Glitter Baby (11 page)

Johnny Guy called for action. She lifted her head. Spotted Matt.
Matt!
He was back! Jumping up, she ran across the porch. She took the wooden steps in one leap. Her braid slapped the back of her neck. She had to get to him. Touch him. He was hers, not DeeDee’s. She ran across the yard. There he was, just ahead of her. “Matt!” She called out his name again and catapulted into his arms.

He stumbled backward, and they both crashed to the ground.

There was an explosion of laughter from the crew. Fleur lay sprawled on top of Jake Koranda, pinning him down with her half-naked body. She wanted to crawl into a corner and die. She was an elephant. A big, clumsy giant of an elephant, and this was the most humiliating moment of her life.

“Anybody hurt here?” Johnny Guy chuckled as he came over and helped her up.

“No, I—I’m all right.” She kept her head down and concentrated on brushing the dirt from her legs. One of the makeup people ran over with a wet cloth, and she wiped herself off without looking up at Jake. If he needed any more proof that she wasn’t right for the part, she’d just given it to him. She wanted to go back to New York. And she wanted her mother!

“How ’bout you, Jako?”

“I’m okay.”

Johnny Guy patted her arm. “That was real nice, honey.” He grinned. “Too bad this boy’s so puny he can’t stand up to a real woman.”

Johnny Guy was trying to make her feel better, but he was making it worse. She felt big and clumsy and ugly. Everybody was staring at her. If only she could shrink-wrap herself. “I—I’m sorry,” she said stiffly. “I think I’ve ruined this suit. The dirt doesn’t want to come out.”

“That’s why we have spares. Go on and get changed.”

In too short a time, she was back in the porch swing, and they were ready to go again. As the cameras rolled, she tried to recreate the feeling of excitement she’d experienced during the first take. She saw Matt, jumped up, ran down the steps and across the yard.
Please God, don’t let me knock him over again.
She checked herself ever so slightly and slid into his arms.

Johnny Guy hated it.

They did it again, and she stumbled going down the steps. The fourth time the porch swing bumped against the backs of her legs. The fifth time she made it all the way to Jake, but again she checked herself at the last moment. Her misery was growing by the minute.

“You’re not relating to him, honey,” Johnny Guy said as Jake released her. “You’re not connecting. Don’t worry so much about where you’re putting your feet. Do it the way you did it the first time.”

“I’ll try.” She had to endure more humiliation as wardrobe noticed she’d sweated through the work shirt and had to bring her a new one without half-moons under the arms. As she headed back for the porch swing, she knew no power on earth could make her throw her body full force at Jake Koranda again. Her chest tightened, and she swallowed hard.

“Hey, wait up.”

Slowly she turned and watched Jake walk up to her. “I was off balance the first time,” he said curtly. “It was my fault, not yours. I’ll catch you the next time.”

Sure he would. She nodded and started to walk away.

“You don’t believe me, do you?”

She turned back to him. “I’m not exactly a lightweight.”

His mouth curved in a cocky grin that looked strange on Bird Dog Caliber’s face. “Hey, Johnny Guy!” he called over his shoulder. “Give us a few minutes, will you? Flower Power here thinks she’s got me beat.”

“Flower Power!”

He grabbed her arm and propelled her none-too-gently around the side of the house away from the crew. When they were ankle-deep in weeds, he let her go. “I’ve got ten bucks says you can’t knock me over again.”

She shoved a hand on her bare hip and tried to look like she wasn’t nineteen and scared to death. “I’m not getting into a wrestling match with you.”

“Glitter Baby worried about messing up her hair? Or are you afraid you’ll knock me down again and win the bet?”

“I know I’ll win the bet,” she shot back.

“We’ll have to see about that. Ten bucks, Flower. Put up or shut up.”

He was baiting her on purpose, but she didn’t care. All she wanted to do was wipe that stupid smirk off his stupid mouth. “Make it twenty.”

“I’m scared, Flower. Real scared.” He moved back and braced himself. A lot of good it would do him.

She glared at him. “I hope you have a good doctor.”

“So far all you’ve got is talk.”

“Don’t you think this is just a little juvenile?”

“Glitter Baby’s chickening out. She’s afraid she’s going to hurt herself.”

“That’s it!” She dug her feet into the sandy ground, pumped her arms, and charged him.

It was like hitting a wall.

The impact would have sent her to the ground if he hadn’t caught her. Instead he held her tightly against him. A few seconds ticked by as she tried to catch her breath, then she jerked away. Her chin hurt where she’d bumped it against his shoulder, and her shoulder throbbed. “This is stupid.” She started to stomp away.

