The Perfect Christmas (8 page)

The treachery of Zoe excluding Maggie from this deal made her both confused and angry as she faced her reflection in the mirror.

She was still beautiful, she was still slim and elegant, but there were subtle changes around her eyes, tiny highways of lines. All roads lead to Hollywood, she thought as she pulled at one to see if she should consider a facelift, but she couldn’t concentrate on her own reflection, so she knew she was upset.

Zoe knew she wanted to play Simone, she had told Zoe this when she’d given her the book. Even though Maggie was the wrong side of thirty-five and Simone was only thirty when she died, Maggie could still play younger …

Her thoughts were interrupted by the bathroom door opening as another attendant came in to relieve the first one. Maggie watched the new girl in the mirror as she straightened the perfume bottles and made sure the hand towels were perfectly lined up.

She was beautiful, Maggie thought with envy as she looked back at the mirror, aware of the slight creping of the skin on her décolletage in the light. She stood taller and pulled her shoulders back.

Maybe Zoe had decided that she, Maggie Hall, was too old to play Simone? The thought hit her like a slap to the face.

‘Are you an actress?’ she asked the girl. Girls like this worked industry parties for any opportunity, each girl seemingly more lithe, beautiful and willing than the one before.

This girl would have more luck in the men’s bathroom, thought Maggie wryly.

‘No,’ said the girl, in a voice that was husky and low, the voice many voiceover artists wished they had. The girl was a complete package.

‘Really?’ she asked, surprised.

The girl shook her blonde head and shrugged. She could have been a model, thought Maggie, taking in the long slender frame and startling green eyes.

‘So what do you do?’ asked Maggie, intrigued.

She must be the only beautiful girl in LA who doesn’t want to be an actress, she thought, almost laughing aloud at the irony. The girl reminded her of someone, but she couldn’t quite place her.

The girl paused. ‘I’m working on a research project,’ she said vaguely.

‘Oh, you’re at college?’

‘Kind of. I’m working on a thesis of sorts.’

Beautiful
and
smart, thought Maggie, as she turned back to the mirror. Beautiful and dumb had far more currency in LA, but still.

‘I never went to college, but I would have liked to,’ said Maggie.

‘You seem to have done okay without it,’ said the girl, with a little laugh.

‘I guess I have,’ Maggie said, smiling along with her. ‘Do you work these kind of events often?’ she asked, wondering why she cared.

‘If I can,’ the girl said. ‘I also do waitressing and valet parking, anything really.’

‘Good for you,’ said Maggie, aware that it might sound patronising, but she truly did respect hard work.

Maggie sat on the round love seat in the centre of the room, and pulled off one Givenchy purple shoe.

‘Wearing these shoes is what I imagine Chinese foot binding was like,’ she said as she rubbed her feet. ‘I said I’m an eight but I think I should have taken the eight and a half.’

‘Yeah,’ said the girl. ’I’m an eight in some shoes and a eight and a half in others.’ There was a pause and then the girl spoke again. ‘Your dress is amazing.’

Maggie looked down at her figure-hugging lilac Lanvin dress and sighed. ‘It’s okay, I guess. Took me and my stylists over half a year to organize this outfit and I wasn’t even presenting. Sometimes it’s exhausting being perfect,’ she said dramatically and laughed.

The girl smiled shyly and Maggie shook her head. ‘Are you
sure
you’re not an actress? Have you ever tried it? Even modeling, perhaps? The camera would absolutely love you, you’re incredibly beautiful.’

‘I never really thought about it,’ said the girl, blinking a few times and frowning. ‘My parents think being an actor is a waste of time and education, unless of course you’re on Broadway in some obscure Russian play.’ She laughed.

‘Maybe,’ said Maggie defensively. ‘But my house in Malibu is evidence that they’re wrong.’

Dylan laughed politely. ‘I guess I’ve just never even thought about acting.’

Maggie narrowed her eyes at her. Was she being disingenuous or was she serious? False modesty was something Maggie couldn’t stand, along with liars and cheaters, which often made her wonder why she was still living in LA.

‘What do you want to do?’ she asked.

‘My mom would like me to do law, but I can’t see myself doing all that arguing every day.’ She said, ‘If I get to choose, I guess I’d like to be a social worker or something. ’

Maggie’s head snapped up.

