He was afraid he did, and he figured the less he said about it, the better, so he kept his mouth shut.
The immense crazy-quilt sprawl of Los Angeles crept under the place. Debbie put her sunglasses back on took John’s hand, and held it tight. “You’re gonna be lucky for me,” she said. “I know you are. I knew it from the first minute we met. Scorpio and Pisces. Soul mates. I’m gonna do good, aren’t I?”
“You’ll do great,” he told her, and he kissed her hand and rested it against his cheek.
The plane landed with a jolt. Solly Sapperstein—a thin, gangly man in his early forties, wearing a sharkskin suit and a brown Beatles-hair toupee—was waiting at the gate. He talked loud, with an abrasive northern accent, and kept looking everywhere else but at Debbie as he talked to her. To John he paid no attention at all. They went out to the huge crowded parking lot and got in Solly’s black Cadillac, which had rusted scrapes along the sides.
Spago’s, on Sunset Boulevard, was essentially a stratosphere-priced pizza parlor. The pizzas had things like goat cheese and rabbit livers on them. Debbie ordered only a salad, and kept her sunglasses on. John decided to go the salad route too, but Solly ordered a pizza with duck sausage and double garlic.
“So! Debra!” Solly said with a big-toothed grin. “I caught Animal Heat last week. You’re hot, babe, totally nuclear.”
“Thank you,” Debbie said quietly, and she shifted a bit in her seat.
“You see it?” Solly asked John. Before John could decide what to say, Solly blasted on: “Got a guy in there with a schlong from here to Encino! If I had a schlong like that—whoa, baby!”
“Please keep your voice down,” John told him, feeling as if he had gravel churning in his stomach.
“What’s his problem?” Solly inquired of Debbie. “You did good in that flick, kid. Put on a real good show. You bring some of that fire into your reading today, you’ll walk off with the part.”
Debbie removed her sunglasses. Her eyes were building up to a blaze again; Debra Rocks was peering out. “Isn’t there anybody I can fuck to get it?” she asked.
“No, babe. Not these guys. They’re pros, and they don’t play that game.” He shrugged apologetically. “The put up five,, six million bucks, they want to make sure they’re getting acting talent, not…” He stopped himself, cleared his throat, and took another bite of pizza. “They don’t play that game,” he repeated.
Debbie put her sunglasses back on, shielding the eyes of Debra Rocks. She stared out the window, and John watched her scrape the polish from her thumbnail. He placed his hand over hers. “Take it easy,” he said.
“Yeah, listen to your boyfriend,” Solly advised.
It was a long drive to where the audition was going to be held. John sat in the back beside Debbie, his arm around her, and every so often he felt her shake as if electricity had pulsed through her. All during the flight and lunch he’d been glancing at his wristwatch and thinking about what he would’ve been doing at church; but now all that was forgotten, and he concentrated on comforting her.
The Bright Star studios, in Burbank, looked like a warehouse in need of paint. But the parking lot held BMW’s, Mercedeses, and Jaguars, so John knew this must be the place.
“Stay with me,” Debbie whispered, her voice quavering. They got out and followed Solly Sapperstein’s quick stride into the building.
16
IT WAS A QUIET place, like a center of power. Solly announced who he was to the receptionist, and that he and Miss Debbie Stoner had an appointment with Mr. Carmine. The woman asked them to take a seat, and she pressed a buzzer and relayed Solly’s message.
As they waited, Solly touched Debbie’s shoulder and leaned across John to whisper, “I got your credits all fixed up. Not to worry, babe.”
“Thanks,” she said, her hands clasped in her lap.
Credits fixed up, John thought. What did that mean? Credits? As in movie credits? He looked at Debbie, and the scrunched-up, tense way she was sitting made him remember something that knocked a soft breath out of him: the Bright Star studio was auditioning Debbie Stoner, not Debra Rocks. They didn’t know.
“Mr. Sapperstein? Miss Stoner?” the receptionist said. Debbie jumped. “Mr. Carmine will see you now. Room E, down the corridor to the right.”
“This is it,” Solly said. They stood up, and Debbie cleared her throat. She reached for Lucky’s hand and pulled him close as they walked.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Sapperstein,” the receptionist said as they started to pass her desk. “Just you and Miss Stoner.”
