Hollywood Ass. (13 page)

“Can you stop being such a fucking bitch? Otherwise, we’ll leave.”
B
stood up from the table, holding her handbag. She wasn’t playing around, she would really
leave
. I noticed one of the waiters looking at us with big eyes.

To my surprise, Katherine raised her hand up in defeat, “Stay. Please stay. I went too far, I know. I’ve
had a bad day.”

B
looked at her mother for a few seconds before she sat down again and said, “Why have you had a bad day?”

Right about here the food came and gave us a friendly break in the conversation. I dug into my Norwegian salmon ravioli with gusto and for a second I forgot about the lousy mood Katherine brought with her from hell.

“This was excellent,” Katherine said, forking down some lobster. The first positive thing she had said all lunch.

“You didn’t reply when I asked you why you’re in such a bad mood?”
B
said, sounding slightly more relaxed to have the topic changed.

Katherine dabbed her mouth with her napkin and sipped her water anxiously before she replied, “It’s a bit complicated with Hugh right now.”

Hugh was Katherine’s so called
boy
friend, a Hemingway-style business mogul who seemed more than happy to be paying for her luxury lifestyle and countless surgeries.
B
had never met him and with Katherine's track record with men, it was likely she never would. We had googled him though.

“Complicated in what way?”
B
said.

“He’s always busy! He gives me his credit card and tells me to go shopping, but then he doesn’t spend any time with me. He’s always having drinks with his business partners and comes back really late every night. I thought this trip would be about
us
, but we’ve hardly spent any time together at all. It’s like he doesn’t want to be with me, yet he’s still very affectionate when he’s actually around me.”

I could see why someone would want to avoid Katherine, but maybe not while dating her?

“He sounds like a very busy man. Are you in love with
him
then? He's apparently richer than a leprechaun,”
B
said in a dry tone.

“Don’t be rude. I'm not seeing him for the money, we have a really strong connection.”

“A really strong connection to his MasterCard,” B said and gave me a look. I smiled awkwardly, because somewhere deep down I guess I felt for Katherine and her love troubles. I knew how much love, or the lack of it, could hurt.

B was happy that the talk had gone from her recent misfortunes to her mother’s problem with finding love and encouraged more conversation around the topic, “Have you talked to him about this? It seems like strange behavior, after all you’ve only been seeing each other for a couple of months. And you’re both old, a good reason to hold on to each other.” B pushed her plate to the side, half-finished. She was suddenly very calorie-aware.

Katherine had this look on her face like she was about to burst out in tears and her lips were trembling, “He just waves it away like I’m talking nonsense. He says it’s what women do and then he buys me flowers or a necklace and thinks everything will be alright.”

Then the lunch date disaster took a surprisingly positive turn and although they didn’t connect on the normal mother-daughter relationship level, they didn’t argue and seemed to have a pretty good time talking about work, food, shopping - neutral stuff. I had never seen such a natural conversation between them and hoped it would be the start of a different kind of relationship, one built on respect.

***

“Well, that went better than expected,” said a remarkably upbeat
B
on the way back to the hotel. She was talking while tweeting or texting or whatever she did on her Blackberry all the time.

“It sure did. I’m happy you both got along so well. It was kind of shocking.”

“Talking about getting along, I’m going out with
A
tonight. We’re having a “date”. He just texted me.”

“Well, that’s great news. Seems like things are working out.” I said, with all the enthusiasm I could muster.

B
chuckled, “You’re so goddamn positive I want to punch you in the ribs sometimes. You can’t say that things are working out when I haven’t even met him yet. He might want to break up.”

We walked past a newsstand where I saw the guy stare at
B
like he had just seen a holy spirit. “Look!” I said and pointed at one of the Cosmopolitan covers, where a heavily photoshopped version of her was smiling at us.

“It’s out already? That’s fast. Buy a copy.”

I stepped over to the shocked vendor and started browsing through my wallet for change and from the corner of my eye I saw two guys with massive cameras head towards her. Paparazzi. I took the Cosmo, threw him a five-dollar bill and ran over there just in time to cover the camera crossfire.