“Hey, Flower.” He ambled forward with his worn-out cowboy gait and reined in next to her. “Is that really the best you can do? Or are you afraid of getting that skimpy white bikini dirty again?”

She looked at him incredulously. Her ribs ached, her
chin was killing her, and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. “You’re crazy.”

“Double or nothing. And this time get farther back.”

She rubbed her shoulder. “I think I’ll pass.”

He laughed. It was almost a nice sound. “Okay, I’ll let you off. But you owe me twenty bucks.”

He looked so smug that she actually opened her mouth to take him up on his challenge. Fortunately her common sense kicked in. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, he’d done a nice thing for her. They began walking back around the house together. “You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you,” she said.

“Hey, I’m a boy genius. Read the critics. Any of them. They’ll tell you.”

She looked up at him and curled her mouth in a fake-sweet smile. “Glamour girls don’t know how to read. We just look at the pictures.”

He laughed and walked away.

They did the scene in the next take, and Johnny Guy said it was exactly what he wanted, but Fleur’s brief moment of satisfaction disappeared as he rehearsed them for the following scene. While Lizzie was still in Matt’s arms, she was supposed to give him a sisterly kiss. They exchanged a few lines of dialogue, then Lizzie kissed him again, but this time it wasn’t supposed to be sisterly. Matt would pull away confused while the camera showed him trying to take in the changes since he had last seen her.

Jake continued joking around with her, refusing to go to work until she’d handed over twenty bucks. He made her laugh, and she handled the sisterly kiss without a problem. But her dialogue delivery was stiff and required too many takes. Still, Lizzie couldn’t have been all that comfortable, either, and it wasn’t a complete disaster. When they broke for lunch, Jake pulled on her braid as if
she were ten years old and told her not to beat up anybody while he was gone.

After lunch, they shot some close-ups, and by the time they were done, she’d perspired through her third shirt. The wardrobe people started sewing in dress shields.

The second kiss was up next, and she knew she was going to have trouble. She’d kissed men on camera and a few of them off camera, too, but she didn’t want to kiss Jake Koranda, not because he was being a hard-ass—he was going out of his way to be friendly—but because something weird had started happening to her when she got too close to him.

The assistant director called for her. Jake was already in place talking to Johnny Guy. While Johnny Guy explained the shot, she stared at Jake’s mouth, that soft, sulky, baby’s pout. He caught her at it and looked at her funny. She yawned and gazed at her bare wrist.

“Does the Glitter Baby have a hot date waiting?” he asked.

“Always,” she said.

Johnny Guy turned to her. “What we need here, honey lamb, is a real open-mouth tonsil bouncer. Lizzie’s got to wake Matt up.”

She gave him a grin and a thumbs-up. “Gotcha.” The butterflies in her stomach started a war dance. She wasn’t the greatest kisser in the world. But how could she be when she hardly ever got to go out with someone she actually liked?

Jake put his arms around her. She felt his hands flatten against the bare skin just above her bikini bottom and realized she’d spent most of the day crawling over his body in one way or another.

“Your feet, honey,” Johnny Guy said.

She looked down. They were as big as ever.

“A little closer, baby lamb.”

That’s when she saw what she’d done. Although her chest was pressed against Jake’s, she’d pulled her bottom half as far away as she could. She quickly adjusted herself.
With his shoes and her bare feet, he was about four inches taller. That was weird, and she didn’t like it.

This is Matt
, she told herself, as Johnny Guy moved behind the cameras.
You’ve been with other men, but Matt is the one you want.

Johnny Guy called for action and she ran her fingers over the front of Matt’s uniform. Closing her eyes, she touched her lips to his soft, warm ones. She held them there, trying to think about Matt and Lizzie.

Johnny Guy was less than impressed. “You didn’t put too much into that one, honey. Let’s try it again.”

During the next take, she moved her hands up and down the sleeves of Matt’s uniform. Jake yawned when the scene was over and looked at his watch. Something told her it wasn’t because he was nervous.

Johnny Guy took her aside. “Forget about the people watching you. All they’re thinking about is getting home for dinner. Relax. Lean into him a little more.”

She talked to herself all the way back to her mark. This was nothing more than a technical piece of business, just like opening a door. She had to relax. Relax, damn it!

She thought the next kiss was better, but apparently she was the only one. “Do you think you could open your mouth a little, honey lamb?” Johnny Guy said.

Muttering to herself, she stepped back into Jake’s arms and then glanced up to see if he’d overheard her. “Sorry, kiddo, but I can’t help you out,” he said. “I’m the passive party here.”

