Authors: Pamela Grandstaff
“I’ll buy it from you,” Sloan said from the doorway.
Maggie and Claire were startled, not having heard the door open.
“How much do you want for it?” Sloan asked Maggie.
Sloan hadn’t made a movie star entrance, and in her casual clothes she looked just like the well-heeled tourists who swarmed
Pine Mountain. Maggie didn’t seem to recognize her, and Claire could tell from her cousin’s bored expression that she wasn’t impressed.
“Tourists,” her look seemed to say, “are so tiresome.”
“It’s not for sale,” Maggie said, and Claire felt a frisson of apprehension at how Sloan might react to Maggie’s blunt refusal. No one talked to Sloan Merryweather like that and got away with it.
Before she could react, Sam and Hannah came in, holding hands with Sammy between them. As soon as Hannah saw Sloan her eyes widened and she dropped Sammy’s hand.
“Sloan Merryweather!” she said. “Can I have your autograph?”
Sloan smiled.
“Of course you can; how sweet of you to ask.”
“Who?” Maggie said.
Sloan gave Maggie a seriously cutting side eye that no one but Claire seemed to notice.
“Sloan Merryweather,” Hannah said to Maggie. “She was in Tweethearts and that remake of All About Eve called Bumpy Night. You know, Sloan Merryweather.”
Maggie rolled her eyes at Claire. Sloan took a sticky note off the front counter and used a pen attached to a chain there to write something. She then handed the note to Hannah. She then wrote on another note and handed it to Maggie.
“I’m not really an autograph collector,” Maggie said.
“That’s what I’m prepared to pay for your hair,” Sloan said. “It’s for a cancer charity I represent. They make wigs for kids who lose their hair from chemo treatments.”
“She’s not interested,” Claire said.
“You’d pay me that much?” Maggie said. “That’s more than my store nets in a year.”
“What business is that?” asked Sloan. “I’m thinking of investing in this area.”
“It’s the bookstore down the street,” Maggie said.
“It’s not for sale,” Claire hastened to add.
“Everything’s for sale,” Sloan said quietly, while looking at Claire.
Claire introduced Sammy to Sloan. Sammy stuck his tongue out at her, but Sloan’s eyes were on Sam. She was looking him up and down in an appraising manner.
“These are my friends Sam and Hannah Campbell,” Claire said, “and here comes Scott.”
Scott walked in and pretended to try to catch Sammy, who scurried around behind his father.
“Sam Campbell,” Sloan said. “Isn’t this the guy you went skinny dipping with in high school?”
Claire felt all the air go out of her lungs and couldn’t remember how to inhale. Of all the personal details about her life that Claire had been unwise enough to share with Sloan, who could not have cared less, this was the one tidbit she chose to remember.
“What?!” Hannah said, and Claire could clearly see how vulnerable she was to what Sloane was about to dish out. It would be like kicking a puppy, a cruelty of which Mackie Pea knew Sloane was perfectly capable.
Before Claire could think of how to respond, Scott did.
“No, that was me,” he said.
“What?!” Maggie said, but the look she gave Claire was more pissed off pit bull than kicked puppy.
“Didn’t I ever tell you about that?” Scott said to Maggie. “Patrick and Sam went to a keg party at Fitz’s hunting cabin and ditched Claire and me out at the lake. We drank all the beer in Theo’s boathouse.”
“Claire?” Maggie said.
“Claire?” Hannah said.
Claire was picturing her name being added to the top of the dry erase board of shame in Maggie’s bookstore. She’d be banned for life.
“Remember how cold the water was?” Scott asked Claire.
“Sure,” Claire said, while intentionally avoiding everyone’s eyes.
“Unfortunately it was too dark to see anything,” Scott said. “Claire told me if I touched her she would kill me.”
“Holy hottentots!” Hannah said. “How did you keep that a secret?”
“Where was Ed?” Maggie asked Scott. “You two were always joined at the hip.”
“That was the summer Brad drowned,” Scott said, and Claire was impressed with how smoothly he embellished his lie. “Ed wasn’t allowed out at the lake after that.”
Maggie stood up and pulled on her jacket.
“How much do I owe you?” she asked Claire in an icy tone.
“On the house,” Claire said.
“Oh dear,” Sloane said. “Did I say something I shouldn’t have?”
“It was no big deal,” Claire said. “Just a late night swim with a friend.”
“I was kind of disappointed,” Scott said, “at the time.”
Maggie left in a huff with Scott on her heels, and Sloane looked smugly satisfied.
“You just love creating the drama, don’t you?” Claire said to her. “You just have to stir things up and try to make a fool out of me.”
Sloane shrugged and tried to look innocent.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.
“You’re not that great of an actress,” Claire said.
“I think the
Academy of Arts and Sciences might disagree with you on that point,” Sloane said. “And as far as making a fool of you, that’s Carlyle’s forte, not mine.”
“Hey,” Hannah said. “That’s my cousin you’re talking to. Watch your mouth.”
Sloan turned on Hannah before Claire could intervene.
“Looks like Claire took all the pretty DNA and left you with the rest.”
“Stop it,” Claire said. “I won’t let you do this to my family.”
“Don’t stop her! This is better than a movie,” Hannah said. “I wish I had some popcorn.”
“C’mon,” Sam said, hoisting the squirmy Sammy a little higher in his arms. “Let’s get Junior home and put him down for a nap.”
“I’m not ready to go,” Hannah said. “I wanna see what she looks like when she’s really mad, not just pretending to be mad. Her face is so jacked up I can’t tell what she’s actually feeling. Isn’t that important for an actress, Sloan, to be able to demonstrate emotions?”
“C’mon, hon,” Sam said to Hannah, and made the briefest eye contact with Claire. There was relief in his eyes.
