Cut to the Chase (23 page)

As they both ate their toast and sipped coffee, Paige looked out the front window and, while Avalon couldn’t read her thoughts, she imagined there was a bit of deliberation going on.

Who could blame her? Avalon knew her world was a roller coaster and that Paige wasn’t used to the accelerated g-forces that it pulled.

She’d been extremely considerate to let her in the night before when probably everything was telling her to slam the door in Avalon’s face. But it was possible that the attraction that drove her to seek refuge with Paige was the same force that compelled Paige to let her in.

“Thank you for opening your door last night.”

Paige nodded and Avalon wanted to kiss her sleepy face. Still, she didn’t want to wear out her welcome.

“I’d better get dressed and get out of your hair.” She picked up her dish and mug and placed them in the sink. She approached Paige, who had followed her. “I can’t thank you enough for helping me.”

And almost unpredictably, they hugged. Paige could have leaned in first, but she wasn’t sure. They’d just moved toward each other and the closeness turned her legs into butter.

When they broke the hug, Paige said, “You know, you look much better than you did last night. I don’t know how you do it. If I’d been that drunk, I’d look like a dug-up corpse.”

“It’s not the kind of skill one should be proud of.” Avalon held out her hand. She took it without saying a word and followed her to the couch.

“There are four steps to stage fright,” Avalon said.

The change in topic, especially to that one, surprised Paige.

“Remember RSUA,” Avalon said. “That stands for relax, stop negative talk, use coping statements, and acknowledge your feelings.”

“What—”

“Don’t interrupt the teacher. Now, the way to relax, this is the
R
part, is to take slow, deep breaths in and out. Four times. This counteracts the feeling that you can’t breathe because, in fact, anxiety can make you take in too much oxygen.”

She nodded.

“Okay, we’re going to try it.”

She followed Avalon’s lead, looking in her eyes and mimicking her breathing.

“Good,” Avalon said. “Second, you have to stop the emergency message looping over and over in your brain that’s trying to tell you you’re in danger—the
S
part. The people you’re speaking in front of aren’t scary. Tell your head to stop!”

“Okay.”

“I’m waiting.”

“Stop!” she yelled.

“That was good.” Avalon chuckled. “But to avoid scaring your audience, it’s better to use your inside voice.”

She laughed. “Got it!”

“Try it again.” Avalon waited a moment, then said, “How’d that feel?”

“Good. I said, ‘Fuck you, fear.’”

“Nice! Next is the
U
part, to use coping statements. This replaces the negative loop in your head. Things like,
This is easy. I am fine. Everything’s great.
”

“My inside voice?”

“Either is fine since you’re not yelling out loud.” Avalon’s smile was endearing.

“I’m great. I’m fine. I can do this. This will be fun.”

“That’s good!”

“The last one,
A
, is to acknowledge your feelings. Give them a break. Say something like, ‘I’m scared but I am okay. Speaking in front of people makes my heart pound but it’s really healthy.’” Avalon lifted her chin. “Your turn.”

“I’m gonna shit in my pants but I have another pair with me.”

Avalon burst into laughter. “You’ve got it!”

This was the first time Paige had ever laughed at her fear. And it felt great. “RSUA, I’ll remember that.”

“I’m glad.” Avalon stood. “For that and for the couch last night. Thank you.”

“Do you need a ride home?”

“No, I’ll take a cab.” Avalon walked to the door. “It’s like a limo, only cheaper.”

She watched Avalon leave, a bundle of happy and sad feelings rolling around inside her. What would Avalon do next? Would she continue to party and collide with the press, or would she maybe slow down and get her life back on track? Her misconduct certainly wasn’t the worst Hollywood had seen. And she had to have lawyers and managers doing damage control for her. It was only a matter of time before people would forget and things would get back to normal. Well, not normal—it was Hollywood, after all—but back to the customary ways of Tinseltown.

It was truly ridiculous that an industry that pushed their subjects to their limits would turn on them when they broke. Stories of actresses being told they weren’t skinny enough, pretty enough, or talented enough were numerous, and the criticisms struck with brutal force. And all the while, that same industry waited for the fallout, even craved it—with cameras, no less.

