Hollywood Kids (25 page)

The place was buzzing. Charlie was entertaining. He sat in the middle of his old brown couch, smoking a joint, surrounded by hangers-on. Sport, his three-year-old son, crouched at his feet playing with an electric train set. Dahlia lingered at the bar sipping Perrier, her face long and mournful.

'I didn't know you were having a party tonight,' Jordanna said accusingly, thinking the least he could have done was warn her.

Charlie smiled dreamily, his eyes on a space trip. 'Hey, kiddo, it's only a little celebration - for Sport.'

'He's three, Charlie,' she pointed out. 'Shouldn't the guests be younger?'

He chuckled and offered her a drag on his joint.

She declined. She'd been dying to tell him her news and now he was too stoned to care.

'I'm going up to my room,' she said. Like he gave a shit, he was too busy playing genial host to a room full of drugged-out freeloaders.

Once in her room, she slammed the door, put on a CD of Madonna singing 'Bad Girl', and sat back on her bed.

Opportunity knocks. Was she going to open the door or not?

Picking up the script
of Thriller Eyes
she started reading.

The role of Sienna was wild. In fact, if Sienna hadn't turned out to be a psychotic killer at the end of the piece, she would have been a lot like her.

Reaching for a yellow marker she went through the script again, highlighting certain passages, saying the words aloud, getting deep into the character.

Wistfully she thought it would have been nice if Charlie was around to read with her, but no, he was too busy partying, and she had no desire to join in.

Madonna gave way to Prince singing 'Cream'. The music drowned out the noise coming from downstairs. She glanced out the window and observed that the party was getting bigger. Valet parkers were shuttling cars back and forth, and there were now two catering trucks parked around the side.

Charlie should have told her he was planning a party, she did live there, after all.

Around midnight she decided to venture downstairs and check out the action.

There were people everywhere, spilling out on to the terrace, crowding the bar, hanging out around the swimming-pool. The smell of pot was heavy in the air. A skinny girl - star of a TV sitcom - sat cross-legged on the floor popping pills, while a well-known country singer in snakeskin boots and matching vest snorted cocaine from a side table. Belly-dancers undulated their way through the crowd, and the noise was deafening.

She didn't know anybody except Cheryl, who held court on the big leather couch surrounded by two bimbo-type blondes, an under-age redhead and several attentive men. Charlie was nowhere to be seen.

She went over. 'What are
you
doing here?'

'Hi,' Cheryl said vaguely. 'I wondered where you were.'

'Conducting a little business?' Jordanna asked, indicating the girls gathered around her.

'Socializing,' Cheryl replied, sipping a tequila on the rocks. 'It's good to socialize.'

'So I see.'

'Is it true you're living here now?'

'Yes.'

'Thanks for telling me. I had to find out from Shep.'

'I never see you any more, Cheryl, you're always too busy.'

'Business comes first.'

'I guess business is booming.'

'In this town - always,' Cheryl said, attracting the attention of a waiter. 'Another tequila rocks,' she said tersely, before turning back to Jordanna. 'You seen Grant?'

'Is he here, too?'

'Over by the bar.'

She had no intention of hanging around Cheryl and her merry band of hookers, so she fought her way through to the bar, where Grant had a Chinese girl pressed up against the wall. They were exchanging tongues.

'Grant,' she said, tapping him on the shoulder.

He stared at her with a foggy expression.

'Jordanna,' she said, adding a sarcastic, 'Remember me? We grew up together.'

A stupid grin spread across his face. 'Yeah, Jordy... How's it goin'?'

He was stoned out of his head, and when Grant was stoned he was bad news. A couple of years ago he'd had a serious heroin problem. His father had found out and forced him into Rehab. When he'd gotten out he'd been fairly straight. Now he was obviously back on the merry-go-round.

The Chinese girl pulled him back towards her, wiggling her tongue in his face. 'C'mon, honey baby, let's get into it,' she crooned.

'See ya, Jordy,' Grant said, his stupid grin firmly in place.

She wandered around the party searching for Charlie. Where the hell was he? And why did he want all these stoned people in his house?

She poked her head around the kitchen door. Chaos reigned as the caterers did their stuff. Mrs Willet was nowhere to be seen, she'd probably taken off the moment the party started.

