Honey Moon (15 page)

Honey barely listened. She had done something terrible, but acknowledging that she was wrong stuck in her throat like a great lump of unchewed bread.

She began the slow process of justifying her actions. She was hardly ever wrong about anything, she told herself. Maybe she wasn't wrong about this.

Maybe Melanie was a troublemaker. She probably would have gotten herself fired anyway. But no matter how much she rationalized, she couldn't make the sick feeling inside her go away.

Ross left and she rushed toward her dressing room so she could be alone for a few minutes to think things over. But before she could get inside, she saw Liz Castleberry leaning in the open doorway of her own dressing room across the corridor. It was obvious from the disapproving expression on her face that her costar had heard everything.

"A word of advice, kiddo," she said quietly. "Don't screw people over. It'll come back to haunt you."

Honey felt as if she were being attacked from all sides, and she bristled. "Now isn't that funny. I can't seem to remember asking for your advice."

"Maybe you should."

"I suppose you're going to run to Ross."

"You're the one who should do that."

"Don't hold your breath."

"You're making a mistake," Liz replied. "I hope you figure that out before it's too late."

"Go to Ross," Honey said viciously. "But if Melanie shows up on this set, I'm walking!"

She went into her dressing room and slammed the door.

Melanie had a lot of friends on the set, and it didn't take long for word of her firing to spread. By the end of the week, Honey had become a pariah. The crew members only addressed her when they had to, and in retaliation Honey grew more demanding. She complained about her lines, her hair. She didn't like the lighting or the blocking.

The thought kept skittering through her mind that if she behaved badly enough, they'd have to pay attention to her, but Dash stopped talking to her completely, and Eric looked at her as if she were a slug leaving a slimy trail on the sidewalk of his life. Hatred joined the other complex feelings she held for him.

The following week, Arthur took her out to dinner. He'd heard about what had happened with Melanie, and he started giving her a big lecture about getting a reputation in the business for being difficult.

Instead of asking him to help her set things right, as she knew she should, she cut him off with a long recitation of all the slights she had suffered since her first day on the set. Then she told him that he could either take her side or she'd find another agent. He immediately backed off.

When she left the restaurant, she had the awful feeling that a devil had taken over her body. An internal voice whispered that she was turning into a spoiled Hollywood brat, just like a lot of the kid stars she had read about. She tried to repress it. Nobody understood her, and that was their problem, not hers. She told herself she should feel proud of the fact that she'd put her agent in his place, but as she got into her car, she was shaking, and she knew it wasn't pride she felt, but fear. Wasn't anybody going to stop her?

The next day she dropped by to see the writers. Not to talk to them. Hell, no, she wasn't going to talk to them. Just to sort of say hi.

9

The house sat all alone at the end of one of the murderously twisting narrow roads that wound through Topanga Canyon. The road had no guardrail, and the darkness, combined with a late November drizzle, made even as fearless a driver as Honey jumpy. She tried to work up some enthusiasm for her new house as it came into view around the final hairpin turn, but she hated its sweeping roof and stark contemporary lines as much as she hated its location.

Topanga Canyon was a far cry from Beverly Hills and the pretty little house she had loved so much. Every leftover hippie in Southern California lived here, along with packs of wild dogs that bred with the coyotes. But after seven months in Beverly Hills, Gordon still hadn't been able to paint, and so they had moved.

Honey was drooping with fatigue as she pulled into the drive. When they had lived in Beverly Hills, it had only taken her half an hour to get back and forth from the studio. Now she had to get up at five to be at work in time for a seven a.m. call, and at night, she rarely got home before eight.

Her stomach rumbled as she walked into the house. She wished that Chantal and Gordon would have dinner ready, but neither of them was good in the kitchen, and they usually waited till she came home to cook. She had hired four different housekeepers to take care of the cooking and cleaning, but they kept quitting.

She dragged herself into the great room that stretched across the back of the house, and as her eyes fell on Sophie and her new husband, the old adage about being careful what you wish for because you just might get it sprang into her mind.

"Mama's not feeling well," Chantal said, looking up from the issue of Cosmo she was thumbing through.

