Lost (21 page)

Suddenly she was back on her feet. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing.”

“You have to stay calm. You have to stay hopeful. The police will call as soon as they have any information.”

“I can’t wait. I have to do something.” Cindy ran to the front door and opened it.

“Wait! Cindy! What are you doing? Where are you going?”

“I have to get out of here.” Cindy ran down the steps to her driveway, climbed inside her car.

“Darling, please. Your friends will be here any minute. Where are you …?”

Cindy backed her car onto the street, shot toward Avenue Road.

Less than five minutes later, she was running along
Yorkville, almost colliding with several camera-toting tourists on the popular, boutique-lined street. “I’m sorry,” she shouted as she ran, her eyes scanning the numbers of the tony, two-story buildings until she found Number 320. She pulled open the front door, took a deep breath, then waited until she was confident she’d regained her composure before slowly walking up the stairs to Suite 204. Seconds later, she was standing in a small waiting area, in front of a pencil-thin young man with pointy black hair. “I’m here to see Michael Kinsolving,” she told him with a confidence that surprised her.

The young man raised his fingers to his face, the back of his left hand resting against the tip of his long nose, then leaned across his desk to check his datebook. “And you are?”

“Cindy Appleton,” she replied, her maiden name feeling clumsy on her tongue, like a once-stylish suit that no longer fit. “I’m with the film festival.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“Of course.” Cindy checked her watch. “Eleven-thirty. Right on time.”

The young man rifled through the pages of his appointment calendar. “I’m sorry. There’s obviously been some mistake. I don’t seem to have you down.…”

“It’s very important. I’m afraid there’s a scheduling problem with regard to Mr. Kinsolving’s new film …”

“A scheduling problem? Oh dear. Well, hold on. I’ll see if Mr. Kinsolving can spare a few minutes. Your name again?”

“Cindy Appleton,” Cindy repeated, the name a more comfortable fit the second time. Why had she never thought to reclaim it?

The skinny young man disappeared into the inner office, popped his head out seconds later. “Mr. Kinsolving will see you now.”

“Thank you.” Cindy slowly crossed the sparsely furnished waiting room, its walls lined with posters from past Toronto film festivals, thinking, What now?

A
T FIRST SHE
saw no one, just the back of a tall black leather chair, a large desk, and the grainy image of a beautiful young woman filling a large-screen TV on the opposite wall of the small room. “Well, well, look who’s here,” the young woman said, as if speaking directly to Cindy. Cindy froze, her eyes glued to the young woman’s face, a face that was similar to Julia’s in certain respects, but fuller, slightly coarser. “What happened? Forget your cigarettes?”

A click of a button and the image suddenly halted, reversed, stopped, started up again. “Well, well, look who’s here,” the woman repeated. “What happened? Forget your cigarettes?”

Another click. This time the image froze, vibrating slightly in its enforced stillness.

“Well, what do you think?” a deep voice asked from behind the high-backed leather chair. “Would you like to fuck her?”

“What?” Cindy took a step back, felt the crunch of the assistant’s toes beneath her feet as he tried in vain to get out of her way.

The chair swiveled around abruptly, revealing a gnome-like man with a handsomely craggy face. Cindy recognized the famous director immediately from his rumpled hair and trademark black T-shirt. “I’m sorry,”
he said, not bothering to get to his feet, a slow smile spreading across his cherubic face. Magazine profiles always mentioned his roguish green eyes and acne-scarred skin. Both were more pronounced in person than in photographs. “I thought you were a man. I should have realized ‘Sydney’ could be a woman’s name as well.”

“Cindy,” she corrected.

“Cindy,” Michael Kinsolving repeated slyly, and Cindy understood in that moment that no mistake had been made, that this was a man who knew what he was doing at all times, that he’d said what he did to throw her off-guard, a subtly sadistic way of controlling the situation and putting her in her place. Clearly this was a man who was used to directing his reality. He motioned toward the TV screen. “Fucking her aside, what do you think of her?”

Cindy struggled to maintain her composure. “I’m not sure what you want me to say.”

“Do you think she’s beautiful?”

“Yes.”

“Sexy?”

“I suppose.”

“Her eyes aren’t too small?”

“I don’t think.…”

“Her lips aren’t too thin?”

