The ceremony and reception were held at Cilantro, their new restaurant. Charlotte, dressed in poinsettia red and standing beside her as maid of honor, thought Melanie was radiant with joy and happiness. That spirit was reflected in the face of Junichi, and in the faces of the circle of friends and family that surrounded them.
She beamed with pleasure for her friend as she listened to the exchange of vows. Melanie spoke clearly, with the voice of one who had overcome many obstacles in the past and had emerged triumphant.
It was ironic, Charlotte thought to herself as she observed her friend’s luminous face, that the beauty Melanie feared losing with age had, in fact, altered and returned, one hundred times more enchanting. Each wrinkle was a badge of honor, the soft plumpness of womanhood was flattering, the shoulders straight and the gaze steady with confidence. Most of all, her eyes were brimming with love for Junichi.
Charlotte cried into her hankie, sniffling more than Junichi’s mother, who came in a close second. The guests were kind and thought she was merely sentimental. Melanie, who knew better, was reassured when Charlotte wiped her eyes and calmly greeted the guests in the receiving line.
“You are the most beautiful bride,” Charlotte gushed when they were alone.
“Let me remind you of what you once said to me. That the best mirror for reflecting our true beauty is the presence of friends in our lives.” Melanie hugged Charlotte close for a long moment. “You’ve been my best friend. You made me beautiful,” she whispered in Charlotte’s ear.
Melanie drew away, wiping her eyes. “And your gift was too much. Your shares in the restaurant…I can’t say enough. Junichi calls it my dowry.”
“Just promise me to be happy.”
“I am. Deliriously. But don’t think for a moment that I’m abandoning you, roomie. I’m only across town.” She squeezed Charlotte’s hands. “You’re not alone.”
Charlotte’s vision blurred, but she hoisted a resolute smile. “Of course not.”
Junichi came over and, after apologizing to Charlotte, escorted Melanie to another smiling couple for a photograph. The foursome exchanged pats and hugs and looked to Charlotte so couple-ish. Around her, people surreptitiously glanced her way, whispering. It was clear that they recognized who she was, were thrilled by it, but did not intrude and speak to her. They of course thought they were being polite by not approaching a celebrity. She was not one of them.
Charlotte stepped back a pace to stand in a quiet corner of the room and observe the party from a safe distance. As she watched the other guests form clusters and chat comfortably, she remembered another Christmas party four years earlier, in Chicago. She shivered from a cold blast that had nothing to do with the brisk December wind whipping the dock and rattling the wooden shutters. Charlotte realized with a sudden intake of breath that she was as isolated being beautiful as she’d ever been ugly.
T
wo months into the new action film,
Thunder Bay,
the cast and crew were sweating bullets, not shooting them. John LaMonica had finally managed to put this film together after two years of negotiating film rights, actors’ and director’s schedules, paying back favors and incurring new ones. Now, just when he got production under way and the cameras were whirring, his leading lady, Charlotte Godfrey, was crumbling.
“You’ve got to do something, and do it fast,” LaMonica told Freddy Walen in his steel gray office. The producer was in no mood to argue. “Or you leave me no choice. I’ll release her from the film.”
“What?” Freddy exclaimed, yanking the cigar from his mouth and leaning forward in his seat, elbowing across the acre of LaMonica’s desk. “You can’t do that. The film’s half shot!”
“I can and I will.” He leaned back in his chair and expanded his chest. He steepled his fingers and looked at Freddy from over them.
Freddy picked up his club soda and swirled the ice, eyeing LaMonica. The man was a bulky, square-jawed pugilist made to look elegant by a fabulous tailor. He was, Freddy reminded himself with a deep breath, the producer.
“What will you gain by that?” he asked, his voice conciliatory. “You’d lose everything.”
“I’ll close down the set and collect insurance before I go through another two months like this. She’ll bankrupt the entire project.”
Freddy champed down on his cigar, holding in the retort. LaMonica was part of a new breed of Hollywood producers who considered themselves honor bound to cut outrageous production costs. He’d built a reputation around his ability to do so, and as a result, was paranoid over rising expenditures. And there was no denying the costs were skyrocketing on the set of
Thunder Bay.
His mind was racing. He’d heard about Charlotte’s problems on the set, but she was a consummate professional. He never dreamed it could get this bad. He leaned back in his chair, assuming a relaxed position.
“In all fairness, John, you can’t dump this all on Charlotte. It’s common knowledge the computer graphics imaging alone is running into the millions.”
“Hey, the CGI I can handle. It’s budgeted. It’s your star’s emotional life that’s out of my range.” He scowled, then said in a low voice. “What is it, drugs?”
