Glitter Baby

  “I’m miserable. And humiliated. How can a woman my age get chicken pox?” Belinda blew her nose. “My baby is going to star in the most talked-about film of the year, and here I am stuck in New York with this ridiculous disease. If I get scars…”

  “You’ll be fine in a week or so.”

  “I’m not coming out there until I look my best. I want them to see what they passed up all those years ago.” Another nose blow. “Call me the moment you meet him. Don’t worry about the time difference.”

  Fleur didn’t have to ask whom Belinda was talking about. She braced herself, and—sure enough…

  “My baby’s going to be doing love scenes with Jake Koranda.”

  “If you say that one more time, I’m going to throw up.”

  Belinda managed a laugh through her misery. “Lucky, lucky, baby.”

  “I’m hanging up now.”

  But Belinda had beaten her to it.

  Fleur walked over to the window and gazed down at the pool. She’d started to hate modeling, another thing Belinda would never understand. And she definitely didn’t want to be an actress. But since she had no idea what she wanted to do instead, she could hardly complain. She had gobs of money, a fabulous career, and a great part in a prestigious film. She was the luckiest girl in the world, and she was going to stop acting like a spoiled brat. So what if she never felt completely comfortable in front of the camera? She did a darned good job of faking it, and that’s exactly what she’d do with this movie. She’d fake it.

  She changed into shorts, twisted her hair on top of her head, and carried the script of Sunday Morning Eclipse out to the patio. She settled into one of the cushioned chaises along with a glass of fresh orange juice and gazed down at the script.

  Jake Koranda was playing Matt, the lead, a soldier returning home to Iowa from Vietnam. Matt is tortured by memories of a My Lai–type massacre he witnessed. When he gets home, he finds his wife pregnant with another man’s child and his brother caught up in a local scandal. Matt is drawn to Lizzie, his wife’s kid sister, who’s grown up in his absence. Fleur was playing Lizzie. She thumbed to the script notes.

  Untouched by the smell of napalm and the corruption in Matt’s own family, Lizzie makes Matt feel innocent again.

  The two of them get into a playful argument over the best place to find a great hamburger, and after a traumatic scene with his wife, Matt takes Lizzie on a week-long odyssey through Iowa in search of an old-fashioned root beer stand. The root beer stand served as both a tragic and comic symbol of the country’s lost innocence. At the end of the journey, Matt discovers that Lizzie is neither as guileless nor as virginal as she acts.

  Despite the movie’s cynical view of women, Fleur liked the script a lot better than the Bird Dog Caliber pictures. But even after two months of acting lessons, she didn’t see how she’d ever play a character as complex as Lizzie. She wished she was doing some kind of romantic comedy.

  At least she wouldn’t have to do the movie’s nude love scene. This was the only battle with Belinda that she’d won. Her mother said Fleur was being a prude and that her attitude was hypocritical after all the swimsuit ads she’d done, but swimsuits were swimsuits, and naked was naked. Fleur wouldn’t budge.

  She’d always refused to pose nude, even for the world’s most respected photographers. Belinda said it was because she was still a virgin, but that wasn’t it. Fleur had to keep some part of herself private.

  The housekeeper interrupted and told her she needed to look outside. Fleur went to the front door. In the center of the driveway sat a shiny new red Porsche topped with a giant silver bow.

  She raced to the phone and caught Alexi just as he was getting ready for bed. “It’s beautiful,” she cried. “I’m going to be scared to death to drive it.”

  “Nonsense. It is you who control the car, chérie, not the other way around.”

  “I’ve got the wrong number. I want to speak with the man who’s invested a fortune trying to find the Bugatti Royale that spent the war in the sewers of Paris.”

  “That, my dear, is different.”

  Fleur smiled. They chatted for a few minutes, then she rushed outside to drive her new car. She wished she could thank Alexi in person, but he’d never come back to see her.

  Some of her pleasure in the gift faded. She’d become a pawn in the battle between her parents, and she hated that. But as important as her new relationship was with her father, and as much as she appreciated this beautiful car, her first loyalty would always be with Belinda.

