The Wedding Bet (21 page)

“White’s technically for virgins...yeah, I can wear white.”

“Does that mean you’re a virgin?” Brent Parks asked.

“I went to college, Brent. I don’t think too many girls remain virgins after college these days.”

CHAPTER 10

When I arrived back at Limber & Love, Andy greeted me.

“Hi, Megan. How’s the campaign going?”

“Going great, Andy. I want to say your staff, Amy and PR Man really impress me with their professionalism and tact. They’ve been very supportive; especially since that crazy Brent Parks Talk Show fiasco.”

“Brent Parks is a fool. Don’t pay him any mind. He believes sex makes the world interesting. Here at Limber & Love we know sex has a place in creating buzz, but we believe it is our integrity that matters more. Stay fixed on your goals of this very funny and creative public relations campaign,” he said with a big, daddy-like smile. “Seriously, Megan, I just wanted you to know that. I have to go now. Have a nice day, Megan, Amy.”

“See you tomorrow, Andy.”

“So how’s your own finding romance campaign coming with Ian?”

“I never thought of it as a campaign. I am looking forward more and more to spending time with him. We’re merging our lives and sharing things. I mean, even though we still have our own apartments and all.”

“Love takes time. You’re so lucky to focus on choosing a good man and not a bad one.”

“I know. I can have sex whenever I want. Men never get enough of sex. Its love they’re sick and tired or afraid of.”

“I feel the same way. But with PR Man, we bypass all those roller coaster emotions. We just focus on business. It’s nice. I believe men are changing. The more independent women are less needy in a financial way; men will have to accept our new reality.”

“That’s what Ian and I do. Focus on what makes our lives more productive and meaningful. He knows I don’t need him to support me. We are intimate, though. Don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t want to skip the intimacy.”

“You’re so mature for your age.”

“I think being around the Women’s Center has given me a lifetime of experience.”

“Awesome. I better go in here and hash out some more details about the trip to Hollywood.”

“See you, Megan.”

“See you, Amy. We might stay after five o’clock.”

I was more comfortable moving through the maze of Limber & Love. I no longer needed to count doors and mentally mark which ones had calendars on the outside door. Or which face sat inside which office of the gender equal public relations firm.

“Ah. This place feels almost like home,” I said, knocking on the open door of PR Man.

“Don’t get too comfortable. We need to do some straightforward talk about this California trip. I’m totally against it, Megan. Please close the door.”

“Why are you totally against it?” I questioned as I sat down. I placed my purse by the Ilsa and Rick statues and noticed yet another loss of substance to the romantic duo. Seems the hands Rick used to embrace Ilsa fell off, was chipped off or whatever. “Wait. I demand to know what the hell is happening to this statuette?.”

“What? Oh! Yes. I place your calendar of events under it. To remind me that you’re not trying to fall in love. But you know,” PR Man started slowly. “I think unconsciously I have to chip away at the romantic image. Thus each chip reminds me you’re trying to avoid falling in love. You’re not supposed to be hitched or tied to another human being.”

I sat there astonished. Why is it men can’t seem to handle their emotional needs? Instead of accepting, this is a not to get married campaign, he takes it out physically on this statuette. “There is no need to physically destroy, bit by bit, this romantic statue, PR Man. Every time I see it I see a failed relationship. I am reminded not to fall in love. That falling in love can bring heartache. I don’t need to break or chip at it physically.”

PR Man smiled, “Well, perhaps that is because,” he waved his finger at me slowly. “This little statuette is not yours that you feel that way. I, on the other hand, see this couple every day and strange questions pop into my mind. What if things had been different?”

“Things were not different. They’re love failed.”

“Forget it! It’s a man’s logic. You’ll never understand.”

“Am I supposed to say make me understand, because that sounds like an emotional response of one in love. I’m not in love. This entire year is about not falling in love with anyone.”

“We are very clear on that, Ms. Bedrosian. Shall we go over the California trip?”

I calmed myself down. I really don’t know why I was upset. The little statuette can be blasted to pieces for all I care. “Sure,” I flashed my winning smile again.

“Those prank calls were coming from Peter Bigchot. He always says things twice. He’s developed several successful films. “Love on Space Colony X, Fourth River, Third River, Second River.”

“I loved that drama. Wonderful. Romantic.”

“Yes, he often gets the big named female stars to play in his films. But there is a dark side to Hollywood.”

“The casting couch,” I answered.

“Bingo!” PR Man raised his fingers like a pistol shooting off. “Peter’s been known...to offer deals based on the extracurricular activities of his female stars.”

“I’ll just say no. Like—like the campaign a few years back.”

