The Perfect Location (7 page)

Rose and Paul’s sex life was uninspiring but a sexually inexperienced Rose hadn’t known any better. They tried for a baby – well, Rose did – but it’s hard to make a child when your husband won’t even talk to you, let alone have sex with you.

After ten years of marriage, Rose was no closer to having a baby and no closer to fulfilling the talent and potential that she had shown in her first film.

The treatment ate away at Rose’s self-esteem. She started to see a therapist and while she told him of her marriage problems she never told the whole truth about the way Paul rejected her.

‘You need to talk more, you and Paul. Communication is the answer,’ advised the therapist.

Rose nodded and smiled. She had finally communicated her frustration by running into a wall with a small kitchen knife to her chest. Not that anyone besides Paul, her agent and her mother knew this – and her trusted doctors, of course. After intensive therapy and a five-week stay in hospital, Rose slowly revealed the years of Paul’s mental torture. She still remembered the look on her doctor’s face when he spoke to Rose. ‘He’s a bully. Anyone who treats another person like this is in pain. They hate themselves and they hate everyone else. He feels better when you feel bad. It gives him power. It’s abuse, Rose.’

What he said was the truth, as Rose knew in her heart, but to leave Paul was the biggest decision she would ever have to make. The suicide attempt had actually saved her, as had the film in Europe. Maybe this was why she worked so much. When she worked she was safe and busy and did not have time to think about what her life lacked or the choices she had made.

Had she been serious about wanting to die, Rose often wondered. Was she trying to get Paul to notice her? Or did she just want to feel something, prove she existed? Thankfully, her agent, Randy, had arrived in time to get her help and cover up everything so it didn’t end up in the tabloids. But not once did Paul visit her in hospital, not even a card or a phone call.

Lauren’s voice pulled Rose out of her dark memories. ‘You have dresses from Oscar De La Renta, Zac Posen, Dior, Elie Saab and Chanel for the Cannes Film Festival opening. I can send you images via email or FedEx them over if you like.’

‘Send over the images and I’ll have a look.’

‘Maybe you can wear one of them there. You sure you don’t want me to send them over?’ asked Lauren, looking at the divine dresses hanging in the office.

‘Nah, I’ve nowhere to wear them. All I do is try not to eat the entire contents of this house,’ Rose sulked. ‘The housekeeper feeds me every five minutes, I swear. I’m going to be too huge for the dresses anyway. Call Weight Watchers, they just got themselves a new spokesperson.’

Lauren knew this voice. Rose was feeling sorry for herself. ‘What about Sapphira or Calypso? What are they doing?’ she said, ignoring Rose’s self pity.

‘Ha!’ said Rose. ‘You’ve got to be joking. Sapphira is as odd as a box of frogs and Calypso is so young, it makes me feel old just looking at her. Maybe you can come over and play Snakes and Ladders with me,’ Rose laughed. ‘I could throw a fit and send a private plane for you, courtesy of the studio and you can come and visit with me.’

Lauren was silent on the phone.

‘Lauren, are you there?’ asked Rose.

‘Yep, sorry, I’m here, just distracted,’ came back Lauren’s tight voice.

‘Did I say something to upset you?’ asked Rose, confused.

‘No, no. Not at all. I would love to come, of course, but I’ve lots to do here, you know that,’ said Lauren, and the ease between them closed over and Lauren was back as an employee.

Rose shook off her concern and put Lauren’s reaction down to her being over-friendly. She had to remember to put up professional boundaries, her therapist said. But boundaries were not Rose’s strong point; she barged in and tried to fix everything in everyone’s lives. Choosing not to explore Lauren’s reaction to her invitation in the name of boundaries, she and Lauren then chatted about the emails Lauren was forwarding her and then she rang off.

Hanging up from Lauren, she walked around the grand salon. She didn’t want to watch TV; Italian TV was odd, filled with semi-nude women and dancing – and that was just the nightly news report, she thought. Lucia had left her a delicious looking frittata and salad. She had asked for no more carbs, like pasta. Lucia mumbled to her husband that Rose was ‘too thin, needed feeding’.

She walked down to the study and stood looking at the Wii machine. Wondering how it worked she opened the manual and, following the prompts, played around with the buttons until it sprang into life on the screen. What did she want to play? Tennis? Baseball? Basketball? Bowling?

