Flavor of the Month (66 page)

So, it wasn’t difficult for Lila to understand how she’d gotten to be this way. Weird. A loner. It was realistic, really. Why have
anyone
close enough to compete? Only Candy and Skinny, and Lila
still
hated them. Estrella had been the only real female around when Lila was growing up and living in the Puppet Mistress’s house, but she didn’t count. A Mexican,
and
a servant.

Now Lila had two women, her own age, beautiful, very close: too close for comfort. She wasn’t used to the smell of women, seeing their beauty every day, right there, in her face. It made her nervous. It made her angry. Because Jahne and Sharleen—while no competition—
were
a presence. A presence that others saw, considered, sought opinions of, fawned over. Not Marty so much—right now Marty was the only one who counted on the set, after Lila—but the others.

Thank God, Marty was giving Lila all kinds of special attention. Well, that was the way it
should
be. As far as she was concerned, the other two dummies could look out for themselves.

For most of Lila’s solo scenes, she knew all eyes were on her. But for the group scenes, when all three women were in front of the camera, Lila felt—almost heard—the clicking of eyes and camera as they went back and forth from Lila to Skinny to Candy, back and forth, as if there weren’t enough to look at. As if Lila weren’t enough.

So Marty, as director, was the key. Lila couldn’t control what people did with their eyes, but she could control what the camera lens focused on. She could control that by controlling Marty.

Lila had known, since the night she’d met him with Paul Grasso, what drove Marty. Beauty, of course. And talent, but not as much as beauty. What tipped the scales for Marty—
compelled
Marty—and what Lila traded on—was elusiveness: being always just a little out of reach, promising but unattainable. Wasn’t that the essence of beauty? She had the mystery that Sharleen and Jahne lacked. It was the tantalizing that Marty—and so many men like him—relished. Merle Oberon, and all the other old-time actresses that Lila knew Marty worshipped. Jennifer Jones. Paulette Goddard. And Theresa O’Donnell. Lila knew what they all had in common.

They could not be possessed. They teased. As she would tease. For Lila, it was easy. She had no intention of delivering anything of herself, except on camera. And she had
every
intention of making Marty believe otherwise. Lila had perfected that talent, that magic. She’d watched her mother, and her mother’s old films. She was smart enough to know that she should use every asset she was given. In that respect, she knew she was smarter than the other two. They were so middle-class, so open, giving too much.
They
didn’t understand how to hold something back. She would be the one who succeeded, big-time.

Now she wondered if Robbie’s stupid gossip was, for once, trustworthy. If it was true that Michael McLain was doing a Ricky Dunn film, and that he also was being considered for the lead in
Birth of a Star
. Well, she’d find out over dinner with him tonight. Her earlier refusals just made him try harder. And if seeing her name linked with Michael’s made Marty try harder, all would be well.

Michael McLain sat across from Lila in the vast, high-ceilinged dining room of the Beverly Wilshire and smiled. Lila noticed the tiny wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, which spread, weblike, into his temples. His skin was still good—well, it
would
be, since she knew for a fact he has two facials a week from Gydia—but she wondered how much longer it could hold out. Jesus, how old was he, anyway? She imagined having to kiss him on camera and felt her stomach turn. But maybe the part was for
Ricky Dunn’s
girlfriend. At least
he
was no wrinkle-bunny. Well, even if it wasn’t, it wouldn’t hurt her to costar with Michael. After all, she was savvy enough to appreciate the benefits of a slip yoke like this one. He had been a great star of the past, and she planned to be a great star in the future. If kissing him was a necessary rung on the ladder, she’d kiss him.

“My, my, my. You’re a big girl now, Lila. How long has it been since I saw you last?”

Oh, Christ, was this going to be another one of those old Hollywood walks down memory lane? A remember-the-party-at-the-Nivens’-that-Christmas bullshit rap? She didn’t mind pulling out the nostalgia for Marty, but with Michael she had expected something a little hipper. She reminded herself that he could help her cross over from TV to features, and flashed him her biggest smile. “Not since I was six, or maybe seven. It was my birthday party, I think.”

“Really?” She could see him back off that. She had to hide her own smile. Like Theresa, he was one of those Hollywood mummies who wanted to exploit old times and connections while denying how very old they were. Well, Lila knew how
that
game was played. Just be positive about the connection, but hazy about the time. So she smiled at him. “You used to come over to our place a lot,” she purred. “I really missed you when you stopped coming around.”

“Your mom still live in Bel Air?”