Where previously Avalon had been outspoken at every turn, her manager had now rendered her silent in her disgrace and shame. This was the one time Avalon was saying
Fuck you all
with her inside voice, when she should be using her outside voice.

“Oh, my God, yes!” Paige jumped to her feet, almost knocking over the coffee table, and ran to her desk.

Tawnya picked up Avalon’s call right away. “Your ears must have been ringing. I was just about to call you.”

Avalon closed her eyes, letting the sound of Tawnya’s voice soothe her in the way honey calms a sore throat. “Hi.”

“Are you okay?”

“Not really,” Avalon said as she sat on the couch, hanging her head. “I take it you’ve heard.”

“About the car accident or that you didn’t get the Garrett Chain film?”

“Both.”

“I also get that you’re punishing yourself quite a bit nowadays.”

“Just hanging out with my friends Jack and Jim.”

“You forgot Jose. Do you really want to roll like that?”

Avalon felt a pounding in her head. Its cadence was like a drum beating out a warning of impending doom—war drums setting the pace for an upcoming confrontation. And it was painfully obvious that the clash would end in her own complete failure. She lifted her hand to her forehead to stifle the thumping. “I’ve made a mess of things.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you have to be so honest?”

“What do you want? Coddling? I don’t coddle.”

“No.” The last wisps of her hangover lingered like persistent bits of jalapeño in her stomach. She needed to stop partying. Her drinking had become a lone undertaking, a million miles from responsible behavior. “I know it’s up to me to turn this around.”

“It is, sweetie.”

“I called,” Avalon said, knowing if she asked the question, she’d be truly committed, “to ask you…”

Tawnya remained silent. Why couldn’t she change the subject or tell her she’d be okay no matter what? She rubbed her forehead harder because she would be okay, no matter what.

“I wanted to know if the thing in West Hollywood, at the park, is still happening.”

“Every week. Seven o’clock.”

*

Avalon stepped into the large room in Plummer Park. Though it was her first time, she recognized a number of people sitting in the semicircle of chairs. Some smiled or waved as she took a seat. The Alcoholics Anonymous meeting in West Hollywood was the safest of meetings to attend. It was not only a mostly gay and lesbian group, it was where many celebrities went to avoid unwanted pomp and circumstance. While all meetings were supposed to be completely anonymous, stories of movie-star outings were common. Here, though, the crowd behaved with the same nonchalance as they did at the gay bars. Straight celebrities attended for that reason and were welcomed with respect and confidentiality.

She didn’t think anyone was surprised to see her there, nor was she surprised to see anyone else. The group included extremely affluent attendees—probably bankers, doctors, and new-money people—as well as everyday working folks, all struggling with their demons.

The meeting started and she took a deep, humble breath. It was time for her to face hers. It was beyond time, actually. She initially felt anger and frustration in her gut when she stepped into the meeting room. She hated
having
to do things. Even if she had made the decision, she was telling herself to do something she didn’t really want to do, and that would piss her off. Since she’d become a success in Hollywood, she’d done whatever she wanted. No one told her what to do. Yes, Michele D. did, but that was akin to a police officer pulling you over and telling you to slow down. You drove carefully for the next few miles, even for the rest of the day, but you forgot the scolding before long. And walking into a meeting where everyone would be humble and obedient made her squirm with disdain.

And then she remembered the way Paige’s face had contorted when Avalon had grabbed her and said those horrible things at the Chateau Marmont. She’d been terrible and hurt Paige in the process. The sobering thought made her nauseous. She’d acted the way she’d wanted and it was utterly disgraceful.

She felt humiliated at her own actions. And then it hit her. That’s what she was really feeling about being at the AA meeting. Under all that rebellion lay a thick, uncomfortable blanket of shame. Alcohol wasn’t any better a tool for handling her life than her fast and tempestuous mouth. And all the talk of how booze could numb you was actually bullshit. It only intensified the wretched sadness she felt about the demise of her relationship with Paige. It exaggerated the emptiness and magnified the moments of her worst behavior. The headaches and general misery the next mornings also appeased the part of her that needed to feel some punishment.

