Glitter Baby (12 page)

“You got your hair wet,” he said. “I thought New York glamour girls only looked at the water.”

“Shows how much you know about New York glamour girls.” She dived under, but before she could get away, a hand grabbed her ankle and pulled her back. She sputtered to the surface.

“Hey!” he said with fake outrage. “I’m a hotshot movie star? Girls don’t swim away from me.”

“Maybe not ordinary girls, but hotshot glamour girls can do a lot better than an egghead screenwriter.”

He laughed, and she made it to the ladder before he could stop her.

“Not fair,” he called out. “You’re a better swimmer than I am.”

“I noticed. Your form stinks.”

But it didn’t stink bad enough to keep him from climbing up the ladder right after her. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Flower Power, but you don’t seem all that happy to see me today.”

Maybe she was a better actress than she thought. She picked up a towel from a chair and wrapped herself in it. “Nothing personal,” she said. “I had a late night.” Because she’d stayed up reading his plays. “I’m also a little worried about the scene I have with you and Lynn tomorrow.” More than a little. She was panicked.

“Let’s go for a run and talk about it.”

She’d been running nearly every day since she came to L.A., and he couldn’t have suggested a better way for her to work off some of her nervous energy. “Good idea.”

“Mind if I steal your little girl for a while?” Jake called out to Belinda, who’d just returned to the patio wearing her lacy cover-up. “I need to make room for those steaks.”

“Go ahead,” Belinda replied with a gay wave. “And don’t hurry back. I’ve got a new Jackie Collins I’m dying to cuddle up with.”

Jake made a face. Fleur smiled and hurried inside to change into shorts and running shoes. As she sat on the side of the bed to tie her laces, the book she’d been reading dropped to the floor. She looked down at the page she’d marked just that morning.

A critic in the next paragraph said it more plainly:

She’d been reading Jake’s plays as well as a few scholarly articles about his work. She’d also done some research on his social life, which wasn’t as easy because of his obsession with privacy. Still, she’d discovered he seldom dated the same woman more than a few times.

She met him at the end of the driveway where he was stretching his hamstrings. “Think you can keep up, Flower, or should I get a stroller for you?”

“That’s so weird. I was getting ready to bring out a wheelchair.”

“Ouch.”

She grinned, and they took off at an easy trot. Since it was Sunday, the army of gardeners who kept the unused front lawns of Beverly Hills immaculate was absent, and
the street looked even more deserted than usual. She tried to think of something interesting to say. “I’ve seen you shooting baskets by the parking lot. Lynn told me you played in college.”

“I play a couple of times a week now. It helps clear my head to write.”

“Aren’t playwrights supposed to be intellectuals instead of jocks?”

“Playwrights are poets, Flower, and that’s what basketball is. Poetry.”

And that’s what you are
, she thought.
A dark and complicated piece of erotic poetry.
She had to be careful not to trip over her feet. “I like basketball, but it doesn’t exactly fit my idea of poetry.”

“You ever hear of a guy named Julius Erving?”

She shook her head and picked up the pace so he couldn’t accuse her of holding him back.

He altered his rhythm. “They call Erving ‘The Doctor.’ He’s a young player with the New York Nets, and he’s going to be one of the best. Not just good, you understand—but one of the best basketball players who ever lived.”

Fleur mentally added Julius Erving to her reading list.

“Everything the Doc does on the court is poetry. Laws of gravity disappear when he moves. He flies, Flower. Men aren’t supposed to fly, but Julius Erving does. That’s poetry, kiddo, and that’s what makes me write.”

He suddenly looked uncomfortable, as if he’d revealed too much about himself. Out of the corners of her eyes, she saw the shutters slam over his face. “Let’s pick up the pace,” he said with a growl. “We might as well be walking.”

Not because of her. She shot ahead of him and cut over to a paved bike path, stretching her legs and pushing herself. He caught up with her, and before long, patches of sweat had broken out on both their T-shirts. “Tell me about your problem with the scene tomorrow,” he finally said.

