because of me. I'm not interested."
"I get the message.
She chaned moods. "How did the fflmin o today?"
"It's a trip."
"What's Charlie Geary like?"
"A stoned prick."
"Really?"
"Wouldn't kid you.
"Y'know, Nick, I've been thinking. Tomorrow I'm going to contact the
record company Reece was dealing with and see if they're still
interested in me."
"Sounds like a good idea."
"You think so?"
"What's to lose?"
"That's how I feel," she said, glad to have his confirmation.
"I'll call you tomorrow," he said. "Take care, little sis."
"Bye, Nick."
Nick ran into Charlie Geary early the next morning in the makeup
room.
Charlie was not a pleasant sight. The famous actor was wasted, he
looked worse than Joey.
"Boy, did I have a night last night!" Charlie boasted. "Even though I
say it myself, I got a cock that never quits. I had this little pussy
creamin' herself all over me. I mean she was comin' an' comin'."
"Shut up, Charlie," the makeup girl said wearily.
"Don't tell me to shut up, sweetheart. You wanna stay on this film
you'll suck my dick if I tell you to."
Nick sat down in the second chair. Charlie stretched and burped in his
direction. "So-where'd they dig you up from?"
"I been around," Nick said.
"Yeah?" Charlie yawned, throwing his arms back, almost hitting the
makeup girl in the face. "Couldn't tell it from your performance.
You really fucked up yesterday-I hate working with amateurs."
He was not about to take this little asshole's shit. "You got a short
memory-it wasn't me that fucked up, it was you."
"Don't bother with him," the makeup girl murmured, moving past.
"He's not worth it."
"What did you say, cunt?" Charlie demanded, almost falling off his
chair.
"Why don't you leave the d alone?" Nick said.
"Why don't you get fucked."
Fortunately an assistant entered, summoning Charlie to the set. He got
out of the chair unsteady on his feet and lurched to the door.
"He's stoned," the makeup girl said.
"No kiddin'?" Nick replied.
Later, on the set, Charlie played the same game-screwing up his lines,
forgetting cues, generally messing up.
Nick noticed the two producers conferring in a corner. The woman wore
a bright scarlet suit, her long legs in matching tights and very high
heels. The tall man had assumed a permanently grim expression, while
the director ran around looking frantic.
After the lunch break Charlie failed to appear at all. The assistant
director said she couldn't get him out of his trailer. Forming a
group, the two producers and the director stormed off to personally
escort him to the set. They returned with no Charlie.
"Tell you what, Nick," the director said. "We'll shoot your
closeups.
Charlie's not feeling good-he may not be able to do the rest of the
scene this afternoon."
As little as Nick knew about production, he realized this did not bode
well for the shoot. But screw it, he wasn't complaining-closeups
sounded good to him.
Joey did not show, so at the end of the day he called him. This time
Joey picked up the phone himself.
"Where were you?" Nick asked.
"Had a meetin'."
"You couldn't've come by after?"
"Hey, man, what's the problem?" Joey said belligerently. "We don't
see each other for a few years-you come back inta my life an' I'm
supposed t'jump?"
"Forget it. I'll see ya.
"C'mon, Nick, don't go getting' pissed. I'll be there tomorrow. Right
now I got a lot on my mind."
"Anythin' I can help out with?"
"Nah. Just small problems."
"See you tomorrow."
"Bet on it."
Nick settled back to study his script. Tomorrow he had his big scene
with Carlysle Mann and he didn't want to blow it. This filming shit
was seductive.
He fell asleep with the script clutched tightly in his hands.
The next morning he was sitting in makeup at seven a.m. calm as can be,
when the A.D. entered looking flustered.
"They need to see you at once," she said.
"Who needs to see me?" he asked patiently.
"The producers."
"Yeah?"
Oh, shit. This is it. Charlie Geary's getting his way and I'm about
to be canned.
"He's nearly through," the makeup girl said, blending dark pancake on
his neck.
Yeah, sweetheart, you can say that again.
"There's a crisis," the A. D. said. "They need him immediately."
"Better let you go," the makeup girl said.
He got out of the chair and followed the A.D silently rehearsing his
objections.
