Lovers & Players (17 page)

‘I
did
listen to you,’ she answered sulkily. ‘Look where it got me.’

‘Where’s Rocky now?’

‘He was here earlier all kinda
sorry,
’ she sighed, reaching for a tissue, ‘but I’m, like,
so
not speaking to him.’

‘I take it the marriage is off?’

‘No way!’ Birdy exclaimed, shocked at the thought. ‘I’m punishing him ’cause I’m, like,
mad
he messed up my face. We’re still getting married, though.’

‘Birdy,’ Chris said, as patiently as he could, because getting through to his youngest client when she imagined herself in love was not the easiest of tasks, ‘you can’t be in love with a man who beats you up.’

‘It was a one-time thing, Chris,’ she explained, rubbing the tip of her nose. ‘He made me, like, a
solemn
promise that he’d never do it again.’

‘You’d better tell me how it happened,’ Chris said, resigning himself to the fact that Rocky was going nowhere fast.

‘Well,’ Birdy said tremulously, ‘we were, like, coming out of Gatsby’s last night, an’ there were paparazzi everywhere–they were, like, pushing and shoving, trying to goad us into stuff. This made Rocky even madder, ’cause we’d already bin fightin’ in the club.’

‘Where were your bodyguards?’

‘My fault, ’cause we kinda ran out without them,’ she admitted sheepishly.

‘Smart move.’

‘Sorry,’ she said, her voice getting smaller and smaller.

‘And then?’

‘Rocky was like
kickin
’ one of the photographers out the way, so
I
tried to stop him. That’s when he turned around and like accidentally punched
me
.’

‘Great!’ Chris said, considering the ramifications.

‘It’s possible they might’ve, y’ know, got some of it on camera,’ Birdy admitted.

‘Got some of
what
?’ Chris asked, frowning. ‘Not Rocky beating you up in public, I hope?’

‘I suppose so,’ she said, shamefaced.

‘Then I guess I should prepare for a lawsuit from the photographer?’

‘
He
didn’t get hurt,’ she whined. ‘Only me.’

‘Even better.’

‘I was wondering, Chris, if there’s anything you can do to keep it out of the rags.’

‘Too late now, you should’ve called me last night. The photographers have already sold their shots.’

‘Can’t we release a statement saying that, y’ know, it was all, like, an
accident?
’

‘Let’s see what they’ve got first. Then we’ll talk about statements.’ He took a beat. ‘Have you seen a doctor?’

‘Room Service sent up a raw steak last night,’ she said, pulling a disgusted face. ‘I put it on my eye. It stank up the whole room.’

‘How about your lip? Does that need attention?’

‘Hurts,’ she said, in her little-girl voice.

‘We should get you a doctor. You might need stitches.’

‘Don’t
wanna
see a doctor,’ she mumbled, holding back tears.

‘I’m sure the hotel doctor is very discreet. I’ll call the concierge and see what he can arrange.’

‘Sorry, Chris,’ she said, even more tearful now. ‘I didn’t
mean
for this to happen.’

‘It happened, Birdy,’ he said. ‘And you should think very seriously about marrying a man who treats you this way.’

‘I’m still marrying him,’ she said defiantly, ‘so you go ahead and arrange the wedding in Vegas. I told Rocky you’d give him the money from whoever buys exclusive rights to our wedding photos.’

‘And that didn’t please him?’

‘He was pissed when I said I couldn’t do the million-dollars-a-year thing if our marriage didn’t last.’

‘I think
I
should talk to him, straighten out a few things.’

‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘He’ll just get mad at you, then take it out on me–that’s his way of dealing.’

‘Nice guy.’

‘He is,
really
he is,’ Birdy said, as if she believed it. ‘You’ve just gotta
know
him the way
I
do.’

Women and abusive men, they never learned. Chris wished he could make her see the error of her ways, but Birdy was in love or lust, so right now she was seeing nothing.

He made a call, and soon after that a doctor arrived. Chris showed the portly man into the bedroom, then paced around the living room waiting for him to leave so he could get over to Jonathan and sort out
his
drama, whatever it might be.

As the doctor emerged ready for a conversation, Chris’s cell rang. He checked caller ID, saw it was Verona, and decided she could wait.

Once he’d finished conferring with the doctor and made sure Birdy was all right, he took off to see Jonathan. On the way he called Verona back.

‘What’s up?’ he asked brusquely. ‘I’m in the middle of meetings.’

‘I’m calling as a friend,’ Verona said.

Hmm…sounded ominous. Maybe
she
was breaking up with
him
. Not such a bad deal–it would save him the trouble.

‘That’s nice, Verona,’ he said, stifling a yawn. ‘I’m thrilled to hear it.’

‘I’m afraid I have bad news.’