  The next morning, she drove the Porsche through the studio gates to the soundstage where Sunday Morning Eclipse was shooting. Fleur Savagar was too scared to show up on the set herself, so she’d sent the Glitter Baby instead. As she’d gotten dressed, she’d taken extra care with her makeup and pulled her hair away from her face with a set of enameled combs so that it fell long and straight down her back. Her peony-colored Sonia Rykiel body sweater complemented a pair of strappy lizard sandals with three-inch heels. Jake Koranda was tall, but those heels should just about even them out.

  She found the parking lot the guard had directed her to. The toast she’d eaten for breakfast clumped in her stomach. Although filming on Sunday Morning Eclipse had been under way for several weeks, she didn’t have to report for another few days, but she’d decided that checking things out before she had to go in front of the camera would build her confidence. So far, it wasn’t working.

  This was silly. She’d made television commercials, so she understood the process. She knew how to hit her marks and take direction. But her anxiety refused to ease. Belinda should have been the movie star. Not her.

  The guard had phoned ahead, and Dick Spano, the producer, met her inside the soundstage door. “Fleur, sweetheart! It’s good to see you.” He welcomed her with a cheek kiss and an admiring look at the leggy expanse that the body sweater put on display. Fleur had liked Spano when they’d met in New York, especially when she’d found out how much he loved horses. He led her toward a pair of heavy doors. “They’re getting ready to shoot. I’ll take you in.”

  Fleur recognized the brightly lit set on the soundstage as the kitchen of Matt’s house in Iowa. Standing in the middle of it, she saw Johnny Guy Kelly deep in conversation with Lynn David, the tiny, auburn-haired actress who was playing Matt’s wife, DeeDee. Dick Spano gestured Fleur toward a canvas director’s chair. She resisted the urge to peek at the back and see if her name was stenciled there.

  “You ready, Jako?”

  Jake Koranda stepped out of the shadows.

  The first thing Fleur noticed was his impossible mouth, soft and sulky as a baby’s. But that was the only thing baby-like about him. His walk was loose-jointed with a rolling, slouch-shouldered gait that made him look more like a range-weary cowboy than a playwright–movie star. His straight brown hair had been cut shorter than he wore it in the Caliber pictures, making him look both taller and thinner than his screen image. Offscreen, she decided, he didn’t look any friendlier than he did onscreen.

  Thanks to Belinda, Fleur knew more about him than she wanted to. Although he was notoriously reticent with the press and seldom gave interviews, certain facts had emerged. He’d been born John Joseph Koranda and raised in the worst part of Cleveland, Ohio, by a mother who cleaned houses during the day and offices at night. He had a juvenile police record. Petty theft, shoplifting, hot-wiring a car when he was thirteen. When reporters tried to get him to open up about how he’d turned his life around, he referred to a college athletic scholarship. “Just a punk who got lucky with a basketball,” he said. He refused to talk about why he’d left college during his sophomore year, his short-lived marriage, or his military service in Vietnam. He said his life was his own.

  Johnny Guy called out for quiet, and the set grew still. Lynn David stood with her head down, not looking at Jake, who was all sulky mouth and hard blue eyes. Johnny Guy called for action.

  Jake leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. “You can’t h
elp being a tramp, can you?”

  Fleur clutched her hands in her lap. They were filming one of the uglier scenes in the movie, where Jake’s character, Matt, had just found out about DeeDee’s infidelity. In the editing room, the scene would be interspersed with quick cuts of the village massacre Matt had witnessed in Vietnam, shadow images that make him lose control until he lashes out at DeeDee in a macabre duplication of the violence he’d witnessed.

  Matt began walking across the kitchen floor, every muscle in his body taut with menace. In a small, helpless gesture, DeeDee closed her fingers around a necklace he’d given her. She was so tiny next to him, a fragile little Kewpie doll about to be broken. “It wasn’t like that, Matt. It wasn’t.”

  Without warning, his hand shot out and ripped off her necklace. She screamed and tried to get away from him, but he was too fast. He shook her, and she started to cry. Fleur’s mouth went dry. She hated this scene. Hated everything about it.

  “Cut!” Johnny Guy called out. “We’ve got a shadow by the window.”

  Jake’s angry voice ripped through the set. “I thought we were going to try to do this in one take!”

