Much Ado About Mother (14 page)

“I know I screwed up taking you to the gallery tonight,” he said. “I get it. And I know it was totally juvenile of me, but I just . . . I just wanted a beautiful woman with me. It was crazy; I was just showing off. I hope you don't hate me.”

“I . . . ,” Erinn said. “I can understand how there might be some satisfaction in pay-back.”

Now she was glad there was light. She could see Christopher smile at her. She could see his hands as he smoothed her hair back from her face. Then she closed her eyes. She couldn't see anything, but she felt alive to her fingertips. He kissed her.

CHAPTER 15

VIRGINIA

H
er daughter really was a genius, Virginia thought proudly. Erinn's idea of using the rabbits to grab media attention was brilliant. Coordinating the rabbits, which lived in Santa Monica, and the ladies of Cause Courtyard, who were all in Venice, was no easy task. Finally, Dymphna arrived in front of the Bun in a U-Haul full of rabbit crates. Dymphna could clearly tell one rabbit from the next, but Virginia could only distinguish one, a reddish hairball with a large brown circle on its back. Dymphna had named it Spot. Virginia felt anointed as Dymphna handed Spot to her. She tried not to look at Piquant, who was inside the Bun, yapping just inside the picture window.

“I thought you weren't supposed to name farm animals,” Babette said, as Dymphna handed her a white Angora named Blanche.

“You don't name farm animals because you're going to turn them into food,” Dymphna said. “I'm only turning their hair into sweaters.”

Dymphna very calmly and carefully harnessed and leashed all ten rabbits and seemed to match each one to a particular human. She would pick up a rabbit and study the women, walking up and down in front of the Bun, until she was satisfied she had the right woman for the job. At that point she would hand over a rabbit, telling each woman in turn that rabbits could be easily frightened and she was entrusting them with precious, precious cargo. Finally, the women were able to take to the Venice streets, each walking a miniature Yeti.

“Remember that the rabbit is actually walking you,” Dymphna said. “Please don't try to lead or tug the leash.”

Virginia stood with Spot, not sure exactly how this was going to work. She and Dymphna watched as Babette and Blanche faltered down the Beach Walk. In minutes, she was surrounded by people who wanted to see the rabbit.

“I hope this doesn't stress Blanche too much,” Dymphna said, her eyebrows knitted. “Do you think Babette will remember to hold her?”

She relaxed when Babette picked up Blanche and let people gently pat her.

Virginia couldn't hear what Babette was actually saying to anyone, but she noticed that in the middle of a conversation someone would look over toward Mr. Clancy's Courtyard, craning to see inside. In no time at all they would be signing the petition.

Virginia looked up and down the Beach Walk, where the rabbity drama was playing out over and over again. Each woman would walk the rabbit until someone came up to her. At that point she would scoop the creature into a protective embrace, according to Dymphna's instructions. Almost everyone seemed to be signing the petition.

One step closer to filing,
Virginia thought.

Spot seemed eager to hop so Virginia took a few tentative steps. It took about a half hour to walk half a block. Spot decided she'd walked far enough and stopped in front of Mr. Clancy's Courtyard. Virginia could see him in the window of his shop and while she knew better than to tug at Spot's leash, she really did not want to be rallying the troops right in front of Mr. Clancy. Erinn, who seemed to thrive on confrontation, would have loved to find herself in this position, but it was not Virginia's style.

As she leaned over to scoop up the rabbit, a woman about Erinn's age came up to them.

“What have you got there?” she asked.

“It's an Angora rabbit,” Virginia said, automatically cradling Spot. “We're out here drawing attention to a very important cause.”

The woman signaled to two men who were standing nearby, watching, when out of nowhere they produced a camera and a boom microphone. On one hand this was exactly what Cause Courtyard had in mind when they fanned out over the beach community with their petitions. On the other hand, doing an interview right in front of Mr. Clancy seemed like bad form.

The reporter signaled to the cameraman to roll and suddenly the boom pole was dangling over Virginia's head. The newswoman lifted a microphone to her lips and spoke directly into the camera.

“Tempers are as short as the hair on these Angora rabbits is long,” she said. “A band of locals is standing their ground, trying to save a tree that is moments away from destruction.”

“Well, not
moments
away,” Virginia said in alarm.

This wasn't journalism, this was sensationalism!

“Mr. Clancy of Mr. Clancy's Courtyard has turned a deaf ear to this dedicated local group, who are selflessly working to save a fellow earthbound cohabitant. Thousands are flocking to the Venice Beach Walk to get a glimpse of the Angora Angels as they race against the clock. Is that accurate?” the newswoman asked Virginia.