“Let’s go,” I said, holding my hand up to them, “Fuck off guys, get a real job.” This was pretty much what everybody said when facing the paparazzi - it came like a reflex. In all honesty, they had a job. Not a very sympathetic one, but at least a job.

“Get one yourself, asshole,” said a guy wearing a Fonzie-style leather jacket. Then another one shouted: “
B
, tell us, how’s your tummy? Do you have any more throw-ups to give us? Or maybe you have some babies bubbling in there?”

I saw how the baby comment hit
B
like a slap in the face. She took a step towards the guy and spit him in the face. He grinned and shouted “fuck!” but before he had time to react, we ran. And luckily we were not far from the hotel and managed to get inside before the hotel guards held off the paparazzi.

“You okay?” I asked when she sat down on the bed. “Yeah, I’m good,” she replied, but her voice was sad and weary. “Let’s read the article,” she said, motioning for me to join her.

So I sat down and looked at her and thought that I loved her.

***

I was very happy to see Cesar’s round and babyish face across the table from me later that night at Chinatown on the Lower East Side. Chinatown was Cesar’s favorite restaurant and had an almost magical feel to the decor, making it easy to image you were in a fine dining establishment in China in the 30s. I put a steaming and delicious chicken dumpling in my mouth and looked over at my friend who was sipping his beer with a content little smile on his face.

“You’re hot for her, aren’t you?” Cesar said, after finishing his sip. His comment almost made me choke on my dumpling, because I hadn’t been talking much about
B
at all. But Cesar’s levels of perception had always been high.

“What makes you say that?” There was a slight quiver in my voice. I’m a bad, bad actor.

Cesar laughed, “There’s something different about you. You sound anxious when you’re talking about her. And since you're spending almost all your time with one of finest dames in the world, it would be kind of crazy not to feel
anything
for her.” Cesar smiled under his mane of dreadlocks. He wasn’t a looker, Cesar, but he had lots of personality. Not always an attractive personality, but at least lots of it.

I lowered my voice, “To tell you truth I never had any romantic feelings whatsoever towards her, until this trip to Rome that is. Then they came over me like a smack on the head and I don’t know how to go back to being normal, to feeling neutral. I’m not head over heels in love, it’s more like the feeling comes and goes.”

“I’ve told you before that nothing good can come out of being someone’s assistant.” Cesar finished his beer and looked at me like he had me all figured out. He was sometimes Mr. Know-it-all.

“You never liked my job, LA, or the celebrity world, I know that. But I actually
like
it, I just never thought it would end up like this. It’s like I’m a teenager all of a sudden.”

Cesar’s forehead wrinkled as he put on his serious, contemplative face. Then he brightened up, “You know Britney and her agent got together, seems to be working out just fine.”

“I'm not her agent and this is different,
B
is still married, she says she wants to work on it and, we have to be honest here, there’s no way in hell she’s romantically interested in me, no matter how many compliments she gives me or how much time we spend together. I just need to stop thinking about her like this and start being a professional again.”

“I think you make it sound easier than it is. You’re in love, man. It’s not something you turn on and off like a light switch. In a way, I think this is the best that could ever happen to you. Maybe now you’ll realize it’s not healthy working the way you do. When did I hear about you seeing a woman or doing something that didn’t involve work? You’re almost 30, you can’t keep dodging real life just because you’re too comfortable where you are.”

Cesar was harsh and direct, but maybe he was right, maybe this what was I needed to hear. When I started working for the Johnsons, we talked about it and both of us saw it as a short but interesting stint. A stint that had tallied up to more than four years.

“What can I say? I’ll think about it. Can we talk about something else now? Like what’s up in
your
life? New job and everything.”

Cesar grinned like a guy selling men’s cologne from a trench coat, “Yeah, mobile game developer - small, funky company, great atmosphere, relaxed guys. I could wear flip-flops to work if I wanted to. It's awesome.”

I know Cesar could get away with just about anything because of how good he is. Genius usually generates some kind of carte blanche.

