We're So Famous (14 page)

Daisy

Dear Sara and Keren,

Alan got a new client today. Annette Laudin. She's from London, but I'm not sure you would know who she is. She's recently famous, as they say. Annette read the article in
Variety
about Alan and how he took on Paque and me.
She flew
from New York to meet him. I asked Paque if she knew who Annette was but she said she didn't, that Alan told her later that she used to be queen of the socialites in Manhattan, but that that was all just an experiment by these two women who had taken Annette away from her boutique job and decided to make her famous.

How did they make her famous, I asked.

Apparently one of the women was a publicist and the other one was a socialite, Paque said. The story reminded me of that movie
Trading Places
, where the two old men fuck someone's life up for a dollar.

These two women, the publicist and the socialite, decided to take Annette and dress her up in designer clothes. Betsey Johnson, Prada, Versace, DKNY, etc. They put her up in their houses in the Hamptons, making sure she arrived at all the parties in limos. At these parties they made sure Annette was photographed with any celebrity in the room. And the next day they called up their friends at the New York magazines and gave them nice little stories about Annette, what she was up to, what she said about so-and-so (only nice things, though).

And it worked. Annette was a ‘must-have' on every party list. She made friends with all the other famous people in New York—even Donald Trump. The daughter of some billionaire, one of Annette's new friends, asked her
to be a bridesmaid in her wedding. But the weekend of the wedding, the daughter of the billionaire discovered that her husband-to-be was in love with Annette and the wedding, hours away, was canceled.

The next party Annette showed up for, she was turned away from the door by the very two women who had made her. You're an ugly bitch, they screamed at her.

I agreed with Paque that this was awful but in the back of my mind the story made me worry about our future. Alan had used his friends at
Variety
and
Entertainment Weekly
and the
L.A. Times
to print stories about
World Gone Water
, like those girls did to make Annette famous. I felt like we were Alan's experiment. I started to think about what would happen to Paque and me after the movie came out. A certain number of people would hate it on principle, because these two no-names from nowhere were given attention that they, or someone they knew, deserved. A certain number of people would love it for the same reason. And maybe it would lead to parts in other films, and maybe we'd go on late-night talk shows and talk about what it was like to make it big. But I couldn't fight the feeling that on the other side, no matter how hard it was to get famous, it was somehow
harder
once you did become famous. You had to watch out who you were seen talking to. You had to be careful where you went. You had to treat your body like a car you loved more than your own life.

These thoughts circled around in my head as Paque and I sat for what Alan called ‘some pre-publicity publicity.' Filming was suspended for a day to capitalize on an article that Alan ‘placed' in
Daily Variety
about
World Gone Water
.
The article reported that Julia Roberts and Elizabeth Hurley originally expressed interest in the roles of Jane Ramsey and Angie Boulevard but that ‘director Hood selected two fresh faces from obscurity to play the roles of seducer and nymphomaniac.'

We woke the morning of that article to the sound of the phone in the living room ringing every few minutes. The answering machine took the calls. Paque and I stood and listened as agents, publicists, personal trainers, nutritionists, personal assistants and even someone from Paramount Pictures left messages offering their services. It gave me goosebumps, but scared me at the same time.

Hello, Hollywood, Paque said.

Alan said, Forget those people for now. He hauled us off to a house in Woodland Hills where Paque and I spent the day in the pool while a photographer friend of Alan's—John Henry—told us to hold our breath under water for as long as we could (and to make sure our eyes were open). John Henry took some shots from a ladder he'd constructed on his diving board. Then he stripped down to his boxers and switched cameras and jumped in. He told us just to swim towards the camera slowly. He went under and we chased him around the pool until our fingers and toes were waterlogged.

John Henry had a TV the size of one whole wall and Paque and I watched a
Road Rules
marathon while Alan went over the photographs, selecting the best one.

That night Alan took us to a party for the all-girl issue of
R*O*C*K
magazine at Shamp
Å«
.

It's time to show you off to L.A., Alan said.

Paque and I still had the outfits that we bought for SaltBed, so we wore them to the party. I miss Ian, Paque said as we got ready. Just hearing his name—and standing there in the mirror in the outfit he paid for—made me tremble.

