Going Down in La-La Land (27 page)

We were both enjoying a quiet night at home after the exhausting bump and grind of the holidays, equally pooped out. Sitting out on the balcony with Chardonnay in hand, I had been telling Candy how cool Regis Philbin and Kelly Ripa were on the New Year’s broadcast when the subject of Zinnia came up. I hadn’t yet mentioned Zinnia to Candy, which was surprising given that Zinnia was exactly the kind of tragic figure we could share a more than a few laughs over.

“
I would have liked to have spoken more to Kelly Ripa if it weren’t for John’s beard for the night, this monument to plastic surgery named Zinnia. She just wouldn’t shut up,” I muttered.

“
No!” Candy yelled, startling me.

“
No what?” I asked, completely perplexed.

“
He does not date her!” she stated in disbelief.

“
Yes, they’ve known each other for about a year now, met through acquaintances. You know something I don’t know?”

“
Do I ever,” Candy said with suspense, setting up one of her stories.

“
What have you heard?” I asked eagerly.

“
It’s not what I’ve heard. It’s what I experienced with her.”

Candy proceeded to tell me a story which left me disliking Zinnia much more then I had before, if I thought it at all possible.

“
It all started one day at the gym, when I kept making eyes with this gorgeous six-foot-two muscular baby-faced stud and supposed Diesel Model,” Candy began. “Afterwards I went to get a manicure and pedicure. At the salon this woman asks me if I go to the Workout Warehouse, where I belonged at the time. The woman was a sultry brunette in her late forties who had seen better days. Her tits were huge and it appeared as though she had some other work done, which I guess in LA is pretty much expected. But what stood out about her the most was that she had a dark complexion yet wore this weird yellow-green foundation on her face that was way too light for her skin.”

“
Yes! That’s her!” I interrupted, getting all excited. “She does wear greenish foundation!” Then, making a confounded expression and straying from the subject at hand I asked, “I wonder why she wears it anyway? It really bugs me.”

“
Because she’s a fucking idiot,” Candy quipped. “So back to my story. At that point I had no clue who the hell she was. But it turned out that she was friends with the hot guy at the gym, and proceeded to let me know that he had told her how gorgeous he thought I was. Then she introduced herself, and I never would have guessed it was her. In addition to looking a lot older, she was so squat and short.”

“
No kidding!” I agreed. “She has the build of a gnome. So go on.”

“
But that makes sense. I mean what’s his name is notoriously short,” observed Candy, referring to the quarterback who gave Zinnia her movie role.

“
So she asks me if I am going to the Midsummer Nights Dream party at the Playboy mansion. I told her I was. ‘Well, you have to come with me and my friends in my limo!’ she insists. So not having many girlfriends, I was happy to be invited and looking forward to

meeting some new faces. She gives me directions to her condo and a time to come over.”

I was sure this was going somewhere crazy. If it involved Candy, chances were one hundred to one that there is a wacky scenario to unfold.

“
So the night of the party I put on a peach-pink Grecian girl costume, apply my makeup, and go to Zinnia’s,” Candy continued. “Back at the salon she had asked me if I’d ever been in the pages of
Playboy.
I told her I sent in photos in the past but all I ever got back was a form letter. So she told me to bring over some photos, and she would personally pass one on to Hef. I arrive at seven-thirty and find a blonde television actress and a guy who is supposedly Zinnia’s fiancé. Also there was a local designer and a few sluttish-looking chicks, but what threw me off were these two fat guys who didn’t seem to belong there at all.

“
Everyone wanted to take a look at my photos, and after they had all been passed around they narrowed the choice to one. Zinnia put it in an envelope with a note and off we go to the Playboy mansion.”

Candy paused for a moment to take a sip of wine. I was wondering where the hell this story would end up.