She stuck the microphone into Virginia's face. Virginia held Spot tighter as she tried to formulate a logical speech, although clearly coherent thought was not mandatory.

“We're Cause Courtyard,” Virginia began, “not the Angora Angels.”

The newswoman suddenly took a large step back as Spot let out a loud hissing noise. A shirtless man with bulging muscles was walking by, an anvil-faced pit bull on a lead in front of him. Spot hissed again, her powerful legs kicking. Virginia tried to control her, but Spot was strong and leaped to the ground. Virginia fumbled with the leash, but Spot was free. The rabbit ran toward the pit bull at full speed, covering the distance between them in seconds. The dog yelped in terror. Spot tore after the pit bull, which streaked madly down the Beach Walk, his owner barely managing to keep up with him. Human and dog kept glancing over their shoulders as the rabbit charged. Spot was in hot pursuit, but Virginia managed to catch her leash and scoop her up. Spot sat quietly in Virginia's arms, twitching her nose contentedly. Virginia turned back to the newswoman.

“I'm so sorry,” Virginia said. “What were you saying?”

“Forget it,” the newswoman said, indicating her crew should pack it up. “Nothing you can say will beat the footage of your rabbit taking that dog's pride card.”

Dymphna came running up.

“Is Spot all right?” she asked, carefully taking the rabbit in her arms. “I've never seen her do that before.”

“She seems fine,” Virginia said, but she felt she'd let Dymphna down. “I had no idea how strong she was.”

Dymphna buried her head in Spot's fur. She nodded and walked away. Virginia looked around her. All the women were holding onto their rabbits for dear life and staring at her. Cause Courtyard was over.

As the women and rabbits made their way back to the Bun, Virginia caught Mr. Clancy's eye. She wasn't sure if he had stepped outside to shoo everyone away or felt he could finally have some peace now that the rabbits and newspeople were gone. He looked years older than he had when she'd first met him and that was only a few weeks ago! She felt very sorry for him. Mr. Clancy pretended not to see her, but Virginia called out to him.

“Mr. Clancy!” she said.

He looked as if he were debating whether to talk to her or not but his indecisiveness gave her time to catch up to him.

“That was quite the show,” Mr. Clancy said, not smiling.

“I hope that newswoman didn't bother you.”

“No, she didn't bother me. But you and your friends sure did. You're making me out to be the bad guy and all I'm trying to do is keep from being sued. That tree is a danger to everyone who comes into the courtyard. I mean, your own daughter fell just the other day!”

Virginia wondered if Erinn was sneaking over to the Courtyard to see Christopher.

“Erinn fell?”

“No, not Erinn. Suzanna! She was coming out of the dance studio and almost went ass over teakettle, if you'll pardon my French.”

Virginia was startled. Why hadn't Suzanna mentioned this? Why was she at the dance studio in the first place? Maybe she was going to volunteer to help that nice young dance instructor. After all, Suzanna did know how to dance after her salsa frenzy of a few years ago.

“I don't think it's fair that everyone is making me out to be the villain,” Mr. Clancy was saying.

“Nobody thinks you're the—” Virginia started, but Mr. Clancy's look cut her short.

He was right, of course. He was being made out to be the villain.

“Maybe we should all listen to Eric and settle down for a bit,” Virginia said. “Let cooler heads prevail.”

Mr. Clancy finally smiled.

“I think that would be a good idea. Maybe you and I could discuss this over a bee—a glass of wine.”

“I would like that, Mr. Clancy,” Virginia said. She leaned into him and whispered, “But don't tell my children.”

CHAPTER 16

ERINN

E
rinn was still steaming over the ignobility of today's assignment. Cary had called and informed her that the latest focus groups revealed that women 18–45 wanted to relate to the people they saw on television.

“It follows the same philosophy as book covers that feature bodies with no heads. Women relate to the body but they want to put their own faces on those bodies. It's a way to make the fantasy feel more real.”

Erinn found this very interesting. She had seen those book covers herself. She often wondered who was buying all those novels with decapitated people on them, referring to them as “The Romances of Sleepy Hollow.”

“You want me to shoot Blu without her head?” Erinn asked, genuinely puzzled.

“We need to make Blu seem just like everyone else,” Cary said. “Only more so.”

“Good luck with that.”

“Erinn, try to work with me. Anyway, I made an appointment with Dr. Roberts tomorrow.”

“Are you ill?”

“No! Not for me, for Blu!” Cary said, sounding exasperated. “Do you mean to tell me you've never heard of Dr. Roberts, plastic surgeon to the stars?”

Luckily, Erinn's laptop was within reach and she got busy Googling Dr. Roberts. She had learned that while she was always alarmingly behind the times in all things Los Angeles, just a few clicks on a search engine and she could get herself up to speed enough to fake it.

