Ava Comes Home (37 page)

She wandered over to the window. New York City. Home to millions.

“Hello? Anyone out there?”

She unpacked her bags and ordered a vanilla milkshake, then sat on a chair and waited for it to come. When it arrived, she drank it and then looked at her watch. It was still only seven o'clock, so she reached for the TV remote and turned it on. Images of another suicide bombing covered the screen. She turned it off and went over to the window again, noticing for the first time that it was raining. The sky was crying. Her finger traced the raindrops on their zig-zag journey down the window pane.

She looked at her watch. It was eight o'clock.

Crossing the room, she passed a mirror and stopped to look at her reflection. “Well, this is fun, isn't it?”

She continued on and sat on the bed, then got up and made herself a rum and coke. On the way back from the bar, she toasted herself in the mirror again. “Good choice, old dear. Rum and coke, your specialty.” She downed her drink and smacked her lips. “I think I'll have another.”

Over to the bar once more to fill her glass and then back to the mirror. “To a long and happy life.” The drink was gone in a flash. “Yum. One more, I think.”

After her third rum and coke, she put down the glass and walked into the bathroom, leaning into the mirror over the sink to brush her hair back with her fingers. “I think I deserve a little party. I am a party girl, after all.”

She turned away from the mirror and stripped off her clothes. “We all have our talents.”

She stepped into the glorious tub and had a leisurely soak in perfumed bubble bath. It didn't smell like Jergen's Hand Lotion at all. Once out of the tub, she wrapped herself in a luxurious towel to dry off, but soon dropped it to the floor to take a look at herself. Not bad, Ava. The few extra pounds she'd gained suited her.

Time to spread lotion all over her body and take her time rubbing it in. Then over to her lingerie bag to remove the sexiest bra and panties she owned. Black lace, naturally. What is it with men and blonde women wearing black lace? No imagination at all, unless it's blondes wearing red lace.

Ava turned on the CD player and swayed to Kenny G as she applied her makeup. Her hair was easy. She bent over and messed it up. Perfect. Now over to the closet to choose the little black dress that cost her a week's wages. She stepped into it and pulled it over her tiny curves. She found her favourite high heels and a small clutch to hold her lipstick and room key. Then she walked back into the bathroom and dabbed perfume behind her ears and on her wrists.

Her image smiled back at her in the mirror. “Beautiful. Have fun.”

Ava left the room and pushed the elevator button. The red arrow above the door pinged and the door opened. She always loved this part. The people inside inevitably looked bored and then shocked and then sort of embarrassed when they realized who she was. They either didn't look at her at all or never took their eyes off her. It was an art to learn how to ignore it and pretend they didn't exist.

Tonight there were two men in the elevator who knew each other. They were laughing when the door opened, but as soon as she walked in, they shut right up. She turned around and pushed the button. That's when the frantic hand gestures started behind her back. The door opened and she walked out. As the door closed there was a burst of expletives and yelling.

Too boring.

She walked into the upscale lounge. The lights were dim and the piano music low. All very expensive and chic. She walked over to the bar and sat on a stool, crossing her legs, causing her very short dress to become shorter still.

The bartender came over. “Good evening, Miss Harris. Nice to see you again.” He put a cocktail napkin in front of her.

“Good evening, Frank. Nice to see you too.”

“What can I get you this evening?”

“A rum and Coke please. On the rocks.”

“Certainly.”

She looked around. Quite a few men caught her eye. They were an older group, with money and power to burn. Amazing how they all looked at her legs. Poor pathetic things. Wearing three-thousand-dollar suits and still behaving like the boys in gym class.

Her drink was in front of her. She took a sip and then another while counting down from ten in her head. At two, a man—the leader of the pack—approached with a drink in his hand.

“Good evening.”

“Good evening.” She took another sip.

“Ava Harris, is it not?”

“That's right.”

He held out his hand. “Michael Lancaster.”

She shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Michael.”

