Confessions of a Hollywood Star (17 page)

Ella unwrapped her straw. “You should be proud of yourself,” said Ella. “You stood up for what was right.”

Morty picked up a wodge of nachos. “Which is an even bigger deal than standing up to the Santini.”

The thing was, I couldn’t exactly claim a triumphant victory, could I?

“But Gracia still lost her job. And that’s not fair.”

Sam passed me the fries. “Maybe not, but at least you tried your best.”

I stared at the pile of potatoes more or less drowning in ketchup, imagining Gracia and her children sitting down to a simple meal of bread and water. There would be candles burning (because the electricity had been turned off) and they would bow their heads as they thanked God for even this paltry fare; it was better than being shot.

“And she’ll get another job,” said Morty. “Cleaning is a growth industry around here.”

I shook my head. “No she won’t. How’s she going to get a job without a reference?”

Ella agreed. “Especially if Mrs Seiser spreads it around that Gracia was stealing.”

And she’d do it, too. A woman who counts the toilet rolls every morning and evening is a woman with a mean, unpleasant nature. An image of Gracia (barefoot and wrapped in bin bags for warmth) trudging through the snows of New Jersey came into my mind.
Please…
she begged.
I have children… I need work… I am not a thief…
One-by-one, the doors of Dellwood slammed shut in her face.
That’s not what Mrs Seiser says!

“Maybe my dad can help,” offered Sam. “We could use someone to clean the office – and he knows just about everybody in town. If he puts in a good word for her—”

“My mom cleans her own house,” cut in Morty, “but she’s got friends who don’t. Maybe she could get Gracia a couple of jobs.”

[Cue: grateful, bittersweet smile.] “It’s not enough. I’ve got to clear Gracia’s name.”

“And how are you going to do that?” asked Ella.

I stirred my drink with my straw. “Don’t worry,” I said, “I’ll think of something.”

Sam and Morty groaned.

It took me a couple of days to realize what I had to do (for which I blame all the trauma I’d been through recently). I had to go to Charley Hottle and tell him everything in a calm, direct way. A great actor has to have ambition of course, but ruthless ambition is as unattractive in thespians as it is in politicians and gangsters. So even if I still had the most infinitesimal chance of being in the movie (which even I could see was pretty unlikely), making sure the truth was heard and clearing Gracia’s name were much more important than that. The good news was that I didn’t have to rely on subterfuge or scheming for this; I could go right up to him and make him listen.

Ella didn’t need any convincing at all. She was as concerned about Gracia as I was.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but for once I think you’re right,” said Ella. “And anyway, there’s nothing to lose, is there?”

“Exactly.” I looked in the rearview mirror again.

We were in front of the diner, parked so that we could see any car entering the travel lodge parking lot without turning around. Even though it was too late for Old Boot Face to be on duty, we didn’t want to be spotted by the night manager, who would have been warned against us, so we’d taken Mrs Gerard’s car and were disguised as suburban housewives (we’d also taken Mrs Gerard’s clothes). As soon as Charley Hottle rolled up, I would leap from the car and grab him before he got into Bergstrom’s. I’d tell him the truth about being in his room and seeing that guy take his watch and how Gracia’s life had been ruined (again) because she’d lost her job. Telling the truth never really seems to do it for me, but at least I had Right on my side.

“But I think we can be more positive than that,” I went on. “I mean, there’s a really good chance this could work. He has seven children of his own. He’s bound to be sympathetic to Gracia’s plight.”

“He isn’t Father of the Year though, is he?” asked Ella.

“Just because he’s an adulterer doesn’t mean he’s going to want to see Gracia’s children living on the street.” I figured I could have him in tears if he gave me half a chance.

Ella jumped so suddenly she hit the horn. “Quick!” she hissed. “Here he comes.”

The purple people carrier was pulling into a space near the front door. I gave myself one brief check in the mirror – sunglasses straight, hat in place, make-up subdued – hooked Mrs Gerard’s beige summer bag over my shoulder and leapt from the car.

I was standing right there when he opened the door.

[Cue: direct eye contact and dignified bearing.] “Mr Hottle,” I said, “I really have to talk to you.”

“Not now.” He moved to get out, but I was blocking his way like Joan of Arc facing the English.