But it was no way to conduct her life. She imagined herself at fifty, still drinking and fucking things up. Closing her eyes, she pictured how haggard her face would become and how sunken her eyes would look. She would be exhausted and sickly, and her outlook would be darker than the black coffee she’d need every morning just to function. She would become exactly like every gaunt, soulless woman who ambled up and down the seedy part of Sunset Boulevard, looking for her next score.

Avalon shivered as a wave of fear soaked her. It was sudden and dreadful, painfully twisting her stomach as the possibility that continuing her reckless behavior would eventually, and most assuredly, lead to a series of wretched, black days full of dread and lament. That is, if she lived that long. And even if she did, it certainly wouldn’t be with Paige.

She felt drained and weary. And she was here, sitting on a cold, hard fold-up chair because she had created her predicament. She alone had conjured up the tempest that had brought her current devastation. That was why she needed to grow all of the ingredients to a humble pie, bake it, eat it, and then fix her shit.

*

Everyone was animated in Dee Jae’s last workshop prior to casting. They’d read and reread their one-act plays aloud and helped each other polish their pieces. Over the weeks, each play had become so familiar that everyone spoke of them as if they were keeping up with growing children.

Paige sat in the semicircle, rapidly tapping her foot on the floor. She was about to tell everyone she’d left her child at the fire station under the Safe Surrender Baby Law.

Dee Jae began the meeting. “I think everyone’s plays are reading brilliantly. I’ve arranged a number of actors and actresses to attend our casting session next week. Many can be in multiple plays so don’t worry about someone stealing your first choice.”

Paige sheepishly raised her hand. “I know this is a bad time to do this, and don’t get mad, but I’ve scrapped my play for this one.” She held up a manuscript like a white flag.

Dee Jae’s expression went blank. She could have been confused, shocked, or even pissed. Paige couldn’t tell. She quickly handed her the play and Dee Jae opened it to the first page, to the synopsis. Many of the writers froze, transfixed in their preceding movements, waiting for a reaction. Dee Jae remained completely motionless, except her eyes, which darted back and forth like a pendulum on amphetamines.

Paige’s foot fidgeted uncontrollably; the suspense was almost unbearable.

Dee Jae finally looked up. “Are you freakin’ serious?”

She nodded.

“Shit.”

*

Avalon paced back and forth in her front room, which seemed odd to her, because Billy, who was on the couch, was usually the one who paced. But she was a bundle of raw nerves, and with everything riding on the call they waited for, her entire body refused to be still.

Michele D. sat on an easy chair in the corner, flipping her Montblanc pen between her fingers. The sun coming through the picture window caught the metal, bouncing reflections of silvery flashes on the walls.

“He knows you’ve been going to AA meetings,” Billy said. “He’s got to think you’re working on yourself.”

“And a copy of the story about it that I talked
Entertainment Tonight
into running was sent to his office. With flowers,” Michele D. added. “From you personally.”

It wasn’t, of course. Michele could forge Avalon’s name and even a short note, which she had.

Billy’s cell phone rang and they all jumped. He punched the button. “Billy Woods. Yes, I’ll hold.” He looked up and nodded. “Garrett. Hello!”

Michele D.’s pen stopped moving. Avalon stopped pacing and stood with her back to the picture window. The sun on her shoulders felt comforting and reassuring, like it was restoring her well-being. She prayed it wasn’t the only redemption she’d receive that day.

“Yes,” Billy said, but his expression revealed nothing. “Yes. Of course. Definitely.”

What was with all the short responses? Garrett must be chiding him or, at the very least, lecturing him on his Victorian sensibilities. As much as she wanted the movie, and as much as Billy and Michele D. had worked on her behalf, she was dubious about her ability to work side by side with Garrett Chain on a forty- or forty-five-day shooting schedule. But it was time to put on her big-girl panties, cut the bad-behavior shit, and act more professionally.

She’d do whatever it took.

“Uh-huh,” Billy said. “Yes. Certainly. I understand.”