One Fifth Avenue - Candace Bushnell [37]
“You must give this up,” Enid said. “It’s time. Louise is dead. You must face the facts.”
“Why?”
“Think about your legacy,” Enid said. “Do you want to go to your grave with everyone thinking you were the crazy old woman who accused Louise Houghton?”
“I don’t care what people think,” Flossie said proudly. “I never have. And I’ll never understand how my very own stepdaughter continued to be friends with Louise.”
“Ah, Flossie.” Enid shook her head. “If everyone in New York took sides over these petty, insignificant arguments, no one would have any friends at all.”
“I read something funny today,” the makeup artist said. “‘The Joys of Not Having It All.’”
“Not having it all?” Schiffer asked. “I’m living it.”
“A friend e-mailed it to me. I can e-mail it to you if you want.”
“Sure,” Schiffer said. “I’d love that.”
The makeup artist stepped back to look at Schiffer in the long mirror. “What do you think?”
“It’s perfect. We want it natural. I don’t think a mother superior would wear much makeup.”
“And after she has sex for the first time, we can make it more glamorous.”
The red-haired PA, Alan, stuck his head into the makeup room. “They’re ready for you,” he said to Schiffer.
“I’m ready,” she said, getting out of the chair.
“Schiffer Diamond is on her way,” Alan said into a headset.
They walked down a short corridor, then went through the construction department. Two tall metal doors led to one of the six sets. Inside, behind a maze of gray plywood walls, was a white backdrop. Several director’s chairs were set up a few feet away, clustered in front of a monitor. The director, Asa Williams, introduced himself. He was a brooding, gaunt man with a shaved head and a tattoo on his left wrist. He’d directed lots of TV and, recently, two hit movies. Milling around was the usual crowd of crew and executives, all wondering, no doubt, what Schiffer was going to be like. Difficult or professional? Schiffer was friendly but removed.
“You know the drill, right?” Asa said. She was led onto the set. Told to walk toward the camera. Turn to the right. Turn to the left. The battery in the camera died. There was a four-minute break while someone replaced it. She walked away and stood behind the director’s chairs. The executive producers were in a conversation with the network executives. “She still looks good.”
“Yes, she looks great.”
“But too pale, maybe.”
She was sent back to the makeup room for an adjustment. Sitting in the chair, she recalled the afternoon when Philip had knocked on the door of her trailer. He was still put out that she’d called his movie lousy. “If you think my movie sucks, why are you in it?” he’d asked.
“I didn’t say it sucked. I said it was lousy. There’s a big difference. You’re going to need much thicker skin if you’re going to survive in Hollywood,” she’d said.
“Who said I want to survive in Hollywood? And what makes you think I don’t have thick skin?”
“And what do you know, anyway?” he asked later, when they were having drinks at the outdoor tiki bar in the hotel. “It’s only your second movie.”
“I’m a fast learner,” she said. “How about you?”
He ordered two shots of tequila, then two more. There was a pool table in the back of the bar, and they used every excuse to accidentally touch each other. The first kiss happened outside the bathroom, located in a little hut. When she came out, he was waiting for her. “I was thinking about what you said, about how Hollywood corrupts.”
She leaned back against the rough wood of the hut and laughed. “You don’t have to take everything I say at face value. Sometimes I say things just to hear how they sound. Any crime in that?”
“No,” he said, putting his hand on the wall above her shoulder. “But it means I’m never going to know when you’re serious.” Her head was tilted back to look at him, although he wasn’t so much taller than she was—maybe six inches. But then his arm was around her back, and they were kissing, and his mouth was so soft. They were both startled and broke away, then went back to the bar and had another