“I don’t need help.”

“My mistake.”

“Like I’d need help.”

“Whatever you say.”

Johnny Guy called for action. She did her best, but when the kiss was over, Jake rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re putting me to sleep, Flower Power. Want me to ask Johnny Guy for a break so we can go behind the house and practice?”

“I’m a little nervous, that’s all. It’s my first day. And I’m not doing another practice session with you without a helmet and knee pads.”

He grinned and then, unexpectedly, leaned down to whisper in her ear. “I got a twenty-dollar bill says you can’t wake me up, Flower.”

It was the sexiest, most devastating, bedroomiest whisper she’d ever heard.

The next take was better, and Johnny Guy said to print it, but Jake told her she owed him another twenty bucks.

Belinda was waiting
on the patio when Fleur got home from the studio. She hadn’t seen her in almost two weeks. Belinda looked fresh and pretty in a sleeveless red and yellow batik print top and belted linen slacks. Fleur gave her a bear hug, then inspected her face. “No pox marks.”

“Do I look good enough to make them wish they’d noticed me when I was eighteen?”

“You’re going to break their hearts.”

Belinda shuddered. “Chicken pox was a horrible experience. I don’t recommend it.” She kissed Fleur again. “I missed you so much, baby.”

“Me, too.”

They ate by the pool on pottery plates generously heaped with Fleur’s favorite salad, a tangy mixture of shrimp, pineapple, and fresh watercress. Fleur filled Belinda in on most of the events of the last week, but, even though she normally told her mother everything, she held back when the subject turned to Jake. By the end of their second day of shooting, which was Monday, she’d decided she’d misjudged him. He teased her and called her “Flower Power,” but he also seemed to be looking out for her. By Tuesday,
she’d decided she sort of liked him. By Wednesday, she knew for sure she liked him, and by lunchtime today, she’d realized she had a tiny little crush on him, something she had to make sure Belinda didn’t discover or she’d never hear the end of it. So when her mother pressed her about him, Fleur only told the story of how she’d knocked him over the first day and how great he’d been about it.

Belinda reacted predictably. “I knew he’d be like that. He’s one of the biggest names in film, but he understood how embarrassed you were. He’s like Jimmy, all rough on the outside, but sweet and sensitive inside.”

Belinda’s conviction that Jake embodied all the qualities of her beloved James Dean irritated Fleur. “He’s a lot taller. And they don’t look anything alike.”

“They have the same quality, baby. Jake Koranda is a rebel, too.”

“You haven’t even
met
him. He’s not like anybody else. At least he’s not like anybody I’ve ever known.” Belinda gave her a funny, fishy look, and she shut up.

Mrs. Jurado, the housekeeper, who’d turned out to be sixty and loved showing off her double-jointed thumb, stepped out on the patio and plugged in the phone she was carrying. “It’s Mr. Savagar.” Fleur reached over to take it, but Mrs. Jurado shook her head. “For Mrs. Savagar.”

Belinda gave Fleur a puzzled shrug, tugged off her earring, and picked up the receiver. “What is it, Alexi?” She tapped her fingernails on the glass tabletop. “What do you expect me to do about it? No, of course he hasn’t called me. Yes. Yes, all right. Yes, I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

“What’s wrong?” Fleur asked after Belinda had hung up.

“Michel disappeared from the clinic. Alexi wanted to know if he’d contacted me.” Belinda clipped her earring back on. “It must be obvious, even to your father, that he gave away the wrong child. My daughter is beautiful and successful. His son is a homosexual weakling.”

Michel was Belinda’s son, too, and Fleur lost her appetite. As much as she still resented him, Belinda’s attitude felt wrong.

Several months ago, gossip had surfaced that Michel was engaged in a long-term affair with a married man who was well-known in Parisian society. The man had suffered a fatal heart attack after the disclosure, and Michel attempted suicide. Fleur was accustomed to the open homosexuality of the fashion world and couldn’t believe the fuss everybody was making. Alexi refused to let Michel return to his Massachusetts school and locked him away in a private clinic in Switzerland. Fleur tried to feel sorry for Michel—she did feel sorry for him—but some ugly, unforgiving part of her found a terrible justice in Michel finally being the outcast.

“Aren’t you going to eat the rest of your salad?” Belinda asked.

“I’m not hungry anymore.”

The stench of Dick Spano’s cigar filled the projection room, along with a lingering onion odor from the rubble of fast-food containers. Tonight Jake was watching two weeks’ worth of rushes from the back row. As an actor, he never did this, but as a fledgling screenwriter he knew he had to see how his dialogue was working so he could think about what might need to be rewritten.