I was always good at tennis, she thought, remembering her days back on the school team. Playing through the demonstration, Rose found it easier than she expected. Next thing she knew, she was playing the machine and laughing and cheering herself on. An hour later, she was in a lather of perspiration and her serving arm was quite sore. Who needs a trainer, she thought as she drank from a bottle of water she grabbed from the large kitchen.

Opening the fridge, she cut herself a large slice of frittata and put some salad on the plate. Wandering into the lounge, she turned on the TV. Flicking through the channels, she saw a film that Paul had made during the time of their divorce. He seemed so beautiful onscreen, untouched by the drama in their personal lives. Paul had dealt with the breakup by dating a new starlet from Romania, tipped to be the new Bond girl. Rose knew she was with Paul’s agent, so didn’t believe the relationship; the agency manufactured relationships between their stars all the time. For years the rumours about her and Paul’s marriage was that it was a business deal. Perhaps it was to Paul but to Rose it was a real marriage and even though she was happy to be free, all the same she grieved for what life might have been like.

The last time Rose and Paul had faced each other was with their lawyers at her lawyer’s plush offices to sign the papers and work out a satisfactory financial deal. Paul had been charming to Rose, friendly and caring, claiming he wanted the best for her and mostly for her to be happy. Rose had sat waiting for the change in him to manifest but Paul kept up the act until the lawyers left them for a moment in the large boardroom.

As the door closed behind them, Paul had leaned over the table and hissed, ‘You will get nothing, you slut. Nothing, you hear me. I am gonna bury you. That affair with that asshole was the final straw. I always knew you couldn’t keep your legs shut.’

Rose sat silently, relieved to see the Paul she knew come back. His act in front of the lawyers was disarming; this Paul she felt she had finally learned to handle.

‘Be very careful, Paul,’ she said, doing her best Judi Dench impersonation. He was always intimidated by her English accent. ‘I happen to know about you and your South American surgeon, or should I say lover. I had my lawyers look into it with a private detective and if I were you, I would stay tuned to
Inside Edition
to see the highlights of the tape I have in my possession.’

Rose took a punt and it worked. He was shocked and his face visibly paled in front of her. This time Rose hissed across the table. ‘I want only what I deserve after putting up with ten years of your lies, abuse and bullshit. You’re the asshole. You didn’t even come and see me in hospital, you prick!’ She spat out the words.

Paul sat stunned and Rose felt a tiny bit sorry for him. ‘Paul, if you’re gay then just come out. You don’t need any more money. You are beyond wealthy. You are living a lie and you and I know it. If you care about your doctor then tell him, be with him.’

Paul looked up at her, his eyes filled with tears and Rose finally understood why he was like he was, always trying to push down his sexual urges, trying to control what he couldn’t when what he wanted to control was his attraction to men.

‘Rose, you know …’ His voice was soft, real almost, and then the door opened to the boardroom and the lawyers walked back in. Paul straightened his posture. ‘Whatever Rose wants, guys. She was a good wife and I’m sorry it didn’t work out.’

And with that he grabbed the divorce papers on the desk, signed them with his Visconti pen, stood up, walked around to Rose, kissed her cheek softly and left the room. It was the most tender moment of their marriage that she could remember.

Rose pushed the thoughts away and changed the channel on the TV remote. Satellite had been installed and there were more channels than back in LA. Flicking over, she saw something she recognized. ‘Yay!’ she squealed and sat down with her dinner on her lap and watched an episode of
The Bill
, alone but content.

In the kitchen, Lucia was less than content with Rose being alone. Apples were a start, she thought, apples would draw a lover to her but it was apple with cinnamon that would bring the man faster to the woman.

Lucia busied herself in the kitchen.
Mele speziate con sultanine
, she thought. Spiced apple with sultanas. No one could resist Lucia’s cooking, it was magic, everyone said so. Lucia sang as she worked. If only they knew, she thought.

There was no rehearsal time for
The Italian Dream
. TG wanted the actors to be ready to film once they came on set. The affable guy who had greeted the women at the dinner party the previous night had disappeared and in his place was a man focused on his task.