More bad news? What now?

‘There’s been a mudslide,’ she continued. ‘Your house is more or less wrecked.’

‘My
house?’
he said, alarmed. ‘What are you
talking
about?’

‘I was driving by to make sure everything was okay because of the rain, and it must have just happened. There were fire trucks and paramedics–everyone was wondering if there was anyone inside. I told them no.’

‘My house?’ he repeated. ‘This is fucking impossible!’

‘It’s not my fault, Chris,’ she said, in an annoyingly sanctimonious tone. ‘Blame it on the weather. It’s
still
raining here.’

‘Jesus
Christ
!’ he exploded. ‘How bad
is
it?’

‘It’s bad, Chris. Your house is virtually buried under a complete landslide of mud. We’re lucky we weren’t in it–we could’ve been buried alive.’

‘My house is buried with everything in it?’ he said incredulously. ‘My
house
?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘Call both my assistants. Get them over there immediately.’

‘I would, Chris, but I don’t have their home numbers. It’s best if you do it.’

‘You really are a big help, aren’t you?’

‘If we lived together, I could be.’

He clicked off his phone, contacted his main L.A. assistant and told him to get over to his house and see what he could salvage. ‘There’s a safe in there somewhere,’ he said. ‘Find it! And when you do, don’t let it out of your sight.’

‘C
ome with me,’ Beverly said, beckoning Liberty to follow her. ‘I got a few minutes so I’ll take care of your eyebrows.’

‘I’m not sure if I—’ Liberty began, scared that Beverly was going to ruin her. She
liked
her thick eyebrows: they gave her face character.

‘You
need
it, sister,’ Beverly interrupted. ‘An’ I’m doin’ it for free, so let’s go.’

‘Okay,’ Liberty said, getting up. Why not? She had nothing to lose except her eyebrows. Besides, Damon P. Donnell had taken off an hour ago so there would be no more brief encounters.

They went to the make-up room, where Beverly sat her down in a chair, threw a towel round her shoulders and said, ‘Bet you’ve been told this many times, but I’m addin’ myself to the list. Your face is incredible, major bone structure. Ever considered modelling?’

‘Not really,’ Liberty replied, staring at herself in the long row of mirrors. ‘Modelling doesn’t interest me. I’m a singer.’

‘A
working
singer?’ Beverly inquired.

‘Yeah,’ Liberty answered, with a rueful laugh. ‘Workin’ as a waitress.’

‘Do you realize that with a face like yours you could be makin’ a shitload of money modelling?’

‘I could?’

‘You bet, babe,’ Beverly said, taking a step back to study Liberty’s face. ‘Want me to set you up with an agent?’

Could this day
get
any better? First Damon, now this offer. Things were definitely looking up. ‘Why are you being so nice?’ she couldn’t help asking.

‘’Cause I’ve been there, done the whole waitressin’ gig,’ Beverly explained. ‘Oh, yeah, an’ I know
all
about people treatin’ you as if you don’t exist.’

‘You’ve got that right,’ Liberty said, thinking of the woman in the knock-off Armani.

‘The reason I got into make-up was ’cause somebody helped
me
,’ Beverly explained. ‘So…whenever I can, I try to give back.’

‘But you’re so beautiful,’ Liberty said. ‘How come
you
’re not a model?’

‘I like what I do. It suits me,’ Beverly said, shrugging. ‘Besides, I’m too old to be a model now. I’m gonna be thirty soon.’

‘That’s
old
?’

‘In the modelling world it is,’ Beverly said, nodding to herself. ‘They call ’em dinosaurs.’

‘Who’s a dinosaur?’

‘Oh, Cindy Crawford, Linda E,’ Beverly said casually. ‘Any girl over the big three-O.’

‘Wow!’

‘So, whaddaya think? Wanna give it a shot? Make yourself some
real
money. It worked for Whitney Houston. She was a successful model until she got into singing.’

‘Maybe I’ll take you up on it,’ Liberty said tentatively.

‘You
should
,’ Beverly said, producing a lethal pair of tweezers. ‘Now, don’t go gettin’ all panicky on me, ’cause I’m goin’
way
drastic on the eyebrow thing.’

‘You are?’ Liberty said, wondering if it was too late to chicken out.

‘Lean your head back an’ relax,’ Beverly said encouragingly.

‘Is this going to be painful?’

‘Maybe,’ Beverly said, starting to pluck.

‘Ouch!’ Liberty yelled, almost leaping out of the chair. ‘That
hurt
.’

‘Course it hurts,’ Beverly said matter-of-factly. ‘Gotta
suffer
for beauty. You’ve never plucked ’em, have you?’

‘No,’ Liberty said, making a face.

‘I can tell. You got a
forest
growing there, girl.’