Cindy straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath. “Mr. Kinsolving.…”

“I’m going for a very specific look here. I want women to look at this girl and think ‘lost soul.’ I want men to look at her and think ‘blow-job.’ That’s why I think her lips might be too thin,” he said, as if they were discussing the weather.

Cindy tried not to give him the satisfaction of looking shocked. Was this how all directors talked about the young women who auditioned for them? Young women who bared their souls, and often a good deal more, for a chance to make their dreams come true? Women examined and dissected and ultimately reduced to a series of body parts that never quite measured up? Eyes that were too small; lips that were too thin. Souls that were lost. “What about talent?”

“Talent?” Michael Kinsolving looked amused.

“Is she a good actress?”

Michael Kinsolving laughed out loud. “Who cares? They’re all good. That’s the least of it.”

“The least of it?”

“You have to want to fuck them,” the gnomish director declared, leaning back in his chair. “That’s what makes a star. They’re bankable if they’re fuckable.”

“Mr. Kinsolving …”

“Who are you?” he asked, studying his manicured fingernails. “I know you’re not who you say you are. You’re certainly not from the film festival.”

Cindy released a deep breath of air, eyes flitting across the bare white walls. “My name is Cindy Carver.”

“Carver,” Michael repeated, still not looking at her. “Why is that name familiar?”

“My husband, my
ex
-husband, is Tom Carver.” A smile forced its way onto her lips.

Still no sign the Hollywood director had any idea who she was.

“My daughter is Julia Carver. She had an audition with you last Thursday morning at eleven o’clock.”

Michael Kinsolving glanced questioningly at the
skinny, spiky-haired young man hovering in the doorway.

“Yes,” the young man replied, drawing out the word into several syllables. “I believe someone from Mr. Carver’s office called to ask whether she’d kept that appointment.”

“And had she?” Michael Kinsolving’s voice was strong and clear, the voice of a man used to giving orders.

“Yes.”

“So, what’s the problem?” the director asked.

“She’s missing,” Cindy told him, watching his brow crease, his green eyes narrow. The same color eyes as Julia, she thought.

“Missing?”

“Nobody has seen or heard from her since she left this office.”

“What are you saying? That she walked out of here and vanished into thin air?”

“We don’t know what’s happened to her,” Cindy admitted, her voice filling with tears. “I guess I was hoping you might be able to shed some light on the situation. If you know anything at all that might help us find her.…”

Michael Kinsolving stood up slowly and walked to Cindy’s side, the top of his head in line with the tip of her nose. “And what would I know exactly?”

“I guess I was hoping that she might have said something to you about her plans.”

“Why would she do that?”

“I don’t know.” Already Cindy regretted her decision to come here. Had she really thought Michael Kinsolving might be able to help her?

“She probably took off with some guy she knew you wouldn’t approve of,” he offered with a smirk. “Trust me, I know whereof I speak. I have three daughters myself.”

Cindy vaguely recalled having read that Michael Kinsolving had five children from four different marriages.

“Of course they live with their mothers.”

Of course, Cindy acknowledged with a nod. Didn’t all daughters choose to live with their mothers after their parents divorced?

All except Julia.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t see how I can help you.” The director pulled a tissue from his jeans pocket and offered it to Cindy.

Cindy noted how muscular his arms were despite his diminutive size. “Did she give a good audition?”
Talent is the least of it
. “Did you say anything to her that might have upset her?”
Your eyes are too small; your lips are too thin
. “Did she seem depressed to you when she left?”
Did women look at her and think ‘lost soul’? Did men look at her and think …
Dear God.

“I wish there was something I could tell you to put your mind at ease,” Michael Kinsolving was saying. “But to be perfectly frank, I don’t even remember the girl.”

“Oh, you’d remember Julia. She’s twenty-one, very beautiful, slim, blond …” Cindy stopped, looked at the television screen, understanding that for the past week, Michael Kinsolving’s office had been inundated with slim, blond, beautiful women.

The director looked to his assistant for help. “Do we have a tape on her?”

The assistant nodded. “I’ll get it.” He backed out of the room.

Michael Kinsolving guided Cindy around his desk to his chair. “Would you like some bottled water or maybe an espresso?”

“Water would be great.”

“With gas or without?”

Cindy shook her head, unable to choose.

