Girls on Film (21 page)

“Me?” Cammie asked. “Don’t they teach in rehab that you’re only responsible for yourself?”

“Why, Cammie? I really would like to know.”

“Ask Ben,” Cammie said coldly.

“So this is supposed to be payback, is that it?” Anna asked. “You’re sick, Cammie. You need help.”

“Actually, I’m fabulous,” Cammie said, giving Susan—who was trying and failing to get her hair unstuck from her lip gloss—a pointed once-over. “I’d say it’s your sister who needs help right about now.”

Anna kept her voice low. “And I’d say you’re a cold-hearted bitch with a need to make the rest of the world as miserable as you are.”

“Fuck you,” Cammie said through a smile.

“Not on a bet,” Anna spat. But she couldn’t waste time on Cammie now. She had to get her sister out of there.

“Let’s find you some coffee, Susan,” Anna said, taking her sister’s arm.

Susan jerked her arm away. “Don’t want coffee. I just wanna have fun.” She whirled back toward the reggae trio, who’d launched into Bob Marley’s “One Love,” and tugged Anna toward the musicians. “Come on and dance, Anna!”

Anna extricated herself. “No dancing, Susan. Let’s just go inside and—”

“No! Come on!” Susan teetered toward the musicians, beckoning drunkenly to her sister as a few people smiled knowingly and pointed.

Anna locked Cammie’s wrist in a viselike grip. “Listen to me, Cammie. You
will
come help me get Susan inside, in as low-key a way as possible.”

“Or what?”

“Or I will make you very, very sorry,” Anna promised. She couldn’t recall ever threatening anyone before in her life, and she wasn’t even sure how she would carry out such a threat. But she did know this: she meant it.

Cammie gave Anna’s hand on her arm a withering look. “Yeah, right,” she scoffed.

“Anna Cabot Percy, come on!” Susan called. She was holding her hair off her neck and spinning in a wobbly circle. “Let’s dance!”

Oh God
.

Anna let go of Cammie and moved toward her weaving sister but was intercepted by a woman in a crisp white blouse and black skirt who had the look of someone in charge.

“Excuse me, I’m the party planner for this affair,” she said to Anna. “Do you know this girl?”

“She’s my sister. Susan.”

“Susan needs coffee. Let me help you.”

“That would be great, thank you.”

Anna and the woman approached Susan, who waved gaily to them as she danced. “You are such a tight-ass, Anna Percy. Everyone in our family is such a tight-ass. Woo-woo!” She whirled like a dervish, then suddenly tumbled to the patio. Several guests came to her aid, and she begged them for a drink.

“You don’t need a drink,” Anna said, taking her by the arm.

“Yeah, I do,” Susan insisted. “It’s so hot out here!”

“Susan, come inside with us,” the party planner told her.

Susan thrust a finger at Anna’s nose. “She put you up to this, didn’t she? Tha’s because she’s a whiner an’ I’m a loser. Winner, I mean. She’s the winner,
I’m
the whiner. God, it’s so fucking hot.”

Before Anna could stop her, Susan broke away again, running headlong toward the big stone fountain at the center of the patio. Anna got a sick feeling in her stomach. Susan wouldn’t …

Evidently Susan would.

She leaped over the barrier ledge, dropped her pants and stepped out of them, and quickly lifted her halter top over her head. Then, clad in nothing more than a French lace thong, she jumped into the shallow fountain just as the reggae trio finished their song. Thick silence filled the air as everyone stared at the spectacle.

“Anna! Anna! What is going—?”

Anna recognized that frigid voice even as the band’s next song drowned it out. One look toward the back door of the mansion confirmed her suspicion—an ashen-faced Margaret stood there with Brock, who didn’t look any too steady on his feet himself.

“Hey! I know you!” the young writer bellowed to Susan, who was dancing in the fountain to music only she could hear, thong so soaked that she might as well have been naked. “You’re Susan Percy! I’d recognize that ass anywhere!”

Susan whirled. “You want my ass, dickweed? Here’s my—”

She never finished the sentence. Instead she keeled over, splashing the crowd as her body flopped and her head sank under the water.

That’s a Wrap!

S
am Sharpe stood off to one side of the rear grounds of the mansion, contemplating what to do. She’d just witnessed Susan’s drunken escapade, seen the look of shock and humiliation on Anna’s face as her sister tumbled into the fountain, noticed how appalled Margaret Cunningham was.

