Loved In Pieces (18 page)

Attila smiled back at me and continued working. The kitchen was pretty clean. It look
ed
like he
was
almost done preparing my food for the week.  Attila
wa
s Hungarian living with a Japanese-American second wife and two children from his African-American ex-wife. He
wa
s tall and muscular, and always w
ore
a black cotton tee with camouflaged fatigue pants. He love
d
his kids and wife. I love
d
his go-with-the-flow,
non-judgmental,
treasure
-
each
-
day perspective on life. He
wa
s totally cool.

Attila
was there
all morning cooking my meals for the week, as he d
id
every Saturday that I
was
in town. He cook
ed
them and then store
d
them in the freezer and fridge with instructions on the containers for reheating and the type of meal and day I should eat it. It ma
de
life really easy to not have to think about my diet, nutritional requirements,
or
portion size. The prepared meals and the exercise ke
pt
me appropriately fit and too thin
—
the perfect size for Hollywood
.

“This week I
have to make
some more
‘
raw
’
meals for you.
Elise
said you should ease up
on the
cardio
—
you guys are
strength training
instead, I guess. If you hate
the meals
I’ll change things next Saturday?” Attila almost asked apologetically when he told me
. He knew I got so bored with salads and the “
r
aw”
food
extreme that
Elise
was crazy about. The way he did “raw” was pretty clever but I could only handle it in small doses. I liked my meats and fish. His salmon with fennel in a butter cream sauce was my favorite dish. I wondered which day this week I would get to eat it.

“Honestly, I think
you’re
too thin a
nd don’t agree with you eating ‘
r
aw’
so I threw
in a salmon meal or two to look forward to, but don’t tell
Elise
. I need this job.”

“
Thank you for sneaking food for me. I felt like I was star
ving on the set. I hate eating
‘
r
aw
’
food!
” I smiled and laughed. “
Attila,
you’re
an amazing cook, and
I’m
always grateful for your hard work. Thanks for the warning.
‘
Raw
’
it is.”

“Have a great time at prom,” he laughed. “Be sure to order a decadent dessert after dinner.”

“Thanks
.
” I said and then glanced at the clock
.
I was confused
—
time flew by fast. I needed to shower right away. I didn’t hire anyone to do my hair or
makeup
. I wanted to do it myself. It
wa
s prom, not a big production. I
was
not on display.

Before I did my hair, I look
ed
at my prom dress.

Sage left a note on the outside of the garment bag, “Darling, you will look stunning as you always do. I thought this would be the most prom-like of your dresses and had it altered so you can laugh and dance and move freely. You shouldn’t need to be taped and should be able to just slip it on easily! Enjoy your night! Love you!”

I laughed. Event dresses
we
re impossible to get into and difficult to move in. It
wa
s a painful few hours. Sitting in the limo prior to the red carpet
wa
s pure torture. Walking gracefully in heels
wa
s nerve racking and require
d
my complete focus. Posing for the cameras
wa
s embarrassing, and my mind
wa
s always on guard to make sure I d
idn
’t show any pain or nerves. I even tr
ied
to blink quickly so some weirdo picture d
id
n’t get published with my eyes closed and mouth frowning from the pain of not being able to breathe. 

I opened the garment bag, and my heart sank. I became acutely aware of my headache.
I hated th
e
dress.
It couldn
’t be my prom dress. I
was
sure
I included
it
in the list to be donated to the tsunami relief auction.
To me, it symbolized the destruction of my family and the consequential
isolation
I felt since my parents divorced.

It
wa
s the dress I wore to my first Academy Awards when I was fourteen.  I was nominated, but didn’t win, for my performance in my first film,
Left to Die
.
  It was the project over which
Dad
divorced
Mom
. It was the film for which
Mom
won Best Actress and reinvigorated
her A-list career. It was the
launch
of my career.
It was the first time I got drunk at an industry event.
It was my first kiss.