‘Oh,
great
!’

‘I
could
wax ’em, less painful, but I don’t have my equipment with me.’

‘I can put up with the pain,’ Liberty said, gritting her teeth. ‘As long as it’ll look good.’

‘Suffer, hon. Believe me, it’s a lot more fun than a Brazilian!’

‘What’s a Brazilian?’

‘Man!’ Beverly said, her hands moving swiftly. ‘You really are green.’

Liberty closed her eyes and thought about the end result. Cindi was always perusing the fashion magazines and pointing out
before
photos of people like Madonna and Jennifer Lopez. They’d both featured extremely thick eyebrows: now they looked sensational. Maybe their raging success was all to do with their eyebrows.

Yeah, right!

‘How do you think the shoot’s going?’ she asked, attempting to take her mind off the little stabs of agony as Beverly plucked away.

‘It’s rollin’. You gotta
love
that raunchy beat.’

‘Do you
know
Slick Jimmy?’

‘I know ’em all,’ Beverly replied. ‘We hang at the same clubs.’

‘That must be fun.’

‘Yeah, Jimmy’s a cool dude. This is his big break–that’s if he doesn’t blow it.’

‘I’m into his music, not his lyrics,’ Liberty said, getting used to the pain. ‘I told Damon P. Donnell that.’

Beverly stopped what she was doing. ‘You told
Damon
you didn’t like the lyrics?’ she said, raising an eyebrow.

‘Why?’ Liberty asked innocently. ‘Isn’t that okay?’

Beverly laughed as if she didn’t quite believe what she was hearing. ‘Nobody tells Damon
anything.
That man is
king
.’

‘Well,’ Liberty said casually, ‘he asked my opinion, so I gave it.’

‘He did, huh?’

‘I told him I liked the beat, and that the lyrics were way too sexist. So’s the video, with all those girls stickin’ their boobs and butts in the camera. What kind of a message is
that
sending out?’

‘It’s what the industry wants,’ Beverly pointed out. ‘Those in-your-face, sexy kinda videos sell mucho records.’

‘Too bad.’

Beverly resumed plucking. ‘What’s
your
deal, music wise?’

‘I’m a singer-songwriter, more like, you know—’

‘Who? Diana Krall?’

‘No, she’s jazz and, anyway, I hate comparisons. My mom was a singer,’ she added wistfully, remembering the times Diahann was actually singing. ‘Growing up, we always had music around. I was totally crazy about Sade.’

‘Ah…“
Smooth Operator
”, now
there
we have a classic,’ Beverly said. ‘Is that your kind of sound?’

‘Yes and no. I hope I’m an original. I told Damon–I can call him Damon, can’t I?’

‘Dunno,’ Beverly said, with an amused expression. ‘
Can
you?’

‘I don’t see why not.’

‘Exactly
how
long were you talkin’ with him?’

‘Long enough that he gave me his card, suggested I bring him my demo.’

‘You’d better watch out,’ Beverly warned. ‘They all want one thing, an’ us girls know
exactly
what that is. Damon might be king, but underneath the bling, he’s no different from all the other horn-dogs out there.’

‘I know that,’ Liberty said. ‘He’s married, right?’

‘Only ’bout as married as a dude can get. And his old lady–in the biz we call her Spenderella–girl, you do
not
want to mess with that woman. No way.’

‘I’m not planning on doing so.’

‘Tashmir’s a piranha,’ Beverly warned. ‘If she catches you with her man, she’ll beat your ass raw with her eight-hundred-dollar Manolos! And, hon, I am
not
kiddin’.’

As soon as Cindi got a break, she grabbed Liberty by the arm and hurried her over to the Craft Service table.

‘I’m starvin’,’ Cindi complained, grabbing a handful of potato chips and a can of Coke. ‘All this damn dancin’ is sappin’ my God-given energy.’

‘You’re doing great,’ Liberty said encouragingly. ‘You look better than any of them. You’re the sexiest one out there.’

‘How big does my butt look?’ Cindi demanded, stuffing potato chips in her mouth. ‘Too big? Or just right?’

‘I’m telling you, it’s hot. The guys on the set are drooling big-time.’

‘I bet they are,’ Cindi said, reaching for a sticky Danish. ‘Girl, what
happened
to you?’ she suddenly exclaimed. ‘You’re lookin’
way
different.’

‘Beverly plucked my eyebrows. You like?’

‘Damn!
Big
improvement,’ Cindi said, biting into the Danish. ‘D’you think she’d do mine?’

‘Forget about my eyebrows, I have big news,’ Liberty said, and proceeded to tell Cindi about her encounter with Damon.

‘
Oh…my…God!
’ Cindi exclaimed, mouth dropping open, sugar decorating her chin. ‘I
knew
this was gonna be a righteous day!’