As Anna hurried to her sister’s aid, Sam smiled. She knew exactly what she had to do. Thank God she’d decided to shoot some additional footage at the Steinbergs’ party. And thank God she was Jackson Sharpe’s daughter. When she asked the party planner whether it would be okay for her and her partner to film, the planner had said fine—so long as she might be able to get Jackson Sharpe and Poppy to make an appearance before the evening was over. Sam had assured her that this was completely possible, though in reality all she’d done was leave her father and new stepmother a note.

“Monty?” Sam spoke quietly into the tiny wireless two-way radio she always clipped to her lapel whenever she filmed at a location. “Come to the backyard. And for God’s sake, point the camera at the fountain.
Now
.”

Then Sam hustled to the catering area, grabbed a spare white tablecloth, and dashed toward Anna and Susan. Anna was knee-deep in the water, her hands under her sister’s soaked head, trying to reassure Susan that everything would be okay.

“Use this,” Sam commanded, tossing Anna the tablecloth.

Anna caught it but looked, bewildered, at Sam. “What?”

“Don’t ask questions. Just put it around your sister. Or do you want the show to continue?” Then Sam turned around, scanning the crowd for Monty. There he was, by the still-silent reggae band, camcorder whirring away. “Okay, that’s a wrap!” she shouted to him.

“Got it!” Monty called back.

“This sequence is going to be fabulous,” Sam told Anna in a too-loud voice as they helped a thoroughly soaked Susan from the fountain. “Your sister is a fabulous actress! Let’s go get her dried off!”

Many people laughed in recognition, several even applauded as Sam turned to the crowd. “Thanks for bearing with us, for helping out some young filmmakers. Student film. Cinema verité. You were the greatest!”

Anyone who hadn’t figured out what was going on was now smiling. Oh, it was a
movie
scene! To think they’d all fallen for it! And wasn’t the girl at the fountain Sam Sharpe, Jackson Sharpe’s daughter? She was making a film, and they had all been a part of it. How clever!

Sam cocked her chin toward the side of the mansion. “That way. Don’t worry about Monty; he’ll take care of himself.”

Together they led Susan around the mansion and toward the parking area. Sam thrust her claim stub and a hundred-dollar bill at one of them; her Jensen materialized in a matter of seconds. They loaded Susan into the backseat, and moments later they were heading out onto Loma Vista Drive.

Back at the party, Cammie made her way to the outdoor bar for another glass of champagne. Damn Anna, anyway. Cammie’s plan had worked brilliantly. But instead of humiliating Anna, all she’d accomplished was Sam-to-the-rescue. Now Anna and Sam would probably become friends or something. It really was depressing.

“Hi, Cammie,” Dee said as she came up next to Cammie, orange juice in hand. “Having fun?”

“No.” Cammie took the champagne from the bartender and sipped it.

“So it was really nice of Sam to save Susan like that, wasn’t it?” Dee asked.

Christ. It just got worse and worse. If Dee could figure out that Sam had come to Susan’s rescue, then anyone could figure it out.

“How did Susan get so wasted, anyway?” Dee asked.

“How would I know, Dee?”

“Well, I mean, she came to the party with you,” Dee pointed out.

“She’s an
alcoholic
,” Cammie spat. “That’s what alcoholics do.”

“Well, yeah, but I mean, not when there’s a friend around to help them make a healthier choice.” Dee went wide-eyed. “You didn’t get her drunk on purpose, did you? I mean, I know sometimes you act out your hostility issues, but you wouldn’t do
that
, right?”

The reggae singer in the backyard wailed the line “Lead me not into temptation, sister.” Cammie took a long swallow of champagne.

“I didn’t lead Susan into temptation, Dee,” she lied. “She got there all by herself.”

“She okay?” Sam asked.

“Out cold,” Anna reported.

“You okay?”

“Not really,” Anna admitted. As Sam drove along on Loma Vista Drive, she could see Anna’s hands were shaking. So much for the icy exterior … sangfroid. “Margaret Cunningham is going to kill me. But still, I don’t know what to say. Thank you feels inadequate.”

Sam was touched but too self-conscious to show it. She decided to go for glib. “How about, ‘I owe you a tremendous debt of gratitude, which you may choose to collect at a time and place of your own choosing’?”

“That’ll work. I didn’t even know you were there. That was incredibly quick thinking.”

“Hey, you’re my friend and my partner; what are friends for, anyway? And where are we going?”

