A Summer Without Horses (3 page)

“Too bad Carole and Stevie are three thousand miles away,” I reminded him.

“Well, a third of the Saddle Club is better than none of it,” Skye said. Then he took my hand and squeezed it. It wasn’t a boyfriend-type squeeze, it was a friend-type squeeze and it was very nice.

It seemed to me that the best thing I could do for Skye right then was to change the subject. I would have liked to talk about something cheery, but what was on my mind was Aunt Alison. I told him about visiting her in the nursing home.

“I know that place,” Skye said. “It’s part of the large hospital, isn’t it?”

“Yes, and they’re really nice in there. It’s a nursing home, but you feel the ‘home’ part more than the ‘nursing’ part. They’re taking really good care of Aunt Alison.”

“I’m glad for that,” said Skye. “The whole hospital is like that, too. In fact, I’ve done some work for them.”

“You’re a doctor?”

Skye smiled at me. “No, not like that. More like fund-raising. They’ve got a children’s wing for chronically ill kids and a wonderful research facility where they’re doing ground-breaking work on some awful diseases. A friend of mine from school was a patient there and I saw all the good they were doing. I go to the wards once a week and talk with the kids there—you know, autographs, things like that. I’ve gotten to know some of the long-term patients pretty well. I want to make arrangements to have some of them—the ones who can—come visit a movie set I’m on sometime. Then, next week, they’re having a fund-raising auction and the director of this movie I’m in has agreed to let me offer a walk-on part to the highest bidder. I’ll be there to do the auction, too. That should be fun.”

“You mean you’re doing all those things and your director knows about them and you still think he believes it when Chris Oliver says you’re a troublemaker?” I asked.

Skye was quiet for a second or two while he thought
about what I’d said. “You’re amazing,” he said finally. “It never occurred to me.”

“Actions speak louder than words,” I reminded him. “It’s just that sometimes you’ve got to put the actions into words. I don’t think you have anything to worry about. I bet he’s already figured out what a creep Chris Oliver is.”

I couldn’t believe I was using the words “creep” and “Chris Oliver” in the same sentence, and maybe Stevie would never forgive me, but we were loyal friends to Skye and if Skye said Chris Oliver was a creep, it had to be true. I decided that I’d explain it all to Stevie when I got home.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Skye said, squeezing my hand again.

“Me, too, but speaking of ‘here,’ where are we?”

“We’re almost at the restaurant,” he said. “We’re going to Penelope’s.”

“Penelope’s!”
I knew from reading tons of magazines that Penelope’s is
the
hangout for stars and Hollywood glitterati. It’s the kind of place where autograph hounds and photographers just stand around, waiting for famous people to show up. And
I
was going there with
Skye Ransom
! Two thoughts flashed through my head as the limousine pulled up to the curb: First, I wished I’d worn something newer and a little more trendy; second, I wished Stevie and Carole were with me.

The limousine drew to a stop. The driver got out and stepped around to open the door. It was the door on my
side so I got out first. I could see people peering in to see who would emerge. When they saw it was me, their faces fell and they lowered their cameras. But when I was followed by Skye, I could hear the “ooohs” and “aaahs.” Cameras started flashing and a couple of girls reached out to touch him. Three pads and pens appeared. Skye signed them and then shook hands with the swooning girls. He gave everyone a smile, a nice, genuine, Skye Ransom smile, and we began the walk into Penelope’s. Just as we did that, another car pulled up and out stepped Chris Oliver!

T
HERE
WAS
ANOTHER
round of “oohs” and “aaahs”; the hands reached out, the autograph pads appeared. Chris Oliver ignored them all, brushing the hands and pads aside, smiling only for the cameras. That was when I really understood what Skye had been telling me. Chris Oliver was a phony. All he cared about was publicity, not the fans who had made him the star he was.

Chris was followed out of the car by a breathtakingly beautiful young girl. Chris was about twenty-two, if Stevie’s magazine was right. This girl had to be about eighteen. She was wearing a dress that dipped and curved in places I didn’t think I’d ever have and if I did, my parents wouldn’t let me wear the dress to show them off until I was well into my forties!

“Skye! Oh, Skye, my good man!” Chris called out
heartily.
My good man
? I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone under about sixty use that phrase. “What a nice surprise to see you here. Why don’t we join up and dine together!”

That was about the last thing in the world Skye wanted to do. And in spite of the fact that it would be very cool to have dinner with not one but two of Hollywood’s biggest hunks, I just wanted to be with Skye. Still, what could we do? Skye was too polite to turn down the invitation, and besides, even a Hollywood newcomer like me knew this was good publicity for their movie.

“Sure,” Skye mumbled, and the next thing I knew, I was seated in a booth with the two of them and Chris’s date, who was introduced to me as Krysti. She spelled it for me, just to be sure I had it. Then she explained that it was the only name she had. “Like Cher,” she said. I tried not to roll my eyes. Krysti was what Stevie would have called an airhead. I just ignored her. It wasn’t hard to do.

Skye introduced me to Chris and Krysti (“Don’t you love how our names are practically the same?” she squealed) as his riding instructor. That confused both of them, but it was all right. It gave me a certain status and that was good. Then a couple of photographers came and snapped pictures of the four of us. I could imagine myself on the covers of newspapers at supermarkets all over the world. I asked Skye if that might happen.