‘What for?’ she said. ‘Social workers are assholes. They say one thing, but do another.’

‘Really?’ asked the girl with a frown. ‘I just like helping people.’

‘Then I suggest you find another way,’ said Maggie roughly as she stood up, shoes in hand.

‘Okay,’ said the girl, looking intimidated.

Sometimes, Maggie knew, she could be almost too candid, too raw. But this was also what made her such a powerful presence on screen. She wasn’t afraid to show her character’s pain on her face or in the way she moved.

Softening, she smiled at the girl.

‘I haven’t introduced myself, I’m Maggie Hall,’ she said, extending her hand. She hated it when big stars just assumed everyone knew who they were. Manners were free, as Zoe always reminded her clients.

‘I know who you are,’ said the girl shyly, taking Maggie’s hand. ‘I’m Dylan Mercer.’

‘And now I know who you are,’ said Maggie warmly. ‘Great name, you really could be an actress,’ she said again, laughing.

‘And you could be an agent the way you hustle,’ Dylan laughed back. ‘I’ve been watching all the business going on here tonight, it’s crazy.’

‘I know,’ shrugged Maggie. ‘I could have been, but I like the free clothes too much.’ She winked at Dylan, looked a little closer at her and shook her head. ‘God you remind me of someone,’ she said. ‘Hey, can I have your number? I mean, I know you don’t want to be an actor, but sometimes I need an extra assistant. And you did say you like helping people. Maybe, if you’re interested, you could do a few errands for me here and there?’

Dylan nodded excitedly, pulled a pen from her pocket, and wrote her details on the back of a card from the events company.

Maggie took the card and handed her shoes to Dylan.

‘Hold these, would you?’ she said as she put the card into her clutch purse and smiled. ‘Thank you, Dylan, I’ll be sure to keep you in mind.’

Turning she walked towards the door.

‘Your shoes,’ said Dylan, holding out the strappy Givenchy’s.

‘Keep them,’ said Maggie with a toss of her shining blonde head ‘I don’t need them. You might make something on eBay with them; the shoes of Maggie Hall’s from Oscars night, or keep ‘em and they might make a great story one day. Either way, you win.’

3

Dylan stared at Maggie Hall’s discarded shoes in disbelief, turning them over and studying each detail.

She had never owned anything as gorgeous and frivolous as these, she thought, quelling the desire to slip off her plain black flats from the Gap, and try the Givenchy’s on. Her mother didn’t believe in spending too much money on clothes. ‘Functional is always better than fancy,’ she would tell Dylan whenever she lusted after something pretty and useless.

She shoved the shoes in an empty gift bag left by a guest and placed them under the bench, then looked at herself in the mirror. Was she really as beautiful as Maggie Hall said?

She was okay looking, she thought, but growing up with intellectual parents meant you were much more focused on your brain than your looks.

Dinnertime in the Mercers’ brownstone was spent discussing her mothers ethical legal riddles from her university tenure and her father’s more bizarre psychiatric cases, while Dylan tried to keep up with the conversation.

She was bright, but she had to work hard for her marks and staying on the honor roll wasn’t easy but she did it because her parents expected nothing less of her.

Sometimes Dylan longed to remind them that she didn’t have their genetic code so it was unreasonable to expect her to be as brilliant as them, but a part of her was grateful that they treated her as though she was an extension of them.

That was until she found the letter they had never shown her.

‘Excuse me.’ She heard a voice and turned to see another famous face, a starlet who had recently been named as the sexiest woman in film. ‘Do you have a Band-Aid, my shoes are killing me?’

Dylan opened the first-aid kit, took out a Band-Aid and handed it to the girl. Now
she
was beautiful, Dylan thought, after the girl had left the bathroom.

She glanced at her face in the mirror again. It was too wide, the sort of face that didn’t look right in everyday life, but it did kind of work in photos. She might have sought out modelling work, if she’d even known where to start, but it never seemed like the right time to say that to her a law professor mother, with tenure at Columbia, or her ailing psychiatrist father, who had recently been diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease.

As more women came into the bathroom, there were several faces Dylan recognised, but she wasn’t as starstruck any more. Hell, she had Maggie Hall’s Givenchy shoes! She couldn’t wait to get home and tell her best friend back in New York.