“I’m afraid this can’t wait. It’s extremely important. The health and well-being of young children are at stake.”

“Look, I’ve had a long day.” He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “And I’m meeting someone here in a few minutes. If you want an autograph, fine, but I don’t have time for an interview.”

“I don’t want an interview. I want to talk to you.” I stood firm and tall. “It’s about Gracia.”

Charley Hottle said, “Who?”

“Gracia. The woman who made your bed and cleaned your toilet. The second-floor maid.”

But (as I already knew to my cost) busy, important men aren’t interested in maids.

Charley Hottle turned to the driver. “Give me a hand here, will you, Ben?”

Ben jumped out of the driver’s seat. I braced myself between the door and the frame.

“Mr Hottle, please. You’ve got to listen. Gracia lost her job because your watch was stolen. But she didn’t take it, Mr Hottle. I swear it. I know who did.”

“Don’t you understand English? I don’t have time for this now.”

“But it’s important. A family’s life is being ruined. Tiny children with doe-eyes and dark curls are being turned into the street where they’ll have to survive on scraps of food they find in the rubbish bins.”

Ben put a very unfatherly hand on my shoulder. “Come on. You heard Mr Hottle. Why don’t you go home before you find yourself in serious trouble?”

“Please, Mr Hottle. Please, please, please! You have to listen to me.” I would’ve clasped my hands in prayer if I could’ve let go of the door.

Not that holding on did me any good.

Ben took his hand from my shoulder and lifted me into the air.

“Let’s just back off a little here.”

Charley Hottle scuttled past me, heading for Bergstrom’s.

“You let go of her!” Ella came charging across the parking lot like the cavalry across the Great Plains. “My father’s a lawyer!” she screamed. “A very good lawyer! Unless you want to end up in court you’d better put my friend down!”

I don’t think it was the threat so much as the distraction of seeing a woman in a pink summer suit, clutching a floppy picture hat with roses on it to her head, running towards him that made him release me.

“What the hell—”

“I want your name and address!” Ella slowed to a brisk walk, taking a notebook and pen from Mrs Gerard’s tasteful straw bag as she neared him. She’s not her mother’s daughter for nothing.

I had already bolted after Charley Hottle. He had his hand on the door of Bergstrom’s, but I didn’t care.

“Mr Hottle! Mr Hottle!” I threw myself in front of him. “You have to listen to me! I saw who took your watch. I can describe him. I can pick him out of a line-up.”

“I’m warning you. Get out of my way.”

“But I saw him! It was the guy you sent to your room to get your notebook. I saw him put it in his pocket!”

He was surprised that I knew about the notebook.

“And how could you know a thing like that?”

“I told you. Because I saw him! I saw him put it in his pocket.”

“And where were you when you saw this?”

“In your closet.”

People are always blanching in old novels, but this was the first time I’d ever seen someone actually do it right in front of me. His face went the colour of a peeled nut.

“You were where?”

“In your closet. I wasn’t doing anything – I just wanted to talk to you so I was waiting—”

It was beginning to look like his blood was draining out through his feet. “You were waiting for me in my closet? How long were you in there? Is this some kind of set-up? Just who the hell are you?”

This was my moment to restore order and get his attention by letting him know that I knew about his girlfriend and that he could consider me a friend. “Don’t worry, Mr Hottle,” I assured him, “I won’t tell anybody what I overheard. I—”

“Won’t tell anybody? Won’t tell anybody what? Are you threatening me?”

I was about to say that of course I wasn’t threatening him, I just wanted to talk, when, in a pretty graphic and aggressive way, all hell broke loose.

Ella and Ben joined us, arguing amongst themselves. (I’d never heard her scream so much; Mrs Gerard would’ve fainted on the spot.)

And Mrs Seiser loomed on the other side of the glass doors, looking like the Hotel Manager Possessed by Demons.

What’s she doing here?
screamed my brain.
She’s supposed to be at home terrorizing Mr Seiser
.

I was so surprised to see her that I jumped back from the door.

