Cut to the Chase (11 page)

“She’s certainly built for the big screen. She’s beautiful.”

More than you can imagine
, Paige thought. “I’d like to focus the majority of the book on her.”

“Are there a lot of action scenes?”

She nodded. “And she’s doing her own stunts.”

Carmen dropped the pen from her lips. “She is?”

“Insane, huh? I can count the number of actresses that do that. And for her first time out, I think I could get a great story. I happened to be there to photograph Brent Hastings accidentally punching her in the face. She’s okay, of course.”

Carmen nodded her head in silence, obviously deep in thought. “Who else are you shooting?’

“Only Bubba Densman and Ricky Boswell.” That’s all she had to work with, given the fact that Carmen would be punching the time clock in less than three months.

Carmen nodded again, tapping her pen on the desk. “So, a more female-centric book on a male-dominated subject,” she finally said. “I like it.”

Paige was relieved. She didn’t have a lot of other options at this point.

“I assume you’ll be delving further into Avalon’s life? Documenting her home, her free time?”

“Sure.” For some reason, the knowledge that she’d already been to Avalon’s home felt like a secret. It seemed silly, but Carmen would have asked her what kind of pictures she’d gotten and, frankly, she hadn’t gotten any.

“I think a spread with her at one of Hollywood’s icons would be good, too.”

“You mean, like, the Magic Castle or the Hollywood Bowl?”

“Possibly. There’s also Grauman’s Chinese Theatre.”

“I’d like to go somewhere a little more off the tourist path.” She thought a moment and said, “Chateau Marmont.”

“Perfect. The stories of Belushi in his garden bungalow and Howard Hughes spying on beautiful women from the attic are legendary, but most people have never been there.”

“Most people can’t afford the room rates.”

“All the more reason it remains exclusive. I’ll call ahead and clear the way for you to get a bungalow. And some poolside shots would be marvelous.”

The idea was a good one. And illustrating a broader picture of Hollywood moviemaking would allow her to expand upon the theme.

“Thank you, Carmen.”

“Three months.” She checked her watch. “Minus one week.”

“I’ll get it done.”

“You’re my star, Paige.”

“Avalon’s the star. I just take the pictures and write the text.”

“But you’re about to be a star in your own right,” she said, putting her glasses on. The chain jangled like change in someone’s pocket.

“What do you mean?”

“After we go to press, I’m scheduling you for a book tour, darling. We’ll expedite the printing of
Cut to the Chase
and get ready for a super-busy schedule of book readings and signings with all three books.”

“No!” Paige almost yelled her response, but it came out more like a screech.

Carmen’s eyebrows rose and she looked out from the top of her glasses. “No?”

“I mean, no shit!”

“Okaaaay.” Carmen looked down at some paperwork. “I’ll have the publicity department call you. Plan on going as soon as your book hits the shelves.”

Paige managed to get out of Carmen’s office before the bonfire of fear raging inside her heated up to a complete meltdown. She tried to take deep breaths, even opening her mouth to gulp in some emergency relief, but nothing helped.

She got outside and looked out onto Sunset Boulevard. Shiny, expensive cars passed with purpose as a faint, cool wind blew in from the direction of the ocean.

Clutching her car keys, she contemplated a hasty disappearance act by driving out of town and not stopping until she reached some place where she could hole up with a bottle of booze and a dead cell phone. But those flights of fancy were reserved for people a lot less rational than she.

Still, her breathing came with effort as she tried to remember where she’d parked.

She closed her eyes and said to no one, “I’m in deep doo-doo.”

Avalon gazed out over the expanse of the Pacific Ocean. The sea was calm that day and the marine layer was burning off quickly. Soon the sun would warm the water. How wonderful it would feel to be in a beach chair with her toes dug in the sand.

“And as soon as I can arrange it, you’ll meet with Garrett Chain. He’s directing a huge production in Spain. I told him you’d be interested.” Billy Woods paced the floor. He did that quite a lot.

Helen had been in the middle of reviewing Avalon’s schedule when Billy came by. Helen now busied herself with something on her iPad while Avalon listened to Billy with partial attention. His job was to take care of things, and details were considered things.