I wonder how he's doing, I said.

Maybe we could give him a call later, Paque said.

His phone is disconnected though, I reminded her. I passed her the bottle of Keri lotion and she smoothed some on her legs.

I think I'm sunburned, she said.

Alan appeared in the doorway dressed all in black and Paque let out a low whistle. Ready to dazzle, he asked. He smiled, and I think it was the first time I'd seen him smile since we met him. I took the chance to ask him something that had been bothering me.

Is it right to do what we're doing, I asked.

Paque stopped lotioning her legs.

What are we doing, Alan asked patiently.

You know, I said, the way you said in the article that Julia Roberts and Elizabeth Hurley wanted to be in
World Gone Water
, and the posters of Paque and I in the pool that are going to go up all over town. I mean, it's sort of like lying, isn't it?

Alan unbuttoned the top button of his black jacket and sat down on Paque's bed. Well, he began, it's sort of like this. In Hollywood, everything is about illusion and expectation. How many movies do you think get made every year?

I looked at Paque but we couldn't guess.

Too many, Alan said. And let's face it—I'm an unknown
in this arena; I haven't made a movie before. But I believe in second chances. Everyone who needs one should have one. Including you two. So the only thing that can launch this second chance is to get as many people as we can to want you to have a second chance. Does that come close to making sense?

I see what you mean, I said. I guess it just feels … dishonest.

Robbing banks is dishonest, Alan smiled. We're not robbing banks.

Not yet, Paque said. Which made me laugh.

Alan laughed too but then got serious again and said, And I should probably tell you that there isn't even going to be a movie. The plan is to shoot a few scenes and put them on the Internet. Then we'll start returning those phone calls on the answering machine. And hopefully by this time next year you'll be filming a movie with Tarantino or Scorsese or Oliver Stone or whoever.

Paque fished through her purse for her lip gloss. You know, we tried to manipulate the public before and got burned, she said.

That was my fault, I said.

Paque stopped smearing peach gloss on her lips and said, It wasn't your fault.

You were in the hands of amateurs in Phoenix, Alan said. Besides, this is Hollywood. It's different. Didn't you read in
Entertainment Weekly
about the actress who was supposed to be eighteen but was really thirty-two? She lied and she doesn't have to worry about running out of work ever again.

Alan convinced us that what we were doing was making an advertisement for ourselves, like a résumé, and that made me feel better about the whole thing.

The limousine Alan rented for the evening picked us up right at seven and we navigated the streets in style, though passing so many limos made it feel less special. We came to a stop at a red light and we had limos on either side of us.

Alan told us not to talk specifically about
World Gone Water
, especially to any reporters. That includes photographers, he said.

At Shampū it felt like people knew who we were. The volume of the conversations seemed to increase as we walked in, Paque and I each looping our arms through Alan's. Silver and gold confetti littered the floor, and Paque's tennis shoes were caked in it by the time we made our way to one of the plush sofas next to a wall-sized poster of Sarah McLachlan on the cover of
R*O*C*K
, looking glum and alluring in the way rock stars sometimes do.

Look, Paque said right as Sarah McLachlan walked by.

Weird, I said.

Alan went to get us drinks and Paque and I scanned the crowd for people we recognized: Chloë Sevigny, Matthew Broderick, Courtney Love, Anjelica Huston, David Geffen, Natalie Merchant, Shania Twain, Charlie Sheen, Denis Leary, Janeane Garafalo, Ben Stiller, Fiona Apple, and Abra Moore. Bruce Springsteen was talking to Gloria Estefan when someone bumped him and he spilled his drink on her shoes.

Look, she's dancing, Paque joked.

Alan made his way back through the crowd, dodging a
very wasted Bryan Metro, who someone pointed in the direction of the men's room. We should work the room, he said.

Paque and I sipped our vodka tonics while we strolled with Alan, who introduced us to Sarah McLachlan, whose skin was so white she appeared to glow. Paque and I told her how much we loved her music and she seemed genuinely flattered.

We posed for pictures with Jennifer Love Hewitt, Melissa Etheridge, and Vince Vaughn, who asked Paque for her number.