Back in the front hallway she was just in time to see Arnie arrive, accompanied by another batch of hangers-on.

'Levitt!' Arnie exclaimed, hardly able to believe his luck.

'Arnie,' she replied coolly.

'Where's the man?'

'He's around.'

'Haven't seen you in the club lately. You've missed some radical nights.'

'I've been working.'

'
You
? He chortled with laughter. Working? I don't believe it.'

'Fuck you, Arnie.'

Arnie turned to his friends. 'You see,' he said proudly, 'she loves me.'

Jordanna stalked away and headed upstairs. She was about to go to her own room when she changed her mind and decided to wait for Charlie in his bedroom. Eventually he'd stagger upstairs, and then she could talk to him about her test, maybe even read through some key scenes with him. That's if he wasn't too out of it.

She entered his large untidy bedroom. It was dark, but she could hear noises. 'Charlie?' she said, switching on the light.

His head was between Dahlia's legs, eating her pussy like he'd been on a starvation diet. He came up for air, completely unembarrassed at being caught. Dahlia lay there without moving, her face a study in stoicism.

'Oooops,' Charlie said, his half-crazed smile at full mast. 'I guess you caught me with my mouth in the cookie jar!'

She stared at the two of them. Her heart was beating very fast, but she managed to remain calm. 'Yes, I guess I did,' she said quietly.

Wanna join in, kiddo?' he asked, raising an extravagant eyebrow.

She shook her head. 'No, thank you, Charlie.' And with that she turned the light off and left the room, closing the door behind her.

It was definitely time to move on.

Midnight Cowboy got a call at one a.m. He was asleep. 'Who's this?' he mumbled.

'Jordanna. Remember me? I read with you at the casting session today.'

'Hey, yeah, Jordanna, what time is it? Have I got the part?'

'Oh, like I'd be calling you at one a.m. to tell you that you got the part,' she said edgily. 'I gave you a good recommendation, can't do more than that.'

'So what's up?'

Thought I'd drop by.'

'Now?'

'No, tomorrow morning.'

'Yeah, yeah, yeah - come by now, it's cool.'

'Where do you live?'

'Venice.'

'Shit.'

'What?'

'You mean I've got to drive all the way to Venice?'

'You don't gotta do anything.'

'OK, give me directions.'

Throwing a few things in an overnight bag she took off, her Porsche zooming all the way down Wilshire to the beach. She felt let down and hurt. OK, so she hadn't been foolish enough to imagine Charlie was a long-term relationship, but she also hadn't expected to find him in bed with his ex-girlfriend while she was still living in the house. Men. They always let her down. That's why she was better off with one-night stands. Hit and run. Make out on
her
terms.

Rule number one - never stay around long enough to get hurt.

Midnight Cowboy's tumbledown house was situated in a rough neighbourhood near the boardwalk. She couldn't decide where to hide her car, so she left it on the street hoping it wouldn't get vandalized or stolen.

He greeted her in Levi's and nothing else. Great body. Great sex. And he didn't mind using a rubber. At least she made
that
concession to good behaviour.

In the morning her Porsche was still there, untouched by human criminal. She drove back to Charlie's, took a shower and changed clothes.

Mrs Willet was sipping tea in the kitchen. 'Are you moving out, dear?' she asked, quite cheerful for a change.

'Haven't made up my mind yet,' Jordanna replied, grabbing an apple from the fruit dish. 'Sorry to disappoint you.'

'I thought with Miss Dahlia and Sport moving back in...'

That's a temporary arrangement.'

'No.' Mrs Willet was adamant. 'Mr Dollar assured me they'd be here on a permanent basis.'

'Well, good for Mr Dollar,' she said, biting into the apple as she walked over to the door. 'Tell you what, Mrs W, if I
do
decide to move, you'll be the last to know.'

The hatchet-faced housekeeper glared at her.

At the studio there was a message for her to report straight to Bobby's office. She lingered in the ladies' room first, studying her reflection in the mirror. She looked good. Bright-eyed. Too enthusiastic? No. When it came to scoring a role in a major movie there was no such thing as too enthusiastic.

Bobby Rush threw her off balance. He knew all her secrets, so to speak. He'd lived the same experience and come through unscathed. It was unnerving.
He
was unnerving. She couldn't quite get a beat on him, he seemed so together, and yet she - better than anyone - knew how difficult it must have been growing up with Jerry Rush as your father.