It didn't matter what he said, he was out and he knew it.
auren was frantic, suddenly there seemed so much to do before she left
for the Bahamas. Pia was not much help-seven months pregnant, she
waddled around with a smile on her face, arriving late and leaving
early. Lauren didn't blame her, but still it left most of the
responsibilities of the business to her.
"I wish Howard and I were coming with you," Pia said with a wistful
sigh, obviously expecting Lauren to say "Why don't you?" But she'd
decided it was going to be her and Oliver-nobody else. She'd
experienced one wedding where everybody stood around waiting and the
bridegroom didn't show up, and she did not plan on doing it again.
"Who'll run the business while I'm away?" she worried.
"I will," said Pia.
"You're hardly here anymore.
"Don't obsess. I'll be around all the time while you're away.
Lauren knew that the business only survived because of her personal
touch. She'd gained such a good reputation, especially with her dinner
parties. Lately, all Pia took care of was the financial side.
She had one more dinner to organize before leaving for the Bahamas.
This was at the house of Quentin and Jessie George. Quentin was the
managing editor of Satisfaction, the avant-garde magazine of the
moment, and Jessie was a social whirlwind. She'd catered dinner
parties for them before and it was always an enjoyable experience.
The Georges put together an eclectic group of guests, mixing politics
and fashion, rock n roll and movies. Jessie was a delightful character
-a woman of indeterminate age, not conventionally pretty, but loaded
with style.
The night before the dinner Lauren visited their brownstone to go over
the final details. Jessie had heard about her upcoming marriage and
couldn't wait to complain. "I suppose we'll be losing you," she
lamented. "You won't want to do this anymore."
"I didn't say that," Lauren objected.
"Ah, but Oliver will never let you."
"Oliver's not going to control what I do or don't do."
Jessie nodded knowingly. "Darling, when you're married you'll see.
"Jessie, when I'm married I'll see nothing. I'll carry on exactly the
way I please."
"Hmm," Jessie said. "That's what
I thought when I married Quentin, and
look at me now.
"It seems to me you have a fantastic life."
"Some would say so." Jessie waved her bracelet-adorned arms in the
air. "Now, let's get down to business. I have a brilliant idea for
hors d'oeuvres-imagine scooped-out melon balls filled with golden
caviar. Doesn't it sound divine?"
Oliver was very much involved with the Marcella girl campaign.
Marcella was a hugely successful cosmetics company in Italy that was
all set to take a large chunk out of the American market. They planned
to rival Revlon and Estee Lauder. Now that Oliver's firm had landed
the account, the search was on for the perfect girl. So far they'd
tested and photographed at least thirty candidates.
Lauren viewed the photos and videotapes with Oliver. He was extremely
critical-this one was too glamorous, this one too old, this one too
young and so on.
"Your expectations are too high," she said. "I can see at least seven
or eight of them who'd be great."
ù "No," he said, shaking his head. "None of them have it. The
Marcella girl has to have a special quality that appeals to the public,
something that makes women say, I want to look exactly like her and if
I wear Marcella makeup I can." She has to have a certain ordinariness,
combined with that magical something else."
"I've no idea what you're getting at."
"It's a quality. Grace Kelly had it. Marilyn didn't. Ingrid Bergman
had it."
"Who's Ingrid Bergman?"
"Never mind." He stared at her closely. "You have it."
"I have what?"
"The quality I'm talking about."
"Is that good or bad?"
"If you were in the running for the Marcella girl it would be good."
She walked over to his desk and helped herself to an apple from a bowl
of fruit. "Fortunately, Oliver, I'm not."
He frowned, looking at her intently. "But you could be."
"You are joking."
"No," he said, very seriously. "I'm not."
She laughed. "Oliver, I am not a model, I do not want to be a model, I
am perfectly happy doing what I'm doing, so kindly forget it."
"Will you do something for me before we leave?"
She sighed. "What?"
"Will you let my people organize a photo session with you?"
She crunched her apple. "Now why would I do a thing like that?"
"Because it would be very helpful if I could show them exactly who I'm
looking for."
She flopped into an armchair. "You're so funny."
"Then humor me.
"I don't have time."
"Do I ask for much, Lauren? Wouldn't you enjoy having your hair done
and your makeup and wearing beautiful clothes? It could be fun."
