Skinnydipping (14 page)

“I don’t know. I think I just need more training. I’ve wanted this for so long. My job is ending soon, and I thought this was my big break.”

“Then maybe you should take it a little more seriously,” Perry said. “You don’t ever want to go
see
any plays. You hardly ever go to movies. You haven’t invested in acting lessons. Acting isn’t easy, you know. You don’t just automatically know how to be good at it. It’s a craft. It takes a lot of training and skill and tal—” She stopped herself.

“Were you going to say ‘talent’?” I asked.

“No. I was going to say … I was going to say … OK, I was
going to say talent, but I’m not saying you don’t have it. It’s just … undeveloped. You’ve still got a lot to learn.”

“I don’t see you starring in any movies lately,” I said, meanly.

She looked hurt, but didn’t take the bait. “It takes a while, Faith. We both have to keep trying. Why don’t you join Meisenburg with me?”

Perry had recently enrolled in the part-time six-week program at the Meisenburg Theatre & Film Institute, and it was all she talked about.

“I can’t afford that. And I don’t have time, I have to work.”

“It’s part time, you can do just two classes a week, and that’s cheaper anyway,” she said. “Ask your dad to pay.”

“That’s hilarious. I guess you’re going to be a comedian now instead of an actress?”

“Do it with me! You keep saying you think you need to take acting classes. Where better?”

Maybe she was right. I considered. Maybe it was time for a change. My job was ending anyway, and that had largely kept me distracted from really trying to make it. I thought about what Larry Todd had said: I had to focus on progressing in my career, not just on a job that wasn’t taking me anywhere. Obviously, I needed to be doing something differently. Maybe the acting classes could open doors, show my commitment to learning the craft. Give me the credibility I needed to own what I was trying to do.

“Maybe …” I conceded, “maybe I could put it on my credit card. But if I do that, then you have to go to a party with me tonight. After today’s disaster, I need a night out.”

“Sure,” she agreed. “That sounds fun.”

Gorgeous Sandra and her expensively bejeweled posse had just told me about a pajama party that night in Beverly Hills, and I thought it would be a perfect tame outing with Perry, who wasn’t fond of my wild lifestyle and didn’t drink much or do any drugs. I imagined us meeting some cute guys wearing boxers and T-shirts, and playing
truth-or-dare. Or spin the bottle. I had just the pair of cute new flannel cow pajamas and fuzzy slippers.

We parked outside the house
and walked through the damp grass to the front door, me in my new PJs with a big teddy bear, and Perry in a modest silk robe. Perry stepped back and let me go first, since she didn’t know anyone at the party. I opened the door, peeked inside … and immediately slammed it shut again.

“Shit.”

“What!” Perry stared at me. “What’s wrong?”

“Take off your clothes!”

“What?” she looked alarmed.

“It’s not… exactly the kind of party I thought it was going to be.” I’d been picturing PJs and nighties. What I’d seen were thongs and bras and teddies and pasties. This wasn’t going to be about spin the bottle. This looked more like spin the penis. I should have known. Sandra wasn’t exactly the flannel-pajama type.

I dragged Perry back to the car, tossed the teddy bear I was carrying in the backseat, and pulled off my pajama pants and slippers. Thank God I had a pair of high heels in the backseat for emergencies. “Quick, switch bras with me!” I demanded, as Perry hesitantly disrobed.

“What? Why? What did you see in there?” she squeaked.

“Everybody’s in their underwear,”
I hissed.
“I cannot possibly wear this bra, do you understand? My jugs are hanging out like a porn queen.”

I hadn’t planned on showing anybody my bra, so I’d worn an old one that was too small and made me look giant and saggy. Would I ever learn? I knew Perry would be wearing something more modest, and her perky little bumblebee breasts would look just fine in the skimpy sling I thought of as my beater bra.

“Are you kidding me?” she said.

“I’m deadly serious.”

Perry looked like she might be sick, but she did it. She handed me her cute black lacy bra, and I put my arms through and hooked it in front. I was still busting out of it, but it was definitely better than the one I had been wearing. Mine looked cute on her—pink and strappy and skimpy, almost angelic.

“But I’m wearing black underwear!” she said.

“We’re not trading thongs—that’s where I draw the line,” I told her.

She rolled her eyes. “At least you have standards.”

“If we’re both wearing pink and black, we’ll match each other. It’ll be cute,” I reassured her, slipping on my heels. She was already wearing sandals, and they worked with her long legs. “OK, let’s try this again.”

Self-consciously, we walked back across the lawn in our underwear. “I can’t
believe
you’re making me do this,” Perry said. “I thought you said this was going to be fun.”

“You’ll thank me later,” I said. “I saw some really hot guys in there.”

But it wasn’t fun. As soon as we walked into the crowded room, I was conscious of how thin and fit everybody was compared to me. And I thought I’d been doing so well, starving myself and haunting the gym. I was going to have to try harder. I sucked in my stomach and looked around for the liquor. A bartender in a black thong and a bow tie was making drinks in one corner of the spacious great room. I dragged Perry with me and ordered two margaritas.

“I want a glass of wine,” Perry said.

“Fine, then. One margarita and one glass of white wine.”

“Certainly, ladies,” he said, professionally. I tried not to stare at the silky black tube of fabric encasing his sizable package.

