An Accidental Affair (30 page)

“I have guts. Don’t ever challenge my work ethic. You know that I’m dedicated.”

“You don’t have the guts to give Hollywood want it wants. You’re a hack. You’re not committed to your craft. You married James Thicke, moved into a life of luxury, and went soft. Where is your daring? Now in every role you’re the same character, only with a different hairstyle. You’re walking through the parts in different clothing. You’re not acting.”

“I am acting.”

“You’re no longer becoming the character. You’re just being you and reading what’s on the page like you’re a newscaster. Everyone arrives in L.A. hungry. Willing to do what they have to do to make it in Hollywood. But the women. What happens to most of the women?”

“Stop, Bobby.”

“They fall in love, get married, or worse, have babies, and when babies come, professional laziness sets in. They lose that edge, soften up, and put their hair in ponytails so they can go play soccer mom. Cinderella fantasies do them in every time.”

“That’s what happened to your first wife.”

“And I’m watching it happen to you.”

“I’ve had enough, Bobby.”

“Someone has to say it to you. A woman gets married and then there are certain roles she is willing to do, only certain parts she will play because now a man is in the way of her success, and now she will only go so far. The single, the young, they come in like wolves and soon actresses like you are losing your edge and playing their moms on the Disney Channel. And when she joins the mommy club, I mean in real life, it’s off to the daytime chatty women’s issues gossip talk shows to chat about breast-feeding and losing ten pounds and makeovers.”

“Nothing wrong with any of that.”

“Please. All of that hard work to end up sitting on a couch with people who haven’t worked in two decades. Is that what you came here from Livingston to do? Sit on a sofa and talk about breasts, weight, and babies? I watched my ex-wife do that. As if that clichéd accomplishment was her manifest destiny. Any girl that’s bleeding can have a baby.”

“Any man with good sperm can make one. Your point?”

“There is nothing special about having a baby. They’re all over. Hell, they have extra babies all over the world that nobody wants. That’s why it’s so easy to swoop into a third-world country, get a
bucket of KFC and a darkie on the side, and come right back to the U.S. The world needs to be neutered because there are regrets crawling everywhere.”

He stopped and let his words seep into her pores.

Regina wiped her eyes with the back of her hands.

He saw that victory and said, “When you were with me, you still had that edge. I made sure you kept that edge. You look good. You look better than ever, but the truth is that James Thicke has made you soft. Love has become an anchor and you can no longer rise.”

The first tear broke free, ran down her face, rolled around her chin, went down her neck.

He said, “You flop this and you’re done.”

She licked her lips, wiped her eyes, and searched for a tissue.

He said, “Your last movie came in at number three and slid out of the box office and went to DVD and iTunes in record time. You’re doing an imitation of an ambitious actress who used to be Regina Baptiste. You’re becoming a caricature of Regina Baptiste. A lookalike.”

Her face reddened and she swallowed.

Bobby Holland said, “I still love you.”

“What was that?”

“I still love you. I need you to know that. I need you back in my life.”

“If you had loved me from the start, Bobby, then maybe things would have worked for us. You loved me after I was gone. It was too late. All you can do now is keep loving me from behind closed doors. Keep staring at photos and imagining what could have been. Keep fantasizing and masturbating. Whatever you do, that’s beyond my control. I’ll never do the same. I’m married, Bobby. I’m married to the best man in the world. Even if I never reach number one at the box office again, even if I never reach number three or five or seven, I’m number one is his heart and he is number one in mine. I know,
that sounds corny. But being in love is corny. I’m from Montana. I was raised on corny. And hopefully I’ll be corny until the day I die.”

“If you no longer care about being number one, if you’re willing to dump the movie for the guy and are no longer willing to sacrifice the guy in the name of the film, you’re done.”

She rocked and sucked her bottom lip as she clapped her hands nervously.

He said, “You might as well get back in your car and drive back to Montana. You’re on the downside. Go ahead and step down and let a better lioness take over the watering hole.”

Then, as Regina Baptiste sat next to him and cried, he took out a package and an American Express card, made a line of white powder on the table, took a hit, then motioned to her.

He said, “Get your edge back.”