"Another one of my headaches." Sophie sighed from the couch. "And my throat is real scratchy. Buck, honey, could you turn down that TV?"

Buck Ochs, the amusement park's former handyman and Sophie's new spouse, was sprawled in the big recliner Honey had bought them for a wedding present, where he was eating Cheez Doodles and watching a swimsuit show on ESPN.

He obediently reached for the remote control and pointed it toward the big-screen TV Honey had bought for them.

"Look at the busts on that one, Gordon. Man-oh-man."

Unlike Sophie, Buck had been more than willing to leave the decaying amusement park for the riches of LaLa Land, and the two of them had shown up on Honey's doorstep early in the fall, right after their marriage.

"Honey, would you mind going out and buying me some lozenges?" Sophie's voice rose weakly from the couch. "My throat's so dry I can barely swallow."

Buck zapped the volume back up. "Aw, Sophie, Honey can get those lozenges later. Right now what I'd like is a good steak dinner. How 'bout it, Honey?"

The expensive white furniture was grimy with stains. An overturned beer can lay on the rug. Honey was exhausted and heartsick, and she exploded.

"You're all pigs! Look at you, lolling around like white trash, not contributing one single thing to society. I'm sick of this. I'm sick of all of you!"

Buck tore his attention away from the television and 'looked around at the others, his expression befuddled. "Now what's wrong with her?"

Chantal slapped down her
Cosmo
and got up in a huff. "I don't appreciate being talked to like that, Honey. Thanks to you, I've lost my appetite for dinner."

Gordon unwound from the floor where he had been sitting with his eyes shut doing what he called his "mind painting." "I haven't lost my appetite. What's to eat, Honey?"

She opened her mouth to deliver a stinging retort, but then she checked it. No matter what, they were the only family she had. With a weary sigh, she went into the kitchen and began dinner.

* * *

In the three months since she had gotten Melanie fired, Honey's relationship with the crew and her coworkers had steadily deteriorated. One part of her couldn't blame them for hating her. How could anybody like somebody who was so horrible? But the other part of her—the scared part— couldn't back down.

The Monday after her unpleasant weekend with her family, they began filming an episode in which Janie, jealous of Dusty's relationship with Blake, tries to get her fired. At the climax Dash was to rescue Janie from the roof of the barn while Dusty and Blake watched.

Dash ignored her as usual all week. Honey bided her time until the afternoon they were to shoot the final scene. She watched from her perch on top of the roof as Dash worked out the movements of the rigorous climb from the ground to the hayloft and then over two levels of roof. After almost an hour, they were finally ready to do the scene for real.

The cameras rolled. She waited until Dash had completed the climb. As he pulled himself up onto the top level of the barn roof, she stood and looked at the camera.

"I forgot my line."

"Cut! Give Janie her line." Jack Swackhammer was in charge of this episode.

As the director who had been with them the longest, he had also had more than his share of run-ins with her. Honey hated him.

"Honey, this is a tough scene on Dash," he said. "Try to get it right the next time."

"Sure, Jack," she replied sweetly.

Dash gave her a warning glare.

During the next take, she managed to slip as she stood. On the following take, she flubbed her line. Then she didn't hit her mark. Dash had sweated through his shirt from the exertion and they had to stop while he changed. They began again, but once more she failed to hit her mark.

One hour later, after she had slipped again and ruined the shot for the fifth time, Dash exploded and walked off the set.

Jack immediately went to Ross to complain about Honey's increasingly disruptive behavior, but
The Dash Coogan Show
was a ratings giant, and Ross wouldn't risk antagonizing the actress that the newspapers were calling the most popular "child" star on television. Before the episode was over, Honey had gotten Jack Swackhammer fired.

When she heard the news, she felt sick. Why couldn't somebody care enough about her to make her stop?

* * *

The writers sat around the conference table and stared at the door Honey had just stamped out of and slammed shut. For several moments everything was silent, and then one of the women put down her yellow pad. "We can't let this go on any longer."

The man sitting to her left cleared his throat. "We said we wouldn't interfere."

"That's right," another agreed. "We promised to function as impartial observers."