“Philip,” Michael Kinsolving called toward the next room, “some Perrier for Mrs. Carver. Can I call you Cindy?”

“Of course.”

“Cindy.” The director smiled, extended his hand. “Michael.”

She took his hand, felt the strength in his fingers, suddenly understood why women found him so attractive. “My hands are cold,” she apologized.

“Cold hands, warm heart,” he said with a smile.

Was he flirting with her? Cindy wondered, quickly returning her hand to her lap, disconcerted by the thought. Was it possible he’d come on to Julia?

Philip reentered the room carrying a glass of sparkling water and a tape cassette. He handed the glass to Cindy, then crossed to the television against the far wall. “I believe she’s on this tape. Shall I put it on?”

“Please,” Michael directed as his assistant removed the existing tape and replaced it with another.

Cindy took a small sip of water, felt the bubbles bursting against her nose, like smelling salts. She watched the tape flicker on, held her breath as a young woman’s face filled the screen. Like the woman before her, this woman was blond and beautiful. Cindy found herself focusing on her lips. Were they too thin? she wondered.

“I believe she’s number eight.” Philip fast-forwarded the tape.

A parade of lovely young women flew across the large-screen TV, their arms jerking up and down like marionettes, their heads turning this way and that, as if controlled by invisible strings, their blond hair shaking from one shoulder to the other, as the tape raced to find her daughter.

“So many women, so little time,” Michael mused out loud. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to sound glib.”

Cindy shook her head. In truth, she’d barely heard him, and it was only his apology that gave the words weight, allowed them to sink in. She winced as the tape came to an abrupt halt, Julia’s face filling the screen. Philip pressed another button and the image froze. Julia sat across the room, staring at her mother from inside a large, rectangular box, her bright smile frozen on her face.

“Oh yes,” Michael said. “I remember her now. Her father’s a lawyer. He does some work for our company.”

“That’s the one,” Philip confirmed, once more receding into the background.

“Yes, she gave a very nice reading,” Michael continued absently, leaning back against the front of his desk. “Are you sure you want to see this?”

“Please.”

He signaled to his assistant, who pressed the appropriate button, unfreezing the frame and bringing Julia to life.

(Julia’s Audition: A beautiful young woman sits on a small wooden chair, crosses one spectacular leg over the other. She is wearing red leather pants and a white blouse, which glares slightly under the harsh light. The camera slowly moves in on her face as she states her
name. “Julia Carver,” she pronounces clearly, then gives the name of her agent. She lowers her head, her hair falling across her face. Several seconds pass before she raises her head again, and when she does, it is almost as if Julia has disappeared and another girl has taken her place. This girl is tougher, angrier, sexier. And there is something else, something her defiant posture tries to hide. Behind the anger, the toughness, the undeniable sexuality, there is a sadness, a hunger, a raw need. Julia leans back, throws one elbow over the back of her chair, her eyes moving up and down an invisible visitor. The eyes of a lost soul. “Well, well, look who’s here,” she says. “What happened? Forget your cigarettes?”

“I came back to see you,” an off-camera voice replies.

Julia’s eyebrows arch in a gesture that is achingly familiar. “Is that supposed to make me go all weak in the knees?” she asks. “Is it? Because if it is, it’s not working. See? My knees aren’t weak at all.” She recrosses her legs with provocative slowness, then leans forward, speaks directly into the camera lens. “What’s the matter, baby? Disappointed? Surprised? Thought you could just waltz back into my life and everything would be the same as it was before you ran off with my best friend? How is Amy, by the way? No, don’t tell me. The fact you’re back is all the answer I need.”

“Caroline …” the off-camera voice interrupts.

“I could have told you she was a lousy lay.” The words roll off Julia’s tongue like a stray caress. “I could have spared you the time and trouble. I was her roommate for … how many years? I saw the men come and go. I heard the phony groans, the fake orgasms she thought were fooling them. But none of them were the fool you
turned out to be.” Julia throws her head back, laughs unpleasantly. “What’s the matter, baby? You come back for a real woman? Someone who doesn’t have to fake it when you touch her? Someone who loves the feel of you pounding away inside her? Night and day. Day and night.” Julia begins fidgeting in her seat, moving her hips in time to some distant, obscene rhythm. “Any time. All the time. Is that what you miss, baby? Is that why you’ve come home?”