That was the sort of thing her Addie loved to hear. During their almost daily Skype sessions, Addie always wanted to know what celebrities Dylan had seen in LA.

But in the two months she’d been in LA, Dylan hadn’t seen many, until tonight. She thought she’d glimpsed Kevin Bacon in a frozen yoghurt store, but couldn’t be sure. A Kevin Bacon sighting probably wouldn’t impress Addie anyway, but Maggie Hall was different.

Her supervisor walked into the bathroom with a sour face. ‘You can go now. Make sure you sign your hours sheet before you leave.’

‘Okay,’ said Dylan politely. This woman had been a total bitch all night, but Dylan refused to let it bother her. This job had been way better than working nights at the greasy chicken shop downtown, trying to avoid the slick on the floor and the even more oily owner.

Dylan picking up her bag and putting the gift bag with the Givenchy shoes in it over her shoulder. ‘Thanks, it was fun.’

The woman looked at her and made a face, ‘Being stuck in a bathroom with needy celebrities, bitching about each other and fighting over the mirror, was fun? You’re nuts.’

Dylan smiled as she stepped into the elevator, feeling the slight weight of the shoes in the bag slung over her shoulder. Tonight had been a rare good night.

‘How you doing?’ she heard as the elevator doors opened and she saw a handsome man leaning against the opposite wall, one hand in the pocket of his tuxedo pants as though he was posing for a cologne advertisement.

It was both cheesy and funny, and she started to laugh.

‘What?’ he asked, looking behind him.

As he turned, she pressed the button and the doors of the elevator closed again leaving her laughing out loud.

Was he serious? He probably worked that move in the mirror over and over before trying it on countless girls. Maybe some fell for it, but not Dylan. She liked boys who were less handsome and less presumptuous, guys who made her laugh and didn’t act like they were in perfume ad.

So far she hadn’t met anyone close to decent in LA. Every guy wanted to be an actor, and assumed Dylan wanted the same thing. They all asked her who her manager was, who was her agent? Would she do nudity?

Checking her phone, she saw it was after two in the morning and she sighed as she walked towards the cab rank. Even though the cab was expensive, at least she’d get home to her studio apartment in Koreatown in time for a few hours sleep before her next shift.

In five hours she had to be at work again, waitressing at a breakfast in a private home in the Hollywood Hills. She had begged for the shift as it was extra money and she could then afford to take two days off for her research.

Her furnished apartment was cheap because the owners were planning on pulling it down and rebuilding on the site, but, her new neighbor told her, they’d been saying that for ten years and there was still no sign of any development.

At seven hundred and twenty dollars a month, the apartment was manageable, just. There was no way Dylan would ask her parents for help. Not after what she knew now.

Inside her one room, she pulled her laptop out from under the mattress. It was the only thing in her room of any value and , she opened it to check her emails.

An overflowing laundry basket sat in one corner, and a bowl half eaten ramen noodles sat on the linoleum floor.

Her mom would freak if she saw how messy her room was she thought, making a mental notes to clean it after tomorrows shift.

Nothing of any importance, she thought crossly as she slammed the laptop shut and went and lay back on her uncomfortable single bed that came with the apartmen, along with a dripping sink and some oversized cockroaches. They probably had fillers also, she thought, thinking of some of the faces she had seen at the party that night.

Why did people think they had to do that to their faces? She wondered as She rolled over on the lumpy mattress, her eye caught by the gift bag on the floor.

Clambering out of bed, she put on the strappy shoes and stood up. Maggie Hall was right, they hurt like hell, but they looked amazing. Taking her phone, she sent a picture of them to Addie with the text:
Maggie Hall let me walk in her shoes. They are now mine.

It was six in the morning in New York, no chance Addie would be awake, but she knew Addie would be thrilled.

Tottering back to the bed, Dylan lay down again and lifted one leg to admire the shoe. What did shoes like this even cost, she wondered idly, when her phone started ringing.

‘Why the hell are you awake?’ Dylan said, as soon as she saw Addie’s number.

‘I wasn’t really, but I heard the message come through and saw it was from you. How the hell do you have Maggie Hall’s shoes on?’