  Fleur couldn’t have picked a worse day to show up. She wasn’t ready to do a movie. She especially wasn’t ready to do a movie with Jake Koranda. Why couldn’t it have been with Robert Redford or Burt Reynolds? Somebody nice. At least she didn’t have any scenes where Jake beat her up. But that wasn’t any consolation when she thought about the scenes she did have with him.

  Johnny Guy called for quiet. Someone from wardrobe replaced Lynn’s necklace. Fleur’s palms started to sweat.

  “You can’t help being a tramp, can you?” Matt said in the same ugly voice. He bore down on DeeDee and yanked off the necklace. DeeDee screamed and struggled with him. He shook her harder, his expression so vicious that Fleur had to remind herself he was acting. God, she hoped he was acting.

  He pushed DeeDee against the wall, and then he slapped her. Fleur couldn’t watch any more. She closed her eyes and wished she was anywhere but here.

  “Cut!”

  Lynn David’s crying didn’t stop with the end of the scene. Jake pulled Lynn into his arms and tucked her head under his chin.

  Johnny Guy ambled forward. “You okay, Lynnie?”

  Jake rounded on him. “Leave us alone!”

  Johnny Guy nodded and moved away. A moment later he spotted Fleur. She stood half a head taller, but that didn’t stop him from enveloping her in a bear hug. “Aren’t you just what the doctor ordered? Pretty as a Texas sunset after a spring rain.”

  Johnny Guy was one of the best directors in the business, despite his good ol’ boy manner. When they’d met in New York, he’d been sensitive to her inexperience and promised he’d do everything he could to make her comfortable. “Come on over here with me. I want you to meet everybody.”

  He began introducing her to the crew, telling her something personal about each one. The names and faces flew past her too quickly to remember, but she smiled at everyone. “Where’s that pretty mother of yours?” he asked. “I thought she’d come with you today.”

  “She had some business to take care of.” Fleur didn’t mention the business involved cotton swabs and calamine lotion. “She’ll be here in a week or so.”

  “I remember her from the fifties,” he said. “I was working as a grip then. I saw her once at the Garden of Allah when she was with Errol Flynn.”

  Fleur tripped over a cable she hadn’t noticed. Johnny Guy caught her arm. Belinda had chronicled every movie star she had ever met, but she’d never mentioned Errol Flynn. He must be mistaken.

  Johnny Guy suddenly looked uncomfortable. “Come on, darlin’. Let me take you over to meet Jake.”

  Exactly what she most didn’t want to do, but Johnny Guy was already steering her toward him. Her discomfort increased at the sight of a teary Lynn David still tucked against Jake’s side. Fleur whispered to Johnny Guy. “Why don’t we wait—”

  “Jako, Lynnie. I’ve got somebody here I want you to meet.” He propelled her forward and introduced her.

  Lynn managed a weak smile of acknowledgment. Jake looked at her with Bird Dog Caliber’s eyes and gave her a brusque nod. Fleur’s three-inch lizard strap sandals let her eye him dead on, and somehow she managed not to flinch.

  An awkward silence followed, broken finally by a stubble-faced young man. “We have to do it again, Johnny Guy,” he said. “We picked up some noise.”

  Koranda pushed past Fleur and stalked toward the center of the set. “What the hell is wrong with all of you?” The set grew instantly quiet. “Get your act together. How many times do we have to go through this for you?”

  A long silence followed. Finally an anonymous voice filled the tense stillness. “Sorry, Jake. It couldn’t be helped.”

  “The hell it couldn’t!” Fleur waited for him to pull out the pearl-handled Colts. “Get your shit together! We’re only doing it once more.”

  “Easy, boy,” Johnny Guy said. “Last time I checked, I was the director around here.”

  “Then do your job,” Koranda shot back.

  Johnny Guy scratched his head. “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that, Jako, and chalk this up to a full moon. Let’s get back to work.”

  Temper tantrums weren’t new to Fleur—she’d seen some doozies in the last few years—but this one made the butterflies in her stomach do nosedives. She looked down at her fat runner’s watch and yawned. It was a technique she’d developed when she got uncomfortable—looking at her watch and yawning. It made people think they couldn’t get to her, even when they could.

