The Perfect Location (3 page)

As she lay in the hotel bed thinking of the shopping spree, she remembered the paparazzi hounding her in LA outside Miu Miu. Some actors sought that attention, even tipping them off themselves with their whereabouts. But not Calypso. The media’s intrusion was a recent problem for her. Now that she was a part of the film circus, she understood that often the film studios started the rumours and hired the photographers to drive the heat and interest for whatever vehicle they were pushing. Calypso wondered who had made the call to them. Her studio, her stylist, or was it one of the store employees? The more she thought about it, Calypso began to suspect who had tipped off the media, and it made sense the longer she considered it.

She remembered the last conversation with Leeza before she left for Italy.

‘Hi, Mom.’ Calypso had answered her cell phone impatiently; they’d only spoken an hour ago.

‘Hi, baby!’ Leeza breathed. Always so eager. ‘How was shopping?’

‘It was great, Mom. But … err … Mom …’ Calypso licked her lips nervously. Why was she always nervous when questioning her mother?

‘Mom, did you tip off the paps?’ Calypso was smart enough to know she wasn’t a big enough celebrity yet for her studio to have called in such an overwhelming number of photographers.

‘I just made one call. Were there many there?’ Leeza had sounded happy – she thought all publicity was good publicity, especially when you were an unknown.

‘Mom, it’s not good. It’s weird. It makes me look desperate and sad. Leave that shit for Miley and Lindsay. Greg will kill me when he finds out. He’s being really careful about my exposure right now. You know this already! Jesus!’

‘Have you heard from Greg or Mandy?’ asked Leeza, ignoring Calypso’s frustration.

Calypso’s hiring of a new manager, Mandy, had replaced her mother who had held the title since Calypso was six years old and in her first commercial. The decision resulted in a huge fight with Leeza who locked herself in the bathroom for six hours at Calypso’s house. She only emerged after Calypso slid a back copy of
Variety
, with an article on Mandy in it, under the door and was finally satisfied that Mandy might be able to do the job.

Now Calypso felt free as she lay in bed. Free from Leeza, the paparazzi and from LA. Stretching, she stepped out of bed, peeled off her Burberry silk shorts and Calvin Klein singlet and walked into the bathroom. Turning on the shower she examined herself in the mirror. Her hair looked amazing, straight and yet with body, thanks to the blow-dry she had just before she left LA. She was due to have another in six weeks but since she was on set for twelve weeks, she wondered if they had them in Italy. She reminded herself to ask Kelly, the head make-up artist on the film, although it may cost a lot here compared to US prices.

Calypso lived on a budget, despite her moderate wealth. It was too easy to overspend and she was mindful of her money, having worked so hard for so long. Besides, Leeza was always in her mind, reminding her never to stray from her budget. It wasn’t as though Calypso was tight with money, however, she was just very aware of what it was like not to have any. No one but her and Leeza and her father knew how tough things had been for them when she was trying to make it in Hollywood. All the money her father had earned had gone into nurturing Calypso’s talent. Although her father had a job, it was meagre pay and trying to make it in Hollywood was expensive. Dancing lessons, headshots, acting lessons, clothes, and flights for auditions to New York for the attempts to make it on Broadway. Her agents and lawyers both demanded a cut when she did work and it was a struggle at times. Calypso knew her parents had gone without for her. She remembered the nights without electricity; the beans on toast for dinner, or sometimes just the beans. Once she found her father in the yard, nailing the soles of his work shoes back together.

The sense of responsibility Calypso felt to ensure she was successful and to look after her parents was what drove her – and what stopped her from losing her head. Calypso had been offered drugs, sex and all the other temptations during her years growing up but she abstained, thinking of the faith her parents had placed in their only child’s talent. Whenever she was interviewed, Calypso painted the picture that she was the typical California girl, growing up in middle-class affluence and wanting for nothing. She claimed she grew up in the house she had actually bought for her parents in Brentwood, whereas in fact she and Leeza and her dad went from place to place until the money ran out. Leeza would check them into rough hotels and trailer parks when the money was really low. Sometimes they skipped paying the bill if they could, just to save a few dollars here and there.