He slid his body onto the bar stool next to her, as she knew he would.

“Are you in town for a movie?”

“Yes.”

“How interesting.”

“Is it?”

“Well, for someone who knows nothing about the movie industry, it is rather fascinating.”

“It's not really.” She took a big swallow and then another until the glass was empty.

“May I buy you a drink?”

“Thank you. Rum and Coke.”

He flicked his finger at Frank, who instantly produced the new drinks. Ava picked hers up. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

They had a pleasant conversation that lasted two more drinks.

He held out the last one for her. “Would you like another?”

She blinked. “What do I have to do for it?”

“You don't have to do anything.”

“That's where you're wrong.”

He hesitated.

“I can do most things very, very well, so you have gentlemen's choice tonight.”

He handed her the glass. “Well, I'm nothing if not a gentleman.”

“How did I know you were going to say that?” She swallowed another mouthful.

He snapped his fingers at the bartender. “Check.” The tab was produced and he wrote his name and room number on it.

Michael put his hand under her elbow. “After you.”

He steered her out of the bar while Frank cleaned up the glasses and shook his head.

They got on the elevator. “My room or yours?” he asked.

“Yours.”

They got off on his floor and walked down the hall. He reached in his pocket and took out the room key. He slid it in and pulled it out. The door opened. And then the door shut.

He was the perfect gentleman. At two in the morning, when he was done with her, he got dressed and escorted her down to her door. He said, “You have to be careful. Even in classy hotels, you never know who you might run in to, in the elevator or the hall.”

“Or the lounge.”

He laughed, thinking she was joking.

She shut the door in his face and stumbled into the bathroom, pulling off her dress. She was naked. She'd forgotten her bra and panties. Didn't matter. He'd either keep them as a trophy or sell them on eBay. She knelt by the toilet and threw up the rum, then washed her face and brushed her teeth. She turned out the bathroom light and teetered to bed, where she picked up the phone and asked for an eight o'clock wake-up call before passing out cold.

Ever the professional, she was up, dressed and ready to go when Trent picked her up at ten.

“God, you look wonderful,” he proclaimed as he came through the door. He grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her cheek. “Vacation's done you a world of good, I see.” He looked at her again. “Maybe a little too good. Put on some weight, I see.”

“I'll stop eating.”

“Good girl.” He rushed past her. “Look, we have a busy day and I'm not sure we're going to get it all in, but we'll give it the old college try.” She sat on the edge of the sofa and smiled.

“Where's that pit bull you insist on keeping around?”

“Lola will be here tomorrow.”

“Thank God. That's all I would've needed on today of all days.” He reached for the phone on the coffee table. “I'll call and tell them we're on our way.” He sounded very chummy with whoever it was on the other end of the phone. Good-old-boy kind of chatter, all huff and puff and blow your house down kind of stuff.

Ava gathered her purse and coat and took one last look in the mirror. She mouthed, “Goodbye, Ava,” before she was ushered out the door of the room, out of the hotel and into the car. Trent talked the entire time about how wonderful the new director was and how marvelous his new vision would be and that she should be grateful to be working with the next Woody Allen.

“You're overselling it, Trent.”

He took offense to that and blustered all the way up to the meeting rooms, and there were plenty of them. A whole day of musical rooms. She sat up and sat down. She was greeted and dismissed. She was ignored and fawned over. She was talked to, talked at, talked about, and talked into. And that was all before the director got there.

When she did finally meet the boy wonder he had on an earpiece and was talking into it. He gestured for them to come in and then turned his back to finish his conversation. There were four other men in the room. It was stuffy and smoky. They stood up in turn and introduced themselves, though she forgot who they were right away.

As she took off her coat, she spied a picked-over meat tray and a pitcher with glasses on a table. She went over and helped herself a glass of water. Trent stopped talking long enough to yell across the room, “Don't you dare eat that cheese, you little dumpling.”