“It’s kind of…hard to explain.” She was out of breath, and she sucked in more air. “Lizzie…seems so calculating.”

He slowed the pace for her. “She is. A calculating bitch.”

“But even though she resents DeeDee, she loves her…and she knows how DeeDee feels about Matt.” She filled her lungs. “I can understand why she’s attracted to him—why she wants to…go to bed with him—but I don’t understand her being so calculating about it.”

“It’s the history of womankind. Nothing like a man to break up the friendship of two women.”

“That’s crap.” She thought of her earlier stab of jealousy toward Belinda and didn’t like herself for it. “Women have better things to do than fight over some guy who probably isn’t worth anything in the first place.”

“Hey, I’m the one who’s defining reality around here. You’re only the mouthpiece.”

“Writers.”

He smiled, and she fortified herself with more air. “DeeDee seems more…complete than Lizzie. She has strengths and weaknesses. You want to comfort her and shake her at the same time.” She stopped just short of saying that DeeDee was better written, even though it was true.

“Very good. You read the script.”

“Don’t patronize me. I have to play the part, and I don’t understand her. She bothers me.”

Jake picked up the pace again. “She’s supposed to bother you. Look, Flower, from what I understand you led a pretty sheltered life until a couple of years ago. Maybe you’ve never experienced anyone like Lizzie, but a woman like that leaves tooth marks in a man.”

“Why?”

“Who cares? It’s the end effect that matters.”

Her lust-crush didn’t keep her from getting angry with him. “You don’t say ‘who cares’ about your other characters. Why do you say it about Lizzie?”

“I guess you’ll have to trust me.” He pulled ahead of her.

“Why should I trust you?” she called out after him. “Because you’ve got a big Pulitzer, and all I have are
Cosmo
covers!”

He slowed his stride. “I didn’t say that.” They’d reached a small park as empty as the rest of the neighborhood. “Let’s walk for a while.”

“You don’t have to babysit me.” She hated the sulky note in her voice.

“Let’s have it out,” he said, as he slowed. “Are you pissed about Lizzie or about the fact that you know I didn’t want to cast you?”

“You’re the one defining reality. Take your pick.”

“Let’s talk about casting, then.” He picked up the tail of his T-shirt and wiped his face. “You’re beautiful on screen, Flower. Your face is magic, and you’ve got knockout legs. Johnny Guy’s been adjusting the shooting script every night to add more close-ups. The man gets tears in his eyes watching you in the rushes.” He smiled at her, and she could feel some of her anger dissolving. “You’re also a great kid.”

A
kid.
That hurt.

“You listen to other people’s opinions, you work hard, and I’ll bet you don’t have a malicious bone in your body.”

She thought about Michel and knew that wasn’t true.

“That’s why I had misgivings about you playing Lizzie. She’s a carnivore. The whole concept is foreign to your nature.”

“I’m an actress, Jake. Part of acting is playing a role different from yoursef.” She felt like a hypocrite. She wasn’t an actress. She was a fake, a girl whose freak-show body was mysteriously transformed by the camera into something beautiful.

He ran his fingers through his hair, making it stand up in little spikes along one side. “Lizzie is a hard character for me to talk about. She’s based on a girl I used to know. We were married a long time ago.”

Was Jake, the Greta Garbo of male actors, going to confide in her? Not willingly. He looked angry at having revealed even that small amount of personal history. “What was she like?” she asked.

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “It’s not important.”

“I want to know.”

He took a few steps, then stopped. “She was a man-eater. Ground me up between her pretty little teeth and spit me out.”

The stubbornness that had caused her so much trouble in the past took over. “But there had to have been something that made you fall in love with her.”

He started walking again. “Lay off.”

“I need to know.”

“I said lay off. She was a great fuck, okay?”

“Is that all?”