I started to feel a little ill, remembering that I hadn't eaten any dinner. A plate of hors d'oeuvres floated by on the arm of this really cute guy and Paque and I stopped him and ate three or four of the little cheese things wrapped in bacon. We followed that with some cold peas with chevre and melba toast with salmon and brie.

Hey look, Paque said. She pointed out Hilken Mancini and Chris Toppin from Fuzzy.

We broke free of Alan, who was chatting up Marilyn Manson, and went over to Hilken and Chris, who remembered us from SaltBed.

Sorry about what happened, Hilken said. That must've been really terrible.

Yeah, it was embarrassing, I said.

The worst part was that we were being scouted by Sony Records, Paque said. Do you guys know Scott Key?

Hilken shook her head no and looked at Chris.

Never heard of him, Chris said.

Matt Dillon leaned in and told Hilken and Chris how
much he liked their new album,
Hurray For Everything
. He said a friend gave it to him and it was the only CD he played in his Jeep. We were all sort of mesmerized by how handsome Matt Dillon was and after he walked away it took a minute for us to realize he was gone.

What are you guys doing now, Chris asked.

We told her that we were shooting a movie, which felt like a lie and we liked them too much to lie so I said, It's really a short film.

Wait, I think I read about this, Hilken said. Julia Roberts wanted to be in it, right?

Right, Paque said.

Alan dragged us over for another photo and we waved goodbye to Hilken and Chris. My eyes started to burn from squinting at the flashbulbs so I excused myself and slipped into the bathroom, which was entirely marble. My shoes clicked as I shut the door to the stall. The attendant whistled something I vaguely recognized. On the back of the stall door someone had Magic Markered THE WORLD IS FULL OF VANITY AND MALICE in slanted letters that made me feel like I was losing my balance, or maybe it was the vodka, or my empty stomach, or the flashbulbs exploding like tiny crashes around the room but when I walked out of the bathroom the last thing I saw was Bill Murray and I passed out cold.

It was pretty embarrassing.

Daisy

Dear Sara and Keren,

I'm enclosing one of the
World Gone Water
posters. What do you think? I think it looks peaceful, the way the deep blue water sort of envelops us (we aren't really that white!) and the way our hair fans out behind us. Even though you can't really tell, we're both extremely out of breath. Also, Paque's face is air-brushed (she has a mole high on her right cheek). Doesn't it look like we're staring right at you?

You can't go anywhere in L.A. without seeing the poster. Which is kind of funny considering what Alan said about it not even being a real movie. Paque and I ran around with Alan the other day—-just doing errands—and we saw the poster all over. On the side of a 7-Eleven on Pico, stapled to telephone polls along Vine, plastered in the window of the Trax-n-Wax on Hollywood (Alan knows the owner), even one someone had ripped down and put in the back window of their car in the parking lot of a bar in no man's land called the Liquid Kitty. Alan said there were a few you could see from the Santa Monica Freeway, and some in Malibu. Paque and I said we'd like to go to Malibu but Alan said, Maybe after we're done shooting. Paque and I discussed it and decided we'd give Stella a call and maybe the three of us would take a drive. We intentionally haven't called Stella because we know she's desperate to break into the movies and we don't want her horning in on our deal. Paque is still very pissed about Stella leaving us back in Phoenix, but I'm wishy-washy on the subject. There was no answer at Stella's though.

We shot another scene as well. It's in the can, as they say in Hollywood. (I just thought of a question: Why didn't
Bananarama ever make any movies? You know, the way Madonna did. Your videos are so good it makes sense that you could've made a movie.)

Annette Laupin has joined the cast, too. Paque and I were a little miffed at first but we really like Annette. She's a cool chick. She seems like she's stuck up but she's funnier than shit and you can tell she's been through a lot. She said she doesn't have any desire to be a movie star—she told us not to say anything, but she felt Alan probably wasn't the right person to help her rehabilitate her image; she thinks she might move back to New York after ‘an extended vacation' and that that might be enough—but that Alan asked her to play the part of Natalie Stone, Caleb Stone's sister, and Annette thought it would be a kick. That's the kind of chick she is. Like I said, pretty cool.