‘Yes,’ Liberty said dreamily. ‘He didn’t have his shades on and, Cindi, he has these great eyes. Kind of penetrating and sexy.’

‘Huh?’

‘You heard.’

‘Oh, man!’ Cindi said, taking another bite of Danish. ‘I don’t dig the way you’re soundin’. Face it, girl, the dude is
married
, an’ you know we got a rule–married men are a
way
no-go zone.’

‘I’m not thinking of him in
that
way. I’m just saying he has very soulful eyes. They kind of look right through you. Y’ know what I mean–intense.’

‘
Sheeit
!’ Cindi groaned. ‘You’re fallin’ in love.’

‘No, I’m not,’ Liberty protested.

‘Hmm…’ Cindi said, taking a swig of Coke. ‘Wait till Kev finds out you met Mr Big.’

‘I’m not telling Kev.’

‘How come?’

‘’Cause I’ll take Damon my demo, see if anything works out and if it does—’

‘Oh, it’s
Damon
now, is it?’ Cindi teased. ‘Whatever happened to
Mr
Donnell.’

‘Don’t screw with me, Cindi, this is serious stuff.’

‘Poor Kev.’ Cindi sighed.

‘Why poor Kev?’

‘’Cause you got it bad an’ that ain’t good,’ Cindi sing-songed.

‘Damon P. Donnell is business,’ Liberty said earnestly. ‘He can help me.’

‘Oh,
sure
he can, with his
big
soulful eyes and his
big
soulful dick.’

‘You’re
such
a bitch. It’s
not
like that.’

‘It’s
always
bin like that, little cous’–from the first day you set your baby greens on him you were wham-bam hooked.’

‘That’s only because I admire his talent. He’s special—’

‘They’re
all
special when they’re standin’ there with a hard-on.’

‘Get
off
it, Cindi.’

‘I will if you will.’

In the afternoon, Vanessa, the current hot girl in several hit videos–including one with Usher, which she made sure everyone knew about, arrived on set.

Vanessa was Puerto Rican, a sexy dark temptress, with waist-length hair, a curvy body and major attitude. She thought she was a star, and acted appropriately. Her job was to slink all over Slick Jimmy, while the so-called fat girls, in various stages of undress, undulated around him.

‘That ’ho’s a bitch on wheels,’ Beverly confided. ‘I won’t touch her. She travels with her own make-up crew, let
them
have the pleasure.’

Clad in a scarlet slash of a dress, Vanessa was all over Slick Jimmy, who put up no objections.

After a couple of takes, Vanessa
really
started playing the diva. Stepping forward to confront Maleek, she began to spew a litany of complaints in a harsh Brooklyn accent. ‘Dude, I ain’t down with the way things are goin’ here. I
hate
how you shootin’ me–the mothafuckin’ lightin’ is shit. We gotta start again.’

Maleek was not pleased. He stood for her complaints for a while. Then, when Slick Jimmy started getting into it, he blew, and informed Vanessa that if she didn’t like it, she could walk.

She walked.

Maleek immediately called a break, went off in a corner and got on the phone.

A few minutes later he came straight over to Liberty. ‘You were the girl talking to Damon earlier, right?’ She nodded. ‘Liberty, that’s your name?’ She nodded again. ‘Okay, Liberty, seems you got yourself a gig.’

‘’Scuse me?’

‘Damon wants you in the video.’

‘Me?’

‘Yes, you.’

‘Doing
what?
’ she asked blankly.

‘Replacing Vanessa.’

‘I–I’m a singer, not a dancer.’

‘You’re callin’
Vanessa
a dancer?’ he said, with an amused expression. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘But—’

‘Listen to me,’ he said impatiently, ‘all you gotta do is the same as her–drape yourself around Slick Jimmy an’ look smokin’ hot. You can do that, huh?’

‘In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve got a sprained ankle and a burned arm.’

‘We’ll cover your arm, an’ no movin’, just drapin’.’

‘Look, I—’

‘Bev, Fantasia,’ Maleek yelled, cutting her off. ‘Get over here. Damon wants this girl to look
hot
. She needs make-up, hair extensions–the works. Fantasia, see if she’ll fit into Vanessa’s dress, an’ I wanna see some kinda fur wrap coverin’ her arm.
Work
it, ladies, we’re way behind.’

Liberty shook her head. Now her day was totally surreal. What exactly had she done right?

And yet–why not? Hadn’t she been wishing for a break?

Beverly whisked her back into the make-up room and sat her down in the chair again. ‘See what happens when you get your eyebrows plucked,’ she quipped. ‘Girl, I am gonna make you look
fine
.’

‘This is crazy,’ Liberty said, shaking her head. ‘How did it happen?’