He stopped and spun on her. “That’s all. Thousands of satisfied customers found happiness between her legs, but the Slovak kid from Cleveland was too ignorant to figure that out, and he lapped her up like a puppy dog!”

His pain hit her like a slap. She touched his arm. “I’m sorry. Really.” He pulled his arm away, and as they ran back to the house in silence, Fleur wondered what kind of person his former wife had been.

Jake’s thoughts were following a similar path. He’d met Liz at the beginning of his freshman year in college. He’d been on the way home from basketball practice when he’d wandered into a rehearsal at the university theater building. She was onstage, the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen, a tiny, dark-haired kitten. He asked her out that same night, but she told him she didn’t date jocks. Her resistance made her even more appealing, and he began hanging out at the theater building between practices. She continued to ignore him. He discovered she was taking a playwriting class the next semester, and he fast-talked his way past the prerequisites into the same class. It changed his life.

He wrote about the men he’d met when he was doing odd jobs in Cleveland’s blue-collar bars. The Petes and Vinnies who’d gradually taken the place of the father he didn’t have, the men who asked him about his schoolwork, and laid into him for cutting class, and one night, when they found out he’d been picked up by the police for trying to steal a car, took him into the alley behind the bar and taught him the meaning of tough love.

The words poured out of him, and the professor was impressed. Even more important, he’d finally drawn Liz’s attention. Because her family was wealthy, his poverty fascinated her. They read Gibran together and made love. He began letting down the walls he’d built around himself. Before he knew it, they’d decided to get married, even though he was only nineteen, and she was twenty. Her father threatened to cut off her allowance, so she told him she was pregnant. Daddy whisked them to Youngstown for a fast ceremony, but when he found out the pregnancy was a sham, he stopped the checks. Jake lengthened his hours working at the town diner when he wasn’t in class or at basketball practice.

A new graduate student enrolled in the theater department, and when Jake came home, he found him sitting with Liz at the gray Formica kitchen table talking about the meaning of life. One night he walked in on them in bed. Liz cried and begged Jake to forgive her. She’d said she was lonely and not used to being poor. Jake forgave her.

Two weeks later he found her down on her knees working over one of his teammates. Her innocence, he discovered, had been shared with legions. He took the keys to her Mustang, headed for Columbus, and enlisted. The divorce papers reached him near Da Nang. Vietnam, coming so soon after Liz’s betrayal, had changed him forever.

When he’d written
Sunday Morning Eclipse
, Liz’s ghost had come back to haunt him. She’d sat on his shoulder whispering words of innocence and corruption. She’d
become Lizzie. Lizzie with her open, innocent face and the heart of a harlot. Lizzie, who bore no resemblance to the beautiful giant of a kid running beside him.

“I was wrong about you. You’re going to be a great Lizzie,” he said, not meaning it. “All you need is a little faith in yourself.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Absolutely.” He reached out and gave her hair a quick tug. “You’re a good kid, Flower Power. If I had a sister, I’d want her to be just like you. Except not such a smart-ass.”

Jake watched as
Belinda gradually won over every male on the set, from the lowliest crew member to Dick Spano to Jake himself. She was always there if someone needed her. She ran lines with the actors, joked with the grips, and rubbed away Johnny Guy’s stiff neck. She brought them all coffee, teased them about their wives and girlfriends, and pumped up their egos.

“The changes you made in DeeDee’s monologue were pure genius,” she told Jake in June, during the second month of shooting. “You dug deep.”

“Shucks, ma’am, it weren’t nothing.”

She regarded him earnestly. “I mean it, Jake. You nailed it. When she said, ‘I give up, Matt. I give up.’ I started to cry. You’re going to win an Oscar. I just know it.”