Christ, everyone knew she did. The estate was still the hottest piece of property in town, even if the house was a tear-down. “Like she’d ever leave, except feet first. No, Theresa’s still there, but
I’m
in Malibu. I live in Nadia Negron’s house. She starred in the silent-film version of
Birth of a Star
.” Let’s get the subject back on track, she figured.

“Really? Where? I lived in Malibu for a while.” And before she had a chance to get him onto the subject of
Birth
, he launched into some long story about the seventies, Steve McQueen, some grotty house party and mescaline on the beach. Real old-fashioned stuff. Mega-lame. She tried to nod at the right places. She knew that, if she blinked a lot, it kept her eyes wet and made them shine. That usually helped. Finally, it was over.

“I guess those were the days.”

Michael cleared his throat. Shit! She’d made him feel old again. Well, Jesus, he
was
. She smiled, then ran her tongue over her teeth. She would have to do some makeup time here. Get Michael all comfy again. The waiter brought their blackened fish and twinkled confidentially at both of them, like he wouldn’t be feeding any conversation he overheard to the columns tomorrow. Still, Lila smiled.

“So, you really knew Steve McQueen?” she asked, opening her eyes wide.

“You think I don’t know people are laughin’ at me? ’Cause I don’t know how to talk and I don’t know how to dress or anything like that?” Sharleen asked, teary-eyed. “I
know
they are, but I just try to ignore it. It’s what my mother told me to do when the girls in school made fun of me.”

Jahne nodded, handing Sharleen another tissue. Out of pity, she had followed her back to her trailer after the Steadicam sequence finally wrapped. It was the first time they’d spent any time together alone.

“You know, it might be easier for you if we could run lines together.”

“Run lines? You mean practice? Just us two?”

Jahne smiled at the girl. “Not practice, Sharleen.
Rehearse
. Actors call it ‘rehearsal,’ but if you are only rehearsing the dialogue, then we call it ‘running lines.’”

“Would you do that for me? But no. That would be too much trouble for you.”

“I’d love to, Sharleen. I could use the rehearsal myself,” Jahne lied. “Anyway, who else makes fun of you?” She was feeling guilty for her own private jokes about Sharleen.

“Well, Lila, of course. Look what she did back there. She gets me all flustered. I know she don’t mean nothin’, that she’s just nervous herself, but I get upset over it. I try so hard. Every night, I read my lines over and over. I practice them out loud, too. Dean helps me. I know he’s slow, but I guess I’m almost as dumb as he is. I know everyone on the crew hates to do it again and again, but I get so confused. And I’m so tired. It seems like I’m workin’ or takin’ lessons all the time I ain’t sleeping. It don’t help when Lila rags me.”

“Yes.” Jahne nodded grimly. “She does make fun. But she hates both of us. Try not to take it personally. Who else bothers you?”

“Well, Mr. Tilden, the assistant director, he called me ‘Elly May Clampett’ the other day. Made all the crew laugh.”

“I don’t get it.”

“From
The Beverly Hillbillies
. Remember her?”

Jahne nodded. Of course. Barry Tilden was a bitter, funny, middle-aged gay guy. But he shouldn’t have mocked Sharleen before the crew. She
was
becoming the scapegoat.

“I know people think I’m ignorant, and I am. But I’m not deaf, dumb, and blind,” she sniffed.

“No, you’re not,” Jahne agreed, handing her another Kleenex. “And you’re not seven years old anymore, either. You’ve got some
power
. Do you know, if Barry Tilden insults you, you could get him fired?”

Sharleen lifted her head up, the long, lovely fringe of silvery blond hair falling away from her face like a white wimple. Despite her reddened eyes and her tears, Sharleen’s face was still beautiful. Jesus, Jahne thought, she’s even gorgeous when she cries. “Oh, I could never do that!” Sharleen said. “He’s a wage earner. Why, he might have children to feed.”

“Two Shih Tzus, more likely,” Jahne said dryly. “Anyway, the point is not that you
would
get him fired, but that you
could
if you wanted to. You’re important to this production. All the cast and crew’s jobs count on you and me and Lila. So no one should be making fun of you. You really
could
get them fired, just by telling Marty or Sy that you want them off the set.”

“Have
you
ever been fired?” Sharleen asked, her voice lower, calmer, and almost ominous.

Jahne, lying, shook her head.

“Well,
I
surely have. And nothin’ feels worse than losing a job when you got rent to pay and groceries to buy.”

