Shards of Glass (11 page)

“He mentioned you hooked up yesterday,” I ventured, the “hooked up” purposefully ambiguous.

She grinned and said, “We sure did, but you know, he doesn’t feel like
committing
right now. I’ll keep in touch with him though—you can lead a horse to water but. . . ” –she fixed her gaze on me and added—“which brings me to
you
, sweetheart, we need to talk about
your
future!”

I decided to drop the Daniel subject—if she’d fucked him that was her business, not mine. I smiled at her, forgiving her in my mind for trespassing on what I ridiculously, psychopathically believed to be my property.

Star broke in, “Cindy can help you seal a lucrative deal. They’ll be banking on you being overcome with excitement at being offered a movie. It happens all the time when someone comes from a theater background. Often the actor is so desperate for the part, they offer to do it for scale. The money sounds like crazy money compared to what they’ve been earning. You need to stay cool, Janie.”

“I can negotiate your deal,” Cindy suggested. “Studio cost-cutting has meant that mid-level stars are being nickel-and-dimed in ways that would have been unheard of in the past, and we don’t want that to happen to you, Janie. Right now, they may be tempting you with big bucks, but when it comes to the small print they may try and skimp and save. We need to make sure you get those extra perks, residuals, and expenses, and that you aren’t minimalized in any way.”

“Minimalized?”

“Billing. You want top billing.”

“What about nudity? I don’t feel comfortable taking off my clothes.”

“Fine, I have a great entertainment lawyer who can go through your no nudity clause with a fine toothcomb.”

I sighed with relief. I trusted Daniel to make the film tasteful concerning nudity, but who knew in what direction it would go now?

“When we spoke yesterday,” I said, “at the meeting with Daniel, we were discussing using improvisation as a vehicle for the movie, but now I don’t even know who the director
is
. Will there be a script?”

“All this I can discuss with the producers. Basically, I need to know if you are seriously interested in this project before I start playing hardball.”

I reminded myself that I had a massive student loan to pay off. And I thought of Will. Dad was pretty useless—ever the penniless guitarist mentality, despite the fact his bespoke furniture workshop was doing okay. Will was only twenty-one but soon he’d be a man. He needed guidance. Financial stability. He hadn’t gone to college because of his autism. Since mom died, I had taken her place.

“Yes,” I told Cindy. “I definitely want the job.”

OVER THE NEXT FEW DAYS, Cindy negotiated with Sam Myers, Pearl Chevalier, and the money people. She had come to an arrangement with Paula, my New York agent, that Paula would continue to represent me for all theater worldwide, and any television in New York, and that Cindy would handle everything else. I was a little cog in a massive wheel, with a team behind me, including an attorney. It was daunting but exciting too. I felt so professional.

They did do a screen test in the end, and Pearl told me that it had come out even better than they hoped. They wanted to see what actor would pair well with me, although they still hadn’t chosen anyone. The script was now underway—the whole artsy, improvisation idea that Daniel had was abandoned. And Daniel went back to New York, glad, it seemed, to have escaped the mayhem and intrigue of
The Dark Edge of Love.

As much as I was glad to move forward, the idea of Daniel going back to New York, and not doing the movie, haunted me. He was the only director I truly trusted. He always made the right choices, he could always help with the motivation of a character. Quite simply, he was the best.

The casting directors were on the hunt for the perfect sex-god to play opposite me. They had been seesawing between someone very famous and a newbie. Pearl liked the idea of two new faces, of creating new stars. Samuel Myers wanted box office all the way but was also trying to squeeze every dime out of the budget and was reluctant to come up with a multi-million dollar fee. Because he had a bee in his bonnet about hiring only me (as he felt he had “discovered” me), Cindy was able to get me a million dollars—unheard of for an actress starting out in movies. The buzz was out and people’s expectations were already high. I went around with knots in my stomach—fear mixed with excitement. I ran along Malibu Beach screaming till my lungs burst about the million dollars. Daniel not being able to share this joy dampened it just a bit, but hey? How many actors get paid ONE MILLION DOLLARS for a role?

Star and her family went off for a weeklong vacation, leaving me at their house alone. New scripts were arriving by messenger every day, tweaked each time, till finally, they settled on what they said would be the final copy.

I lay back in a bubble bath, reading it, trying to work out the tone of the story.

FADE IN:

INT. BEDROOM – NIGHT

A naked young woman is bent over the bed, her hands cuffed together, a blindfold on her face. She is in her early twenties, with long red hair. A man – tall, handsome and rugged, and holding a whip, is standing over her, whispering in her ear.

EXT. STREET – DAY

A woman with long brown hair is walking down Fifth Avenue. The street is crowded. The shop windows are decorated for Christmas. The same man we saw before, Jonathon, is running after her shouting the name of Sylvie. He overtakes her and realizes that she isn’t who he thought she was.

INT. BEDROOM – DAWN.

Jonathon is putting on his slacks. A blonde is sleeping in a four-poster bed. He grabs his shoes and socks off the floor and quietly sneaks out of the room.

BLONDE

(Mumbles into pillow) Hey, where are you going?

JONATHON

I warned you I never stay over.

I took a swig of wine, eased back into my frothy bubbles, and continued reading. So far, this Jonathon character was a jerk womanizer—that much I’d gathered. He was screwing around big time. My character, Sylvie, hadn’t appeared yet, but I guessed that at a million dollars my role had to be important. Obviously there were BDSM themes . . . would I end up getting bruised?

Perhaps Jonathon had dead wife issues like Daniel, and like Daniel, was on a fuckathon to try and numb his brain from depression. Sex was good for that—at least that’s what I’d heard; sex addicts didn’t do it for the sex alone but because it validated them and took their minds off the real problem. Just the
thought
of Daniel fucking around made my insides clench.