He put down four white lines.

He whispered, “Let go and be Sasha. Every woman has a Sasha inside of her. It’s like in the movie. There is a battle going on inside of you. A battle between the black and white swans inside of you. The black swan is what got you here. Let the black swan win and you win.”

Regina Baptiste stared at the cocaine for an endless moment.

He said, “The picture is over budget. This day is already into the twelfth hour. Everyone out there is depending on you. Everyone is angry and tired. You’re letting them all down.”

She closed her eyes and hummed and rocked and shook her head, all in a gentle way.

He said, “This will get you over your hump.”

Tears fell. She looked exhausted, exhausted from dieting, from lack of sleep for the last six weeks that she had been working. Lines formed across her forehead. She cringed, and I knew that her headache was strong. More tears came. She massaged her temples. She rocked. Had it under control. Then more tears came in a torrent. She wiped her eyes.

She stared at the white lines.

Shivering.

And as she cried, she leaned forward, closed her eyes, and inhaled her old friend.

Bobby Holland smiled. “Best served cold, Regina. Best served cold.”

She didn’t hear him. The high was taking over. The cocaine was in her blood.

That was when Johnny Handsome walked in, as if on cue, as if he had been complicit in this moment, as if he had left his trailer in order for Bobby Holland to work his magic.

All-American Johnny Bergs had a stunning woman on his arms. Brunette eyebrows and blond hair parted down the center, black leather pants, high heels, and a formfitting golden top. The thermostats on her chest told that it was a chilly night. She looked like a model. Johnny Handsome and his lady paused, mouths opened in shock. Regina was busted with the cocaine. She looked up at Holland, coke on her nose, too late to turn back now.

Bobby Holland smiled. “Bergs. This will help you loosen up on set. And I bought you some ecstasy too. We know how you like that. How are things going with you, Bergs?”

Johnny Bergs set free a big smile. “Alan Smithee just chewed me a new asshole. I was coming back to figure out how to work off some stress before we went back on set.”

“Then you need this. You need this as much, if not more, than Regina does.”

Johnny Bergs joined in. A sucker for peer pressure, the kind that made a man live fast and die young. Bobby Holland handed him the extra goodies. Johnny Handsome took his drink and dropped in a pill. I assume that it was E. His female friend followed suit. She was excited, bubbly, smiling the widest smile in history, high on being around celebrities. She had crossed the velvet rope into the land of excess.

The new girl said, “You’re Regina Baptiste.”

Regina ignored her, then stood up and went to the bathroom.

The girl said, “We are the same size. Me and Regina Baptiste. I read that in a magazine. From the neck down, we could be sisters. I am much prettier.”

Bobby Holland asked, “Who is your lovely female friend, Bergs?”

“Her name is Piroska Anastazia Dorika Vass Torma.”

She said, “You said that almost perfectly, Johnny.”

Bobby Holland heard her accent and smiled. “You’re Hungarian.”

She smiled. “Ya.”

“What brings you to Hollywood?”

“I come here to America to study my English, become a successful movie actress.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Two days. I rent a one-bedroom apartment with five others in Hollywood.”

“Well, welcome aboard.”

“You’re not from here.”

“I’m Norwegian.”

“What is your name?”

“Yngvar Vimar Bakken. But Bobby Holland is the name I use over here.”

“Are you too an actor?”

“Director.”

“Directors are very good. They are very, very important.”

“Every movie has one.”

“That is why they are important.”

“How old are you?”

“Eighteen.”

Bobby Holland smiled. “Where did you meet her, Bergs?”

“She’s an extra. Met her an hour ago. Plucked her from the food line at Craft Services.”

She corrected him, “It was ten minutes ago.”

Johnny Bergs pulled her face to his and shoved his tongue down her throat. He was a man who made twenty million a picture French kissing a woman who made between fifty and a hundred bucks a day. That day was overtime, so she was making a killing, by her standards.

Piroska smiled and asked Johnny Bergs, “Would you like head now?”

“Not right now.”

“When do I have to be back to be an extra again?”

“You don’t have to be back until I say you have to be back.”

They went back to kissing, his hand first freeing a breast, then fondling her.