“No, no, it’s nothing like that. Frankly, John, I don’t know what the matter is, except that it’s physical. She’s been sick, and it keeps getting worse. We’ve been to a lot of doctors, but they can’t pinpoint the problem. After the film’s done, we’ll start with the specialists. Check her into a hospital and run the tests.” He saw LaMonica raise his brows. “And I don’t mean the Betty Ford. She’s got something else. Arthritis, maybe.”
LaMonica laced his fingers on the desk and stared at them for a moment, his face troubled. Freddy felt the sweat pouring down his back, but he kept his face cool by force of will. He knew LaMonica wasn’t buying the arthritis line; he didn’t expect him to. He probably thought it was AIDS or something. The question was, would he pretend to buy it? When he cleared his throat, Freddy sat up, to show respect.
“Can you keep her stable long enough to finish the shooting schedule?”
“I give you my word.”
LaMonica stewed this over, deliberately letting Freddy squirm. Fact was, Freddy didn’t know what the hell was going on with her. Some of it was depression he was sure. He remembered the symptoms all too well from years of living with Ali. If Charlotte didn’t pull her act together soon, she was going to be released from her contract. That was suicide in this business. In this case, a double suicide. He’d have to do something fast.
“Your word, Freddy.” LaMonica was pointing his finger now, making certain there was no doubt who would be held personally responsible.
“My word is my bond and all that. Look, John, just keep the press away. They’re starving for any information they can get on her since she’s been nominated.”
“Maybe if she talked to the press once in a while instead of fueling speculation…”
“We both know now is not the time for that.”
LaMonica nodded and puffed on his cigar, deep in thought.
“Close the set,” Freddy said.
“It is closed.”
“Then explain to me how Vicki Ray got that bit about Charlotte stumbling onto the set like a drunk? That woman practically stalks Godfrey.”
“Vicki Ray has sources everywhere. And the fact is, Charlotte
was
swerving around, forgetting her lines. When we tried to prompt her she got downright edgy. Drew herself up like a queen and declared she didn’t need prompting. That her memory was excellent. Frankly, Freddy, I heard that about her, but on this set, it couldn’t be further from the truth. And when she does talk, she’s practically inarticulate!”
His voice was rising. Freddy wanted to cool him down before he got carried away.
“Okay, I get the picture. I’ll go see what I can do.” He rose and snuffed out his cigar, eager to be out of the meeting before hostilities escalated.
“Freddy!” LaMonica called him back. He waved his hand to bring Freddy close, in a confidential manner. “We all know that this is a tough film—even for an actress in great shape. There’s lots of physical stunts, and running. It’s a high energy gig.” He paused and studied his fingers. When he looked back up, his eyes were intense. He tilted his head and spoke sotto voce. “Go out and assess the situation. Then come back and set me straight. Today. In a couple of hours. Before I take your word.”
Freddy held his breath. He was being given a second chance to back out, to let Charlotte sink on her own and not go down with her. Shit, he thought with a sudden panic. It must be worse than he thought. This offer was being made because he and John were friends, once upon a time.
Freddy met his gaze and nodded curtly.
He stepped forward and shook LaMonica’s hand to cement the deal. Then he tossed the cigar in the garbage and walked out of the meeting, hoping to God he hadn’t also just tossed his career out in the garbage as well.
Charlotte saw Freddy marching toward her cottage with the hunched-shouldered, determined gait of a man on a mission. He could have been a double for John Wayne.
She let the curtains drop and brought her fingers to her jaw, stroking the sore spots gently, feeling a quiver of anxiety stir in her chest. The first real feelings she’d felt in months. She knew what he was going to say. It would be nothing she hadn’t already told herself. Shape up, kid. Buck up. When the going gets tough….
The one undeniable fact, however, was that she no longer cared.
She was in mourning. She felt an overwhelming sense of loss that no one could touch. A loss of her love, her beauty, her mother, her talent, of so many things, that she felt sucked into the vacuum of its density. A star, imploding unto itself, creating a dismal black star of suffering.
She’d written to Dr. Navarro several times for refills of his herbs, imploring him to send something new, perhaps stronger. For months his herbs had managed to pull her through, but they weren’t working anymore. Nothing was working anymore. And the symptoms were getting worse, just as he had predicted. It used to be she had some good days and some bad days. Now they were all bad. Not long ago, she could pull herself together enough to remember her lines and rally through the day. The murky depression had crept in only during the nights. Now the bleakness seeped throughout the day as well.
She flopped onto the sofa and cuddled into the pillows, holding them tight, resting her chin. What were her choices? To tumble back into the life she once led was unthinkable. And that was what would happen if she had the surgery. To continue on as she was, getting sicker and sicker, condemned her to eventual death. Yet what was a life without love? Death held no power over her.
