Bungalow 2 (11 page)

Max offered to drive her back to the Beverly Hills Hotel afterward. He didn't mind, and Tanya hadn't brought her limo. She had been given one for the duration of her stay, but she felt guilty keeping the driver sitting there all night, when all she was doing was going back and forth to the hotel. She had planned to take a cab, which she mentioned to Max, as he put a finger to his lips and silently scolded her.

“Don't say that. Douglas will take your car away. And why not keep it? You need it.”

She said goodnight to Douglas after that, and thanked him for dinner and a lovely evening. She felt like a schoolgirl saying goodnight to the headmaster. He was in an animated conversation with Jean Amber, who was disagreeing with him vehemently, although goodhumoredly, about something. She was telling him how wrong he was.

“Can I settle an argument for you two?” Max volunteered, always happy to help.

“Yes,” Jean said staunchly. “I think Venice is much more beautiful than Florence or Rome. It's much more romantic.”

“I don't go to Italy for romance,” Douglas said, teasing her and loving it. He had no problem at all being surrounded by beautiful women. He had made a career of it. “I go for the art. The Uffizi is my idea of heaven. Florence wins hands down.”

“The hotel we stayed in there was awful. I was stuck there for three weeks on location.” She said it with the broad experience of a twenty-five-year-old, although one who had traveled widely, more than most, while making movies, but she saw little of the towns and cities where she worked. She never had time. They came to work on a movie, and left immediately after to go to another location. It was a very narrow focus on the world, but better than none. Tanya would have loved her kids to meet her, and hoped they would in time. She seemed like a lovely young woman, and she knew her children would be wildly impressed to meet her.

“I prefer Rome myself,” Max offered, confusing the matter further. “Great coffeehouses, good pasta, lots of Japanese tourists, and nuns. You see more nuns in Rome, and I love the old habits. You don't see them anywhere else.” Tanya laughed at his comments.

“I think nuns are scary,” Jean commented. “I went to Catholic school when I was a kid, and hated it. I didn't see any nuns in Venice.”

“Then clearly that's a point in its favor for you. I kissed some girl under the Bridge of Sighs when I was about twenty-one,” Max added. “The gondolier scared the hell out of me when he said that meant we'd be together forever. She had bad skin and really bad buck teeth, I had just met her. I think that traumatized me for Venice. It's amazing what colors your feeling about a city. I had a gallbladder attack in New Orleans once, and I've never wanted to go back since.”

“I made a picture there, on location,” Jean nodded sympathetically. “It sucked. Really humid. It screwed up my hair the whole time.”

“I lost mine in Des Moines,” Max said, rubbing his bald head, and they all laughed.

Tanya thanked Douglas for the evening then, and a few minutes later she and Max left. He drove her back to the hotel. She had had a surprisingly good time.

“So how are you liking Hollywood?” Max asked her conversationally. He liked her a lot. If she hadn't been married, he'd have put the make on her. But he had too much respect for the sanctity of marriage, and she didn't look the type to screw around. She was a nice woman, and he was looking forward to working with her. Like Douglas, he had great respect for her work, and Max liked her as a person.

“It's a little crazy, judging by some of the people I talked to tonight, but it's fun,” Tanya answered him honestly. “I've been down here a lot for my soaps, but this is different.” It had impressed her to meet so many big stars that night. She'd never done that before, except for the regulars on the soaps, who were minor celebrities in their own right. Though very minor in most cases. She had met the big guns tonight.

“It's definitely its own special little world. It's a very incestuous community, in the movie business anyway. Making a picture is like taking a cruise, it's a tiny little microcosm of the world, and has nothing to do with real life. People meet, instantly become friends, fall in love, have affairs, the movie ends, it's all over, and they move on to something else. It feels like real life for about five minutes, but it isn't. You'll see when we start the movie. There'll be five hot romances starting in the first week. It's a crazy way to live, but at least it's not boring.” It certainly wasn't that. She had already noticed several of the young stars flirting that night, most noticeably Jean Amber and Ned Bright, who were the film's two leads. They had been eyeing each other all night, and chatted for a while. She had wondered about that.

“It must be hard to have a real relationship down here, given all that, if you're in the movie business,” she said, as they approached the hotel.