It all changed for a while when Calypso was cast on a variety show, singing and dancing her little heart out until she grew breasts and the show was cancelled. Calypso received the news she had been let go the day before the producer found out the show had been cancelled. She never told anyone, only she and Leeza knew. That day, Leeza sent out a press release saying that Calypso was leaving to explore other opportunities. It was a smart move. She was always seen as the kid who left early and avoided being a part of an axed show. Leeza was considered an excellent manager for knowing when it was time for Calypso to move on.

The next opportunity did not come though until Calypso was nineteen. She did a few bit parts and commercials and this helped the bank balance. She urged her parents to use the money she earned from the show but her father wouldn’t hear of it, so they were back to where they were before. Scrounging and living hand to mouth, job to job.

Now she was in Italy, shooting a film with Rose Nightingale and Sapphira De Mont. She could hardly believe it. Rose Nightingale was her hero and Sapphira De Mont was the hottest star in Hollywood. Why the director, TG, had asked for her, she had no idea. She wasn’t a huge name yet, and certainly not in film, she had thought when Mandy had rung to her gauge her interest in auditioning for TG.

Against Leeza’s advice, she had knocked back the action film that was on offer and had jumped at the chance to act opposite Rose and Sapphira. This was her chance to move into the big league. No more TV, only film and opposite the best actresses in Hollywood. Convincing Leeza was a different story though.

‘But, honey, if you take the action movie, think about it. A percentage of the profits, royalties, Comic-Con appearances and your own action figure. You’ll be a movie star, honey, big time.’

‘Mom, a movie star is different to an actor. Cameron Diaz is a movie star. Meryl Streep is an actor. You can’t be both. Well, maybe if you’re Reese Witherspoon, but there aren’t many others. I want to be an actor.’

‘Being a movie star is what we always wanted,’ Leeza said, forgetting she had recently been demoted in Calypso’s life from manager to mother, as she carefully prepared the salad with no-fat dressing for a family barbeque, protecting her acrylic nails with a new French manicure.

No, Mom, it’s what you wanted, thought Calypso.

But she said nothing. Instead she signed on the next day, letting Leeza know her decision via text message. It was time she ran her own life, she thought and now that she was in Italy, she was excited.

Showered and dressed in a towel, she read the room service menu. ‘Blah,’ she said, putting it down again.

Wandering over to the window, she looked outside. She had meant to go for a run when she got back to the hotel but the tiredness from the jet-lag was still in her system and instead she fell asleep, fully dressed, until sounds from outside drifted up to her window. It was nine o’clock at night, but it seemed most people were only now going out for dinner. What the hell, she thought, I’m going out.

Opening her wardrobe, she chose a pair of black vintage cigarette silk pants and teamed them with a floaty silver Catherine Malandrino camisole and pink Costume Nationale flat sandals. The hills of Perugia would murder her heels; flats were sensible and Calypso was always sensible, particularly when it came to looking after her clothes. Leaving her hair down, she grabbed a vintage beaded clutch and skipped through the door into the bustle outside.

Wandering around the ancient city, the sound of smooth jazz came up a laneway and Calypso followed the music.

She found herself in an elegant thoroughfare filled with laughing students from the university, families with sleeping children in strollers and tourists all mingling together in the warm evening.

The cafés were filled with people who spilled out onto the stone ledges and steps, listening to the jazz. Calypso thought she knew the song from an old album her dad used to play. ‘There’s a somebody I’m longing to see, I hope that he turns out to be, someone who’ll watch over me,’ she sang quietly to herself.

An older couple walked out in front of the band and started to dance to the old Gershwin classic and Calypso felt her eyes fill with tears as she saw the tenderness on the man’s face.

It was an almost perfect moment except for the gnawing in Calypso’s stomach. I haven’t eaten in fourteen hours, she counted as she moved towards some bright lights in the side of a stone wall.
Sandri
Pasticceria
it read. The window boasted some of the most delicious pastries Calypso had ever seen. Never would she allow herself something so fat-filled in LA but here, without the gaze of the paparazzi and her trainer, Calypso decided to live a little. Stepping inside the crowded shop, she was pushed forward by the crowd until she found herself at a stool at the marble bar.