Chris answered for him. “You bet it can and you never
can tell what they’ll say about you in the articles. I can see it now. ‘Riding Instructor Named in Love Triangle!’ ”

I giggled, visualizing the reactions of my friends and family: Stevie would think it was funny; Carole would be horrified because I really didn’t have enough riding experience to be called an instructor; my mother would just about die of embarrassment. This could be interesting!

The menus arrived along with a waiter only too happy for the honor of announcing the evening’s specials to Skye and Chris. This was all so exciting to me that I didn’t think I’d be able to eat anything. When the waiter came back for our orders, I still hadn’t made up my mind.

Chris took over, as if he were the father or something. He ordered for Krysti and himself, then he looked at me. I guess he saw some confusion on my face so he started making suggestions and translating the menu—as if I didn’t know that
homard
meant lobster and
veau
was veal. In a way, he was being nice, but in another way, it was a sort of a putdown, making the waiter think I was some sort of ignoramus.

“I’ll have the
escargots
to start and then the
venaison
for my main course,” I said. I knew perfectly well I’d just ordered snails and deer, two things I don’t much like to eat, especially when I’m not hungry, but I felt this wild urge to show Chris that I knew how to read a menu, and, even more important, how to pronounce the French properly.

I didn’t have much time to think about how I’d eat
what I’d ordered because that’s when the reporter showed up. Both Skye and Chris knew who she was. Krysti sat up straighter when she heard her name, Nancy Lamport. Even I sort of recognized it. She’s a major Hollywood reporter. Everybody reads her daily column and she can make or break a movie—or a star—with a stroke of her word processor. The fact that she’d come to our table meant that Skye’s movie might get some coverage. Whether it was good or bad largely depended on what happened in the next five minutes.

“Now, don’t tell me how wonderful your movie is,” Ms. Lamport began, cutting off Chris before he could launch into a big speech. “I can get that from your publicity department. Tell me what you’re doing that’s going to make it a smash hit.”

Chris wasted no time. “As you know, the movie is about two brothers who become lost in the wilderness. I think the essence of the film lies in the feelings of desolation, isolation, and loss. To convey this to the movie-going public, it must come from within. I have techniques I developed with my acting coach, Igor Novolovsky. One, for example, involves climbing into my shower stall, nude.”

How else would you get into the shower? I wondered. But there was more. I listened, now truly understanding Skye’s problem with this guy. Phony didn’t begin to cover the subject.

“I’ve had the glass door painted black so I am totally
isolated. I turn on the water, to an unbearably cold temperature. I am alone, utterly alone. I feel it to my core. Then the tears come, mingling with the cold water. When I can bear it no more, I scream. The isolation is complete and when I perform for the camera, I draw on that.”

Ms. Lamport was writing as fast as she could. I guess she didn’t want to miss a word. I had the feeling that when it came out in print, it would have the effect of making Chris look like a very serious performer instead of the big phony he was.

When the reporter’s pencil stopped, she looked at Skye. “And how do you spend your time when you’re not actually on the set?” she asked. “Do you have techniques, too?”

He was still stunned by what Chris had said. “Nothing like that,” Skye began, nearly stammering.

I couldn’t keep quiet any longer. Skye had said he needed Saddle Club help, so he got it.

“He doesn’t have to,” I said. “Everyone who has ever seen Skye on a screen knows that he’s a wonderful actor, don’t you agree?”

Ms. Lamport agreed. At least she nodded.

“And besides, he’s too busy with the other things he does.”

“Sports and things like that?” she asked me.

“Some, but Skye would never let anything interfere with the work he does at the Dade Children’s Hospital.”

“Really?” Now she seemed interested. “Tell me about it.”

Skye did. He told her everything he’d told me and she wrote it all down. When Chris tried to mention that he’d helped out at a homeless shelter once, she practically ignored him. I remembered the story, too. There had been a big celebrity “do” for a shelter in Beverly Hills—where homeless means you only rent. Nobody was impressed by Chris’s big heart.

Ms. Lamport stayed at our table for quite a while, talking with Skye about the upcoming fund-raising auction at Dade and about his work with the kids there. Skye’s face lit up as he told her about one little boy who had taken his first steps into Skye’s arms and how much that meant to Skye.

When her notebook was full, Ms. Lamport stood up, thanked Skye and then Chris, nodded to Krysti, shook my hand, and left.

The rest of the evening was both wonderful and too ridiculous for words. Chris was in a huff and was very rude, mostly to poor Krysti. When we went to the ladies’ room together, I expected her to burst into tears. Instead she seemed oblivious, and told me all about the plastic surgery she thought she’d have over the next couple of years. If I don’t recognize her next time I see her, I decided, that’s okay with me.

As soon as we were done eating, Chris and Krysti left. Skye and I enjoyed the rest of our evening together.
When we left Penelope’s—to more flashbulbs and autograph pads—we got in the car, and he and the chauffeur took me on a guided tour of Los Angeles by night. We saw everything from Hollywood Boulevard (very tacky) to Mulholland Drive (breathtaking). It was great and it was over too soon except for the fact that my yawns kept informing me, as well as Skye, that my body thought it was three hours later than the car clock said it was.

Skye took me back to the hotel, gave me a hug, and put me in the elevator. Mom wanted to hear everything, but I told her she could read about it in the morning. I was in bed and asleep within minutes.