The Perfect Location (45 page)

She imagined a house filled with children, a beloved husband definitely not in the ‘biz’, and a life surrounded by laughter and joy, just like her happy childhood. Rose planned to turn the pool house into a small private apartment for her parents to come and stay in when they would visit her and the children.

The pool house was now Rose’s exercise studio and her parents had never once come to visit her. The five bedrooms remained empty and the only sound that Rose heard at this moment was her iPhone ringing repeatedly.

She rushed to the phone and sighed when she saw her agent’s name come up on the screen.

‘Randy, I told you I am on hiatus’, she answered with a rush of frustration. She wasn’t trying to be rude but Randy had been calling her for the last week and she refused to answer. She told him she was resting and considering her next move. Randy, however, had other ideas. An ambitious and hardworking hotshot who had risen up through the graduate program at William Morris, he liked working with Rose as she always said yes to anything he put in front of her without any of the attitude he was used to.

Until now.

‘Rose, seriously, I am spinning out, it’s crazy, why don’t you call me back? I’ve got an ulcer from this. I thought you had joined a cult till Greta told me she was with you this morning. Yes I rang her … I was freaking out!’

She put the phone on speaker and opened the refrigerator. ‘It had better be important, Randy. I’m trying to get my head together and it’s kind of hard with your ringing every three hours.’

‘Ok, here it is, you ready?’ He paused for full effect.

‘Six weeks in Italy? How does that sound?’

‘Lovely … what’s the catch?’

‘A Villa in Umbria, your own car and driver or just a car if you want. A full staff and a private helicopter to use on weekends to take you wherever you want in Europe on weekends.’

Rose paused this time.
Divine
. But what was the project?

‘Ok. Director, co stars and role please?’

‘TG directing, Sapphira De Mont has committed, Calypso Gable is attached but not signed. The role is a woman approaching middle life who has tragically lost her husband and is stuck with a Villa she can’t afford and takes in tourists to pay the rent.

She falls for a guest and we watch her grieve, let go and find a new life again.’

Randy had rehearsed; Rose heard it in his voice. A frustrated actor, he loved talking about the roles and the character’s motivation.

But she was silent. ‘Rose?’ Randy called down the line.

‘I’m thinking.’

Six weeks in Italy. My parents could come over to visit; I could fly back to see them …
She knew Italy, having backpacked around Europe before she started University. She liked the sound of the role; in many ways it reflected her own life. She looked out at her rolling green lawn and glittering pool. Whatever she was searching for she wasn’t going to find it here, in her gated community in L.A.

‘What’s the script like?’ She asked. ‘Not too wet?’

‘No, no,’ Randy answered. ‘It’s part Woody Allen, part Nora Ephron. It’s touching and warm and it even made me cry.’

‘Oh Randy’, laughed Rose. ‘You are such a softie!’

Randy had been searching for a role like this for Rose for a long time. His enthusiasm was catching and Rose agreed to read the script and have an answer in the morning. ‘Send it over’ she said.

‘It’s already there’ answered Randy, just as the gate bell rang, announcing a courier. Rose padded out, still in her exercise gear, much to the surprise of the delivery guy.

She smiled warmly and immediately put him at ease. ‘Thank you so much’, she said. ‘Do you know Randy Fine?’ The delivery guy nodded, not quite at ease enough to talk.

‘Well, tell him from me he is crazy but I love him all the same.’

This was his biggest moment since leaving Yale for the lights of Hollywood to try and make it as an agent. This is what he came for, stars and inside gossip. He took Rose’s request very seriously and said, ‘ Of course’.

She smiled and shut the gate.

He went back to the office and told Randy what she said then he went to the men’s room and rang his Mum. She loved Rose Nightingale.

The small single-engine plane flew towards the runway at an alarming speed. The instructor gently reminded the pilot to ease up on the controls. He spoke carefully as she was tempestuous and just as likely to bite his head off. He wanted her to land the plane in one piece. Too many people, particularly celebrities, died in plane accidents and he did not want to be a byline in a news article –
Superstar Sapphira De Mont and her training pilot die in tragic plane crash.