“If it were that simple. Values have changed since that campaign came and failed. He gets them over in his big, smoky office. Talks about all the money the girl’s going to make then, he pops his naughty question. Seems very hard for people to resist. Not saying that it hasn’t been done before.”

“This is all rumors. You have no proof.”

“One doesn’t get proof in this kind of situation. You get that nagging gut feeling of accuracy and solidity. Something you can trust. Let’s just say, I’ve heard things.”

“I think we should explore it. If only to give me something to do to keep my mind off finding a mate for six more months.”

“This can be worse than finding a mate, Megan,” PR Man strongly cautioned. “Much worse. Sickeningly worse.”

“I might regret it worse—you mean.”

“Yeah. Forget about admitting you like sex on the Brent Parks Talk Show this is like being thrown into the cesspool of the porno industry.”

“But he said, he’s never directed a porn film in his life. I asked him.”

“He hasn’t. That doesn’t mean he’s not acting out his porn fantasies. All men have them, Megan.”

“That’s why I refused to bring Amy along. I could just see her blowing this thing wide open to the Women’s Center.”

“Yes. Amy’s not going. We don’t allow others who are not on the public relationships campaign itself to accompany clients out of state. Been a Limber & Love policy since the beginning.”

“That’s a good policy. My feminist sensibilities would not let me sleep with a man for pay, PR Man.”

“What feminist sensibilities? You’ve never talked about feminism. Name one live feminist that you can say was great.”

“Amelia Earhart, Red Cross lady, India lady, Cleopatra.”

“All those feminist are dead.”

“You mean live. I thought you meant that lived?”

“A living feminist, like Gloria Steinem.”

“She worked at the Playboy club or went undercover there, I think. That news anchor woman. Gosh, do you know her name?”

PR Man smiled as he wrote on a technical PR sheet. He checked off possible film projects. “You’re supposed to be telling me.”

I got unnerved, “I’m not putting myself through this type of humiliation. I’ve been through enough of men questioning me on my values.” I got angry at PR Man. “You’re fired!”

“What for?”

“Humiliating, a living feminist! Get out!”

“Aren’t you forgetting something, Megan?”

“What?”

“This is my office, Megan. Please leave.”

“Wait. What’s going on here?”

“You got irritated over the subject of feminism and tried to fire me.”

“Forget it. You’re hired again!”

“What for?”

“Because you’re making a lot of money. I spent too much money on winning this bet. I’m not a quitter. And if I don’t quit, you certainly can’t quit either.” I said recovering my senses. “Just because we had a spat over the general course of women’s freedom and equality certainly didn’t mean I was going to marry a man.”

“Nicely put. Shall we go on?”

“By all means, continue, PR Man. We shall go to California simply to check the offer out. If it is a slimy, under-the-pants offer, I’m out. No deal. We fly home.”

“That’s settled,” PR Man said.

I left the office not realizing how much time we spent there. Five thirty already. I think the pauses took longer than I expected. The nagging barometer feeling in my gut suggested PR Man spoke the truth. Going to check this out could possibly lead to testing my values more than I ever imagined. But at least I didn’t have to think about getting married. Marriage became the furthest thing from my mind now.

PR Man and I arrived in Hollywood to see famed Director Peter Bigchot. The limousines picked us up at the Los Angeles Airport and whisked us up to the huge movie lot. Soon we both sat in the plush smoky office and the old man with the strained face of a frustrated college professor rose from his huge desk decorated with scripts, a casting call list and his director, a young man of about forty stood as wingman beside him. Aaron had dark hair and dull grey blue eyes. Aaron’s boss Peter Bigchot wore the top button of his white shirt undone and his untied black tie draped around his neck.

I wore a conservative battleship grey business suit with pencil thin legs. I guess all the rumors about the casting couch unconsciously wanted to make it harder for my brain to persuade my body to let go of any inhibitions to obtain millions of dollars.

“There you are! There you are! Look at her, Aaron. This is my director for your film the Wedding Bet. The great Aaron Bodwell. He directed
Translation Clarity
,
Termination Siege: The Graduation
,
The Quick, The Romantic
shot in Spain with superstar Notoscka Beasley. This is great! You look great; doesn’t that smile just make you want to laugh, Aaron?”

Peter looked familiar. Like an aging fifty-nine year old professor about to be denied tenure. He looked happy but frustrated, like he’d already found a better job. His long nose curved in the middle and threw the tip of his nose left of center on his face. He smiled a lot. His smile more vivacious and brighter than my own. My gut instincts started to buzz. I turned to PR Man. “This is my agent, public relations representative, Mr. Steve Laferte.” Steve and I agreed before the trip in order to boost his creditability I had to call him by his real name. “Real names influence people, not nicknames, Megan,” PR Man had said.

