rooftops and Venetian canals, which made no sense, because the film wasn’t shooting in Venice. Dreams had always plagued Sapphira, even as a child she would wake up crying, haunted by things she was never sure were real or imagined.

The knock at the door woke Sapphira from her vacant staring out the window of the hotel and she opened the door and let the waiter in with the coffee.

‘Ms De Mont, where would you like the coffee?’ a waiter asked her deferentially.

‘Over there, thanks.’ She said pointing to the small table in front of the sofa in the suite.

He set down the tray and straightened the items. “Anything else Ms De Mont?’

‘No, thank you.’ Sapphira replied, shooting him her most charming smile as she opened the door for him to leave.

Men were so easy thought Sapphira as she poured her coffee and opened a fresh pack of Marlboro Lights. She hadn’t met a man yet that she couldn’t seduce, even the most avowed of married men found it impossible to deflect Sapphira De Mont’s charms.

Lighting a cigarette and sipping her coffee, Sapphira checked her phone. Three calls from former lovers who knew she was in LA, none of whom she wished to revisit, just like her dreams and her memory filled house.

Maybe she would learn Italian, she thought and fired off an email on her blackberry to her manager, requesting the best language teacher in LA.

Sapphira finished three cups of coffee and eight cigarettes and then stood up, the caffeine hitting her system with a jolt. Time to get out, she thought and changing her top, she put on a James Perse t-shirt and her Rick Owens leather jacket, keys and phone in her pocket. She took the private elevator down to the garage and finding the valet she nodded at him who in reply rushed away. Within seconds he was by her side, a helmet in hand and Sapphira took it without a word and walked over to her Ducati.

There were two things she needed when she wanted to relax, one of them she couldn’t get right now, but the other was usually there when she needed it, her motorbike.

Sitting on the powerful machine, she put the key in and started her up. The forceful purring between her legs made Sapphira smile and pulling on her helmet, she edged forward and then as the gates to the garage opened and sunlight streamed in, Sapphira rode into the LA light.

* * *

TG was able to tell Rose and Sapphira they had the roles in
The Italian Dream
but now he watched as Diana make the call to Calypso’s manager informing her of the good news. He would have like to have called her himself, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to play it cool.

When he fell he fell hard and Kelly, his best friend and makeup artist on all his films, said he played hard to set when he liked a girl.

‘It’s a fucking miracle you have ever even had a shag,’ she often said after a few too many beers by her pool. TG couldn’t disagree with her, mostly the girls he had like had chased him ragged until he surrendered.

But he was swearing off actresses, he told himself. No more crazy starlets who wanted to be the next Reese Witherspoon or Rachel McAdams.

Diana put down the phone and nodded, ‘Congratulations Tim, you have some stars for your film. Now shall we go and get a bloody mary?’

TG nodded, ‘Hell yeah,’ he replied and soon he was driving Diana to the Chateau Marmont.

‘You nervous?’ she asked him as they sat on the veranda, sipping their drinks, Diana chain-smoking.

‘Of what?’ asked TG casually. He had shot some of the biggest action films in the last five years. He was a technical genius with an ear for great dialogue. He knew how to make a film and how to make a good film.
The Italian Dream
was no different, he thought.

‘Three women in Italy: sex, food, locals, and a script about love, it’s a dangerous combination,’ drawled Diana.

TG laughed, ‘You’ve gotta be kidding me, I just base jumped off the Empire State to prove to Christian Bale it was a safe stunt for my last film, I can handle a little bitch-scotti’ he smiled at his own joke.

Diana leaned forward.

‘You think you can handle those women in Italy? You’re dreaming,’ she said laughing to herself.

‘You saying I shouldn’t have cast them?’ TG asked, fear pitting in his stomach.

‘No, I’m saying that Italy does strange things to a person, just be careful, it’s all those truffles,’ she mused.

TG rolled his eyes at her, ‘You’re nuts,’ he said to her and watched as Paris Hilton walked past him several times, trying to get him to acknowledge her.

‘Pathetic isn’t it,’ Diana remarked, looking in Paris’s direction.

‘Weird, is more like it.’ Said TG frowning. Don’t these girls think they have to actually do something to earn their money or is being a celebrity enough nowadays.

‘The Kardashian’s are your evidence as to why the public has no taste,’ Diana remarked. ‘Those girls wouldn’t know hard work if it bit them on their massive asses.’

TG thought about Calypso. Was she like that, he wondered. He knew she had a solid body of work but did she just want to be famous?

As though reading his mind, Diana’s voice broke through his thoughts.