“It is. Most people don't want one. They'd rather play around and pretend they're having a real life. They're not, but most of them never figure that out. They think they are. Like Douglas. I don't think he's had a serious relationship since the Ice Age. He goes out with women for a while, usually fairly important women, but I don't think he ever lets anyone get close. It's not his style. He's all about power and big business, and buying art, I guess. I don't think he's interested in love. Some guys are just like that. Me, I'm still looking for the Holy Grail,” he said, smiling happily. Tanya really liked him. Everyone seemed to. He had a huge heart, and it showed. “I never go out with actresses. I want some nice woman who loves bald guys with beards, and wants to rub my back at night. I went out with the same woman for sixteen years, and we were perfect for each other. I don't think we ever had a fight.”

“So what happened?” Tanya asked, as they stopped under the awning of the Beverly Hills Hotel, which was home for her now, although it didn't feel that way yet. She wondered if it ever would. She still felt out of place here, and not fancy enough to be staying there. She felt like a fraud, and surely not a star.

“She died,” Max said quietly, still smiling. The memory of her still warmed his eyes. “Breast cancer. It was the shits. There'll never be anyone like her. She was the love of my life. I've gone out with some other women since. It's not the same. I'm okay. I get by.” He smiled. “She was a writer, too. She wrote miniseries in the days when they were a big deal. We used to talk about getting married, but we never needed to. We felt like we already were married in our hearts. I still go on vacation with her kids every year, between pictures. They're great people. Two boys, both married. They live in Chicago. My kids love them, too. They remind me of her.”

“She sounds like a nice woman,” Tanya said, sounding sympathetic as they sat in his car and talked. He drove a beat-up old Honda, in spite of the big fees he made for directing movies. He had no need to show off. It wasn't his style, unlike Douglas, with his fabulous house and incredible art. She had been impressed. Anyone would have been. She'd never seen paintings of that caliber outside a museum.

“She was nice,” Max said of his lost love. “So are you.” He smiled at her. He liked who and what she was. The kind of person Tanya was was written all over her. He had liked her the moment they met, and even better tonight. She was genuine and solid, which was rare in Hollywood. “Your husband is a lucky guy.”

“I'm a lucky woman,” she said, smiling wistfully. She missed Peter a lot. They had lost the comfort of daily physical contact, the warmth they shared at night. It was a lot to lose. She was anxious to call him as soon as she got back to the room, although it was late. She had promised she would, even if she woke him up. She had talked to him and the girls before she went out. They were doing fine so far, and she was going home in two days. She could hardly wait. “My husband is a great guy.”

“Good for you. I hope I meet him sometime. He should come down during the filming, and bring your kids.”

“He will.” She thanked Max for the ride and hopped out. And then she remembered her lunch with Douglas the following day. He was meeting her at the Polo Lounge, which was convenient for her. “Are you coming to lunch tomorrow?”

“No, I'm meeting with the cameramen, to discuss equipment with them.” Max used a lot of complicated, unusual lenses to achieve the effects he was famous for, and he wanted to be sure he had them all on hand. “Douglas likes getting to know people individually. I'll catch up with you next week, when our meetings start. Have a nice weekend with your kids.” He waved as she got out and he drove off, and she smiled on her way back to the bungalow. He was going to be great to work with. She wasn't as sure about Douglas. He still unnerved her, although she had liked him better tonight. He had seemed less scary to her, viewed in his natural habitat, where he was visibly more at ease.

She called Peter as soon as she got back to her bungalow. He was half-asleep, but waiting for her call. It was nearly one-thirty.

“I'm sorry it's so late. It went on forever,” she said, sounding breathless. She had run back to the room to call him.

“That's okay. How was it?” He yawned, and she could visualize him perfectly in their bed. It made her miss him even more.

“Fun. Weird. Interesting. Douglas Wayne has the most incredible art I've ever seen. Renoir, Monet. Amazing stuff. And the place was full of hot young stars. Jean Amber, Ned Bright.” She named some others. “They're nice young kids. Molly and Megan would have loved it. I missed you. The director, Max Blum, is really nice, too. You'll like him. I told him about you tonight.”