What touched him about Belinda’s enthusiasm was that she meant every overly effusive word. After a few moments with her, whatever bad mood he might have been carrying around vanished. She flirted shamelessly with him, soothed him, and made him laugh. Beneath the balm of her hyacinth-eyed adoration, he felt like a better actor, a better writer, and a less cynical man. She was fascinating, a worldly sophisticate with a child’s eager passion for every
thing bright and shiny. She helped make
Eclipse
one of the best sets he’d ever worked on.

“Years from now,” she proclaimed, “everyone here will be proud to tell the world they worked on
Eclipse.
”

No one disagreed.

Fleur dreaded going to work more each day. She hated hearing Jake and Belinda laugh. Why couldn’t she entertain him like her mother did? Being on the set was torture, and not just because of Jake. She hated acting even more than modeling. Maybe if she were better in her part, she wouldn’t feel so dispirited. Not that she was awful or anything, but she was the weak link in a great cast, and she’d never been satisfied with being anything but the bravest, the fastest, and the strongest.

Belinda predictably pushed aside her concerns. “You’re being way too hard on yourself, baby. It’s those awful nuns. They gave you overachiever’s syndrome.”

Fleur gazed across the set at Jake. He mussed her hair, dragged her out to shoot baskets with him, yelled at her if she argued with him, and treated her exactly like a kid sister. She wished she could talk to Belinda about her feelings for him, but her mother was the last person she could ever confide in about this.

Of course you’ve fallen in love with him,
Belinda would say.
How could you help it? He’s a great man, baby. Just like Jimmy.

She told herself she hadn’t exactly fallen in love, not eternal love, anyway. That had to work two ways, didn’t it? But her feelings had grown more complex than a lust-crush. Maybe she simply had an advanced case of puppy love. Unfortunately she’d directed it toward a man who treated her as though she were twelve.

One Friday evening, Dick Spano had a party catered to the set. Fleur put on three-inch heels and a crepe de chine sarong that she tied at the bust. Every man on the set no
ticed except for Jake. He was too busy talking to Belinda. Belinda never gave him a hard time, never challenged him. No wonder he loved being with her.

Fleur started counting the days until they left for location in Iowa. The sooner this picture was over, the sooner she could return to New York and forget about Jake Koranda. If only she could come up with a plan for what she wanted to do with her life once this was all behind her.

Dick Spano rented out a motel not far from Iowa City to house the actors and crew and to serve as the production’s command post. Fleur’s room had a pair of ugly lamps, worn orange carpeting, and a reproduction of
Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte
bolted to the wall. The painting’s cardboard center curled in like a potato chip. Belinda wrinkled her nose as she studied it. “Lucky you. I got fake Van Gogh sunflowers.”

“You didn’t have to come with me,” Fleur said more sharply than she should have.

“Don’t be cranky, darling. You know I couldn’t stay behind. After all those miserable years in Paris with nothing to do but drink, this had been a dream come true.”

Fleur gazed up from the stack of bras she was putting away in the bureau. Even in this drab hotel room, Belinda looked happy. And why shouldn’t she? Belinda was living out her dream. But this wasn’t Fleur’s dream. She fixed her eyes on the bras. “I’ve been…sort of thinking about what I want to do when this is over.”

“Don’t think too hard, darling. That’s what we pay Gretchen and your agent for.” Belinda rummaged through Fleur’s cosmetic case and pulled out a hairbrush. “We’re going to have to make a decision soon, though, about the Paramount project. It really is tempting. Parker’s sure it’s right for you, but Gretchen hates the script. One way or another, we need to close the Estee Lauder deal first.”

Fleur took a pair of running shoes from her suitcase and
tried to sound casual. “Maybe…we should wait awhile before we do anything. I wouldn’t mind taking some time off. We could travel, just the two of us. It’d be fun.”

“Don’t be silly, baby.” Belinda eyed her reflection in the mirror and fingered a lock of hair. “Maybe I should go lighter? What do you think?”

Fleur abandoned all pretense of unpacking. “I’d really like some time off. I’ve been working hard for three years, and I need a vacation. A chance to think some things over.”