Regina came back. She sat down, ran her hand over her hair.

Bobby Holland smiled at Regina. He leaned close. She shook her head. Feet away Johnny Bergs was experiencing adoration and acceptance as Bobby Holland treaded in rejection.

He leaned closer to Regina and said, “Since this is where we are. Best served cold, as they say. I have something else to talk to you about. It’s a tape of you. Of us. But mostly of you. You’re doing lines. We’re in Norway. You say some harsh things. Things that could be taken as being racist. You might remember that day. The police had stopped us.”

Regina looked at him. I saw fear. She knew what he was talking about.

“You’re joking, Bobby.”

“I have it.”

“You deleted that.”

“I kept it. I have more than that.”

As Johnny Bergs took his hands and massaged Hungarian breasts, Regina Baptiste stared at Bobby Holland. She swallowed. High. Nervous. Not sure if he was serious or joking.

He did a line, then smiled. “Do another line for good measure.”

And the party that led to destruction began.

Bobby Holland. He was the instigator. The brokenhearted puppet master.

He didn’t make Johnny Bergs and Regina Baptiste cross that line. He didn’t strip down Johnny Bergs and call in a fluffer, then violate my wife. But he tapped into their insecurities, their pride, and gave them both gentle nudges. The man behind the curtain. The Wizard of Tinseltown. Or just simply the harbinger of the moment before my life went to Hell.

Johnny Handsome looked across the room and did a double take, looked into the camera, at the phone, the fly on the wall as she pretended not to notice what was going on.

He pointed and asked, “Who is that girl?”

Regina Baptiste looked that way, paused, then said, “That’s my assistant.”

Bobby Holland said, “Where in the world did you come from?”

Alice Ayres said, “Toledo. I came from Toledo, Ohio.”

Johnny Handsome looked at her, sat back in shock, blinked over and over, then pointed at her as if she had magically appeared. “When did you get into my trailer?”

“Just walked in.”

“I have two gorillas being paid good money to be my security standing outside my door.”

“I tossed them a banana and they let me in.”

Regina said, “I thought…hold on. I thought that you walked in with me and left.”

“I did. I left. I went to your trailer. Just came back to check on you.”

Regina looked at the door, then at the assistant. “You walked by me and sat over there?”

“Just now. I came in behind Johnny Bergs. All of you were pretty busy.”

Regina said, “God. I’m so exhausted right now. I’m sorry. Didn’t see you come back.”

Johnny Bergs said, “Hold up. You said that you walked in here just now behind me?”

“That’s why your security guard didn’t stop me. And you were busy getting acquainted with the Hungarian girl. She’s very pretty, by the way. Built sort of like Miss Baptiste.”

Johnny Bergs laughed. “You’re a fucking ninja. I love this chick. She’s a fat ninja.”

She grumbled, “I’m not fat. I’m a size six. Fucking overrated, arrogant bastard.”

Bobby Holland said, “What are you over there doing?”

She heard him; the way her breathing changed told me that.

Bobby Holland repeated, “You, chick with the Steve Martin book in her lap. What are you over there doing? What are you doing here in Johnny Bergs’s private trailer?”

She said, “Waiting on Miss Baptiste. My name isn’t Steve Mar—”

“What are you doing?”

“Mister Holland, we’ve met before on numerous occasions.”

“Well, you may have met me, but I’ve never met you. What are you doing?”

“I’m doing my job, Mister Holland.”

“Which is what exactly?”

“My job is to assist Miss Baptiste. I work for Miss Baptiste.”

“What are you doing over there on the phone? That doesn’t look like work.”

“I’m talking to my boyfriend. I need my dog walked. He’s my assistant tonight.”

“Do that outside. You don’t need to be in here. And forget everything you see.”

Regina said, “She’s blind in her ears and can’t hear with her eyes.”

Bobby Holland said, “That made no sense.”

Regina told her assistant, “Meet me at my trailer in twenty.”

“Okay, Miss Baptiste. Will you need anything else before I step out?”

“Here, take my cellular. Send my husband a message in about five minutes.”

“What should it say?”

“He’s very busy working on his next screenplay.”