John felt her nails grip into his skin.
“What’s that mean? We’re three people here,” Solly said, smiling. “See? One, two, three.”
The woman checked her appointment sheet. “I have down Mr. Solly Sapperstein and Miss Debbie Stoner for Mr. Carmine at three-thirty. Two names.”
“Well…listen. He’s her boyfriend. You know. Moral support.”
“We’ve had this problem before, and Mr. Carmine is very specific.” The woman’s voice was cool, professional, and totally in charge. “No boyfriends, girlfriends, live-ins, or anyone in an audition but a legal representative. Those are the ground rules.”
“You can bend the rules. Just a little? Huh?” Solly was dancing on ice. He glanced weakly at Debbie. “Sorry, babe. Lucky stays here.”
“No! Solly…listen!” She grasped his hand with cold fingers. Behind her dark glasses, her eyes had panicked. “No! Lucky’s got to be with me, all the way!”
“What’s the big deal?” Solly shrugged and worked his hand away from her. “Lucky can sit right in here and wait. Then you can come out and give him the good news.”
Debbie shook her head adamantly. “No! He’s got to be with me!”
“Would you resolve this situation, please?” the receptionist prodded. “Mr. Carmine is waiting.”
“It’s all right,” John told her. “I’ll be right in here.”
“No! Lucky… I want you in the audition! You’ve got to be there!”
John glanced at the receptionist; she was sharpening a pencil, grinding it around and around. Then he took Debbie’s sunglasses off, and the abject fear in her eyes ripped his heart. He put his hands on her shoulders. “Listen to me.” She started to speak, and he said, “Listen. You’re an actress, aren’t you?” She nodded, terrified. “Then go in there and act. Do the best acting you’ve ever done in your life, and know that I’m in there with you, all the way.”
“I…can’t…”
“You can!” John told her, and waited until he saw it sink in.
“Let’s go, Debbie,” Solly urged.
“Go on,” John said softly. There was something else you were supposed to say. What was it? Oh yes. “Break a leg.”
Debbie stared into his eyes, trying to draw strength from his center. It seemed as if he was the only thing solid in a slippery world. And then Solly tugged at her, and she knew that her chance was on the line. And on her own shoulders, too. She drew a breath, held it—then let it go and followed Solly down the corridor and to the right.
John walked back to a chair, sat down, and started reading a Time magazine. His own palms were wet.
Room E was a cluttered little soundstage, the dreary gray walls covered with cables and other equipment. Three men sat at a long table, and the one in the center—a young, fresh-faced man in a Hawaiian shirt and khakis—stood up as Solly and Debbie entered. His expression was a bit irritated, because he didn’t like to be kept waiting. “Mr. Sapperstein? Miss Stoner? Good to see you again. You already know Mr. Katzenwaite.” He indicated the gray-haired man on his left. “This is Mr. Royer.” He motioned to the bearded man on his right. “Mr. Sapperstein, if you’ll sit down back there, please?” Carmine nodded toward a chair at the rear of the room. “Miss Stoner.” A motion to the chair in the middle of the room.
“Go for it, babe,” Solly whispered, and left her alone.
On Debbie s chair was a script: The Rad Brigade. She picked i
t up and sat down, her legs like rubber bands and the pounding of her heart making her entire body shake.
“Just relax now, Miss Stoner,” Carmine said. “We want to get a good reading from you, just sort of see what you can do. As I’m sure Mr. Sapperstein has told you, we were very impressed with your first audition. We think you’ve got a real grasp of Toni’s character.” He looked over at Royer, who had opened the girl’s resume and was skimming it. She’d done three films—sword-and-sorcery costume pieces—in Italy for Avanti Productions, and she had an impressive list of European modeling credits. “So let’s begin, shall we?”
Debbie couldn’t stop shaking. Damn it! she thought. God, I need some blow so bad!
“Just loosen up,” Carmine advised; she was sitting as if on cactus needles. He picked up his copy of the script and paged to a place he had marked. “Let’s start off with page thirty-nine. That’s Scene Eight, where Gato meets Toni. I’ll read Gato’s part. Ready?”