  She imagined what Belinda would say if she’d seen her idol’s obnoxious behavior. Celebrities are different from ordinary people, baby. They don’t have to follow the same rules.

  Not in Fleur’s book. Rude was rude no matter how famous you were.

  The scene began again. Fleur stole back into the shadows where she didn’t have to watch, but she couldn’t block out the sounds of violence. It seemed like forever before it was over.

  A woman Johnny Guy had introduced earlier as a production assistant appeared at Fleur’s side and asked if she’d go to wardrobe. Fleur could have kissed her. By the time she returned, the crew was taking a lunch break. Lynn and Jake sat eating sandwiches off to the side by themselves, and Lynn immediately spotted her. “Come over and join us.”

  All Fleur wanted to do was get away, but she couldn’t think of a polite way to refuse. The heels of her lizard strap sandals tapped on the concrete floor as she made her way across the set. They’d changed into jeans, which made her feel like an overdressed outsider. She picked up her chin and pulled back her shoulders.

  “Have a seat.” Lynn gestured toward a folding chair. “Sorry we didn’t get a chance to talk earlier.”

  “That’s okay. You were busy.”

  Jake stood and balled his sandwich in the wrapper. Fleur was used to looking down at men, not looking up, and he was so intimidating she had to force herself not to step back. She stared at that impossible mouth and saw his famous front tooth with the tiny chip at the corner. He gave her another short nod, then turned to Lynn. “I’m going out to shoot some baskets. I’ll see you later.”

  As he disappeared, Lynn held out half her sandwich. “Eat this so I don’t gain any more weight. It’s salmon with low-cal mayonnaise.”

  Fleur took the friendship offering and sat down. Lynn was in her mid-twenties and delicate, with tiny hands and wispy auburn hair. A thousand magazine covers wouldn’t change the way being around such a petite woman made Fleur feel like the Jolly Green Giant.

  Lynn was returning the inspection. “You don’t look like you have to worry about your weight.”

  Fleur swallowed a bite of sandwich. “I do. Working in front of a camera, I can’t go above one thirty-five. That’s hard with my height, especially for somebody who loves bread and ice cream.”

  “Good, then we can be friends.” Lynn’s smile showed a row of small, straight te
eth. “I hate women who can eat anything.”

  “Me, too.” Fleur smiled, and they talked for a while about the injustices of being female. Eventually the subject shifted to Sunday Morning Eclipse.

  “Playing DeeDee is the break I’ve been waiting for after the soaps.” Lynn picked a flake of salmon from her jeans. “Critics say Jake’s women aren’t as well-written as his men, but I think DeeDee’s an exception. She’s foolish, but she’s vulnerable. Everybody has a little DeeDee in them.”

  “It’s a really great part,” Fleur said. “More straightforward than Lizzie. I’m…nervous about playing her. I guess…I’m not too sure of myself.” She flushed. This was hardly the way to inspire confidence in a coworker.

  But Lynn nodded. “Once you get into the part, you’ll be more confident. Talk to Jake about Lizzie. He’s good about that kind of thing.”

  Fleur picked at a loop of yarn on her sweater. “I don’t think Jake’s going to be too interested in talking to me about anything. It’s no secret he didn’t want me in the picture.”

  Lynn gave her a sympathetic smile. “When he sees you’re committed, he’ll come around. Give him time.”

  “And space,” Fleur said. “The more the better.”

  Lynn settled back into the chair. “Jake’s the last of the good guys, Fleur.”

  She retrenched. “I’m sure you’re right.”

  “No. I mean it.”

  “Well…You know him a lot better than I do.”

  “You’re thinking about what you saw today.”

  “He was…sort of rough on the crew.”

  Lynn picked up her purse and began rummaging through it. “Jake and I were an item a couple of years ago. Nothing serious, but we got to know each other pretty well, and once we stopped sleeping together, we became good friends.” She pulled out a pack of breath mints. “I confided in him a lot, and Jake drew on something that happened to me when he wrote that scene. He knew it would bring back bad memories, and he wanted to get it over with for my sake.”

  Fleur pulled her legs tighter again the chair. “I’m not…too comfortable with men like him.”