Turning from the window, she crossed the path that Billy paced and sat on the couch. She tapped a rapid staccato on her thigh as she stared at her cell phone on the coffee table. With her toe, she moved it aside from what it had been sitting on—Paige’s business card.

“Avalon?”

“Hmmm?”

“This is big.”

“I know it is.”

“I mean really big.”

Her eyes stayed transfixed on the card. “Of course.”

“You could easily double your salary. That is, if
The Last Stand
does well. Which it will.”

“Uh-huh.” What was Paige doing at this very moment? Was she off photographing others for her book? If she had a new girlfriend, was she making her brunch?

“So it’s a go, then?”

She looked up. “Sure.”

“I’m also asking that you get approval of the male lead.”

“Righty-o.”

“Great. I’ll be off, then.”

As Billy let himself out the front door, she picked up Paige’s card. She fingered the raised ink, thinking about Paige’s skin and how soft it might be. Snippets of her wide and brilliant smile over the last few days cascaded through her mind, one after the other, like a parade of brightly colored floats on the Fourth of July.

*

Paige sat nervously waiting for Chris to join her at Cecil’s, their favorite beer joint. It was crowded for a Saturday afternoon, but she’d grabbed two seats at the bar. She usually stayed with Diet Coke, but a strong, stout ale sat in front of her, half-gone.

“I got your cryptic but anxious text,” Chris said as she sidled onto the bar stool next to her. “What’s the hubbub about?”

“My publisher is scheduling me for a book tour.”

“Public speaking?”

She nodded, too afraid to say it out loud.

Chris caught the eye of the bartender and crooked her thumb toward Paige. “I’ll take whatever she’s having.” She turned back to Paige, shaking her head. “That’s like Harrison Ford hanging out with rats.”

“Exactly.” She took a deep breath. “I can’t do…
that
.”

“You’re an author. You have to sell your books.”

“Isn’t that what the Internet is about?”

“Selling means reading in front of people.”

This time she whispered, as if the boogeyman were right behind her and she had to run. “I can’t do that.”

The air suddenly grew thin and she sat up straighter. A low buzz filled her ears. She’d been in college the last time she felt this way, but it was happening again. She gulped and opened her mouth, like a pitiable fish thrown from a tank.

“Are you okay?” Chris was looking at her.

She waved her hand in front of her. “Panic…attack.”

Joining the debate team her senior year had been a bad idea. During her first debate, she had looked out toward the faces staring back and was sure they were filled with malevolent expectancy. They were there to judge her. She had frozen. The entire classroom went still and the strange ragged noise of wood being cut with a serrated knife filled her ears. She realized it was her own labored breathing and she was losing air fast. Panic overtook her, and the next thing she knew, she was running from the podium, trying to find the first receptacle she could vomit in.

That day, only a handful of people was there. A book tour would have lots more people in much bigger rooms.

Oh, fuck.

“Breathe,” Chris was saying.

Look at the bar top
, she told herself.
You’re in a bar with Chris.

Way too slowly, her breathing returned to normal and the ear-ringing stopped, but she was damp with sweat. The bartender delivered Chris’s beer, and Paige lifted hers and practically drained it as she held up one finger to order another.

“Easy there, Turbo. It’s only four p.m. Listen. Maybe you could go to a shrink or get hypnotized. There are ways to get over stage fright.”

There was no way she could ever get up in front of people. That’s partly why she was a writer and photographer. She could send out her words instead of speak them and could remain on the non-flash end of a camera. “I don’t see that anything would work.”

“Well, you’ve gotta try.”

Her second beer was brought over and she cradled it as if clinging to a lifesaver on the
Titanic
.

“How am I gonna do this? It’s less than five months away. I’m supposed to go out on the road, for gosh sakes. Talk in front of
people
.” A sudden chill streaked from her spine to the top layer of her skin, and she shook as badly as if a tooth filling had hit foil.

“Xanax?”

“Well, I guess that’s a possibility. I would be facedown at the bookstores and just sleep through the entire tour.”

