Hollywood Beginnings (A Novella) (4 page)

As I stood in the still steamy bathroom, I tried not to be nervous about Brian Keller picking me up for dinner. I wasn't changing my mind about men. I wasn't even going on a date. Of course, I
was
wearing date underwear. You know the kind. It shouldn't even go by the name
underwear
since most of my lower anatomy wasn't wearing it.

And I had an amazing dress waiting to be slipped on, slip-less. No slip had been a major infraction when I was growing up. It was still kind of a shocker that my mother had not only okayed the dress, but been the one to find it. She said I wasn't in Minnesota anymore, but I'd always thought good girls, just like the end of that Tiny Tim Christmas story, should keep Minnesota in their hearts year round. Mother had apparently given me a pass for the night.

Eyeing the dress, minutes away from being picked up in the lobby for dinner, I wasn't sure I had the courage to wear it even once. It was hard to avoid the irony of defending my mother's virtue in unvirtuous clothing.

The phone rang, and I picked it up to Brian's voice. Instantly I looked down and damned if the girls weren't responding. I cleared my throat, tried for nonchalant. "Oh, hello."

"I'm in the lobby."

"Well, I'm, uh..."

"Not dressed? I'll be right up."

"You're a funny guy, Brian Keller. I'll be down in 5."

"I'll enjoy my thoughts while I wait."

I hung up. That would show him. What it showed me was I was already in trouble and 10 hotel floors still separated us. What would happen when we were in his car, inches away from each other?

I hadn't attacked a guy in a vehicle since Billy Conroy refused to go all the way with me, and we found ourselves in a sexual stand-off. In his defense, my dad was his pastor, but I really didn't want to go to college with my virginity. I lifted my t-shirt, and Billy's hormones prevailed.

My new dress beat my old t-shirt, and Brian Keller had
way
more potential than Billy Conroy.

I tried to relax during the elevator ride, but my heart was racing. While it's true I wasn't raised in California, I did grow up watching Hollywood movies. I dreamed, like every woman I know, of
the grand entrance
. You'd think we'd all outgrow it after junior high, but the fantasy lodges somewhere in a ventricle of our hearts.

For me, it's sometimes the fantasy of a long staircase I descend in a flowing golden gown. Sometimes, I rise slowly out of the pool while water sluices down the sleekness of my tanned body. That one, believe me, is real fantasy. I tend to get
beige
with sun exposure, and bathing suits that cover all my assets, and I mean
assets
, are not in the
sleek
size range.

So when the elevator doors opened, I tried to fight it, but I really wanted to see Brian Keller standing there in awe of my female presence.

Just in case he was looking, I swooshed out, swinging my purse onto my shoulder. As my elbow rose, I cracked a Japanese business man right in the forehead. In horror I watched him stagger, drop to his knees, then lay flat out on the floor.

My Hollywood entrance would have to wait for another day.

I leaned down to help the poor, crumpled man. "I'm so sorry."

His briefcase lay several feet away, popped open and spilling pens and files like an executive yard sale, and he looked up at me, shaking his head a couple of times. His eyes focused more, and I could tell his vision was clearing up, but he didn't respond.

I couldn't decide if didn't speak English, or I'd knocked the power of speech right out of him. I put my hand on his shoulder. "Ready to stand up?"

He shook his head
no
, and I have to say I expected more of the guy. He might conduct international business but some street action and he was down for the count? I realized I'd have to full-out lift him to his feet. Yeah, that would be delicate of me.

And then I felt another presence and looked into the green eyes of Brian Keller, crouched down but looking at me. His eyes scanned to my mouth and for a second I thought he might kiss me, and then they slid down, all the long way down my throat to where, as I leaned over, my acre of cleavage had expanded to a… "Hectare."

I shook my head when I realized I'd said
hectare
out loud. I felt myself blush. "It's a farming term."

Brian shrugged. "It's almost two and a half acres, right?"

"It is not!" Then it dawned on me he was defining a
hectare
, not my cleavage. "Hey, how do you know that?"

