Celluloid Memories (6 page)

“That would have been criminal. They're beautiful.”

“And you hung up on me.”

“Don't push your luck,” Savannah said.

McCoy shrugged. “Sending flowers was the least I could do after, as you say, deserting you in the middle of the highway. I was in a hurry.”

“Yeah, I got that part.”

“Look, I was late for a fundraising dinner to benefit a black theater program out in Englewood. I was the MC for the silent auction. But that wasn't your problem, was it?”

“Did you make it?”

A brief look of annoyance clouded his eyes. “Just barely. It was all because of…never mind. I missed the dinner but the auction did well for the program.”

Savannah had the feeling that Cherise had been a factor. She remembered that there had been a female passenger in the car with McCoy that night. Was she a trophy? Accessory?

“But that's still no excuse for driving recklessly,” he said.

“Okay,” Savannah sighed in resignation. “I accept some of the blame. I suppose I should have been paying more attention to the car ahead of me.”

“I rest my case,” he said unequivocally. But he suddenly winked at her before doing an about-face and finally going off about his business.

Savannah stared after his retreating back. She knew that she'd behaved very badly about the flowers and the phone call. In New York, anyone else might have said I'll-have-my-insurance-agent-call-your-insurance-agent. She remembered from McCoy Sutton's business card that he was an attorney. In New York he might have sued her, and won.

She thought about McCoy Sutton through the rest of her shopping, and all the way home. Although she was certainly curious about the relationship between him and the gorgeous woman with him, she did not see them again. But his comments about her father reminded Savannah of similar remarks from Taj, and just about anyone else she met who'd heard of him. It gave her an odd feeling to know that her father was also in the public domain.

There was a bulky envelope in the mailbox when she returned to the house, from Simon Raskin, her father's former agent. Curious as to what he would be sending her at this late date, Savannah sat at the kitchen counter to read the contents, even before unpacking her groceries.

Much of the information had to do with her father's pension fund, SAG membership and such. She was about to stuff everything back into the envelope when a small card with a handwritten message fell into her lap. It was a note of regret that her father had not gotten a particular part, but also en couragement and admiration for his talent. It was signed, Sidney.

The possibility of it being from
the
Sidney made Savannah smile. Then she realized that she just might be reacting like a starstruck fan of her own father. His peers had respected him. How cool was that?

All in all, she was very glad she'd kept the flowers sent her by McCoy Sutton. And that she'd stayed in California.

 

“How come movies never say The End anymore when it's over? They just start rolling right into the credits,” Donna asked, as people around them began shuffling about and leaving the theater.

“You don't need it,” Kay responded, as she pushed her seat back into an upright position. “If you're paying attention the action and dialogue tells you that.”

“Or the sudden dramatic swelling of music,” Savannah added, standing. “I like it better without being told.”

“Yeah. That kind of kills the mood, you know?” Kay said.

They began filing out of their row, Kay in the lead and Savannah picking up the rear, along with the three hundred other viewers.

“Thanks for getting us into the screening,” Savannah said to Kay, once they'd made it to the lobby.

“No problem. It's one of the perks of my job. I can't remember the last time I had to pay to see a film,” Kay said.

“I'm so glad you're my friend,” Donna yawned.

The Special Screening Tonight sign was still on the marquee. Savannah watched as Kay said hello to a number of people she recognized from the audience, all of them involved in the movie business in one way or another; from extras to gophers, to grips and camera crew people, they had come out to see the fruits of their labors.

Savannah looked around. She was sure she'd seen Taj enter and take a seat with a friend before the lights had gone down. But she didn't see him anywhere. She did, however, spot a very pretty young woman with blond corkscrew hair whom she remembered from the crafts show, and just as quickly lost her in the crowd.

“Where should we go to eat?” Donna asked, as the three of them stood outside the theater.

“I don't care,” Kay said. “But I don't feel like going all the way to Santa Monica. It's so hard to find parking down there…”

Savannah listened as Kay and Donna debated, deferring to their superior knowledge of L.A. and places to eat. She would have been content with a small quiet café, off the beaten track and away from the chance that celebrities, even those of minor fame, frequented it. But she knew that both Kay and Donna loved that aspect of dining out, just so they could boast who they'd had dinner with.

Donna and Kay had now moved on to what kind of food they wanted. Savannah waited patiently, taking the opportunity to look more closely at the people around her. Only recently had she been curious to know what kind of people lived in L.A. Where had they all come from? Since she'd yet to meet anyone who had actually been born here. And why were so many of them hell-bent on making it? On the other hand, the lyrics to a Frank Sinatra song, “New York, New York,” popped into her head with the famous line about “if I can make it there, I'll make it anywhere…” Savannah smiled to herself. That could hold true for the City of Angels. “Hi.”

Savannah turned around at the greeting. She found herself face-to-face with Domino, the fabric artist.

“Oh, hi,” Savannah replied. “I thought I saw you before. It's nice to see you.”

“Thanks. Did you just leave the screening?”

“Yes. I came with two girlfriends. One of them is in PR and got us into the film. How'd you like it?”

“It's a great story. I'm a little disappointed in my performance.”

Savannah frowned. “You were in the film? Where? How did I miss you?”

Domino chuckled. “It wasn't hard. I was wearing a brunette wig. I was the girlfriend of the main protagonist at the very beginning. He left me for a singer.”