“What in God’s name’s going on here?” shrieked Mrs Seiser. “Let go of this man! He’s a guest in this hotel!” I had this cloth doll when I was little that was Little Red Riding Hood if you held it one way, and the Big Bad Wolf if you turned it inside out. Mrs Seiser did a pretty good impersonation of that doll. When she was screaming at me she was the Big Bad Wolf, but when she turned to Charley Hottle she was Little Red Riding Hood on her very best behaviour. “Mr Hottle,” she purred, “are you all right? You don’t have to worry, I called the police.”

That was the last clear sentence I actually heard because everybody started shouting at once (mainly at me – though, for my part, I concentrated on Charley Hottle). And then the police arrived, with their lights and siren going. Everybody came out of the diner and cars pulled over to the shoulder to watch (anything bigger than someone going through a stop sign is pretty exciting in Dellwood).

The cops managed to get everyone to stop screaming.

Officer Pintelli took out his notebook. “All right, I want you to tell me what’s going on – one at a time.” He aimed his pen at Mrs Seiser. “Starting with you.”

But it wasn’t Mrs Seiser who spoke next. It was someone behind us.

“Chrissake, Lola,” he said. “Now what’ve you done?”

We all turned around.

Charley Hottle looked like he was going to hug him. “Sam! Do you know this lunatic?” He was pointing at me.

“Yeah,” said Sam. “This is Lola. She’s the girl I was telling you about.”

Into The Future – Forget The Past

T
he words “I hope you learned something from this” have been part of the constant background music of my life for as long as I can remember. Now was no exception.

“I hope you learned something from this,” said Sam.

“I hope you learned something from this,” said Ella.

“I hope you finally learned something from this,” said Karen Kapok.

Well I’d definitely learned something this time. I’d learned that a lot of those old sayings that seem so trite and boring actually have a lot of truth in them. Especially the one about being your own worst enemy.

“I was going to tell you about Charley Hottle coming into the garage the night you decided to stalk Bret Fork,” said Sam.

Hell hath no fury like a grease-monkey scorned. I said, “Oh.”

Charley Hottle knew the value of a good mechanic because his father had been one, so when the people carrier kept stalling on him, he took it to Creek and Son himself. Mr Magnolia recommended them. Sam and Charley Hottle bonded while looking under the bonnet together, the way men do. Charley Hottle said Sam would’ve been a lot better for Bret Fork’s part than Bret Fork, but in his opinion the world needed more gifted mechanics than it did mediocre actors.

Sam gave me one of his who’s-been-riding-the-clutch-again looks. “My dad even tried to introduce you to him.” He made it sound like an accusation.

I don’t see how I could’ve known that. I’m highly intuitive like all great actors, but I’m not psychic. I said, “Oh.”

It wasn’t chance that brought Mr Creek to the Dellwood Diner that morning as anyone would have supposed, it was a power breakfast with Charley Hottle. Since all the rented vehicles had problems, Charley Hottle wanted to get to the head of the line and he figured the best way to do that was to buy Mr Creek his fried eggs and hash browns.

“And I tried to tell you, too,” said Ella. “The night we rescued you from Bergstrom’s, but you wouldn’t listen.”

It was Sam’s idea to deliver Charley Hottle’s car to the travel lodge after Ella called him the night I hid in the closet. Sam thought that if he could talk to him he might find out what had happened to me. When he realized Charley Hottle hadn’t seen me, he figured that, unlikely as it seemed, there was a chance I was still in the room. He was just about to go looking for me when I came out of the building.

I could see that I hadn’t exactly been helping myself by being a little single-minded and alienating my closest allies. I said, “Oh.”

On the other hand, in a way I was also my own best friend.

Charley Hottle had been meeting Sam the night I confronted him in the parking lot (the night described by the local paper as Bust-up at Bergstrom’s). Sam wanted to talk to him about me. He said he thought that after the way I’d stood up for Gracia I deserved some help.

So after all the trauma and emotional upheaval had settled down, Charley Hottle invited Ella, Sam and me to go to Triolo’s with him for supper.

We laughed a lot about Ella’s and my attempts to get in the movie (especially the part where we staggered over the cliff like soldiers who just found out the war’s been over for forty years).

Then we laughed some more about our adventures in the cleaning industry (especially the part where I fell asleep in the closet).

Charley Hottle looked from me to Sam. “She’s exactly as you described her.” He sounded really surprised.