“You nailed it there, Jako,” Johnny Guy said in response to the first exchange of dialogue between Matt and Lizzie. “You’re one hell of a writer. Don’t know why you waste your time with those New York theater types.”

“They feed my ego.” Jake kept his eyes on the screen as Lizzie began to kiss Matt. “Damn.”

The men watched one cut after another of the kiss.

“It’s not bad,” Dick Spano offered at the end.

“She’s on the right track,” Johnny Guy said.

“It sucks.” Jake finished his Mexican beer and set the
bottle on the floor. “She’s okay up to the kiss, but she’s never going to be able to handle the heavier stuff.”

“Stop being so negative. She’ll do fine.”

“It’s not in her to handle Lizzie. Fleur’s feisty, and she puts up a hell of a good front, but she grew up in a convent, for God’s sake.”

“It wasn’t a convent,” Dick said. “It was a convent school. There’s a difference.”

“It’s more than that. She’s sophisticated, but she isn’t worldly. She’s traveled all over the world, and I’ve never met a kid her age who’s so well-read—she talks about philosophy and politics like a European. But she seems to have been living her life inside some kind of glass bubble. Her handlers have kept a tight rein on her. She doesn’t have any ordinary life experience, and she’s not a good enough actress to hide that.”

Johnny Guy peeled the wrapper from a Milky Way. “She’ll come through. She’s a hard worker, and the camera loves her.”

Jake slumped in his seat and watched. Johnny Guy was right about one thing. The camera did love her. That big face illuminated the screen, along with those knockout chorus-girl legs. She wasn’t conventionally graceful, but he found something appealing about her long, strong stride.

Still, her odd naïveté was a far cry from Lizzie’s manipulative sexuality. In the final love scene, Lizzie had to dominate Matt so that his last illusions about her innocence are ripped away. Fleur went through the motions, but he’d seen women go through the motions all his life, and this kid didn’t ring true.

It had been a long day, and he rubbed his eyes. This film’s success was more important to him than anything he’d done. He’d written a couple of screenplays, but they’d ended up in the wastebasket. With
Sunday Morning Eclipse
, he was finally satisfied. Not only did he believe an audience existed for thoughtful films, but he also wanted to play a part where he could use more than two facial expres
sions, although he doubted he’d ever win any awards for his acting.

It had happened so fast. He’d written his first play in Vietnam when he was twenty. He’d worked on it in secret and finished it not long before he was shipped home. After he’d been released from a San Diego military hospital, he rewrote it, then mailed it to New York the day he was discharged. Forty-eight hours later, an L.A. casting agent spotted him and asked him to read for a small part in a Paul Newman Western. He’d been signed the next day, and a month later, a New York impresario called to talk about producing the play he’d sent off. Jake had finished the film and caught a red-eye east.

That experience marked the beginning of his hectic double life. The producer staged his play. Jake received little money, but a lot of glory. The studio liked his screen performance and offered him a bigger part. The money was too good for a kid from the wrong side of Cleveland to turn down. He began to juggle. West Coast for money, East Coast for love.

He signed on for the first Caliber picture and began a new play. Bird Dog buried the studio under an avalanche of fan mail, and the play won the Pulitzer. He thought about quitting Hollywood, but the play had earned less than half of what he could get for his next picture. He made the picture, and he’d been making them ever since, one after the other. No regrets—or at least not very many.

He returned his concentration to the screen. Despite the way he teased Flower Power about being a glamour girl, she didn’t seem to care much about her appearance. She didn’t look into a mirror unless she had to, and even then she never spent an extra second admiring herself. Fleur Savagar was more complicated than he’d expected.

Part of his problem with her was that she didn’t look anything like the real Liz, who’d been petite and brunette. When he and Liz had walked across campus, she’d needed to take two steps to his one. He remembered looking up
into the stands when he was playing basketball and seeing her shiny dark hair caught back with the silver clip he’d bought her. All that naïve, romantic bullshit.

He couldn’t handle any more memories or he’d start hearing Creedence Clearwater and smelling napalm. He headed for the door. On the way, his foot caught the empty beer bottle, and he sent it crashing into the wall.

The morning after her arrival in L.A., Belinda waited at the back of the soundstage while Fleur was in makeup. Finally she heard his footsteps. The years slipped away. She was eighteen again, standing at the counter of Schwab’s drugstore. She half expected him to pull a crumpled pack of Chesterfields from the pocket of his uniform jacket. Her heart began to pound. The slouch of his shoulders, the dip of his head—a man is his own man. Bad Boy James Dean.