"It might be your idea of fun, but believe me, I have better things to
do."
"Please, Lauren-for me? As a wedding present. Think of the money
you'll save."
"Oliver-" "Yes?"
She weakened. "Well, as long as you promise not to take it
seriously."
"You have my solemn promise."
Humoring Oliver turned out to be more enjoyable than she'd thought. To
go into a studio and be totally made over by professionals was an
interesting experience. Pia thought it was a hoot and insisted on
accompanying her. They giggled like a couple of schoolgirls as the
makeup artist and hairdresser went to work.
"At least you'll have some incredible photographs to show your
grandchildren," Pia said, perching behind her on a high stool.
"What grandchildren?" Lauren exclaimed. "I haven't even got any
children yet-let's not get carried away."
"You are going to have some, aren't you?" Pia asked anxiously. "I
need a playmate for mine," she added, patting her huge belly.
"I guess so," Lauren agreed. "But give me time to enjoy my marriage
first."
"You got fab air, darling'," said the English hairdresser, his cockney
an' you're in desperate need of a cut. Apart from that you're
perfect!"
"I've always had long hair," she said, alarmed.
"Yeah, but it's just angin' there, ein't it? Let me work it overleave
it to me.
"Don't take off too much," she said, when he started wielding his
scissors.
"Trust me, darling', you'll be thankin' me."
She shut her eyes and hoped he knew what he was doing. The makeup
artist was next. He came at her with a pair of tweezers, plucking at
her eyebrows, squinting at the shape of her face.
"I don't like to wear much makeup," she said.
"Nor do I," he said tartly. "What we have to do here is the illusion
of no makeup at all while I create the most incredible face."
And so they transformed her. Lauren Roberts, small-town beauty, was
turned into Lauren, face of the moment. The hairdresser had added ever
so subtle light streaks in her chestnut hair, and the cut had given it
more body and shape, so that although it still fell below her
shoulders, it was fuller and more flattering.
The makeup artist had worked on her face with a palette of natural
colors-playing with browns and beiges, bringing out her eyes in a way
they had not been emphasized before.
"My God!" Pia said. "You look fantastic!"
"Oh, thanks a lot," Lauren said jokingly. "Was I such a dog before?"
"You know what I mean. You've always been pretty, but my God, now
you're absolutely stunning!"
Next it was the photographer's turn. Antonio worked fast, with a
minimum of fuss and the maximum of assistants. He knew exactly what he
wanted, and even though Lauren had never been in front of a camera
before, she fell into the poses easily, having watched Nature so many
times. It was a kick. There was great music playing, she was dressed
in beautiful designer clothes. When it was all over she confided to
Pia that she'd actually enjoyed it.
"Who wouldn't?" Pia said, shaking her head in amazement. "You really
do look incredible."
"I wish you'd stop saying that. God knows what I must have looked like
before."
"I can't wait to see the photos," Pia said.
"And I can't wait to wash this makeup off."
Later, Oliver asked her how she'd enjoyed the session. "It was okay,"
she said, laughing. "Never again, though. You can only talk me into
it once."
The next morning was a different kind of frantic. She left early for
the market accompanied by a couple of her college student assistants.
They picked out fresh fruit and vegetables, and then stopped to buy
flowers. Jessie and Quentin were very particular, and that's exactly
the way she liked it.
"Have Oliver come to the dinner," Jessie urged, when she arrived at
their house.
"No way," she objected. "I don't want him sitting there while I'm
working."
"But I adore Oliver-he's so droll," Jessie said. "At least have him
drop by to pick you up.
She called Oliver at his office. "Do you want to come by later and
pick me up from the Georges' dinner party?"
"I'd like that,"
he said.
"Jessie particularly requested you. How well do you know her?"
"We had a hot and steamy affair once."
She almost believed him. "Oliver-did you?"
He laughed. "No, my dear. I am not the hot and steamy affair type."
"You could have fooled me."
"Ah," he said. "Wait until our honeymoon."
From four o'clock on she commandeered the Georges' kitchen. It was the
kind of kitchen she liked, large and spacious, with all modern
conveniences. The menu she'd planned was one of Jessie's favorites.