“God, you'll never want to come back to Ross after all that, Tanny … you're going to be way too glamorous for us.” She didn't think he meant it, but she didn't like hearing it anyway. It was what Douglas had predicted when he called her. And it was the last thing she wanted. She wanted no part of a Hollywood life. Just theirs, in Ross.

“Don't be a jerk. I couldn't care less about all that crap. They'd all die for a life like ours.”

“Yeah, right,” he laughed, sounding like their kids. “I don't think so. You're going to get spoiled down there, sweetheart.”

“No, I'm not,” she said, sounding sad. She had kicked off her sandals and was lying on the bed. “I miss you. I wish you were here.”

“You'll be home in two days. I miss you, too. It's dead around here without you. I burned dinner tonight.”

“I'll cook this weekend.” She still felt guilty being there, and couldn't wait to come home to him and the girls. She'd been there for three days and it already felt like several lifetimes. It was going to be a long nine months. Very, very long. It had felt really strange to go out that night without him, but she had to, to meet the cast. It was a command performance for all of them at Douglas's house, although a very pleasant one for sure. But she would have enjoyed it more if Peter had been there. She never went out without him when he was out of town, which was rare. She had no desire for a social life of her own, especially down here. She had nothing in common with any of them. Especially Douglas Wayne. She could imagine going out for a hamburger with Max Blum, though. He seemed like he'd be a good friend, if there was such a thing down here, which she wasn't sure about yet. “I can't wait to see you. It's so weird being alone down here. I miss you and the girls so much.” She hated sleeping without him, and had been restless and lonely for the past three nights. He was hating that part, too, and slept with a pillow in his arms for lack of her.

“We miss you, too,” Peter said, yawning again. “I'd better get to sleep. I have to get the girls up in the morning. Meg's got swim practice at seven-thirty.” He glanced at the clock. “I have to be up in four and a half hours.” He groaned at the thought, but he hadn't wanted to go to sleep without talking to his wife. “I'll talk to you tomorrow. Sleep tight, baby …I miss you …”

“Me too,” she said softly. “Night-night. Sweet dreams.”

“You too,” Peter said and hung up. Tanya lay on her bed in the bungalow, thinking about him and missing him. She went to brush her teeth then with a heavy heart. She could hardly wait to go home. And they were all wrong about her, she thought to herself. Peter, Douglas, predicting she was going to get spoiled down here and never want to go back to Ross. That was all she wanted. She missed her bed, she missed her husband, she missed her kids. She couldn't think of a single thing down here that could come close to that. She would have traded all the luxuries of her bungalow at that moment for a night in bed with Peter in Ross. For Tanya, then and always, there was no place like home.

Chapter 6

T
anya met Douglas at the Polo Lounge at one o'clock the next day for lunch. She was wearing jeans and a pink sweater, and he looked as glamorous as ever in a well-cut khaki suit, blue shirt, yellow Hermés tie, and impeccable brown shoes. He always looked immaculate, and he was waiting for her when she arrived. He was drinking a Bloody Mary and chatting with a friend who had walked by. He introduced Tanya to him, and she was startled to realize it was Robert De Niro. They chatted for a few minutes, and then De Niro left. It would have been hard not to be impressed. But this was standard fare now. She wanted to tell Peter about it afterward, but she didn't want to hear any more from him, or anyone else, about how glamorous she was becoming, and what a hard time she'd have going back. That was all she wanted. Everything down here was unreal, and she didn't feel part of it. She had no desire to be. She just wanted to do her work, and go home. They were all wrong about how sophisticated and spoiled she was going to get. Tanya knew better. She knew herself well, and had her feet firmly planted on solid ground.

“Thank you for a lovely evening last night,” she said to Douglas as she sat down. “It was fun meeting the cast. You have a beautiful house.”

“I enjoy it,” he said, smiling at her. “You have to come on my boat sometime. It's a lot of fun.” It was a two-hundred-foot yacht. She had seen photographs of it at his house the night before. It looked huge to her. Her kids would have gone insane. “What do you do in the summer, Tanya? What did you do this year?” he asked, and she smiled. It was like a homework assignment in first grade.
My Summer Vacation, by Tanya Harris.
Her life was so much quieter than his, in every way. She loved it that way. She didn't need a yacht.