“
We all cram into the limo, with the two fat guys sitting in the middle. During the drive it’s revealed to me that these men had apparently paid Zinnia ten thousand dollars just to sneak them into a party at the Playboy mansion. As we drive up to the gate it dawns on me why I’m really there: to serve as a cover and bait to the front guard. I was right by the window along with the other blonde chick, which makes sense because it’s widely known the security at the mansion likes blondes. Zinnia was counting on us being there so the limo could get in without being checked. Sure enough we got passed in.”

“
You are kidding me!” I said in astonishment. “What a desperate scam, charging people to sneak them into a party. Now I’ve heard it all.”

“
Yup,” Candy said, nodding her head with conviction. “You know what’s even sicker? When we get inside she turns around and tells me we should do lunch someday, and leaves me for the rest of the night. I never saw her or spoke to her again. I ended up having to hitch a ride home with someone else. So there you have it. You know what pisses

me off the most? The bitch never gave me back my pictures. It’s not as if Hugh Hefner ever saw them.”

“
What a skank,” I said while shaking my head in disbelief at her Playboy party scheme. “She is so repulsive. What the hell is John doing with her?”

“
Oh she’s so phony, Adam, he probably has no clue,” Candy said. “When she wants something she is ever so charming and gracious, but as soon as she gets it from you, you’re dropped on the ground faster than a hot potato.”

I sat brooding for a moment about how I was going to bring the matter up with John about the one-named snake and her green-yellow foundation. In a way, John was using Zinnia too. As long as she got her gifts and perks, she seemed just fine with it.

I decided I wasn’t going to worry about it. I had stressed enough the past few months. For now, I just wanted to enjoy my life and the amazing opportunities that had just appeared. And even though things got ugly at HUNG Video toward the end, I had no regrets. Without HUNG Video I never would have met John Vastelli. My sexy stint in porn had opened up a whole new world for me.

“
Hey, let’s put in a Mae West movie!” I suggested to Candy.

“
Hey, big boy,” Candy swaggered with her hand on one hip and the other puffing up her hair in her best Mae West impersonation, “I love the idea. Why don’t you come up and see me some time?”

The weeks following were bliss. I truly realized in LA its all about who you know and what you do. My job put me in touch with a whole new class of people that I just wouldn’t have gotten to know beforehand. I had practically moved in with John, spending half my time there and the other half at Candy’s. It was really perfect that way. Even though when John was on the set during the days when I worked with him and he rarely had twenty seconds, having Candy’s place ensured we had time apart so we wouldn’t crowd each other.

At times it was difficult carrying on such a covert relationship. I had to be careful of what I said around him in public, keeping our communication completely emotionally detached and strictly business. But at the same time, it added to our passion. At night John could let it all go, his whole facade, his whole image, his whole act. And he released his tension through sex, which seemed to get more enjoyable as time went on. John had lost a lot of shyness, taking more control.

Life was good. Traveling among the most powerful people in town while picking up papers at William Morris or bringing items to the studio lot, coasting around LA in John’s brand new Range Rover. I followed him at functions where stars the likes of Jennifer Aniston, Halle Berry, and Tom Cruise stood next to me sipping cocktails. Of course, John always had a date with him. I always looked forward to it when it was Olivia. The three of us would laugh and cut it up in the limo. But on the public occasions when he took Zinnia along, I dreaded her company. She always treated me as if I weren’t present and name-dropped the whole time, laughing in her shrill and pretentious manner.

“
I was at the Ivy today, and Jennifer Lopez was sitting right next to us,” She would gloat. “We got into this thirty-minute conversation because we share the same Pilates instructor.”

I wanted to smash her overly made-up olive green face through the car window.

I hadn’t told John about Candy’s experience with Zinnia yet. I didn’t want to appear meddlesome or jealous. Although when he walked down the red carpet arm in arm with her I had to suppress the urge to keep my fist from knocking her straight into Joan and Melissa Rivers. When Zinnia saw an
E Television, Entertainment Tonight, Access Hollywood,
or other major network camera she took charge, practically dragging John in front of Jan Carl or the Rivers duo. It was like watching a greedy child go berserk at an Easter egg hunt.