She finally had Belinda’s complete attention. “Absolutely not.” Belinda slapped down the hairbrush. “Dropping out of sight now would be career suicide.”

“But…I want to take a break. It’s all happened so quickly. I mean, it’s been wonderful and everything, but…” Her words came out in a rush. “How do I know this is what I really want to do with my life?”

Belinda looked at her as if she’d gone crazy. “What more could you possibly want?”

Fleur couldn’t jump into another movie right away, and she hated the idea of more modeling, but she felt herself faltering. “I—I don’t know. I’m not sure.”

“You’re not sure? I guess it’s a little difficult to find something else to do when you’re already sitting on top of the world.”

“I’m not saying I want another career. I just…I just need some time to think about my choices. To make sure this is really what I want.”

Belinda turned into a cold, distant stranger. “Do you have something more exciting in mind than being the most famous model in the world? Something more glamorous than being a film star? What are you thinking about doing, Fleur? Do you want to be a secretary? Or a store clerk? Or how about a nurse’s aide? You could clean up vomit and scrub out bedpans. Is that good enough for you?”

“No, I—”

“Then what? What do you want?”

“I don’t know!” She sank down on the edge of the bed.

Her mother punished her with silence.

Misery welled inside her. “I’m just…confused,” she said in a small voice.

“You’re not confused. You’re spoiled.” Belinda’s scorn scraped her skin like rough steel wool. “You’ve had everything you could possibly want handed to you, and you haven’t had to work for any of it. Do you realize how immature you sound? It might be different if you had a goal, but you don’t even have that. When I was your age, I knew exactly what I wanted out of life, and I was willing to do anything to get it.”

Fleur felt herself wilt. “Maybe…Maybe you’re right.”

Belinda was angry, and she wouldn’t let her off so easily. “I never thought I’d say this, but I’m disappointed in you.” She crossed the sad orange carpet. “Think about what you’re planning to throw away, and when you’re ready to talk sensibly, come find me.” Without another word, she walked out.

Suddenly Fleur was a child again, back at the Couvent de l’Annonciation watching her mother disappear. She came up off the bed and rushed out into the hallway, but Belinda had vanished. Her palms got sweaty and her heart raced. She turned down the corridor and made her way to her mother’s room. No one answered when she knocked. She went back to her own room, but she couldn’t sit still.

She headed for the lobby and found it deserted except for a couple of crew members. Maybe Belinda had gone out to swim. But the only person around the small motel pool was a workman emptying the trash can. She went back into the lobby and spotted Johnny Guy. “Have you seen Belinda?”

He shook his head. “Maybe she’s in the bar.”

Her mother didn’t drink anymore, but Fleur had no place else to look.

Her eyes needed a moment to adjust to the dim light. She saw Belinda sitting at the corner table by herself, twirl
ing a swizzle stick in what looked like a tumbler of scotch. All the blood rushed from her head. After three years of sobriety, her mother had fallen off the wagon, and Fleur was responsible.

She dashed over to her. “What are you doing? Please don’t do this. I’m sorry.”

Belinda stabbed the swizzle stick toward the bottom of the glass. “I’m not feeling like the best of company right now. Maybe you’d better leave me alone.”

Fleur fell into the chair across from her. “You’ve been doing so great. Just because you have an ungrateful daughter doesn’t mean you should punish yourself. I need you too much.”

Belinda gazed into her drink. “You don’t need me, baby. Apparently I’ve been pushing you into things you don’t want.”

“That’s not true.”

Belinda looked up, and her eyes were awash in tears. “I love you so much. I only want what’s best for you.”

Fleur grabbed her mother’s hand. “It’s like you’ve always said. There’s a bond between us, as if we’re one person, not two.” Her voice grew choked. “Whatever makes you happy makes me happy. I’ve just been confused, that’s all.” She tried to smile. “Let’s go for a ride. We can make up our mind about Paramount.”