She also found Bobby undeniably attractive, even though he wasn't her type. Oh, no, not at all. She liked them young and hungry or old and successful. Bobby didn't fit into either category.

They were waiting for her when she entered the office. Bobby sat behind his desk, while Mac paced around the room. 'Take a seat,' Mac said. 'And for chrissakes relax.'

Easy enough for him to say. She was uncomfortable, excited, filled with trepidation. Oh, God, it was so unlike her to be nervous.

'So,' Mac said. 'Have you given our idea some thought?'

'Yes,' she said, trying to sound cool and in control. 'If you still want me to test, I'll do it.'

'Did you mention it to your father?' Mac asked, chewing on his thumbnail while watching her intently.

Why would I do that?' she snapped.

'I thought -'

'Mac,' she interrupted heatedly. 'I don't even
live
there any more - why would I tell Jordan?'

Bobby got up, came around his desk and stood in front of her. 'Your mother was an actress, wasn't she?'

'Yes,' she said, beginning to feel really uptight.

'So how come you never wanted to try it before?'

She decided to be honest. 'Because my father told me I'd have too much to live up to.'

He burst out laughing. 'That's
exactly
what I heard from my old man, and look at me today.'

'Yeah, look at you
. I saw
Style Wars
, she wanted to say, but she curbed her tongue for once. This was her chance to do something she'd always wanted, and she wasn't about to blow it.

'We'll test you today,' Mac said. 'Bobby'll test with you.'

When?' she asked nervously.

'This afternoon.'

Her stomach churned. 'I can't do it that soon.'

Why not?' Mac asked, quite reasonably.

'Because... because I need more time,' she stammered, unable to come up with a better excuse.

'Don't worry about a thing,' Bobby said, patting her on the shoulder in what she considered a patronizing fashion. 'You'll go over to wardrobe now, then we'll sit down for a couple of hours and read through the test scenes.' He fixed her with his incredibly intense blue eyes. 'Jordanna, trust me. It'll be OK.'

Sure, for him it would be OK, for her it would be a fucking nightmare.

She returned downstairs in a daze.

The good news was that she was going to test. The bad news was that now everybody knew who she was. Somehow word had leaked.

Florrie greeted her with a frown and a sharp, 'Why didn't you tell us who you were?'

'What was I supposed to do? Take out an announcement in the trades?' she fired back.

'No,' Florrie said, with a hurt expression. 'But you could have confided in
me
?'

Sure, confiding in Florrie would be like buying a full-page ad in
Variety
.

Jordanna noticed people were treating her differently. The kids around the office who'd once been so friendly and nice were now either distant or fawning all over her.

Nanette called her into the main casting office and gave her a vigorous pep talk. 'Listen, dear,' she said, squinting while dragging hungrily on her cigarette. 'You might be able to pull this off or maybe you won't. The camera loves some people, hates others. Nobody knows until you get in front of it.' She expelled a stream of lethal smoke into Jordanna's face. 'I'm sure you're aware they wanted Winona Ryder for this role.'

Oh, great, make me feel really secure.

Over in the wardrobe department a bossy woman in ill-fitting dungarees tried to talk her into wearing a short red low-cut dress for the test.

'No,' she said, going on instinct. 'My character wouldn't wear, this, it's too cheap-looking.'

'
I
know what the character would wear better than you,' the wardrobe woman said, ready for a fight.

She refused to be swayed. 'I won't test in that dress,' she said, searching through several racks of clothes until she came across a simple white silk suit. 'Sienna doesn't flaunt her sexuality, she's more subtle,' she explained, holding the outfit up against herself. 'This'll be perfect.'

The wardrobe woman made a face and reluctantly agreed she could wear it.

Reading through the scenes with Bobby was painful. She wished she had a joint. She wished she was stoned. She wished she wasn't there.

Oh, Charlie, where are you when I need you?

Bobby was pleasant enough, but he got impatient if she didn't do things his way and that made her even more edgy. As she got into the character she could feel the vibrations of Sienna. I know this girl, she thought. I know her very well. She's real fucked up. And if it wasn't for the fact that I'm a survivor she could've been me.