“Not the Beverly Hills Hotel. I’m sick of that place,” Anna decided. “My father’s house? I’ll put Susan in my room.”

Sam nodded and turned onto Sunset Boulevard. “At the risk of stating the obvious, it doesn’t seem like rehab took.”

“Cammie did this.”

“What, she forced alcohol down your sister’s throat?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah.” Sam thought about it for a moment. “This is low, even by her very low standards.” They rode in silence until Sam turned into the driveway and pulled to a stop by the front walkway. “Home sweet home. Let’s get your sister inside.”

Together they half lifted, half dragged Susan out of the car. It took five minutes of herculean effort to get her inside, up the stairs, and onto Anna’s bed. There Anna rolled her off the white tablecloth and gently placed two blankets over her nude body.

“Thanks, Sam,” Anna said. “Really.”

“Anytime.” Sam found she meant this with her whole heart. What was happening to her?

“Hopefully there won’t be a repeat performance.”

Susan groaned, rolled over, and scrunched her body into a fetal position. Sam had been that drunk a number of times, but the sight of Susan made her vow not to do it again. At least not anytime soon.

“Want coffee?” Anna asked.

“Sure.”

They went downstairs to the kitchen, where Anna started up the Braun machine. “I’m putting off calling Margaret,” Anna confessed. “It’s not going to be pretty. She’ll probably fire me.”

“For taking care of your sister?”

“I was supposed to be there for Apex, remember?”

“Well, it’s not like this internship is crucial to you. You don’t even want to be in the industry, do you?”

“No,” Anna said. “I don’t think so, anyway.”

“That’s a shame,” Sam told her. “Because I think you really can write. I may have minimized it in the beginning, but that was because I felt threatened. There’s a lot we could do together … someday.”

“Well, thanks for the compliment. Who knows … maybe I’d consider it,” Anna said. “But I was going to get to meet all these writers. And read plays and movie scripts.”

“Scripts?” Sam hooted in disbelief. “You want scripts? There are ten thousand of them in my dad’s study. Movie scripts, play scripts, book manuscripts. From the biggest writers in the world. You want to know why? Because they all know that if they can get my father attached to their project, they’ll get the movie made, and they’ll make the easiest million dollars they ever made. Scripts? Come on over, you’re welcome to them. But I’ll tell you ahead of time, most of them suck. Which is why most movies suck.”

Anna fiddled with her coffee cup as she waited for the Braun to do its thing. “This is just not my style,” she fretted. “I’ve never left a train wreck behind me like this. It feels terrible.”

“Anna, you didn’t do anything. Your sister did.”

“You’re right,” Anna said. “I’m calling Margaret.”

Anna found Margaret’s cell number but only reached her voice mail. She left a brief apology, asked Margaret to return the call, and hung up. The coffee was ready, so she poured two cups and handed one to Sam. “Cream? Sugar?”

“Black.”

“What a day.” Anna took a sip of the steamy brew. “How about we go sit in the gazebo? It’s beautiful out back, and I need to clear my mind of homicidal impulses.”

They walked outside, following the backyard path to the old-fashioned gazebo. “If you let Cammie get to you, she wins, you know,” Sam pointed out as they sat down.

“Why is it always about winning and losing, Sam? How can it make her feel better to hurt me? It’s really sick, you know.”

“Yeah, well, if it’s a sickness, it’s the plague of Hollywood. Besides, Cammie has some great qualities, too.”

“You’re
defending
her?”

Sam’s eye fell on a statue of Cupid in the center of the gazebo floor; someone had placed a fresh red rose in Cupid’s quiver. “Let’s just say I know how much it can hurt to have a broken heart.”

“So do I, but that doesn’t excuse her behavior. When I look at her, all I see is hate.” Anna reached over and put her hand on Sam’s. “But you … you’re a good person. You’re better than Cammie. And you’re too smart for Dee. You don’t have to hang with them.”

Sam’s heart lurched. Was it possible that Anna was
responding
to her? And if she was, was it a platonic response … or otherwise? Sam wanted Anna to be her friend. But she also wanted Anna to kiss her. But she also did not want to be gay or even bi, despite how chic it was these days to be either of those two things. Dr. Fred could say anything he wanted to say about not acting on impulses, but just feeling what she was feeling as Anna’s hand rested atop hers was enough to send her into an anxious tizzy.

Sam pulled her hand away. She could be Anna’s friend, maybe. If they just didn’t touch. No matter what her own body was telling her to do.