Savannah's eyes widened. “Oh, you're kidding. Was that you? I couldn't tell.”

“Yeah, I know, but you probably weren't looking to see me, either,” Domino said. “It was a small part, but I want people to know it was me.”

“I feel badly that I didn't recognize you, but you did a good job in the part. I felt so sorry when your boyfriend took off with the other woman. I liked that you got mad at him and not her.” Savannah said.

“Thanks for saying so. Actually, that part led to an audition for something else the director is doing, so I'm pleased.”

“We decided on a little place over in West Hollywood near the UCLA campus,” Donna said, as she and Kay joined Savannah. She noticed the other woman and stared at her for a moment. “You look familiar.”

Savannah beckoned Domino closer. “This is Dominique…”

“Hamilton,” Dominique supplied.

“You're an actress. Now, where have I seen you before?” Kay said more to herself, narrowing her gaze on the young actress.

“How about in the last hundred and ten minutes,” Donna suggested. “Did you play the part of the girlfriend at the beginning?”

Domino smiled calmly. “That's me.”

“Well, I give you credit for being so nice to the jerk. Man, I would have kicked his ass if he'd done that to me,” Donna said with female indignation.

“I suggested something like that to the director, but he said her character wouldn't do that. He was right. She had to remain likeable.”

“Listen, we're going for some dinner. Would you like to join us?” Kay asked Domino.

“I was just going to suggest that,” Savannah said.

Domino hesitated. “You're having a girlfriends' night out. I don't want to mess up your plans.”

“We'd love to have you,” Donna added. “Besides, I want to know some of the inside dirt on getting work. I'm a dancer….”

Savannah let Kay and Donna bombard Dominique with questions about the trade. But there was a lot of laughing, and a lot of harmless gossip. She mostly listened, liking Dominique more and more for her open friendliness and for the balanced life she'd managed to achieve while she waited to be discovered. Savannah was impressed when Dominique stated she had no burning desire to become a big-name movie star. She just wanted to act, to work as long as she could. Savannah could see at least one problem the actress might be encountering. There didn't seem to be anything superficial or calculating about her. The lovely young thing with McCoy Sutton came to mind. Savannah had the feeling that Cherise was more like the industry standard. She was a little disappointed that McCoy seemed to go for that type.

It also made her wonder about Rae Marie Hilton. Who was she and what was her connection to her father? Especially since Rae Marie was white.

They were waiting for after-dinner coffee and cappuccino to be served when Donna suddenly planted her elbows on the table and leaned across to regard Dominique closely.

“I bet you never get asked to play the black female roles.”

Kay looked dumbfounded at Donna's comment. But for Savannah, suddenly a lot of things she'd witnessed about Dominique's gestures and body language, her use of certain phrases, made sense. She looked at Dominique more closely. There was nothing to make the average person believe she was anything but white. But there were the slightly full lips. Were they real or was it collagen? Her hair texture appeared curly, but might also have been slightly relaxed to make it more manageable. There was nothing in Dominique's expression that would have said otherwise.

“No, I don't. Even when I prove I can talk the talk.”

“What are you trying to say?” Kay asked.

“It's not really about how you sound. It's about how you look,” Donna said knowledgeably.

Savannah nodded. “I wondered myself. Are you biracial?”

“I'm African-American.” Dominique said, not hesitating for a second. “Most people don't notice, or don't ask. I don't volunteer that I'm black, but I don't deny it.”

Savannah wondered what Dominique thought as she, Kay and Donna stared openly at her, fascinated by this little phenomenon of nature, genes and history.

“I'm sorry. I know it's rude to stare, but I just can't get over it. I've never seen anyone like you, but I
knew
you had to be black,” Donna said.

“How?” Kay asked. “I can't tell.”

Donna shrugged. “I don't know. It's just one of those things I felt. I kind of connected to the way you talked, and maybe how comfortable you seemed with us right from the start.”

“Yeah, that's what I felt,” Kay nodded. “You just seem to fit right in.”

“I wasn't trying to put something over on you…”

“No, no. That's not it,” Savannah spoke up. “But we all grew up hearing or reading about black men and women who are light enough to pass.”

“But I'm not trying to pass for white,” Dominique clarified. “I'm always myself, and I don't
pretend
to be anything else but black. But people never ask. It's all about the color of my skin, hair and eyes. Most people don't see anything else.”

“Look, forget the cappuccino,” Kay said, signaling for the waiter. “I'm ordering another bottle of wine.”

They all burst out laughing.

“I'm sorry if I put you on the spot,” Donna said earnestly.

“You didn't, I promise. If I can't handle what people think or believe about me, what they come to find out about me, then I'm in trouble and in the wrong business. Being an actress is all about becoming other people.”

“But how do you get work?” Savannah asked.

“It's hard. I can play and pass for a lot of different ethnic types with makeup and wigs. But getting someone to believe I can play an African-American doesn't fly. The audience wants to see someone who looks a lot like them. I don't.

“One of my friends in high school used to tell me I'm a fake…”

There was an audible gasp around the table.

“She used to say I didn't have a clue what it was like being black, 'cause I wasn't. “

“Yeah, and I bet she got on your case because all the boys flocked around you like bees to honey.”

“I bet not,” Savannah conjectured. “I bet they were afraid of you.”

“Right,” Dominique nodded firmly. “If they were seen with me they might be accused by their homeboys of preferring white girls. I don't think I should have to explain or defend who I am.”