Bruce Wagner - Still Holding

She wondered if she had spoken too much. Lisanne wasn’t sure why she’d said half of what she did (she realized she’d been talking like someone in a melodrama) but was pretty sure she meant most all of it.

“Well, listen,” said Philip. She sighed deeply, ready for the Dear Jane. “I’ve been thinking — and I know this sounds, whatever it sounds. Here’s — well, this is just what’s been going on in my head. I have a house in Rustic Canyon. I have this house. There’s a bunch of rooms, mostly empty, except for the little part I live in. But you — if you wanted — could come stay. You’d have a full-time nanny and whatever you and the baby needed. You wouldn’t be alone, Lisanne. And that would make me more at ease.”

She broke into sobs. He lurched forward, kissing her neck. It felt bruising, and the skin there got sweaty and hot. Then it happened, like a dream, head sinking down to breast while the infant worked beside him, Philip’s face beet red as they sucked and panted in tandem. He chewed hard on the already tender nipple, and Lisanne cried out as he quickly turned away, mouth open in a creamy, spastic glower as he came, lips fixed in a hellish hobbyist’s grin, shamed and sated. His entire body quickly shrank in retreat, as if dissolving into an aerosol of corpuscles soon to finely speckle the walls before passing, microbe-like, through board and stucco to emerge on the other side, evaporating in the noonday sun.

A Successful Interview

“IS YOUR CAR INSURED?”

“Uh huh.”

“You’re gonna need to send a photocopy of proof of insurance to my business manager. Cause if you hit someone, I’m responsible. People love to sue a celebrity.”

She sat in the living room of her new boss’s Beachwood Canyon home. The Together star had moved in just a few years ago, and Becca made a mental note to go on-line and see if the transaction was ever listed in “Hot Property.” She was curious how much Viv had paid and which celebs if any had lived there prior. She enjoyed researching pedigree and provenance. The high-roofed concrete house sat on five acres; Becca felt like she was in Griffith Park. It was awesome, if a bit modern for her taste — not really in keeping with the surrounding environment. Architecturally, the place definitely had a “Kit” vibe and she bet he had influenced the purchase.

She wondered if the actress had been planning to move in with him once they got married. Now that things were up in the air, she’d probably stay put. But you never knew — sometimes celebrities changed properties just because they could. The great thing about having so much money was, you could ditch everything at a moment’s notice and check into any five-star hotel you liked. You could lease at the Colony or buy a ranch in Ojai or Idaho or Wyotana or wherever. Celebrities were always moving, sometimes upsizing, sometimes downsizing, but mostly they upsized. Still, Becca prided herself on being able to read between the lines of “Hot Property” blurbs to intuit when celebs were unloading because they needed cash — a sure sign being when a home was described as having been sold because so-and-so (faded rocker/older comedian/onetime game-show host) “found he wasn’t spending that much time in Los Angeles” or so-and-so (forties film star/fiftysomething model with fledgling cosmetics line/Broadway icon) exchanged her house for a Century City condo because “her children were now in college.” Anything going for under a million was another sign of trouble, though sometimes the charming “first home purchase” (usually Studio City or Silverlake) was inserted by the wily publicist of a young and up-and-coming USA or WB series star. Becca noticed that if a house was sold at more or less the same amount it was bought for, that was another sign of a celeb on the skids. All that being a far cry from the rarefied strata of perennially housenivorous dinosaurs like Stallone or Willis or Schwarzenegger, who still bought multiple lots (and even whole towns) with impunity, tearing down mansions so as to surround themselves with the luxury of undeveloped land. “Hot Property” said that Schwarzenegger and his wife had been looking for a place to stay while their home was being redone but couldn’t find “a suitable lease”—and wound up buying a place for $12 million instead, which they planned to sell upon completion of the makeover. Becca’s mom couldn’t believe it.

“My business manager will have a confidentiality thing for you to sign. And they’ll probably run a background check. Ever been to jail?” Viv said, with a laugh.

“Not that I know of!”

“They’ll need a urine sample, for drug testing.” She saw that Becca was taking her seriously and laughed again. “I’m kidding! We’ll have fun. It won’t be so bad, contrary to whatever horror stories I’m sure Gingher told you.”

“She said it was really great,” said Becca unconvincingly. “That you were great!” Viv only smirked. “I just really want to thank you,” she went on, in earnest. “I have so much respect for you. I’ve watched your show from the beginning . I always wanted to model myself on you.”

“You’re not going to All About Eve me, are you?”

“No!” said Becca, not knowing what the actress meant.

“Anyway,” said Viv, impishly. “You’re not Eve Harrington, you’re Drew Junior. Which one’s worse?”

Becca was too nervous to respond directly. “I just wanted to say that I’m going to do a great job for you. I am so motivated. ”

“Good,” said Viv, tartly. She lit a cigarette. “But I want to warn you: if you have a conflict —an audition or a whatever —and you can’t do what I ask you to do in that particular moment, that is so not going to work. OK? If I need you to go to Rexall for Tampax or pick up a tape or a script — messengers do that most of the time — and you happen to have a fourth callback for Steven Soderbergh’s amazing new film at the same time, uh, guess which one you’re going to do if you want to keep your job.”

“I totally understand.”

“So were you and Gingher big buddies?”

“Not really. We met through a friend.”

“You like her?”

“She’s nice.”

“I think she stole from me.”

“Money?”

“ Oh yeah. Lots of it. But that’s not your problem. I’m not even sure whose problem it is because I haven’t decided what I’m going to do about it. And I’d appreciate your not passing on that bit of information. What we say here, stays here.”

Viv stood up as the Pilates teacher came from the back of the house in readiness.

“Do you have my business manager’s address?”

“Yes.”

“Then see you Monday, Becca,” said Viv, shaking her hand.

“Thank you so much.”

“Call me V. Don’t call me Viv.”

Home Away from Home

SADGE WAS BACK. He i-mailed someone in Europe while Becca flipped through a magazine. They were smoking weed.

Drew was number 61 on Premiere magazine’s Power List, but Sadge didn’t seem to give a shit. She was wedged between Michael Bay and Sandra Bullock. The tiny paragraph said that Drew “painted the living room of her new bachelorette pad a tawny color called Naturally Calm” and that her boutique production company was called Flower Films. Sandra’s paragraph informed that her company was Fortis Films. Becca said that she was going to have her own boutique one day too. Sadge kept taking hits off the joint and i-mailing. Becca thought, Probably someone he was fucking. A backpacking Serbian skeev. Blue Ridge Films, she said out loud. That’s a pretty name. But maybe she needed an F, like Drew and Sandra. “Fast Forward” popped into her head. Fast Forward Films was cute! Or Pass/Fail. That was really good. She asked Sadge what he thought but he wouldn’t talk.