“Oh, Dr.
Carson
Roberts,” Erinn said into the phone. “Of course.”

“I want you to shoot a consultation . . . maybe lipo, maybe new boobs, a new nose.”

“She has new boobs and I'm pretty sure that is not her original nose. And she doesn't have an ounce of flesh on her. Why are we doing this? I thought she was supposed to own a shoe factory.”

“We can't find a shoe factory willing to say it's Blu's.”

Unlike me, who got suckered into losing my whole house. I can't
't
believe I have less integrity than a shoe factory.

“We're trying to make Blu seem more like her audience,” Cary said. “Aren't you listening? A trip to a plastic surgeon will make her seem relatable.”

“To whom?” Erinn asked, trying not to sound annoyed.

“To the proverbial ‘everywoman.' It will make Blu seem insecure about her looks.”

“I'm not sure Blu can convey insecurity about her looks. She's not that good an actress. And for your information, I think when ‘everywoman' is feeling insecure she makes an appointment to get a gym membership, not a high-priced plastic surgeon.”

“I'll e-mail you the particulars. The appointment is at nine a.m.”

Erinn and Blu headed out the next morning. Blu pouted the entire way to Beverly Hills. She was upset that Opie the audio guy was not joining them. Erinn tried to explain that her camera had a perfectly serviceable microphone and an extra person on a shoot in a tiny space would cause more problems than it would solve.

“Let's go over some ideas for the scene,” Erinn said, hoping to distract her.

“I was thinking of asking for some lipo to get rid of this,” Blu said, grabbing some flesh at the top of her jeans.

“That's skin,” Erinn said. “You need that.”

Blu rolled her eyes and looked out the window, watching Beverly Hills sail by.

“Maybe we could shoot a scene in the Coach store afterward,” Blu said. “I'll bet they'll give me a free bag in exchange for the publicity.”

“We need to sell this series first,” Erinn said. “Let's save that for Season One.”

Blu nodded, and Erinn was relieved that she gave in so easily. While it wasn't a lie that they needed the series to sell before any of this made an ounce of difference, Erinn knew that brands with the upper-crust visibility of Coach did not need the kind of publicity Blu could offer. She didn't want Blu's feelings to be hurt. She wasn't sure why she cared, exactly. It wasn't as if Blu had taken Erinn's feelings into consideration—ever. But there was no time for soul searching. Dr. Roberts's Canon Drive office was right in front of them. Blu's eyes gleamed in anticipation.

Dr. Roberts was alone in the office when they arrived. He was wearing very expensive suit pants and a silk tie; Erinn wondered if he traded services with a few Armani salesmen. He had a white coat over a pinstriped shirt with French cuffs. He handed some paperwork to Erinn.

“Here's my location release and my personal release form,” he said.

Erinn was impressed. She put the papers on top of her camera case. This obviously was not the doctor's first cable station rodeo.

“I always try to do these shows before business hours,” he said, leading them into an examination room. “That way, I don't have to play favorites with the staff, choosing which nurse gets to bring in the charts.”

Erinn found herself grinning. This man knew his stuff . . . or at least, he knew
her
stuff!

As she set up for the shoot, she tried to hear everything the doctor and Blu were saying without appearing to be eavesdropping. This was a skill field producers had perfected. Direct questioning often led to answers the person thought you wanted to hear rather than the truth. And Erinn did try to stick to reality as much as possible in these shows, for what that was worth.

“You're pretty handsome for a doctor,” Blu said.

The doctor looked Blu over, but in a completely professional way. Erinn was sure this was not the reaction she got from most men who were scanning her.

“I mean, medical school must be a lot of work,” Blu continued. “You could have skipped all that and just become an actor.”

Dr. Roberts took Blu's blood pressure.

“You seem to be in pretty good shape,” the doctor said.

“Oh, no,” Blu protested. “I am flab, flab, flab.”

She held out an arm and flicked at the skin on the underside. The doctor took it in his hands and examined it.

“Two weeks in the gym and you would be fine,” he said.

Erinn was of two minds. On the one hand, she admired this doctor who obviously wasn't about to sell a procedure he didn't think was warranted. On the other hand, she knew Blu would be impossible if she didn't get her way.

Blu rolled down her waistband and tucked her T-shirt into her bra, so her whole midriff was exposed, then jumped up on the examination table. Erinn flipped the On button on her camera.

“You really should be naked for this,” the doctor said.

“I know,” Blu said. “But my producer says I have to keep my clothes on.”

“Cut,” Erinn said, pulling her eye away from the viewfinder.

Blu and the doctor turned to look at Erinn.