"I went to college in Wisconsin."

"Get out!"

"Madison.

We'd been 250 miles apart in college, a nothing drive that sent Madison students into the twin cities every weekend.

The neglected businessman staggered to his feet, shaking us both off. "This suit costs more than a goddamn car."

He said
car
like it was missing an
r
. Both his Boston accent and the transformation from stunned to angry took me by surprise.

Brian reached for my hand, suppressing a smile, and led me through the lobby before I could apologize for mussing the little Boston tough.

Not everything in Hollywood was what it seemed.

***

Brian managed to get us to the restaurant before I assaulted anybody else. And I was practicing some real self control in resisting him. The man drove a vintage burgundy Mustang convertible. For a chance to ride in a car like that, he could've gotten half the
guys
in my high school to put out.

When we arrived at the restaurant, two valet attendants hopped in, and the guy driving a run-of-the-mill Porsche had to wait. We walked into a restaurant so large and busy, it gave me hope for the food. I have to admit I was looking forward to a great meal out almost as much as I wanted to stun Brian into journalistic submission with my new dress.

I looked around before I opened the menu. The décor was elegant, but in the center of the room were three bare trees that looked like the scary ones from that Disney sing-along. I should have known some weird things lurked in the kitchen. But sea beans? Buckwheat brittle? Bone marrow, gag me, croutons? I'd have to eat dinner
after
dinner.

Brian leaned closer, although the table was small enough I could have heard him whisper without moving. He saved the night with one word that was not on the menu. "Steak?"

He claimed they were nearly as good as Tusdale's Steak House in St. Paul, and I'd said
yes
like a normal woman might have moaned during sex. In my defense, steak is serious business. Somebody gets it right, like they do at Tusdale's, and it deserves some reverence. And I gave every delicious bite of it reverence.

The whole meal was oddly relaxing. We discussed majors. Mine, art. His, recreational management. And yeah, I made fun of him. I mean, what college-aged guy doesn't think he should be paid to play outside? It's the tan guy equivalent of being a video game designer.

He became a little vague when I asked how he'd ended up in L.A., likely it took a super model to get a guy like Brian Keller to give chase to another state. I didn't blame him for not telling the whole sad story. I sure as heck didn't tell him I was divorced. Why open that can of lying cheating worms when we were only having one dinner together?

But
all good things must come to an end
. That's what mom would say when it was time to leave somebody's really rocking 9th birthday party or I hit the end of the Halloween candy. And as the steak disappeared under my fork, I realized it was showtime. Unfortunately, I remembered pretty late in the dinner to lean across and display the girls to their full advantage. I'd been distracted by sharing Mid-west college haunts and Brian's general ability to be really interesting.

"Brian Keller."

"Amy Moore." He smiled like he knew exactly what I was up to and didn't mind one bit.

I sat back. While it was true I intended to cleavage him into dropping my mother as a celebrity news topic, I needed to make the parameters clear. "I'm not going to sleep with you."

He swallowed. "Was that on the table?"

"No."

"I mean," he raised his eyebrows, "was that
on the table
?"

I wouldn't smile even though he was completely sexy when he was being funny. But before I could launch into the many ways he shouldn't defame my mother, he stopped me.

"I'm researching Van Baron, and he had many, many women. He was a cold, self-centered man. If he were a woman every headline would have had the word
diva
in it."

He raised his hand. "I know it's completely unfair there isn't a word that equals it for guys."

"Bastard."

He flinched.

"The word
bastard
has the same problem. A woman might be called a
bitch
but the male equivalent,
bastard,
mostly insults the guy's mother."

He looked so earnest across the table. His hand bridged the gap and rested over mine in a way that made me think he wasn't even aware he'd done it. "It does."

My phone rang, and it never rang. Clients back home rarely used it, and beyond chatting with my parents and catching up with siblings, there wasn't a lot of cell action in my life. I picked it up just to assure myself it was a wrong number and saw an LA area code. I half smiled in apology and answered it. "Hello?"