“Yes.” She wasn’t sure he’d heard her. “Ready.” Her voice sounded hoarse and unsteady. Straighten up, damn it! she thought. You’re a professional!
“Starting from the top of page thirty-nine,” Carmine said, sitting down again. “Okay, so what does it all mean, hotpants?”
“‘It…’” Read it with feeling, dummy! “‘It means, little boy, that…the Blaster Bunch won’t let it go at this. Fuck, no. They’re…going to come after you with all their guns blazing, and by the time they’re finished with you, they—’”
“Wait, wait,” Carmine interrupted. “Miss Stoner—Debbie—we’d like for you to emphasize your Southern accent, not try to mask it. Just go with it. Start again.”
She nodded. “‘It means, little boy, that the Blaster Bunch won’t let it go at this. Fuck, no. They’re gonna come after you with all their guns blazin’, and by—”
“Would you stand up, please?” Katzenwaite asked. “We’d like to see how you stand and deliver the lines.”
“All right.” She stood up and smoothed her dress. “‘It means, little boy, that the Blaster Bunch won’t let it go at this.’” She looked up, trying to put some Scarlett in her face. “‘Fuck, no. They’re gonna come after ya’ll with all their—’”
“Not ‘ya’ll,’” Carmine said. “‘You.’ Just read the lines as they’re written, please.”
“Sorry.” She cleared her throat, walked around the chair to get the blood circulating in her legs. Then took her spot and began again. This time they let her get beyond the third line. “‘And if I were you, I wouldn’t stick around. I’d find me a nice deep hole to crawl into.”
“‘Is that an offer?’” Carmine read, his own delivery flat and rushed.
“‘If you’ve got the cash, I’ve got the sl—’”
“Hold it, please.” Carmine was staring past her toward the door. “Who is that?”
She looked around with a gasp, hoping to see Lucky. Instead, it was another guy, this one wearing a black shirt with red polka dots. “It’s Keith, Bill. I’ve got something you might want to see. Like right now.”
“We’re auditioning in here.”
“Right now,” Keith said, and he walked into the room, past Debbie, and toward the long table. He was carrying a satchel.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Carmine threw up his hands. “Debbie, pick it up, please, and go on.”
“‘…the slash,’” she continued, really putting a Southern drawl into it. “‘I can take you places you ain’t never dreamed of, little boy. I can grow you up in a real quick—’” She glanced up, and that’s when she saw Keith pop open the satchel and slide the magazines out on the table in front of Carmine, Katzenwaite, and Royer.
“‘—hurry,’” she whispered, and felt the world cave in on her head.
Carmine had put aside the script. He was looking at the magazines. One of them was a Hustler, one was an Erotic Stars in Review, and another was a cheapie she’d done a couple of years ago titled Hot Cowgirl.
Carmine stared at a picture in the Erotic Stars magazine. He showed it to the other two men, then whispered something to them. Debbie jumped as Solly placed his hand on her shoulder. “Steady, steady,” he whispered.
Carmine looked up at her, his face pinched with anger. “This audition is over.”
She couldn’t make anything but a soft, stunned moan. Solly stepped forward, a frozen grin on his face. “Hey, chief! Hold on a sec! You’re not gonna jerk the rug out from under us, are you?”
“You’re damned straight I am, Mr. Sapperstein.” Carmine shook his head incredulously. “You’re either crazy or you’ve got iron balls, my friend. You know, your reputation had preceded you here. Was it last April you tried to pass off a stroke actress to Vista Pictures for a family film? We’ve got a research and legal department to check people out, Mr. Sapperstein. They don’t just sit on their asses and draw fifty grand gratis.”
“Listen…come on. Bill, right? Be a pal, Bill. Look at Debbie.” He pushed his hand into her back to make her stand up straight. “She’s got presence, Bill. Star quality. Yeah, maybe she’s raw, but you put the time and money into her and you can develop—”
“We can develop a lot of money blown on coke,” Royer told him. “We’re not in the business of financing drug habits for porn stars. We’re working with millions of bucks here! You think we’re going to toss it to…” He glanced at the magazine again. “Debra Rocks? Man, you’re crazy to have even brought that in here!”