“We're a women's lifestyle network,” Erinn explained. “Our audience really isn't comfortable with a lot of nudity.”

“What if it's tasteful?” Blu asked.

“Doctor,” Blu said, “I really need you to agree to doing lipo. That's why I'm here.”

“Well, that's not why I'm here,” he said. “I'm here to offer advice on what I think you do and don't need.”

“My company is going to pay you, you know,” Blu said.

Erinn wondered if that were true.

“It's not about the money,” Dr. Roberts replied. “Television is a very powerful medium. This is my reputation we're talking about.”

Erinn knew he wasn't talking to her, but she felt a tweak. What about
her
reputation? She wondered again if the universe were sending her signs.

Blu jumped down off the table.

“Well then, this is a waste of time,” she said and stormed out of the office. Erinn noticed that she didn't unroll her shorts or untuck her top. Dr. Roberts shrugged and picked up his paperwork from atop the camera case.

“I guess you won't be needing this,” he said.

“I guess not,” Erinn said. This morning, she'd hated the idea of shooting this and now she was sorry it was over before it began. It would have been such a great scene: a high-profile plastic surgeon telling a starlet to go straight to . . . the gym! Unheard of in the annals of vacuous TV!

Erinn packed her bag quickly and shook the doctor's hand. She murmured an apology and went to find Blu.

She was sitting on the hood of the car. She jumped when Erinn pressed the sensor to unlock the car and the horn beeped. Blu got right into the passenger seat without speaking to her as Erinn loaded the trunk with gear. As they drove down Wilshire Boulevard, Blu finally said, “A Beverly Hills plastic surgeon who won't do anything for money? What's that about?”

Erinn thought of Mark Twain's famous line: “It's no wonder truth is stranger than fiction. Fiction has to make sense.” But she decided Blu would not appreciate the irony. She glanced over at Blu, who was still looking out the window, but she saw her brush away a tear. Was it possible this woman
was
insecure about her looks?

Cary was sitting on the front step of Erinn's house as they pulled up. She was not smiling. Blu and Erinn exchanged a look. Could Cary somehow have heard that they left the doctor's office with no footage? Cary stood up and walked toward the car.

Erinn and Blu stepped out of the car looking like guilty teenagers who had taken their parents' vehicle without permission.

“We need to stick together on this,” Blu said.

“Whatever
this
is,” Erinn said, as they watched Cary make her way purposely toward them.

Cary wasted no time.

“Blu, would you please give me a minute with Erinn?”

“Sure!” Blu said and ran toward the house, digging in her purse for her keys
.

“Let me just get my camera inside,” Erinn said, stalling for time.

“Oh, I'll take it,” Blu said, grabbing the camera case and rushing through the front door.

Erinn was used to being on the receiving end of bosses' displeasure. She never intentionally set out to annoy them, but it happened regularly. She had ceased trying to guess what her transgression was; she was never right. So she waited.

“The footage for
Budding Tastes
was finally digitized,” Cary said. “I've been going over it all morning.”

Red, White, and Blu
had been consuming so much of Erinn's time that she had almost forgotten about
Budding Tastes
and her own executive decision to make it into a show about junk-food-and-wine pairings.

Maybe this wasn't bad news after all. Maybe, just maybe, Cary would see her vision!

“What did you think?” Erinn asked.

“Let's walk,” Cary said, guiding Erinn away from the house.

They crossed Ocean Avenue to Palisades Park. They made their way to the fenced edge that looked over the cliff toward the Pacific Ocean. They rounded a class of five or six people learning swordplay and skirted a yoga boot camp that took place every day. Erinn always considered “yoga boot camp” an oxymoron but thought better of sharing this with Cary in case she wasn't in the mood.

Erinn waited.

“May I ask what you were thinking?” Cary asked.

Erinn thought of changing the subject but realized telling Cary that she had nothing to show for herself from the visit to Dr. Roberts probably wasn't going to help the situation.

“I think if you just give the junk food slant a chance—” Erinn began, but Cary interrupted her.

“Of course I'm going to give it a chance,” Cary said. “I have no choice but to give it a chance. The network paid for this, and I have to now try and sell them on their own show!”

“They might find it interesting,” Erinn said. “It hasn't been done before.”

“Erinn, there is not an executive in all of television who wants something that has never been done before.”

The two women looked out over the water. Erinn was grateful for its calming presence. She willed it to soothe her boss. She racked her brain for something to say. She knew she was terrible at that loathsome thing called “small talk.”

“This view never fails me,” she said, hoping to ease the tension. “I wish I had my camera.”

“Speaking of your camera,” Cary said, turning to face her, her hand shielding her eyes from the sun. “How did today go with Dr. Roberts?”