“She’s funnier than on the Brent Parks show. That smile. I see it in my camera lens seducing millions and millions of people, Peter.” He started clapping.

Peter started clapping. Peter lit a big cigar and popped it into his mouth. He flicked a huge lighter shaped like Marilyn Monroe, her dress flying up over the air vent.

I didn’t lower my head at the statuettes. Somehow men had a thing for controllable inanimate shaped women.

Andy had a Betty Boop statuette on his desk.

PR Man had Ilsa and Rick.

“I see it, Aaron. I see it, Aaron,” Peter Bigchot said, through a mass of smoke bellowing out of his mouth, ears, and nose. He tilted upward and to his left away from us and his director, Aaron.

PR Man waved the smoke away from our faces; although I admit Peter had tried to blow the smoke in another direction. However, when Peter started talking another gush of smoke held in his lungs blasted us like a fire breathing dragon. I coughed.

“Sorry about that. Bad habit. Don’t I always smoke when I see a huge success coming our way? A huge star, Aaron?”

“You sure do. She’s got the bod, too.”

“You’ve got the bod. What he means Meg…can I call you Meg?”

PR Man started to object, but I spoke first anyway. Probably the smoke influenced my decision. He stopped talking and the smoke stopped billowing forth. “Meg’s okay. In private, but in public, it’s got to be Megan.”

PR Man found and cleared his tonsils of carbon monoxide smoke. “Megan in public is best, Mr. Bigchot.”

“Call me Peter. I’m Peter to my friends.”

“Peter,” I said.

“Peter,” said PR Man.

“Call me Aaron. Last names are so formal and no one ever got anywhere in Hollywood being formal.”

I wondered if Aaron would stand all the time. Then realized he’s a movie director. He probably sleeps standing up.

Peter bit down on his cigar again as he talked and smoked simultaneously. “You’ve got a funny story, Meg. Forget about Brent Parks and his sexual obsession. Yes, he keeps replaying that scene on his show where you say. ‘Sex. Who doesn’t like sex? I like sex. I can like it a lot under the right circumstances!” He laughed and shuffled his papers. He turned to Aaron. “Where’s that video camera? Camera with the viral clip.”

Aaron reached inside the first drawer by his thighs and pulled it out.

Peter propped it up on his messy desk so PR Man and I could see the video clip again on his little video machine.

I wanted to blush, but found myself getting defensive. What is this obsession with men hearing a woman, needing to hear a woman say she likes sex?

“Went viral that comment. Went viral in what Aaron?” Peter Bigchot asked.

“Twenty Minutes.” Aaron laughed.

I coughed again as Peter smoked up his own version of low flying clouds. I realized he didn’t so much as smoke as opened his mouth and threw in the cigar, which got caught in his teeth. Then the furnace of his breath burnt everything within close range of his two lips.

“I didn’t know it went viral for two weeks.”

“That’s because you’re not into making great films, searching for excitable, dramatic characters. Isn’t that right, Aaron?”

“That’s it, Peter. She’s innocent, perfect for the role. And still as funny as on the Brent Parks show.”

“What we want to do, Meg, is tell your story to the whole world. The whole world.” Peter leaned back. “I’ve done this before. This is going to be bigger than what’s that funny film that woman directed...” Peter snapped his thick fingers.

“When Harry Met Sally!”

“That’s right. That’s right, Aaron. Gosh, Aaron’s got the mind of the Library of Film and Media. Brilliant mind.” Peter puffed more smoke. PR Man waved the smoke away.

Aaron went over to the wall and turned pressed a button on the air conditioner and it started to suck the smoke surrounding Peter right out the window, sending it where the other clouds were on the 44th floor of the high rise building we sat in.

“I know I want to make this film. And I make some good films, too. You heard of
Bittersweet Ruin Road
. Dorthea Judith knocked it out of park with that one; three Oscars.”

“Incredible crane work in that,” PR Man said. “I have a thing for modern westerns.”

“He has a thing for modern westerns. Can you believe this guy, Aaron? Watching modern westerns.”

“Steve’s a regular film director in the making.”

“Okay what about my film
Born to be Loved
staring a young Max Trotta?”

“I love Max Trotta.” I offered, “He never makes a bad film.” Wings fluttered beneath my battlefield grey pants suit.

“Money is not the issue, Meg. Steve.” Peter tapped his cigar down on the large dustbin ashtray on his desk. “The issue, the issue is willing cooperation.”

“Cooperation,” repeated Aaron.