‘I’m going to try and shoot as much as I can in order for your sake and the DOP. Chris and I have worked out some shots which won’t require long set-up times but some may take a while, so please be patient,’ said TG as he addressed the women in the make-up trailer, who had already been in hair and make-up for the past two hours, before walking back to the dilapidated villa where the shoot was taking place.

‘He seems stressed,’ said Calypso to Kelly, worried about the day ahead.

‘Nah, he’s not stressed, just focused. He’s pretty single minded when he wants to be,’ said Kelly as she moved about the trailer lining up make-up brushes. ‘He’s a funny one, all soft on the outside but if anyone fucks with him or people he loves he gets all Tony Soprano on their ass.’

Calypso watched TG as he and Chris stood talking as she walked over for her call in wardrobe.

They were discussing the first scene where Rose and Sapphira’s characters arrive at Rose’s character’s villa looking for a place to stay.

TG walked across to wardrobe, where Calypso was about to be dressed by the costume crew. Her character was a young backpacker who had just finished university, so they had pulled together jeans and cut-off shorts, t-shirts, singlets and sandals, as well as a few pretty dresses and shirts. It was casual and homespun; the kind of clothes Calypso felt the most comfortable in. Walking into the dressing room trailer, TG found her standing in a tiny Calvin Klein pink polka dotted bra and pants. With a full face of make-up and her hair in loose plaits, courtesy of the hair department, she looked like a young Brigitte Bardot. She took TG’s breath away, not because she was so incredibly sexy but because she looked so innocent. Her figure was insane, he thought. He could see her tiny waist and pert breasts, her toned legs and gorgeous ass in the mirror behind her.

He felt his cock start to move. Nooooo, he thought, barking at her to cover his embarrassment. ‘Hurry up, you ready yet? We’re waiting.’

Calypso looked at Helen, the costume head, who shook her head slightly as if to say, I don’t know what bug got up his ass.

Calypso slipped on denim shorts and a pink singlet, and sliding into her sandals, she stomped out of the trailer. ‘Isn’t it kinda hard to be behind when you haven’t started shooting yet?’ she retorted to TG.

This was going to be a nightmare, she thought as she walked towards the set.

TG wanted to kick himself. He knew he was being an asshole; he was always an asshole when he was nervous. Walking towards the set, he headed towards Calypso, wanting to apologize, but she was deep in conversation with Kelly. No doubt telling her what a prick he was, he thought, as he saw Kelly turn and throw a death stare in his direction. Fuck, now he was going to face the wrath of ‘Kali’, as she called herself when she got mad.

Rose and Sapphira came on set, perfect in their costume and make-up. He called the women over. ‘So, this is where we meet you all. Sapphira, your character is already at the villa. Calypso, you have just turned up, with no idea where you are, lost and looking for help. Rose, you know what you are doing?’

Rose nodded.

‘Let’s run it a few times and get the feel,’ TG said.

While the actors walked through the lines and found their marks, the crew were busy, fixing the lighting and the sound. Props were moving items to work with the actors’ marks, and make-up stood by waiting to do touch-ups if needed.

The actors had a natural chemistry and looked like a dream through the camera. TG felt they were ready to shoot. Four takes later and they had it in the can. There’d been a spark as soon as TG yelled ‘action’ and each of them brought their own specialness to the roles. Calypso was perfect, her flustered comedic timing brought lightness to the sadness of Rose’s character who was mourning her husband. And Sapphira brought the right amount of enigmatic pathos to her role, balancing out the others perfectly.

‘Fucking excellent!’ yelled TG as he watched the playbacks. The crew all clapped, as was the ritual when the first shot was done on the shoot.

The morning went like a dream, all of the actors being pleasant and professional. Rose and Calypso instantly bonded and even Sapphira was seen joking with some of the guys in the crew. The assistant director called ‘lunch’ and the actors and crew walked over to catering. Every imaginable sort of food was laid out in front of them. American, Italian and even some French. TG grabbed a tray and stood while Kelly helped herself to salad, cheeses and bread. Without looking up at him, she asked, ‘Why are you being a dick to Calypso?’

‘I didn’t think I was,’ he said, knowing it was an outright lie.

‘Well, you are, and it’s stressing her out. She thinks you think she’s fat and stupid. What the hell did you say to her?’