“Yeah, I forgot you’re a lightweight.”

She swallowed another big gulp of liquid courage, hoping if a little buzz washed over her, the situation might not seem so desperate.

“Keep going like that and you’ll be the next Ernestine Hemingway.”

“Okay, you’re not helping.”

Chris swiveled her stool and faced her. “This is something you have to do to help yourself. There’s a way, you just have to find it.”

“I seriously don’t think I—” Her cell phone rattled underneath her car keys. She lifted it off the bar top and saw that the phone number was unfamiliar. “Hello?”

“Paige?”

“Avalon?”

Paige ignored Chris’s reaction, which was a perfect imitation of a choirboy’s face as he tried to hit a high note.

“Am I interrupting you?”

“Not at all,” she said. She didn’t want to miss a word, so she plugged a finger in her other ear to minimize the bar noise. Chris elbowed her, mouthing, “That’s Avalon? What does she want?!”

“Would you like to go out with me? On a date?”

Stunned, she dropped her finger from her ear and knew her mouth had dropped open.

Now Chris was saying, “What’s happening?” so Paige swung around, slapped her knee, and made her most furious face.

“Paige?”

“Yes? I mean, yes, I’d love to.”

“Are you free tonight? I know it’s rude to give such short notice, but—”

“Tonight’s fine.”

“May I pick you up?”

She gave her the address, running frantically through the apartment in her mind, making a huge list of what she had to clean and straighten. It had been a hellhole recently and Chris had been her only recent visitor.

“How about seven tonight?”

“That’d be great.”

She hung up and stared at the phone. If she had had any more to drink, she would have thought the stupor had her imagining that Avalon Randolph had just phoned.

But she really had.

“What?” Chris was bouncing on her stool. “I take it that was Avalon Randolph, but why was she calling you?”

“We’re going on a date tonight.” She tried on those words and they felt too surreal. The words
Avalon Randolph
and
date
together in the same sentence sounded as unrelated as salami and raisins.

Chris’s choirboy look was there again. “Get the frick outta here. Seriously?” She started looking around the room.

Paige quickly slapped Chris on the arm. “You’re not telling a soul.”

“Day-yum! This is unbelievable! I’m freaking out here.”

“You’re freaking out? What about me?” At that moment, speaking in public seemed a long ways away. She knew that particular anxiety had ample time to fester and grow to a full and respectable panic outbreak, but for now, she had a house and body to scour. Avalon Randolph wanted to go out on a date. She was interested in her. Cold, furry paws of fear scampered up her back and a fanatical fluttering in her stomach drove her off the stool.

“Listen,” Chris said. “I know you. Don’t overthink this. You’d do good by shutting your brain off for once and just being in the moment.”

“I’ve gotta go,” she said as she stuffed her phone into a pocket and grabbed her keys. The last time her brain had suddenly become this discombobulated was when she’d been in a 5.5 Richter scale earthquake. But this time, she wasn’t shaken from what had just happened but from what was about to happen. Nervous energy raced up and down her arms and legs and she was afraid she’d explode if she didn’t start moving them.

She didn’t hear what Chris said next or if she’d said anything at all. She swung the bar door open and sprinted out into the last rays of Los Angeles daylight.

*

Paige didn’t have as much time as she’d hoped to get ready for her date.

She shampooed her hair, rinsed, and stepped out of the shower, all the while fighting the silly chant of “I’ve got a date with Avalon Randolph” that relentlessly resounded in her head.

By the time she was dressed in her fifth choice of outfits, the mantra had died down. Now, the serious business of straightening the house without breaking into a sweat kept her brain busy. If her neighbor had chosen to look through his window, he’d think she’d gone bonkers. She wasted five minutes fixating on the correct arrangement of pillows on the couch. Her motor functions were somehow stuck in that loop, unable to re-engage in another task.

Her nerves were beyond shot, but she finally pulled away from the cushion madness and poured a quick finger of rye whiskey.

As she tipped the glass and the alcohol shot down her throat, the doorbell suddenly rang. She frantically coughed in surprise, trying to keep the whiskey from reversing direction.