“Cooperation?” I said.

“Let’s negotiate the terms,” PR Man started.

“Regular bulldog, Meg. I like it. I like it you brought protection.”

Aaron shook his head smiling.

“I know Steve here’s hip on the way things work in big cities. I mean Joinrite City’s population of 1 million may seem like a lot to you, Meg—but in the scheme of things and its values, it’s just a small town like Mayberry compared to Los Angeles. In the big cities, we know how to live. Our values have stood the test of time.”

“That’s why we’re bigger, wealthier in the big cities,” Aaron confirmed.

Peter finally snuffed out his cigar.

I finally relaxed. I felt a cloud lifting off my shoulders, from around my coiffured blonde head. I started to smile again. Smiling was hazardous to my health just a few seconds before.

“There’s the smile I wanted to see. There it is, Aaron.”

“Let me get a picture of that smile. Say Hollywood you two,” Aaron snapped the picture. “That was the small town Meg, and Steve. A week or month from now, when we start shooting the film, I’m going to take another picture. And guess what, you two will see bigger smiles, more confident smiles on your faces, as you know you’re going to be millionaires.”

“Millionaires. Millionaires,” Peter said smiling and staring at my breasts.

I didn’t think my breasts had anything to do with it. I turned out to be wrong.

“You’ve heard of thousand dollar hookers, even ten thousand dollar hookers, haven’t you Meg?”

“There’s Pretty Women.”

“Gosh why didn’t I direct that?” Aaron gushed, shaking his head.

I lowered my head. Amy, Olivia and others warned me about talking about sex on Brent Parks’s show. Now I’ll always be the known as The Girl who Knows She Likes Sex. Some struggling Dutch, Flemish painter is probably waiting in the wings to paint me holding a droopy used condom.

“Very competitive, Aaron Bodwell. I like that about a person willing to do anything to get the big stars, bring out the big films. Win the big rewards.”

“We’re willing to sign the contract based on percentages earned at the box office,” PR Man voiced.

“Box office receipts. Receipts at the box office. What a smart kid, you are Steve. But I’m going to do you one better. I’ll give you the profits of projected sales of 100 million flat out. I know this film is going to be comedy of the year.”

“The decade, Peter. Decade,” Aaron nodded as he adjusted the video camera.

“So one thing is, you can make more money than you’ve ever dreamed of. All you have to do is do a little something for me.”

“I’m prepared to give the acting job my best witty try.”

“I love it. Love it!” Peter laughed.

“She’ll rock the audiences world over, Peter.”

“We accept the deal of 100 million projected profits. But we want the box office receipts above that, too.”

“Oh, you can have that, Steve, Meg.” Peter stared at my tits again. He seemed to be ogling my body in a way that made me more uncomfortable. I wanted to scream, “I don’t like sex. I’m as prudish as Lucy Trill!”

“I’ll come out and say it straight.”

Peter stopped staring at my body and stared at my eyes. My gut told me something terrible loomed. Peter didn’t repeat himself twice. He always repeated himself twice. That’s how I knew he was that prank phone caller.

“Go ahead, Peter. What is it?” I said.

“You sleep with me, and my director here. You’ll get those profits. You’ll never be poor again. You’ll become a big star.” He paused. “Before you two object just here me out. First. You like sex, Meg. And liking sex means you’ve fucked and gotten what from it? A few minutes of pleasure, a bloke who didn’t care about anything but your body. You got nothing in return. I’m willing to give you the film profits. I could buy it outright for a sum and star—what’s her name...?” Peter snapped his fingers.

“Britney Spears, Notosca Beasely. Any blonde with a great smile would do.”

“Beasley. Gosh I kept forgetting that lovely lovely girl. Yes. Any girl, would make the 500 million I see coming to us all. So you spend like ten minutes with me and my director. Here in this office. Steve boy can stand and watch. Record it if you like Steve. And you’ve got the part and the film, Meg.”

“What!” My brain froze like I had too much ice cream too fast.

PR Man spoke out. “This is outrageous! We’ll just take the film deal. Megan doesn’t have to star in it. It’s a funny story. Brilliant.”

“Hold on Steve, it’s Meg’s decision,” Peter said in his unmovable tone of voice. “Thing is Meg, you’re a pretty girl. You’re going to fuck again after this. You won’t even remember our little tryst. But you’ll make what—forty million on the film alone. You could make ninety million. I think you’ll make ninety million. All you have to do is lie on your back and spread your legs for say ten minutes with me and my director. Let us taste those funny charms. There’s nothing more enticing than fucking a famous woman. You’re partly famous right now—Joinrite City famous. I’m talking about world famous.”