Jahne smiled at Sharleen. “You’re a very nice person,” she said. “But, now, I’m not saying you
should
get Barry fired. Just let
him
know
you
know you
could
do it.”

Sharleen seemed to let that sink in. “Well, what should I do?”

“Just look at him like this and say, ‘Don’t speak to me that way
ever again
.’ He’s a bitch, but he’s not stupid. He’ll stop on a dime.”

“Well, maybe for you and Lila, but not for me.”

Jahne stared at her. Boy, oh, boy, the nice-girl, modest-little-homespun act was wearing pretty thin. Then Jahne looked at Sharleen more closely. Was she kidding? This hillbilly bit was unbelievable, but could it possibly be true?

“Sharleen, don’t you know?” Jahne asked her gently.

“Know what?”

“Know that you’re the biggest sensation since talkies. You’re
it!
Right this minute, there are girls cutting their hair like yours, trying to buy a jacket like yours. Women are naming their babies Sharleen after you. Don’t you get it?”

“Oh, come on.”

“Well, they are.” Jahne took a breath. “Don’t you read the newspapers? ‘Sharleen’s Three Beauty Tips for Teens.’ ‘Sharleen Smith models a dazzling new wardrobe!’ ‘How to be like Sharleen Smith.’ Don’t you see the magazines? Sharleen, you’re about as hot as a star could get right now.”

“Well, me and Dean don’t get out much, and neither of us is much of a reader.”

“Sharleen, I think you should know what’s happening. We’re a phenomenon. Like Garbo.”

“Who’s he?”

“You don’t know Garbo?”

“Don’t think I recollect him. Was he one of the Marx Brothers?”

Jahne laughed out loud. “How old
are
you?”

“Nineteen.”

Jahne sighed. “Sharleen, you’re very, very popular now. And people already want to know
everything
about you. Like the Laura Richie woman. All the columnists. The woman’s magazines.
People. Entertainment Weekly
. They want to eat you up. What you have for breakfast, how much you weigh, where you shop, what your favorite color is.”

“But why?”

“That, my dear, is the riddle. Maybe people are lonely, or bored, and we give them something to do. Or maybe we seem like their neighbors, their community, if they have none. Some people just need to look up to someone. Be interested in someone. Maybe they hope for our good luck. And other people just need to look down on someone. Maybe they feel superior when we have bad luck. So, for whatever reason, a lot of people are really interested in you. They see you on TV, they like how you look and what you say, and they want to know more.”

Sharleen looked upset. “But what I say on TV ain’t
my
words. The script says them.”

“I know, but people who watch don’t always make the distinction.”

“But I don’t want people messin’ around trying to find out everything about me!” Sharleen cried.

“Well, you can’t have everything. You got money and fame. You can’t have privacy as well.”

Jahne saw the color drain from Sharleen’s perfect face, and something very much like terror welled up in her eyes. The poor kid really had no defenses. For a moment, Jahne felt enormous pity for the girl. After all, if this had happened to
you
fifteen years ago, she told herself,
you
wouldn’t have known how to handle it, either; maybe you don’t now.

“Sharleen, it’s not so bad. You just have to be careful in interviews and be sure to be discreet in your private life.”

“Like what do you mean?” Sharleen raised a hand to her forehead for a moment, almost as if warding off a blow, and Jahne saw that the hand was shaking. Jesus, what could a simple kid her age have to hide?

“Well, be careful whom you trust. Be really careful with journalists like that Laura Richie. Don’t tell your secrets to just anyone on the set. Be careful whom you sleep with. Don’t pick someone who might sell his story to the press for a thousand dollars. Don’t keep a diary, don’t trust waiters or hairdressers or your cleaning person. Things like that. They could be reporters.”

“What if I already haven’t been so careful?” Sharleen asked.

That night, after her talk with Sharleen and the long drive home from Pasadena, Jahne had trouble sleeping. But it was a relief to be alone. Sleeping with Michael, like sleeping with Pete, wasn’t really working. Despite his kindness to her, and his gift, she had to admit that she didn’t feel deeply about him. Plus, she didn’t really have time for a sex life
and
a career. The irony of it was not lost on her: now that she was at last desirable, she had no time for it. Between her evenings with Michael, her thoughts about Sam Shields, and her tension from the set, Jahne hadn’t slept well for several nights. And she couldn’t afford to miss sleep, to look haggard. But since seeing Neil Morelli waiting tables, waiting for his turn at the mike, she just hadn’t been sleeping.