Relationships are all about timing. In general, when men get married it’s not just because they fall madly in love. No, it’s because there’s a chip in their brain that tells them they are ready to settle down. To commit. Tells them they are
ready
for love and it’s okay to let go. Meet the right man at the wrong time and you’re screwed. Some lucky woman would meet Daniel in five years, when he’d be ripe to start afresh, by which time I would have long since given up. At least I hoped so, for my own sanity.

My mind wandered back to the casting of Jonathon. What actor would they choose? I hoped to God he wouldn’t have bad breath or something. We were going to have to kiss with tongues, feel each other up. The camera was only allowed to catch a flash of my side boob—or at least that’s what would appear on the big screen—but I’d still be topless, save tiny nipple covers, and with just the skimpiest flesh-colored covering down below. I needed to get over myself and stop worrying. Nicole Kidman had appeared naked on stage in
The Blue Room,
in London, early in her career. Lots of actresses had taken off their clothes for the sake of art. But would this be art?

The thought, though, of Daniel in New York, and me here, being directed by a stranger, left me to wonder . . . what would have happened if things had worked out how they were meant to? Daniel was judging me for taking the role, but he didn’t know what it was like to need money the way I did.

It’s easy to have highfaluting morals when you’re rich.

Still, as much as I reveled in my newfound success, I secretly wished he was along with me for the ride.

9

M
Y FIRST DAY ON SET was terrifying. Film wasn’t like theater. They put a bit of silver duct tape on the floor, which you had to reach every single take but without looking down. Casually walk to “hit your mark” as if it was the most natural thing in the world, making sure you stood not an inch away from it. Filming is mechanical; your body has to be at the perfect angle, your eye line hitting the perfect spot, not too far left, not to far right. The crew talked about “crossing the line” which meant that the cameras stayed on one side so you couldn’t double back on an action, or move in the opposite direction, or when it came to the cutting room the scene would be all over the place. Everything took hours to set up. Only two minutes screen time took all day to shoot. I was exhausted and I’d hardly done a thing.

I was so nervous that I hardly had time to study my co-star, who had not been there for the read-through the week before. His name was Cal, aka Jonathon. Like me, he wasn’t a movie star, e.g. was an “unknown,” although he’d done reams of TV series and commercials. He didn’t appear nervous though, had an easy manner and an engaging smile. Thank God. The last thing I needed was some sort of diva.

Cal and I were sitting in my trailer, playing Backgammon. Star had given me a tip before filming began. She told me, “Keep your tablet and phone off set and only glance at messages once a day. You’ll need to concentrate and make friends. Get to know every last person’s name, the gaffers, the grips, and electricians, even the runner. Don’t sit in your trailer alone. Socialize. These people will be your family for the duration of the shoot, and sometimes for life.”

I shook the dice. Two sixes. I smirked.

“You’re on a roll,” Cal said with a wink. “Make the most of it, babe.”

I moved my piece. There was something charming about Cal, so I didn’t mind him calling me “babe.” He was tall and slim but with a worked-out body, and so good looking he looked like a model, but his manner was a touch goofy, like he didn’t take himself too seriously. A kind of brotherly type—perhaps the kind of brother Will could have been if he weren’t emotionally “not quite all there.” I never used the word “mentally handicapped” about my brother—for some reason I couldn’t, I just thought of him as less attuned than most people. But having a normal conversation with Will was not easy. His mind wandered.

“Lucky I’m getting double sixes,” I said to Cal, “because I can hardly concentrate on this game. Shouldn’t we be going over our lines together instead?”

“You heard what Simon said. Wants it to be fresh, not over rehearsed, spontaneous.”

Simon was our director, the one who’d taken Daniel’s place. So far, so good. He was friendly at least.

“I’m just so used to blocking the whole play, scene by scene,” I said. “Not ‘play,’ I mean script, movie, whatever . . . this seems—”

“Surreal?” Cal suggested.

“Yeah, surreal is a good word. I mean, half of me is over the moon, but at the same time I didn’t figure on all this hanging around, waiting to work, while they fiddle with lights and camera angles. I mean, I feel guilty for our poor stand-ins. They must be dying of boredom doing nothing under the lights all day.”

“They’re getting paid for it, don’t feel bad. I was a stand-in, once, years ago—it was my first job in Hollywood. It’s not a bad gig.”

“Oh yeah? Who for?”

“Ashton Kutcher. Orlando Bloom another time.”

I studied his liquid brown eyes, his even features and strong square jaw. “Yeah, I can totally see that.”

“Anyway, they get paid pretty good money and it’s better than a lot of jobs.”

“If Daniel were here, I’m sure he’d be doing it differently.”

“What’s it like working with the great Daniel
Glass
?” Cal asked. “I heard he was a bit of a tyrant.”

“He’s strict,” I admitted. “But more because he’s a perfectionist than anything else. He has a vision. Your turn. I just took you.”

I handed Cal the dice and our fingers touched, his lingering for a second too long. “God, you’re beautiful,” he said, staring into my eyes.

I laughed. “Do you say that to all your leading ladies?”

He laughed too, his wide, friendly smile making dimples in his cheeks. “Yes, I do. Breaks the ice.”

“You think I’m frosty?”

“No, I didn’t mean that. But you are a little nervous. Don’t be, you’re a great actress.”

“How do you know?”

“I saw you in
Where The Wind Blows
. I was in the first row. Saturday matinee.”

“Get outta here! Is that another of your pick-up lines?”

“Could be. What do you think?”

“I think you’re full of shit, Ashton. I don’t think you saw me perform at all!”

“Okay, you got me. But I did Google you, and I did check out that video clip of the play, all five minutes of it, so in effect, I saw you. And I thought you were great. Your move by the way.”