The pressure of Solly’s hand on her back was hurting her. That pain stirred up other, worse pains, until she was aflame with pain, suspended in a universe of it. She clenched her hands into fists at her sides and listened to these men talking about her as if she were a thing.
“You can use her,” Solly insisted. “Let the word leak who she really is. It’ll boost your box office.”
“Yeah, and destroy all our artistic integrity,” Katzenwaite said. “Forget it.”
“This audition is over,” Carmine repeated, and he picked up his script and started to stalk away.
Her voice cracked out like the sound of a whip on bloody flesh: “No, it is not!”
All of them stopped—Carmine, Katzenwaite, Royer, and Keith—and they stared at what stood before them.
She had felt the fire of Debra Rocks leap from her pores, and she saw that awesome heat scorch their faces. Even Solly stepped back, because her eyes blazed with determined power and the scared little Southern girl who had been there just a second before had vanished. Everyone jumped when she threw the script to the floor. Her backbone was as rigid as an iron bar, and as she walked toward the table she was all tiger and suffocating steam.
Debra Rocks picked up the copy of Hustler, flipped it open to her nude centerfold, and pushed the pink right up into Carmine’s face. “Don’t you like it, Billy?” she asked, velvet-on-steel. “Oh, come on and tell me how much you like it.”
“Miss… Stoner,” he said, his eyes wide. “There’s no need to—”
“The name is Rocks. Oh, you know there’s a need, Billy. You know it.” She licked her finger until it glistened, and then she ran that finger across his lower lip. Their saliva intermingled. “What’re you thinkin’, Billy? Thinkin’…hard thoughts?” Her megawattage gaze wandered to Royer. She took a step forward and hooked two fingers up his nostrils. “You got a coke sniffle, baby? You like a little blow now and then? Oh, big man, I can show you places to lick coke from that you never dared dream about.” Another step, and she was in front of Katzenwaite. “Oh, let’s you and me talk artistic integrity, baby. Like stirrin’ up horny teenagers and makin’ ’em think they’re dead if they’re not fuckin’ by fifteen.” Her hips made a slow, grinding circle. “Look at it, Katzy. Think about it.” Her fingers flicked over her thighs. “You’re standin’ real close to the fire, Katzy. Ohhhhh…slide the wood in and let it burnnnn…” She drifted to Keith, picked up Hot Cowgirl, and opened it to a photograph that she knew was in there. “See that guy on top of me, Keithy baby? He was twelve in
ches, and I took him allll in. Every.” She grasped his hand and sucked a finger into her mouth. “Single. Inch,” she said, and spat his member out.
Keith moaned softly. Carmine’s hand had gone to his crotch.
Debra Rocks backed toward the doorway, her fingers beckoning them to follow if they dared. Katzenwaite looked as if he were about to leap over the table, and Royer’s face had frozen into a strained rictus. Solly staggered back and bumped into the wall. “I’m in a new movie,” she said huskily. “Animal Heat. It’s in one of those theaters with reallllll sticky floors. Now, when I walk out that door, you’re all gonna be thinkin’ how soon can you get to that theater, and how soon can you be lickin’ your lips over what was just starin’ you in the face. You remember my name, and you call it out when you get lonely. Hear, ya’ll?” And with a sultry, soul-killing smile, she said, “Now the audition is over,” turned her back on them, and walked proudly through the door.
Solly hurried after her, and caught up with her long-legged stride. “Whoa, baby!” he exclaimed, his cheeks slick with perspiration. “That was some job!”
Her face had tightened. The fire in her dark-hollowed eyes had dimmed, but it had burned a little more of her insides away. “I’m an artist,” she said, staring straight down the long chilly corridor. “My paintbrush is a man’s cock.”
John looked up from his magazine and saw them coming. Instantly he could tell that things had gone wrong. He stood up. Debbie strode past the receptionist, stuck a bird-finger right into the woman’s face, and kept going through the door. John followed, knowing the luck had run out.
“Where to? You want a drink?” Solly asked as he pulled the Cadillac out of the parking lot.
“No. Just drive.”
“What happened?” John asked. “You look—”
“You should’ve been in there with me!” she snapped, and something in her eyes went savage. “If you’d been in there, everything would’ve gone all right!”