Кэндес Бушнелл - Four Blondes

Constance and the receptionist exchange a quick look. The receptionist looks down, pretending to rearrange phone messages.

"I can put you in the green room," Constance says finally. "But I can't guarantee anything.”

Minutes later, illegally smoking cigarettes in the green room, I'm half watching the TV monitor as Dianna Moon, wearing a satin evening gown (one strap carelessly fallen off her shoulder) leans toward Slater London and, with complete earnestness, says, "I never look back at the past. I've been lucky and staring directly into the camera—"I thank Jesus every day." Then she sits back triumphantly, crossing her legs and throwing her arm over the back of the chair so that her cleavage is exposed. She giggles.

Slater London, who is half English and half American, former teenage screen heartthrob whose own career ended (briefly) when he was discovered wearing women's clothing, leans across his desk and says, "Dianna. Have you become a Jesus freak?”

Dianna Moon's face goes blank, and without seeming to be able to help herself, she says, "Slater. Do frilly pink underpants mean anything to you?" Slater, who is caught off guard but covers it up by running his hand across his blond crew cut, says, "Wasn't Alice in Wonderland wearing them when she went down the rabbit hole?”

"Hole," Dianna says flirtatiously. "Is that a word you like?”

Slater looks at the camera. "Okay, folks. That’s all the time we have. Dianna, thank you so much for being on the show, and good luck with your new movie...." Then he smiles at the camera for a few seconds before ripping off his mike and screaming, "I hope we can cut out that last bit." The sound goes off as technicians walk onto the set with Hubert following. Dianna throws her arms around him as she looks over her shoulder at Slater, then they all walk off and the screen goes blank.

I suddenly feel sorry for my husband.

Does he know he's being USED? What IS his job, really? Booking guests and making sure that Slater isn't convicted for statutory rape? Who would choose to do this?

Hubert. EUROPEAN CROWN PRINCE IS NOT ONLY GORGEOUS, HE'S A REGULAR GUY, a headline screamed three years ago when Hubert first took the job. On his first day, he was photographed buying a sandwich from the corner deli, and when he came out, brown bag in hand, he actually waved the bag at the photographers and smiled. PRINCE'S FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL was the cover of the New York Post the next day, and I actually did not, at the time, think it was strange. "I just want to do something normal. Like a regular person," Hubert had said. And I had agreed. "I just want us to be able to walk down the street and buy an ice cream cone," I had said, pouting, even though I HATE ice cream because it makes you fat, and Hubert had said, "So would I baby, so would I." Mournfully.

I encouraged him to take the job. Show biz. How difficult could it be? Hubert had already had a spate of jobs in banking, all of which, strangely, had turned out to be disasters. He had no head for numbers; in fact, he left generous tips because he couldn't calculate 20 percent. I ignored this back then.

But now I suddenly realize: My husband is charming, convivial, and beautifully mannered. But also kind of ... dumb.

They're USING him for his connections.

I light a cigarette in disgust, and as I do, the door to the green room opens (that damn Constance probably locked me in), and Hubert comes in with Dianna Moon, who for some strange reason rushes over to me and throws her arms around me like a two-year-old, nearly knocking the cigarette out of my hand.

"I've always wanted to meet you," she gushes. Then she stands back and says, "You are as pretty as everyone says." She takes my hand and says, "I hope we can be really good friends.”

I want to hate her but I can't, at least not right then.

"Constance told me you were here," Hubert says lamely. "And Dianna said she wanted to meet you.”

“I was hoping you might be able to have lunch,”

I say. Wondering, Is it me or is his Dianna comment subtly hostile?

"Let’s all have lunch together. At one of those Ladies Who Lunch places," Dianna says. "I'm feeling very, very ladyish today.”

"Can't," Hubert says casually. "Bob and I have a standing invitation for lunch every Wednesday.”

“Oh really," I say.

"Of course, there's no way you would have known that," Hubert says. "If you'd called before you came....”

"Oh, who's this damn Bob person? Blow him off," Dianna says. "Tell him you're having lunch with me. I'm sure Bob will understand.”

"He'll understand, but he's the head of The Network," Hubert says.

"But don't you want to have lunch with your wife?" Dianna asks, in what seems to be genuine confusion. "She's so pretty....”

"We hardly ever see each other," I say in a completely neutral tone, pulling on my gloves.

"Norman and I used to spend every minute together," Dianna says. "Every minute. We couldn't get enough of each other. We were obsessed. We'd spend days and days together in bed...." She screws her face up. "I miss him. I miss him so much. No one really understands." And then she begins to cry. Hubert and I look at each other in alarm. Hubert does nothing. I cough politely into my glove.

"He was the greatest love of my life. My only love. I don't think I'll ever be able to date anyone, even,”

she says, although it's a well-known fact that she is at the moment not only dating someone (the head of a movie studio) but, according to Star magazine, living with him (or at least leaving all her stuff at his house), but if s clear the tears are just part of her little performance, because she suddenly grabs my hand again and says, "Well, at least you'll have lunch with me. I just can't be alone right now.”

Hubert looks relieved. "Why don't you go to Cipriani's? The Network will pick up the tab, of course,”

he says, adding, "Cecelia, just be sure to bring me the receipt, okay?”

And I just stare at him in horror, not believing that he is saddling me with this woman and treating me like some kind of ... EMPLOYEE, for God's sake. "I'll have Constance make the arrangements," he says. And just at that moment, Constance walks into the room and appears to "immediately sum up the situation.”

"I'll call Giuseppe," she says, nodding at Hubert. "I'll tell them to be expecting you. That way you won't have to wait.”

"I never have to wait. Anywhere," I say to Constance, not believing her insubordination. I look at Hubert for confirmation, or at least some kind of support, but all he can do is smile uncomfortably.

"Well. Good-bye then," I say coldly.

"I'll see you later. At home," he says, like I'm annoying him or something.

"Right. I'll make that phone call," Constance says, looking at Hubert but not actually going anywhere. "Slater was a real comedian today, wasn't he?" she says, like she and Hubert are the only ones in the room. "It's all because of that damn Monique. That’s what you get for dating a child. Except now if s our problem." And then she actually touches Hubert's arm. Specifically, his bicep.

I was right. He is having an affair with Constance. "Who was that fucking bitch?" Dianna demands as she falls into the limo. "Christ. If I were you I would have smacked her. Listen, honey, rule number one: Never let any other bitch mess with your man. Because, guaranteed, that bitch is after your man. If you knew how many women I had to beat up, I mean, literally beat the FUCK off Norman, you wouldn't believe it.”

I want to say that I would believe it, since Dianna Moon's barroom brawls are legendary, but I am either too afraid or too polite or too pissed off at Hubert right now to say anything, so I just nod and light a cigarette, which Dianna grabs out of my hand and begins smoking rapidly with large gestures. "I nearly cut a bitch's tit off once, did you know that?”