"Amy, hon, it's mom."

"Everything alright?"

"I'm in a cab on my way back to the hotel and the nice man, Jamil, let me borrow his phone. Isn't that nice?"

"It is. Mom, what--"

"I thought I'd join you for dinner. Jamil says he just needs the street address."

"You can…" Any other night, I'd be happy for her company. I met Brian's eyes across the table and waffled. God help me, I was enjoying myself and knew it would end as soon as we talked about the interview. But just because my libido and I were still savoring a really good steak, didn't mean I could forget what Brian did for a living.

I knew if I unleashed Mom on him with all her practical Midwest goodness, he'd give up the article all together, so I gave her the street address and watched him raise an eyebrow. In the short time I'd known him, I knew exactly what that meant. Brian Keller was amused.

***

My mother walked across the upscale restaurant as if she'd done it every day of her life. It took me a full minute to register what was different about her.

She looked like a movie star.

Maybe I'd never really seen her before. She'd always been well-groomed and lovely, but even when the occasional diner glanced up to see if they knew her, she was completely at ease.

Before she reached our table, I understood she could still be in the game. My mother would compete well with the actresses of her generation. Maybe she'd be cast as the warm grandmother on a sitcom or maybe she'd take on a real challenge like the mean, rich aunt who keeps Mr. Darcy from Elizabeth Bennet. But if she'd stayed, my mother would still be a star.

Brian rose without my noticing and greeted her before I had a chance to introduce them.

"I'm glad to meet you, Brian." She smiled at him, sat at the table, and admonished me. "I must say I had no idea you had a dinner companion."

"Oh, it's not--"

But she wasn't interested in what I had to say about the evening. She studied the menu quickly only to look up and assess Mr. Keller slowly.

I didn't want her to get too comfortable before she got the bad news. "The truth is, mom, he works for
The Hollywood Daily
and is writing about--"

"Amy, honey, it's a little chilly in here with the air conditioning." She turned to Brian. "Why do they always do that? 80 outside, 60 in?"

He shrugged. "Hollywood's a business that runs hot and cold, I guess."

She studied him, and the two of them seemed like they were sizing each other up.

"Mom?" Where was my mother? The worldly woman beside me did not clip coupons and make casseroles with cream of mushroom soup and frozen tater tots. And Mom wouldn't forget to bring a jacket like a good Girl Scout. "Where
is
your coat?" Suddenly I sounded more like my mother than my mother did.

She laughed, that fun light one I'd always loved, and it hurt to think that Brian Keller, however interesting and handsome, wanted to spread gossip about her. I really knew how to pick a guy to tangle with. I had an ex-husband, a concussed business man on my conscience and now the first man I felt sparks with in forever was about to make my mother cry.

But Mom looked far from tears as she waved me toward the restaurant's entrance. "Would you check with the maître d, Amy?" She smiled at Brian, shook her head. "They were sometimes still called
coat check girls
when I was young. I thought I'd end up being one when I first came to Hollywood."

He leaned forward with interest, and I wanted to stop him from gathering any more information to twist for his article. "But you didn't."

"I got a part right away." She sounded pleased with herself, and I realized I'd never heard the story.

"I'd just graduated from high school and come to L.A. to become a star. My mother was back in the little room we rented, and I was in line for ice cream at Paradise Cove. You know, where they filmed Beach Blanket Twist?"

Brian nodded like he knew, and she went on. "Well, there I was, and this man came up to me in a trim green suit with a cuffed pant leg, very sharp. It was summer wool, and on the beach he must have been broiling." She shook her head. "He always looked so immaculate." She seemed a little sad. "He plucked me right out of line and said,
tell me you can act, even badly
."

She grabbed her upper arm in demonstration. "I started to cry, shouted out for help."

She laughed again, deeper and richer this time. "He let go so quickly. He was absolutely panicked."

Picturing Mom at 18, scared on some strip of sand, I really felt more like a mother than a daughter "What did you do?"