"As writers we report reality; we don't alter it."

The woman shook her head. "I don't care what we promised. She's self-destructing, and we have to do something."

EXTERIOR. FRONT PORCH OF RANCH HOUSE—DAY.

Eleanor, dressed in a mud-spattered white designer suit, is filthy and furious.

Dash is grim. Janie stands by the porch rocker looking guilty.

DASH

Is this true, Janie? Did you deliberately set that booby trap?

JANIE

(desperately)

It was a mistake. Pop. Miz Chadwick wasn't supposed to fall into the trap.

Oid Man Winters was. I had to do something! She was getting ready to seil him the ranch.

ELEANOR

(wipes a clump of something organic from her cheek) That does it! I finally get o buyer for this miserable place, and what does your little hellion of a daughter do? She tries to kill him!

JANIE

I wasn't actually trying to kill him, Miz Chadwick.

Just slow him up until Pop got back from town. I'm really sorry you fell into the trap instead.

ELEANOR

I'm afraid sorry isn't good enough this time. I've overlooked a lot from your daughter, Mr. Jones, but I'm not going to overlook this. I know you think I'm spoiled and frivolous and possessed of half a dozen other qualities of which you rugged cowboy types disapprove. But I will tell you this. Never once have I not been a parent to my JANIE

(jumping forward)

Your son is a low-life, stinkin' womanizer who should be struck right off the face of this earth!

DASH

That's enough Janie. If you're finished, Miz Chadwick.

ELEANOR

I'm not finished. Not by a long shot. Never once have I let my son harm other people, Mr. Jones. Never once have I failed to point out to him the difference between right and wrong. Perhaps basic qualities of decency oren'f fashionable here in Texas, but I can assure you, they are respected in the rest of this country.

DASH (coldly)

When I need advice on how to raise my daughter, I'll ask for it.

ELEANOR

By that time, it may very well be too late.

Eleanor snatches up her purse and exits into the ranch house.

JANIE

(smugly)

You sure told her, Pop.

DASH

Yeah, I told her, all right. And now I'm gonna tell you. Miss Jane Marie Jones, your days as a carefree child untouched by human hand are about to come to an abrupt end.

He snatches up Janie by the waist and carries her purposefully across the porch and down the steps toward the barn.

"Cut it. Print it." The director looked down at his clip board. "Janie and Dash, I need you back in fifteen minutes. Liz, you're off till after lunch."

Before Dash could set her down, Honey began to struggle. "You don't have to suffocate me, you clumsy sonovabitch!"

Dash dropped her like a rabid dog.

Liz came through the doorway back onto the porch, wiping her face with a tissue. "Honey, you stepped on my lines again. Give me a little space to work, all right?"

Liz's request had been mildly uttered, but Honey blew up. "Why don't you both go straight to hell!" She stomped away from them. As she passed one of the cameras, she slapped it with all her force and launched her final verbal rocket.

"Fuckers!"

"Charming," Liz drawled.

The crew members looked away. Dash slowly shook his head and mounted the porch steps toward Liz. "My biggest regret is the fact that those fool writers chickened out and I don't get to whale her butt this afternoon."

"Do it anyway."

"Yeah, right."

Liz spoke quietly. "I'm serious, Dash."

He scowled and pulled a pack of LifeSavers from his shirt pocket. She scrupulously avoided personal entanglements on the set, but the situation with Honey had grown so impossible that Liz felt she could no longer ignore it.

She walked over to the far side of the porch out of earshot of the crew, hesitating for a moment before she spoke. "Honey's completely out of control."

"You're not telling me anything. She kept us waiting almost an hour this morning."

"Ross is useless, and the network's even worse. They're all so afraid she'll walk out on the show that they let her get away with murder. I'm really worried about her. For some perverse reason, I happen to be fond of the little monster."

"Well, believe me when I tell you the feeling isn't mutual. She doesn't make much secret of the fact that she hates your guts." Dash sank down into the rocker near where she was standing. "Every time I do a scene with that kid, I feel like she's going to stick a knife right through my back the minute it's turned. You'd think she'd show a little gratitude. If it weren't for me, she wouldn't even have a career."