“And women?” I asked, thinking he’d have as little news as I did.

“I've actually met a girl from Toronto. Online, not IRL yet. She's perfect on paper, a real beauty, great personality, similar interests. She's actually coming here for a work interview soon so we’ll get to meet properly.” Cesar’s eyes glowed, something I usually only saw when he worked the hash pipe. He’d probably been single too long. Like me, which made it hurt a little.

“You and your computer abbreviations. What's her name?”

“Rosa.”

“Interesting. But I wouldn’t set my hopes too high, she haven’t even met you yet. You probably sent her a picture of an underwear model instead of your moldy baby head.”

“No, when it comes to online dating, I believe in complete honesty. And I know she’ll love me. I mean how can you
not
love this beautiful face?” he said and smiled.

We talked, ate and drank and I was feeling relaxed in a way I hadn’t in a long time, it was almost like pissing after holding it in for a whole day. I’d been in a dire need of human interaction that didn’t involve
B
and when I finally got it, I felt much lighter.

But then, on the walk home from an Irish pub Cesar frequented, she called and I was drawn right back in her web.

“Hey,” I said, not sure what to expect.

First all I got was silence, but then her voice jumped inside my right ear, “Where are you? I need to talk.”

She always had a need to talk so that was nothing new, but it sounded more urgent than usual.

“Darryl? Darryl? What are you doing?”
B
said, when I failed to reply for 2.5 seconds.

“Sorry, you’re breaking off.” I lied, “I'm in Midtown, on my way to the hotel, where are you?”

“I'm here, in the room and I need you to take a cab and get your ass over here now.”

“Sure, I'll be there as soon as I can.” I said and hung up.

***

B
needed a shoulder to cry on and I was her shoulder guy. I sat on her bed and listened to her cry and talk and cry some more and although I was obviously distraught by it, I was also so tired I was about to fall asleep.

“He was in a bad mood already when I got there. It was quite late and he was tired and he'd had a drink or three. I only wanted to kiss and make-up, but he was too tense and too annoyed about the Rome thing. He asked me why I did these crazy things, if I had a lover there, how I could keep on embarrassing him. We argued and he started shouting at me, things like
stupid whore!
and
I don’t understand how I ever fell for you
. It was horrible!”

She wiped her tears with a hotel towel, while I put my arm around her.

“I said I was confused and needed time alone to think and figure things out and that maybe a move or some kind of change would do us good. You know, to just live somewhere else for a while? But then he went crazy and said: “So you think your problem is LA? Let me tell you what your problem is - you're a nutcase - that's the fucking problem!”

“It went on into the night and it felt like it was over and I was so sad and I told him I don't want a divorce, that I just want things to be good between us again and that I want to feel good about myself too. But then he countered that I only think about myself and we ended by throwing some more nasty remarks at each other before I took a cab back here. I think this is it, Darryl. It’s over. It sure didn’t feel like he wanted it to go on.”

B
started crying again. I knew I needed to pull all my strength together to soften this train wreck of a situation and spoke softly, “First I think you need to breathe, because you're freaking me, yourself and the whole hotel out. This is one fight, one out of the hundreds you've had, it doesn’t have to mean you’re splitting up. You didn't think he'd be overjoyed about Rome did you? This will obviously take some time for you guys to work on.”

“But it's not like I threw up on a red carpet and flew to Rome out of nowhere. Our relationship hasn't been good for some time and I'm not the only one to blame for that. And he must know that too.”

“I agree. And that's why you have to work together. Give him some time and he'll come around. I wouldn't start discussing your relationship in the middle of the most important movie project of his career. That’s why he wanted to stay in separate hotels, remember? I think this so called date might have been a really bad idea.”

B
’s voice was cracking up, but at least she had stopped crying, “I think he wants to stay in different hotels because he’s already met someone else. That’s what it feels like.”

Then there were more tears and seeing them really hurt. I hugged her tight. A crying woman or child broke something inside of me every single time and I wanted so badly to protect her. And for a second I thought
A
actually had found someone else. It would explain a lot.