“So nice to meet you, Sam,” Sloane said, “And your wife, Anna, of course.”
“I know you know my name’s Hannah,” Hannah said. “But I don’t even mind the insult, coming from you. You’re just as pretty as you were in that movie where you played the prostitute. I was sorry to hear your husband was carrying on with the actress who played your daughter. I guess all the money and fame in the world are no guarantee you’ll be happy.”
Sloane’s face turned beet red and Sam tugged Hannah’s arm to get her to follow him out.
“What do I always tell you about torturing the tourists?” Sam said to his wife. “It doesn’t keep them from coming back; it just irritates them.”
“I’d like to know what in the world your handsome husband sees in you,” Sloane said to Hannah. “You’re not even ugly in an interesting way. You’re just plain forgettable.”
“Alright, that’s enough,” Sam said, but Hannah just laughed in Sloane’s face.
“You’re just gonna keep getting older, lady,” Hannah said. “Don’t you ever forget that.”
Sammy stuck his tongue out at Sloane over his father’s shoulder. Hannah was still holding the post-it note with Sloan’s signature on it, and she waved it goodbye to them as they went out.
“What horribly ordinary people,” Sloan said. “I don’t know how you can stand being associated with such boring nobodies.”
“What are you doing here?”
“What are you wearing, Claire?” Sloan said. “You look like a teamster.”
“What do you want?”
“
Stanley didn’t want me to come,” Sloan said. “But I wanted to see you, to warn you in person.”
“About what?”
“What might happen if you accuse me of arranging Tuppy’s accident.”
“Did you?”
“Of course not.”
“Then why worry?”
“It’s not the kind of press I need right now,” Sloan said. “The focus needs to be on my engagement to Carlyle, the film being released in October, and then the Oscar campaign.”
“By all means,” Claire said. “Let’s remember what’s really important.”
“Don’t be ugly, Claire,” Sloan said. “It’s not your style and you can’t win. I’ve got more money and better lawyers.”
“And no conscience.”
“If I did send someone to rough up Tuppy and he died as a result, why would I then come here and put myself right in the middle of the investigation? That would be pretty stupid, wouldn’t it?”
“I’ve asked myself that,” Claire said. “And you know what? I think you’d do it just for kicks; because you get off on the risk and the drama; because you really believe you can get away with anything. And why not? You always have.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sloan said. “You have an overactive imagination. Lucky for me I have a signed confidentiality agreement with your name on it. I could confess anything to you and there’s nothing you could do about it.”
“Go away, Sloan,” Claire said. “There’s no way in hell I’m coming back to work for you.”
Sloan just pretended she didn’t hear Claire as she checked herself out in the wall of mirrors behind the styling stations, turning this way and that.
“Ayelet wants me to adopt an orphan to be delivered between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Either that or pretend to be pregnant and hire someone else to actually carry the brat.”
“But you don’t like children.”
“I won’t have to spend much time with it,” Sloan said. “What do you think of ‘Always’ as a name? That’s what Ayelet suggests.”
“Why not Artichoke or Asparagus?” Claire said. “If you’re going to be silly about it.”
“That would be asinine,” Sloan said. “Everyone knows when it comes to baby names you choose fruits, not vegetables.”
“You couldn’t even take care of that dog,” Claire said. “You’ll have to hire three nannies to raise one child. There’s a lot that can go wrong, you know. It’s easier to get rid of a dog than a child.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I wasn’t referring to anything.”
“You can’t talk about that.”
“Don’t worry, Sloan,” Claire said. “I will abide by my confidentiality agreement.”
“
Stanley wants the book Tuppy was writing,” Sloan said. “We know Tuppy gave it to you.”
“I don’t have it,” Claire said. “He said he left it here for me but I can’t find it.”
“I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you,” Sloan said. “Stanley is very impatient to have this taken care of.”
“If I had it I would gladly hand it over to you or your flying monkey.”
“Your life with me wasn’t so bad,” Sloan said. “We had some good times.”
“Your idea of a good time usually led to my idea of a bad time,” Claire said.
“When we lived in Brentwood you had your own guest house and a pool.”
“Paid for by a porn producer with an expensive drug habit; the dealers and porn stars were always fighting outside my bedroom window at three a.m.”
“There’s no drama like hopped-up hooker drama, that’s true.”
“Consider what went on in that pool,” Claire said. “I never swam in it.”
“I helped you get that condo in Malibu.”
“You forged my name on a mortgage so your boyfriend would get the commission. Then I caught you having sex with my husband in our bedroom.”
“Dear old Pip, the delicious dimwit. He owes me quite a bit of money, you know. Whatever happened to him?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care.”
Sloan wandered around the salon, picking up things, pretending to examine them, and then setting them back down. It was a piece of business she’d learned while acting in a Broadway play. It had upstaged and enraged the lead actor, but she got away with it because she was sleeping with the producer.
“What about the two months we spent in
Paris?” Sloan asked.
“You tormented the director until he had a nervous breakdown,” Claire said.
“Jean Marc,” Sloan said. “A rank amateur, thinking he could tell me how to play Collette.”
“It was horrible to watch the way you tortured him.”
“But the city, you have to admit, was fabulous.”
“You stayed at the George V; I shared one bathroom of a moldy rental with nine alcoholic crew members who didn’t value personal hygiene.”
“What about the time we spent in Vancouver shooting Tweetheart?”
“You used the makeup and hair trailer to have an affair with your married costar while I stood outside and kept everyone out.”
“Mmm, Clifford,” she said. “He has such wonderful hands.”
“And a jealous wife; there are still fundraisers you aren’t invited to because of that affair.”
“She gets all the muscle disease kids and I’m stuck with the bald ones; they’re not nearly as cute in commercials.”