We took our drinks. The ice in mine was shaped like little penises and boobs. Cute. I looked around for Sandra. I could only imagine how perfect she looked. All I could see around me were firm tan butt cheeks and perfectly shaped, artificial breasts and a lot of sleek muscles. One table had a tray of cupcakes with fondant nipples on them, and another tray offered a selection of dildos and a bowl of cock rings and anal beads. Was it someone’s birthday? Were these party
favors? I picked up a dildo and examined it. Veins and everything. Very realistic. Then I wondered if it might have been used, and quickly put it down. “This party gives new meaning to the word
cock-tail
,” I whispered to Perry. She giggled nervously.

Then I saw Babette, wearing red lace and little else, fitting in perfectly, looking so comfortable. She waved at us and came over. She looked Perry up and down dismissively, and I wondered what made me so special that they didn’t all look at me that way. “Faith, I’ve got someone you must meet,” she said in her cute French accent.

Perry looked awestruck. She stared at me and mouthed the words “Who
is
that?”

We followed Babette over to a small group of men with dark skin and jet-black hair, wearing what looked like Speedos. They were definitely hairier than most of the other people in the room. “These guys look pretty excited to be here … if you know what I mean,” I whispered to Perry, who was obviously trying not to notice that one of them was getting visibly hard in his Speedo. She sucked her lips in, trying not to laugh. “Maybe they have a full-figured-woman fetish,” I said, glancing down at my stomach.

Sandra stood with the men, and had one of them by the arm. She was laughing and absolutely stunning. She seemed to be completely at ease in a room full of nakedness. She smiled when she saw me. “Faith! So good to see you. I want you to meet Azwan and Erick.” She gestured to the man whose arm she held and to the man standing next to him.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, extremely conscious of their eager eyes on my barely contained breasts. They all nodded and smiled.

“We’re flying to Singapore tomorrow for a vacation. Would you like to come?” Sandra asked lightly, raising her eyebrows. She always asked. I always declined.

“Who, me?” I said.

“We would love to have a beautiful woman like yourself to join us,” said the one I think was Erick, in some sort of accent.

I could sense Perry behind me, holding her breath. “Singapore,
huh? Wow. Thanks so much, it sounds amazing, but I’ve got to work tomorrow.”

“A woman like you shouldn’t have to work,” said Azwan.

“Well, tell that to my landlord,” I said.

Relieved, Perry left me to find us a couple of stronger drinks. I knew I was going to need one. I turned to check out the crowd and see if I recognized anyone else. A woman in a champagne-colored slip holding a martini came up to me. “Are you one of Farrah’s girls?” she asked.

“Whose girls?”

“Farrah’s. One of them,” she said, gesturing toward Sandra and Babette.

“They’re friends of mine, if that’s what you mean, but I don’t know who Farrah is,” I said.

“Farrah,” the girl said, gesticulating impatiently with her martini glass. “You know.
The
Farrah?”

“Wait,” I said, suddenly thinking of a news story from a few years back. “You mean …” I looked around to be sure I was out of hearing range from Sandra and the other girls. “The
madam
?” I whispered. “The
Hollywood
madam?”

“Of course,” she said. “You aren’t …”

Now it was all beginning to make sense. Farrah Hughes was notorious—Hollywood insiders were serviced by her girls. The “talent agency.” The expensive clothes and jewelry. The luxury apartments where they all lived. Sandra and Babette and their friends were the highest of high-end call girls. Somehow, I realized I’d known it all along. It’s why I’d always kept just enough distance.

“Well, I appreciate your mistake,” I said. “But I’m not one of them.”

“Oh. Whoops! Sorry,” she said, just as Perry came back with the drinks. The woman spun around on her heels and walked away quickly.

“What was that all about?” Perry asked me.

“I have
no
idea,” I said, not wanting to sully my friends in Perry’s eyes. But I could almost see myself doing it. The money. The beautiful
stuff. I was up for a lot, but I just didn’t think I could pull off a life like that. I couldn’t sleep with someone I didn’t genuinely like. It just wasn’t my style.

Neither were some of the other things going on at that party. We saw people with needles shooting up in dark corners, people smoking things with odors we didn’t recognize, people who looked like zombies—beautiful, perfect zombies.

Perry and I didn’t stay much longer. We talked to a few cute guys, but the ones we liked were as embarrassed to be there as we were, and it was just so obvious that everybody was trying not to stare at everybody else’s junk. I was feeling a little sick and freaked out. It was a darker side of L.A. I realized I didn’t actually want to know any more about.

The next morning, I left a letter for Larry with Mia, thanking him for my first break in L.A. and telling him about acting school. I would finish out my last few weeks on the set, but when the show moved back to the main studio, I would move on. I decided not to say goodbye to Vince. If he wanted to find me, he’d find me.

chapter eight

D
o you have hostess experience?” he asked in a thick Italian accent.

I nodded, bending the truth a bit. “I was a hostess at a bistro in New York.” Actually, I was a coat check girl for about two minutes. I quit when one of the waiters slapped my ass. Close enough.

The manager looked at me doubtfully. “We need someone. But I haven’t advertised the position yet.”

Score.

“You don’t need to advertise it,” I pleaded. “Just give me a chance. Here I am, coincidentally walking into your restaurant right when you need me. It’s fate,” I said. “You have nothing to lose, and a lot to gain.” I gave him a winning smile. “You won’t regret it. I promise.”

He looked at the current hostess, then across the room at an older, heavy-set waitress glaring at us. “At least I find someone, before you leave me high and dry,” he said to the hostess. She shrugged. “Give me two references and tell me you can start tomorrow,” he said.