We held each other for a while before my thirst really was killing me and I had to get some liquid. We were nearing the morning hours and we were both exhausted and sad. “You want something to drink?” I said as I walked over to the mini-bar.

“Yeah, Perrier, please.”

As I grabbed two small bottles, I heard her voice from behind, “Maybe he's right in a way, maybe we just aren’t great for each other anymore.”

B
was lying on her bed, looking at the ceiling, tears slowly drying on her face. She just couldn’t stop crying. I still thought she was beautiful. “How could anyone want to divorce you? You’re so beautiful I get goosebumps just by looking at you.” This came from the heart, without any brainpower going through it. It was pure, unfiltered emotion. I guess I’d had it with defending their relationship, maybe this was where I stopped believing in it, I don’t know. I was in love with her and part of me hated myself for it.

“I don’t know, we don’t have as much fun anymore. And we never really liked the same things, as you know. Reality has caught up with us and instead of banging our heads against a wall, trying to find an improbable happiness with each other, maybe we need to take a step back and find it somewhere else?”

“Yeah, maybe. But aren’t all couples like that after a while? You always wish you had more in common, more understanding of each other, the passion of being freshly in love - you always want more. But there are a lot of other things to marriage as well - companionship, being there for each other, a more long-term kind of love.”

I noticed how my voice went up a pitch. I should probably have stopped after
yeah, maybe,
but I couldn’t. I guess because I felt strongly that people were giving up too fast on their relationships these days. I know it makes me sound like I’m old-fashioned, but I’d seen too many break-ups and divorces in Hollywood, relationships where two massive ego’s compete, trying to find common ground and fail fast. Why did they get married then? What was the rush? Why were people so crazy about marriage? And why was it such a small thing to break it off?

Marriage was becoming absurdly devalued.

B
couldn’t help but notice my feelings, “Wow, listen to you! You're such a romantic that not a day goes by without me wondering how you're still single. Are you gay?” It should have been an obvious joke, but she looked a hundred percent serious.

“Would I be dry-humping you if I was?” I gave her a sly smile.

This finally helped to stop her crying, “Yeah, you’re right. You’re pretty straight. Weird, but straight.”

In a moment of emotional inspiration, I sat down next to her on the bed again, grabbed her hand and just held it. We didn't say anything. I understood then that what
B
needed most was a friend, not a lover, and that I had to put my feelings aside, not only for my own sake, but for hers too.

After a little while I felt my eyelids close so I unclasped my hand from hers and said: “You know what? Let me talk to him tomorrow. I'll try to get my head around how he really feels, because if there’s one thing I'm sure of it’s that he loves you very much and he would fight hard for you to stay together. And if, and this is a big IF, he wants a divorce, I will be here for you to help you through it. No matter what, I’ll promise you you’ll come out feeling great.”

B
kissed me on the cheek and whispered in my ear: “You're the best. The best.”

And with that slightly positive finish to a bumpy evening, we went to sleep, I in my bed and she in hers.

***

I found myself opposite action hero,
A
, in a smoky gentleman’s lounge, holding a tumbler of 21-year-old Scottish single malt whisky. The arm chair was made of old British leather and was so comfortable I could have stayed in it for the rest of my life and probably died a fairly obese, but happy man.
A
was thumbing through a cigar aficionado magazine and looked haggard. Work and marriage combined had stressed him out and the way he was killing the whisky was a clear indication that something was badly wrong. I looked at him and felt a wave of guilt, after all, I was now not only the assistant, but also a guy who was very attracted to his wife.

Not that he knew this of course.

A
put the magazine down, scanned the tall bookshelves on the wall and then our eyes met.

“So how was Rome? You had a good time?” he said, his eyes burning.

“It was very nice. Amazing city, fantastic food.”

“And wines of course.”
A
filled in, his voice wooden and far away.

“Yeah, great wines. Everything was pretty good. Besides
B
being up and down of course, but she seems better now.” I don’t know what I meant by this, my nerves were talking, not my brain.