“
Somebody shoot her with a tranquilizer,” I muttered under my breath at one such event.

A successful and famous actress who, unlike Zinnia, had survived the 1980s overheard me and laughed, “She’s still trying to stretch those fifteen minutes, even twenty years after the fact, huh?” then winked and disappeared down the red carpet, leaving me surprised and amused.

One night after going to dinner with John and a group of colleagues, including Zinnia, I could hold my tongue no more. She dominated the conversation the whole evening, talking about nothing and turning what would have been an otherwise dynamic and charming evening into one massive migraine. She even got up and left the table a few times to show she knew people at other tables. As soon she came back she took over where she left off, blabbing incessantly about this person or that person, the best restaurants, stores, or whatever other crap came flying out of her mouth. I should have introduced her to Stephen and Sarah. They would have gotten along famously.

“
I don’t know how you can stand her. She is so obnoxious,” I told John when we got home. “She never shuts up and gives anyone else a chance to speak, except when the topic turns to work because lord knows that’s foreign to her. And when you talk about the show she still has to open her mouth with drippy, ass-kissing compliments. Her nose is so brown no amount of yellow-green foundation can cover that up.”

“
She’s just very Hollywood, Adam. Besides, she’s entertaining,” John said dismissively.

“
Entertaining?” I repeated in dismay. “Exasperating is more like it. How did you ever get to know her anyways?”

“
I’ve known her for years, when I first came to town. Before I became famous,” John said quietly, almost cryptically as he looked straight ahead.

“
Well, there’s nothing wrong with seeing an old friend once in a while, but when they’re as overbearing as that—”

“
Adam, can we not talk about it!” John snapped, cutting me off and burying his head in his hands.

“
Sure,” I said somewhat stunned. “I’m sorry I said anything.”

“
Look,” John said bringing his head up and gazing into my eyes, “I don’t want to think about her right now. I want to think about you.” With that he kissed me. “Come on, lets go to bed,” he stood up, grabbed my hand, and led me to the bedroom.

A few nights later I was at Candy’s and we were sitting out on the balcony. I had run lines with John all night and he needed to read some scripts his agent had passed along, so I decided to leave him alone for the evening.

“
He just freaked out,” I told Candy as she lit up a cigarette. “It was the weirdest thing. I had never seen him flip out like that.”

“
Well it sounds like you definitely hit a raw nerve,” Candy said knowingly.

“
Do you think there’s blackmail going on?” I asked.

“
I don’t know,” Candy said as she put on her analytical face, brow furled, lips pursed together, and eyes squinted. “Knowing her, it’s a strong possibility. But if it were just that, why not just pay her off and keep her away?”

“
The limelight, the right parties,” I stated, “that’s the payoff.”

“
I don’t know,” Candy said dubiously. “There’s got to be more there. What surprises me is that he doesn’t have any shit on her. I’m sure the skeletons are just clawing to get out of her closet.”

“
Are you kidding? She probably wrote the line that any publicity is good publicity. A washed-up sex symbol with a dead career? Anything he could throw back at her would be an appearance on
Howard Stern,
money for a tabloid exclusive, and the talk show circuit.”

“
Not if it meant going to jail,” Candy sang sweetly.

“
What do you mean?” I asked.

“
Let’s just say I’ve heard drug rumors from other girls at the gym and around town. And I don’t mean using. I mean supplying. And the latter is rare in that it is one bit of publicity that is still not good, thank God. Nothing more pathetic, loser ridden, or shameful than going from television to dealing narcotics,” Candy said firmly.

“
If it’s true, maybe we can get her out of the picture for good,” I whispered hopefully.

“
I’ll do some digging around,” Candy winked. “I’m still pissed about not getting my pictures back. She probably sold them on the Internet.”