The men laughed. She didn't. It was four o'clock and she hadn't eaten. She picked up a fist full of cheese, sat in a corner and ate it. The men never noticed, so busy were they with their creative pissing contest.

A half an hour went by and the new messiah was still on the phone. She ate more cheese. Suddenly the door opened and Hayden walked in. He didn't see her. He greeted the men and there was a commotion of good will. Then he spied her.

“Ava.” He sauntered over and gave her a big hug. “Oh baby, baby. I've missed you. Give daddy a kiss.”

He kissed her longer then necessary while the men watched, and then let her go.

“You still love an audience, Hayden.”

“You know me so well.” He reached out and held her chin. “Let me look at you. Exquisite as ever.” He paused. “On second thought, you look tired. I hope you weren't up to something last night, you naughty girl. I want you fresh as a daisy tonight.”

“What are we doing tonight?”

He grabbed her waist and whispered, “I'm taking you to dinner and then we're having a repeat performance of my Sydney engagement. I've been saving myself all week. How's that for sacrifice.”

“Overwhelming.”

He laughed and slapped her bottom. “Don't get saucy.”

The director finally rushed over, as if she'd just walked in the room. He looked about sixteen years old. “Nice to meet you, Miss Harris. I'm looking forward to working with you. Nigel Barrymore, by the way.”

“Hello, Nigel.”

Nigel grabbed Hayden's arm and they pulled their forearms back and forth in a hip urban grip. “Hey dawg, how's it goin'?”

“Great, now that my favourite woman is back in town.”

More male bonding crap and then they invited her to sit down. She ended up facing them as if she was the defendant and they were the jury. Scripts were handed out. The usual nonsense was spouted and Ava's eyes got heavy.

“As I was saying,” Nigel repeated, when he got her attention, “it's a minor adjustment, but I think it's absolutely crucial to the crux of the story. Turn to page 54.”

Paper was heard being thumbed through. She looked at it. “Let me guess.”

“Excuse me?” said Nigel.

“This is the lover's quarrel between Hayden and me.”

“Yes.”

“And there's something wrong with it.”

“Well, yes.”

“It's not graphic enough, not sensational enough.”

“True.”

“It won't grab the sixteen- to twenty-five-year-olds.”

Nigel pointed at her. “Yes! She really is a genius, isn't she Hayden?”

“She picked me, didn't she?”

Ava looked at the director. “So you want me to be either in my underwear, a see-through blouse and panties, a bathing suit, or a thong. Am I right?”

“No.”

“What a relief.”

“We want you raped.”

She stood up. “I'm leaving.”

“Sit down, Miss Harris.” The sixteen-year-old suddenly became the prosecutor. “I want to explain my vision.”

“I know all about your vision. It's about gawking at tits and ass and getting off on seeing a woman powerless and crying for help.”

Trent was purple. Hayden wasn't far off. Nigel looked at Trent. “Is she serious?”

“Ava, be reasonable.”

Ava walked to the other side of the room and stood by the window. The sky was crying again. Their voices droned on and in the end it sounded like a swarm of bees. She watched tears fall against the window. She wondered if it was crying in Cape Breton too.

Since threats didn't seem to do the trick, they eventually sent Hayden in to butter her up. He took her into another room and sat down beside her.

“Sweets. I know you hate this kind of stuff, and this isn't what you signed up for, but honey, shit happens. They're allowed to make these changes within reason and this doesn't change the outcome of the plot anyway.”

“If it doesn't change it, why do it?”

“How the hell should I know? Babe, it's a gig. When your salary is seven figures, it's not that hard to make it easy on everybody and just do it.”

“It's not easy on me.”

He put his arm around her shoulder and kissed her ear. “Sweetheart, it's me. It's not like it's going to be some asshole you don't know. I'll be right there. I'll protect you.”

“You'll be there and so will thirty crew with bright lights and cameras. And after that, it will be my nieces watching it at the Empire Theatre next fall. Not to mention the millions around the world.”