Sapphira eased up on the throttle and the plane took a more manageable pace towards the runway. Glancing at her Bell and Ross watch, she saw she had made good time and was on time for the flight plan that she had entered. The red Arizona dirt on either side was pulsating under the sun and the runway tar melting. Sapphira pushed her Ray-Ban aviators firmly onto the bridge of her perfectly aquiline nose. Not even the tiniest bead of sweat was visible and the instructor admired her poise and calm while undertaking her final test.

Sapphira pulled back on the throttle and heard the engine change. Lowering the landing gear, she raised the nose of the plane slightly, holding her breath until then they were on the runway. She had made her first landing.

If Sapphira felt anything about her success, she did not show it, so the pilot met her stoic reaction with a quiet
Well done
. Sapphira nodded in acknowledgement of his comment but she did not need it. She set out to learn how to fly a plane and she had done it.
There
. She ticked it off yet another accomplishment on the long list of to-do’s for this lifetime.

As a child, Sapphira walked early, talked early, and she grew up early. Sapphira was born to a semi-successful Italian-born actress and a minor French aristocrat father with a heroin addiction.

They divorced early, and Sapphira had been shuttled between each parent until her father’s death from a drug overdose.

As a child, she partied with the children of the famous, whose boundaries and rules were non-existent. You name it, Sapphira had done it. Her sexual appetite was as voracious as it was legendary. When Sapphira had bedded her costar during her last shoot, he had left his wife and new-born daughter. The magazines had labeled her a home wrecker, and one of the trashier tabloids had even gone so far as to call her a sex-crazed vampire.

The truth was, Sapphira had never wanted him to leave his wife and child. In fact, she had told him in no uncertain terms all she wanted from him was sex. Once the sweat dried, that was it for Sapphira.

What little respect she had for him disappeared when he arrived at her doorstep with his bags in hand, begging to move in.

Sapphira was the stuff tabloid magazines survived on. Photos of her bought in huge money, so the paparazzo were relentless; when she emerged from houses, gyms, or simply had a quick coffee, they hounded her. But Sapphira had the skill, the money and the media connections to disappear when she needed to and passing her flying test today was one of those moments when Sapphira was able to escape the noose of celebrity.

As she taxied the plane to a stop, Sapphira lowered the plane door and jumped out. Her heavy black leather Zanotti boots raised a cloud of red dust as she hit the runway. She shook her long black hair out of its bun and offered a hand to the pilot.

‘Thank you for your help,’ she said smiling, lowering her guard for a moment.

The pilot was overwhelmed by her smile and nodded like a child being offered a treat.
Christ,
he thought,
I’m an air force pilot who has flown in two wars and I am acting like an idiot
.

Sapphira knew she had made the right decision when she hired him as her instructor. Not that it had been easy. He was a decorated training instructor for the Air Force, who never took civilian clients, instead training the best pilots in America, in the biggest and most advanced aircrafts the defense force offered. Sapphira had asked her lawyer to find the best instructors in the world. She then had him do a background check on each of them. She needed a teacher with honor and integrity as well as skill. If the press got wind of her learning to fly, then the skies would never have been safe for her. Who knew what the paparazzo was capable of?

Once she had made her choice of instructor, the wooing began. Sapphira understood the power of celebrity, but she also understood what it meant to have values and a moral code. The instructor she chose was going to say no, she understood that. He didn’t give a shit about celebrity and his goals were of a higher purpose than whether the trailer on set had a shower or a kitchenette. A movie-star who had a desire to fly was of no interest whatsoever to him. She had to appeal to his sense of duty and commitment. Sapphira was a born chameleon, which made her one of the greatest actresses of her generation. She didn’t just act, she inhabited the role, becoming the character.
Whatever it took
was sometimes everything she had.

To prepare for film roles, Sapphira had done it all.

Bulimia, anorexia, drug addiction, bisexuality – even arson. She was fearless and unapologetic about her choices and her lifestyle.

Flying was her dream, literally and figuratively. When she slept, often she dreamt she could fly. She welcomed these dreams, they made a lovely change from the nightmares that used to haunt her.