Belinda dipped her head. “Don’t resent me, baby. I couldn’t stand it if you resented me.”

“That’ll never happen. Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

Belinda gave her a watery smile and got up from her chair. Fleur bumped the edge of the table with her hip, and a little of Belinda’s drink sloshed over the rim. Only then did she notice how full the glass was. She stared at it for a moment. Belinda didn’t seem to have taken so much as a sip.

At the end of their first week in Iowa, Jake finally had a day off. He slept late, went for a run, then took a shower. He was just stepping out of the tub when he heard a knock. He tucked a towel around his hips and opened the door. Belinda stood on the other side.

She wore a simple blue and lavender wrap dress, and she dangled a white paper sack from her fingertips. “Want some breakfast?”

A feeling of inevitability came over him. Why the hell not? “Do you have coffee in there?”

“Strong and black.”

He gestured her in. She pulled the
DO NOT DISTURB
sign off the knob, hung it outside, then closed the door and withdrew two Styrofoam cups. As she handed his over, he smelled her perfume. She was one of the most fascinating women he’d ever met.

“Do you consider yourself a rebel, Jake?”

He peeled off the lid and dropped it in the wastebasket. “I guess I’ve never thought about it.”

“I think you are.” She sat in the room’s only chair and crossed her legs so that her skirt fell open over her knees. “You’re a rebel without a cause. A man who follows his own drummer. That’s one of the things that excites me about you.”

“There’s more?” He smiled, only to realize that she was perfectly serious.

“Oh yes. Do you remember when you were on the run in
Devil Slaughter
? I loved that. I love it when it’s just you against them. That’s the kind of picture Jimmy would have made if he hadn’t died.”

“Jimmy?” He tossed the pillows against the headboard and settled into them.

“James Dean. You’ve always reminded me of him.” She rose and came toward the bed. In the dim light of the room, her blue eyes bathed him in admiration. “I’ve been so lonely,” she whispered. “Would you like me to get undressed for you?”

He’d gotten sick of playing games, and her directness was refreshing. “That’s the best offer I’ve had in months.”

“I want to please you.” She sat on the side of the bed and leaned forward to kiss him. As their lips met, her hands clasped his shoulders and began stroking his arms. He kissed her more deeply and touched her breast through the silky fabric of the dress. She immediately pulled away and began unfastening her blouse.

“Hey, slow down,” he said gently.

She looked up at him, her eyes clouded with confusion. “Don’t you want to see me?”

“We’ve got all day.”

“I only want to please you.”

“That works two ways.” He pushed her beneath him and slipped his hand under her skirt.

When Belinda felt Jake’s hand on her thigh, she saw the scene in
Devil Slaughter
where Bird Dog tangled with the beautiful Englishwoman. She remembered how he’d pulled her off her horse into his arms, how he’d run his hands over her body searching for the knife he knew she carried. As Jake’s hand circled her thigh, she pretended he was searching her.

Her mouth fell open to his kisses…wonderful, deep kisses. She’d meant to undress for him, but he took off her clothes, one item at a time. It didn’t feel right seeing his face so close, so she shut her eyes again and visualized the way he looked on the screen.

Better. So much better…

She parted her legs to offer herself. His beard scraped her skin, deliciously hurting her. And then he stopped.

As Jake gazed at Belinda’s closed eyes, he knew he’d made a big mistake. She was completely passive, like some kind of vestal virgin offering herself up to the gods. The adoration she’d showered him with since they day they’d met
now felt faintly creepy. He could do whatever he wanted, but this was like making love to a blow-up doll.

Her eyes flickered open. He had the urge to wave his hands in front of her to see if she was still there. “Is something wrong?” she asked.

He told himself to do it and get it over with, but the image of Flower’s face popped into his head, and what had only seemed creepy now felt sordid. “Second thoughts,” he said, pulling away from her. “Sorry.”