The challenge was to find a reason to continue living.
Freddy’s face was ashen, his eyes were bulging from their sockets, and his mouth hung loose. “Are you telling me that this guy is telling you to take out the implants and what? Just leave it?” He colored and his voice rose with his blood pressure. “Hell, your chin will be scraping your chest!”
Charlotte clenched her jaw and jerked her head away.
Freddy was red-faced, and he slammed his hands on his hips. “That’s bullshit. No way I’m gonna let that happen. Damn, why didn’t you tell me sooner? Wait, I’m sorry. Let me cool down a minute and catch my breath. This is so much, so fast. Jeez, my head is spinning. I need to think.”
Freddy put one hand on his forehead and paced the floor. After a while he sat down in the chair opposite Charlotte and took a deep breath. His eyes were focused, razor sharp, and she could tell he was exploring her face and jaw like others before him. She let him. She gave him his moment; it seemed only fair. This was no time for hedging or embarrassment.
They spoke for more than an hour, going over the details of her surgery, of her illness and of the doctors’ reports. Freddy was relentless with his questions and she in turn answered honestly and completely.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said at length. He looked like he’d aged years. “I’m going to get on the phone to a famous plastic surgeon in South America that
I
know. He’s world class. Takes only the best clients. This doctor knows what he’s doing. I’ll talk to him and we’ll schedule an appointment for you, to take out the bad implants and put in the good ones.”
She leaned forward, raising her hand to make him stop. “Freddy, I told you. It’s not that easy. The research on this is very new.”
“Yes, it is that easy,” he shouted back, firm in his belief.
“You tell me that you’ve had a major face job and that now it’s got to be undone because one doctor says so, and expect me to say ‘Oh well. Too bad’?” He slashed his hand in the air. “This is the whole ball of wax, baby. If your face goes, your career goes. Think of that before you take the word of one doctor.”
“It’s not just one doctor. Unfortunately.”
“But you weren’t examined by these other docs.”
“No…”
“Well, there you are. We’ll go see my doctor and he’ll fix it. I’m telling you, babe, this guy’s a genius. Listen to me, Charlotte.”
Charlotte could feel the force of his will bear down on her. In the past, she’d been able to balance it with a firm, steady will of her own. She’d always known what Freddy was about. He wanted to manipulate her, and she let him think that he had. In the past, their goal was the same, and it was easier for both of them if she bowed to his experience to get them there. Only with Michael did she defy him. In this area she had closed the door firmly against him and his prejudices.
But…then again, that had been a mistake, she thought sadly. She had defied God, defied her mother, defied Freddy. Well, they showed her, didn’t they? She didn’t have it in her to defy anyone anymore. She wasn’t angry. She was just very, very tired.
“What should I do?” she asked quietly.
He tilted his head to one side. “Marry me.”
She gasped and stared at him in disbelief. “Marry you?”
“Yes. It’s the only way. I can protect you, care for you, the way you need to be taken care of.”
“But…I don’t love you.”
He pressed the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, then gave a short, impatient sigh. “It doesn’t matter.”
She felt a wave of despair sweep over her. “It doesn’t matter?”
“No.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched, and she sensed he was covering up some other, deeper emotion that she could only guess at. Freddy was secretive about his personal life.
“It doesn’t matter,” he continued in his matter-of-fact manner, “because the marriage will be in name only. In fact, we don’t even have to go through with it if you don’t want to. I figure we’ll need to get to South America right after the Oscars, to get that surgery done. Naturally, that’ll also be the time the press will be hounding you. We can use our marriage and honeymoon as an excuse to leave the country and rest up in Brazil until you’re ready to come back. Leave it to me to handle all the details. By then, you’ll be working on
Tess
and we’ll be finishing negotiations for
Beauty and the Beast.
After that, we’ll get another film lined up, and another. Cha-ching, cha-ching. No one will care by then if we’re really married or not.”
“So we’ll only
say
we’re getting married….”
“I—” He exhaled slowly and, spreading out his hands, said simply, “If you prefer.”
She tilted her head. “I do prefer.”
He only shrugged and said, “We don’t need a piece of paper to bind us. You and I, we’re a team. We’re like that ying and yang, two halves of a whole.”
Charlotte crossed her arms tightly around herself and studied him though narrowed eyes. He was sincere. He had feelings about her, stronger than she’d realized.
“You
do
love me.”
He sighed impatiently. “Of course I love you, sweetheart. In my own way. There’s always been something about you, from the first day you walked into my office wearing that awful suit and acting so prim. You had something special. It was something in the eyes. I don’t know how to explain it. I see it now.” His face softened, and he reached out to stroke her hair gently, as if she were a child, not a woman.