“I love your movies.” She stepped forward, neatly blocking his path. “Especially the Caliber pictures.”

He gave her a crooked smile. “Thanks.”

“I’m Belinda Savagar, Fleur’s mother.” She extended her hand. As he took it, she felt dizzy.

“Mrs. Savagar. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Please. Call me Belinda. I want to thank you for being so nice to Fleur. She told me how you’ve helped her.”

“It’s hard at first.”

“But not everyone is kind enough to ease the way.”

“She’s a good kid.”

He was getting ready to move away, so she set the tips of her manicured fingers on his sleeve. “Forgive me if I’m being presumptuous, but Fleur and I would like to thank you properly. We’re tossing some steaks on the grill Sunday afternoon. Nothing fancy. Strictly Indiana backyard cookout.”

His eyes skimmed over her navy Yves Saint Laurent tunic and white gabardine trousers. She could see he liked what he saw. “You don’t look like you’re from Indiana.”

“Hoosier born and bred.” She favored him with a mischievous look. “We’re lighting the charcoal around three.”

“I’m afraid I’m tied up Sunday,” he said, with what sounded like genuine regret. “Could you hold that charcoal for a week?”

“I just might be able to do that.”

As he smiled and walked away, she knew she’d done it exactly right, the same way she’d have done it for Jimmy. Cold beer, potato chips served in the bag, and hide the Perrier. God, she missed real men.

The following weekend, Fleur glared down at her mother. Belinda lay on a lounge at the side of the pool, her white bikini and gold ankle bracelet glimmering against her oiled body, her eyes closed beneath oversized tortoiseshell sunglasses. It was five minutes past three on Sunday afternoon. “I can’t believe you did this. I really can’t! I haven’t been able to look him in the eye since you told me. You put him in a horrible position, not to mention me. The last thing he wants to do on his only day off is come here.”

Belinda spread her fingers so she could tan between them. “Don’t be silly, baby. He’s going to have a wonderful time. We’ll see to it.”

Exactly what Belinda had been saying ever since she told Fleur she’d invited Jake for a Sunday cookout. Fleur grabbed the leaf net and marched to the edge of the pool. It was bad enough she had to watch how she behaved around Jake all week. Now she had to do it on Sunday, too. If he ever suspected she had this dumb crush on him…

She began skimming the pool for leaves. What had started as a tiny crush was getting bigger by the day. Fortunately she was smart enough to know this didn’t have anything to do with two hearts beating as one. What it had to do with was sex. She’d finally met a man who made her go weak-kneed with lust. But why did it have to be
this
man?

No matter what, she wouldn’t act stupid today. She
wouldn’t stare at him, or talk too much, or laugh too loud. She’d ignore him, that’s what she’d do. Belinda had invited him, and Belinda could entertain him.

Her mother tilted up her sunglasses and eyed the snagged seat of Fleur’s oldest black tank. “I wish you’d change into one of your bikinis. That suit is dreadful.”

Jake stepped through the open French doors onto the patio. “Looks good to me.”

Fleur dropped the net and dived into the water. She’d worn her old black tank so Jake couldn’t lump her in with all those other women who drooled over him. Lynn called it the “Koranda Sex Effect.”

She touched the bottom, then came to the surface. He was sitting on the chaise next to Belinda. He wore baggy navy swim trunks, a gray athletic T-shirt, and a pair of running shoes that had seen better days. She’d already discovered he was only neat when was in costume. Otherwise he wore more ragged jeans and faded T-shirts than any man should own.

And he looked great in every one of them.

As he tilted back his head and laughed at something Belinda said, Fleur felt a flash of jealousy. Belinda knew exactly how to talk to a man. Fleur wished she could be like that, but the only men she found it easy to talk to were the ones she didn’t care about, like the actors and wealthy playboys Belinda and Gretchen wanted her to be seen with. She had almost no practice talking to a man she wanted to impress. She dived under again. If only she could have had her first lust-crush when she was sixteen like other girls. Why was she always such a late bloomer? And why did her first crush have to be on a famous playwright–movie star who had women hanging all over him?

She surfaced again in time to see Belinda swing her legs over the side of the chaise. “Fleur, come entertain Jake while I get a cover-up. I’m starting to burn.”

“Stay where you are, Flower. I’m coming in.” He pulled his T-shirt over his head, kicked off his shoes, and dived
into the pool. As he surfaced at the far end and swam toward her, she watched the play of muscles in his arms, the way the water streamed over his face and neck. He put his feet down next to her. His crooked-tooth grin was irresistible, and something inside her ached.