“She seems better? When I met her yesterday she didn’t
seem
better?”
A
put his glass down with a
clunk.
He was angry.

I had to think fast. “When she left Rome, my impression was that she felt re-energized, but when she came back from your dinner yesterday she was in tears. She said you had attacked her and that you had mentioned separating. She was very upset.” I was impressed by my own loyalty here, it was like I was defending
B
, no matter how precarious my own situation was, something which felt both natural and good.

“I didn’t attack her. I told her the way she behaves, it’s impossible to stay married to her. What kind of wife flies off to another country without telling you? I can bet my left butt cheek she wasn’t there to go on a museum tour either.”

I knew what
A
implied, but didn’t want to get into it, perhaps for egotistical reasons. “She wanted to get away from everything. The whole vomit thing, paparazzi, the lifestyle. I guess it’s
kind of
understandable although it wasn’t the most mature way to deal with it.”

A
scoffed, “Getting away from everything meant getting away from me and that’s
not
how you deal with stuff when you’re married. That’s how irrational and insane people behave, people who are better off alone.” He raised his finger and looked towards the bar, he wanted a third whisky or whatever number he was on.

“She didn’t want to get away from you, she wanted to get away from herself, from her image and the public eye - the Hollywood perception of her.”

“The Hollywood perception of her...”
A
mocked my voice, “What kind of talk is that? What perception? Despite throwing up on national TV, Hollywood loves her! She wants to get away from that? She wants less love? Because in that case I think she's doing a swell job!”

A
was channeling all his frustration at me so before he hit me in the face or whatever was going to happen, I felt I better point it out.

“Hey, man, I'm just the messenger here. I'm on your side, well both of your sides. I want you to stay together and I think that whatever issues you might have, they could be worked out. She's going through some kind of existential midlife crisis and we need to help her get through it.”

I took a sip of the smokehouse whisky and let it burn the back of my throat. I wasn’t enjoying this. Neither the whisky, nor the conversation. I wished I was back in Rome with
B
and a beautiful glass of red.

A
raised his hands apologetically, “Sorry, I didn't mean it was your fault in any way, of course not. I'm just so frustrated with her, she's up and down, up and down, like a fucking yo-yo. It’s been five years and she’s still behaving like a spoiled brat. This time she lost it. I'm trying to be gentle and understanding with her and everything, but it doesn't seem to sink in.”

I hadn’t seen him like this before, he was edgy and nervous and kept touching his wedding ring with his right hand. Maybe he wondered why it was still there.

“Yes, she hasn't been feeling too good about herself and it’s obvious she needs some kind of change. But I know she cares so much about you and that she wants you to be together. And deep down she understands how difficult she's been during this time.” I sounded like a politician and I didn’t like it, and neither did
A
.

He finished his third glass of whisky and looked at me, “You know what, Darryl. This is not your fault in any way, you’ve always been a good sport, but to be honest with you I’ve had it. I want to raise a family and be with someone who’s stable and reasonable. No matter how much I love her, the fact is she drives me crazy and I hate being crazy. It doesn’t work for me. And that’s why I’m filing for divorce.”

There it was.
A
had finally given up. I felt my whole body go numb and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t swallow and I couldn’t speak. It shouldn’t have come as a huge surprise to me, but it did. It was huge. Things were changing now, changing badly and changing for good. It wasn’t like
A
to make a decision and then change his mind, so I was pretty sure there was no turning back. I knew he’d been wanting kids for at least a couple of years now, after all he was turning 40 next year and probably would have wanted one much sooner. Even in his previous relationship, with Dora, the much younger half-Venezuelan model he was seeing for three years, having kids was up for discussion, but instead she suddenly decided she wanted to break up with him. It took him a while to get over that, but when he finally did, he met
B
at the Vanity Fair Oscar's party five years ago, and became enchanted by her natural charm and beauty. Sadly, the spell had lifted and the transition over to a bigger family or at least a more stable marriage hadn’t happened. In Hollywood, patience wasn’t a product in abundance and
A
’s had run out.