Sapphira’s instinct told her she knew the pilot would not respond to the usual celebrity hype, so she instead thought about what would make a difference to him. Deciding she would tell him she had to learn to fly to save the planet in some way, but how? That was the question.

She was working on changing her image. So, flying across war torn famine ridden countries delivering food was something she could imagine herself doing – at least once or twice. Or rescuing doctors or patients for
Médecins Sans Frontières
. Whatever it was, it was all part of Sapphira’s plan to slowly and surely shift the public perception of her, someone who gave back.

Sapphira asked formally for an interview with the instructor though the correct channels, claiming she was researching for a role as a female Air Force pilot. All she wanted was an hour of his time to talk and discuss the job and of course she would give him ten minutes having her photograph taken with some of the boys on the force.

The air force thought it would be a great Public Relations moment, particularly while the US was in the middle of a war that had divided the country. So they encouraged the reluctant instructor to meet with Sapphira. He had already decided she was probably a spoilt, ignorant, self-obsessed Hollywood star, but what he met was an intelligent, altruistic woman who dearly wanted to make a difference and use her celebrity for good.

Unlike so many female film stars, Sapphira had no time for fashion. She existed in black pants by Jil Sander, silk singlets by Calvin Klein and a black Rick Owens leather jacket. On the red carpet she was known for her unfussy and minimal style. Never seen in prints, always a block of brown, black or white, she let her face be her greatest statement.

Sitting with the craggy air force pilot in the air-conditioned office, Sapphira had dressed carefully to ensure she seemed sexy but capable. Black tight pants, with stretch in them for comfort, a black singlet and an open white shirt over the top, her hair in a high ponytail and plain silver hoops with heavy motorcycle boots. She wore no makeup but for a slick of red lipstick.

‘It’s quite simple. I need to learn how to fly a plane.’

‘Why?’ asked the instructor with a blank face. Whatever he was thinking, Sapphira was finding it hard to pick up. She continued to speak, calmly, although he was making her nervous. Like he knew things about her or was about to interrogate her. His military gruffness masking anything he was feeling.

‘I’m planning on making a film about a female airforce pilot and with the skills I learn for the film, I would like to be able to fly material aid into countries that need the help. I want to use my level of celebrity for good instead of it being always about things that don’t really matter.’ She put her head to one side and looked into his eyes.

‘There is so much wrong with the world and I really want to do what I can, in my own small way. I need this to be top secret, I guess that’s why I’ve gone to the best.’

Captivated by Sapphira’s beauty as she shared her dream, the instructor was mesmerised by her dark and swarthy colouring courtesy of her mother. Her French father gave her the fine bone structure the camera loved so much.

As he stared at her lips, entranced, as she spoke, Sapphira knew she had him. ‘I think that if I go to a commercial school for lessons then the media will turn it into something that it’s not and I want to do this for others, not for myself.’

The instructor cleared his throat, aware for a moment he had been fantasising about her lips. ‘Of course I can teach you to fly. I can teach you at the most secret airbase in the U.S. No-one will ever know you are even here. Completely confidential.’

‘No-one will find out?’ asked Sapphira.

‘Well, certainly not any civilians. Anyone on base has to keep all information confidential of course. It’s restricted airspace which will keep out any unwanted choppers with those photographers on them that I’ve seen on TV.’

Sapphira smiled. ‘If I stayed on the base for a while, could you teach me faster?’

‘Sure, I guess we could organise it. Rough living though. No pretty soaps and hand-towels.’ The instructor chuckled at his own joke.

‘Sounds perfect.’ said Sapphira.

For two weeks she lived on the base sleeping like a lamb every night, knowing there were men strolling the grounds with guns. She was safe. It helped to take the Oxycontin, too. A slightly softer high than pure Heroin, it kept the cravings at bay. Yep, she was in control. Everything was going her way. Perfect.

Her dad had been a no-good son of a bitch, who shot his fortune up his arm and would leave Sapphira in the care of whoever was at the house when she stayed there. She was lucky nothing really hideous had happened to her.