‘Take Calypso Gable, the kid has never stopped working, she is a Trojan horse, even from an early age. She gets what it is to be onset on time with her lines under her belt. She should teach these little starwannabes a thing or too.’

TG’s ear pricked up at Calypso’s name, ‘She seems very professional,’ he said, in his most professional manner.

‘Yeah, she is, not easy for her, she has a mother that strayed from the Dina Lohan school of Mom-mismanagement.’

Diana butted out her cigarette and stood up, ‘I’m off to my room and then flying to New York in the morning to cast for Woody. Need anything call my cell,’ she kissed TG on the top of his head and whispered in his ear. ‘Remember, Italy, food, sex, love and locals. It’s dangerous.’

TG shook his head at his old friend, ‘See ya crazy.’

Diana walked towards the door and then turned and quickly walked back.

‘Limencello,’ she said.

‘What?’ TG frowned at her. Did she want another drink?

‘Limoncello, drink at your own risk, the homemade stuff will make you fall in love,’ she wiggled her eyebrows at him and then left him holding the Bloody Mary and the bill.

That night TG went through the audition tapes that were sent over to him by courier.

Rose and Sapphira were amazing. God, those women could act but Calypso, she was so nervous, it was disconcerting and he wondered if he had just let his cock cast his movie.

Sighing he flicked on the television and saw an old episode of Calypso’s TV show on. She was less groomed back then, with curly hair, not straightened like every other LA girl. It suited her, he thought as he sat forward and watched her on screen.

There was the girl he saw glimpses of in the audition, he thought. She was funny and sassy and had an innocence he liked, she reminded him of a young Ginger Rogers, he thought. Daffy but so sexy.

Yes, TG was sure he had made the right decision, he mused as he went to bed that night.

* * *

All across town, the news was out that
The Italian Dream
was finally cast. Nikki Finke from Deadline Hollywood picked up the story and like wildfire it was everywhere. Actresses who vied for the parts sobbed into their eggwhite omelettes the next morning, railing against their shitty managers or TG himself.

Sapphira left LA for a trip to New York, satisfied she had the role she knew would change her career.

Rose excitedly told her parents and siblings she would be in Italy for the summer, making them promise to visit her there and started making lists with Lauren for all she had to organise, even though they had a few months.

And Calypso? She sat in her house, in her sleep shorts and a Fraggle Rock t-shirt, stunned at the news after Mandy, her manager had rung her.

‘I was terrible,’ she said.

‘I’m sure you weren’t,’ laughed Mandy.

‘No, I was, trust me,’ said Calypso. ‘Are you sure? Maybe he got me mixed up.’

Mandy sighed, ‘Honey, he loved you, Diana said when she called. He said he was entranced by you.’

“He did not,’ exclaimed Calypso.

‘He did,’ said Mandy. ‘I swear.’

Calypso hung up the phone and sat staring at her pool. When her thoughts overwhelmed her, she wanted to go under the water. Under the water was where she could block out the sounds of the fans, Mandy, Leeza and her voice of self-doubt.

Putting down the phone and without pausing she walked straight into the pool, sinking to the bottom where she stayed for a few minutes. Then she burst to the surface, her lungs swelling as she gasped in air.

She floated for a while, watching a bird busy in the frangipani tree. Why did she feel so hesitant about Italy, she wondered. It was the best thing to happen to her since she had hired Mandy as her manager.

She swam to the steps of the pool and stepped from the water, her clothes sticking to her as she padded inside the house, taking her phone with her. First call Leeza and then take a shower, she sighed.

Nope, make that the other way around. If she called Leeza now she wouldn’t get to have a shower for hours.

Being the daughter of a stage mother was harder than people realised, she thought.

Especially when you didn’t even know if you liked what you did.

Rose Nightingale walked into LAX, hiding behind large Dior sunglasses and ignoring the photographers that lurked at the international terminal, waiting for celebrities to come and go. They took their chance to harangue them, usually when they were holding travel-weary children and pushing a trolley full of luggage. It didn’t matter how fabulous you were, travel was travel and it was a bore.

As Rose approached the United Lounge, she was greeted by a flight attendant who ushered her inside a door to the sanctity of the private space.

‘Hello, Ms Nightingale. May I have your passport, please?’

Rose handed it over with a smile.

‘Can I offer you champagne and a light snack?’

‘No, thanks,’ said Rose as the attendant led her towards a private seating area.

Rose’s phone rang and she answered it as she sat down in a corner of the lounge, ignoring the flickers of recognition from other travellers.

‘Slapper,’ said Rose, seeing Kelly’s name appear on her phone.