A red-coated waiter placed a chocolate-filled pastry with glazed berries on top of it in front of her with a cappuccino. ‘I didn’t order this,’ she said to the waiter who had already turned his back. She sat awkwardly, unsure of what to do.

‘I would just eat it,’ said a voice next to her over the din in the bar.

Calypso turned and was faced with Eros himself. Impossibly handsome, with long, light brown hair loose and curling around his face. Smiling at Calypso, his teeth were the whitest and straightest that Calypso had ever seen, which was quite something, considering she lived in California, the state of orthodontists. ‘
Ciao, bella
,’ he said, his green eyes dancing as he took in her face.

‘Hello, gorgeous,’ said Calypso, doing her best Barbra Streisand impersonation.

‘I know that voice, that’s Barbra,
si
?’

Calypso laughed, ‘Yes, that’s Barbra.’

‘
Mangia
,’ he said, gesturing.

Calypso paused. It did look divine and saying a little prayer to the God of Cellulite to stay away, she took a bite.

‘Oh my God, it’s amazing.’ She sputtered pastry flakes across the table, not caring to wipe the chocolate cream from her mouth.

The Italian watched her, amused. ‘You like?’

‘I like,’ said Calypso, her mouth full.

‘So, what is your name? Barbra?’

‘No,’ she laughed. ‘Calypso,’ she smiled shyly.

‘Beautiful name, the nymph of the sea,
si
? I am Marco. Lord of the planet Mars.’

His bewitching accent and the way he looked so intently at her, as if wanting her approval was endearing. Calypso smiled. She had made her first Italian friend.

Sapphira De Mont arrived in Italy courtesy of the film studio’s Gulfstream. She would have liked to have flown the plane herself but her instructor said she was not yet ready for such a large aircraft, much to Sapphira’s disappointment.

She stretched her back like a cat as she unbuckled her seatbelt on the plane. Her skin across her shoulder blades was tight from the new tattoo she had recently added to her thin body as a nod to her newly gained pilot’s licence.
Alis volat propri
, it read in a serif script across her back. A Latin phrase, meaning ‘She flies with her own wings’.

All her life experiences were illustrated by the tattoos on her body. On her left wrist was a tiny crab – her sun sign; on her right wrist a symbol for Leo, her astrological Moon sign. On one foot was a delicate vine that wound its way around her ankle and on the outside of each ankle was a tiny fairy curtsying. On her back, underneath the new tattoos, was a tattoo of a tree, the one she dreamed of most nights. She had explained it and the tattoo artist had drawn it repeatedly until he got it right.

Sapphira’s life had been one of adventure and saying ‘yes’ to whatever came her way. Italy was like a new affair to her; she wanted to get to know the country, learn the language and understand its moods. Spending six weeks in a foreign country was exhilarating and made Sapphira feel safe.

The private plane had been an indulgence that the studio was only too happy to agree to when Sapphira’s agent requested it to get her to the film’s location. She was a big star and had taken a slight pay cut to do the movie – compared to what she had been paid after the last two action hits she had starred in. There was big money to be made with Sapphira’s name on the marquee and they knew it. The studio was only too happy to keep their bankroll comfortable. A little gift from them for her having to audition, she thought.

It was her first screen test for four years. Her agent told her she should hold out and they would come round and just give her the part. She ignored him. She ignored most advice. Instead, she arrived smoking a cigarette, and in a coffee coloured silk blouse so transparent it showed the outline of her tattoos and no bra. TG was ready to dismiss her until she did the lines of dialogue more perfectly than the writer could have wished for. She was a chameleon when she acted and he was excited to work with her. He was also smart enough to realize she would bring a new audience to this genre of film.

It was not as though the idea of flying a commercial flight was beneath Sapphira, but she had more reason than most to need the private flight.

Sapphira held her Bottega Veneta black leather tote bag close to her chest feeling the little beads of sweat form on her forehead. The door of the aircraft opened and Sapphira heard the pilot talking to the officials in Italian as he stood at the top of the steps.