No. I w
ould
not
wear
th
e
dress. I pushed it back inside the garment bag and carried it into the garage. I threw it in the back of my Prius. I’
d
get rid of it later. I stopped in the kitchen and took two more Excedrins with water and ate an apple. I washed my hands and then tried to rub out the back of my neck. It
throbbed
and my vision blurred. I tr
ied
to relax and sat
in
the chair at the kitchen counter for I don’t know how long with my eyes closed until I felt the pain subside. I headed back to my room when my vision cleared.

I found a comfortable dark purple jersey cocktail dress in my closet. It was no prom dress but I’
d
look great with some simple Spanx under it, and I
could
move freely. I decided to wear my hair up.

We
we
re going to prom with Alan
and his date
who was thankfully not
Sherry
, Mitch and
Beth
,
and a group of dateless friends of ours that h
u
ng out with us at school.

Mitch ha
d
an intensity and maturity that I ha
d
only seen in a few people. He ha
d
a great, supportive family, too.
His parents were high school sweethearts that were still married
—
an anomaly in Santa Monica. H
is sister was
also
the valedictorian of her graduating
high school
class and
attended
Georgetown University. She was one of those everything girls: a gorgeous blond with an
attractive
body, performed
on the dance group during half-
time, was social and kind, had good friends, and managed to get
perfect grades
in honors and AP classes.
She was thriving at Georgetown, too.

Mitch and I
dated twice
and had a wonderful time. We were going to go to the junior prom together
in April last year,
the Saturday
after my seventeenth birthday
, but I
canceled
because Manuel complicated things. The three guys had agreed to triple date, just like they did this year. Alan invited some girl who ended up being a bitch, of course. Manuel was going with Kate.
Mitch
hadn’t asked anyone yet. I was incredibly busy that
s
pring filming
Jefferson’s
Muse,
but we were in L.A.
on set
in front of the green screen. I
commuted
from my house to the set. I was not going to school and was doing my work through the studio teacher and independent study, but I saw my friends on the weekend
s
. On a day in
March
when I didn’t have to go to work, I sat with
Mitch
as I studied in the high school library. We were at the same table, but were not chatting. He slipped me a note,
asking me to prom. Delighted, I accepted.

If Manuel and I had not been friends since preschool, it would have been so nice to date
Mitch
. Manuel said dating
Mitch
would bust up their friendship because he’d punch out
Mitch
’s face if anything happened to me. I felt I had to choo
se between Manuel’s friendship with
his weir
d sense of brotherly protection
and a budding romance with
Mitch
. I wanted both but I was also so busy working. At work, I was kissing two guys
on camera
, Matthew and Grant
, which was confusing
off set
, too.
The month before, Evan and I kissed during the
Romeo & Juliet
worldwide
premiere
and slept in the same bed together several nights during the tour. We were both working on films but emailed and Skyped.
I
hoped
Evan
would be
my boyfriend but thought it’d be silly to take him to my junior prom.
The timing of my relationship with
Mitch
was just wrong. I decided I didn’t want to complicate my life and chose to break off the date to prom. I told him the truth. He appreciated that it wasn’t about him. Fortunately, Mitch had time to ask Beth to prom and they
dated
ever since.

It took me forever to do my hair. I thought it would only take me a few minutes to do a simple up-do but it was not easy. The limo was coming. I needed more time. I called Manuel.

“Hey Manuel, I’m running a bit behind. Is it
okay
if we just drive my car? I’d be happy to still pay our share of the limo but I don’t want everybody to be late because of me.”

“Well, Marie, that would make my mom happy! She was trying to get me to bail on everybody so she could get pictures here. I already tried to pay Alan for the limo but he won’t take money from a
busboy
. I’ll text Alan and
Mitch
.”

“Good, thanks.” I responded, wanting to get off the phone so I could finish getting ready.

“Thanks again for the Vespa, even though
you should never do that again,”
he
sighed
. “Do you want me to come get you and drive your Prius back here for pictures?”

I bought Manuel a Vespa scooter for his 18
th
birthday, the weekend after he came to San Diego to be with me. Manuel thought it
was too big of a gift and wanted me to return it
.
I didn’t.

“I can just drive over when I’m done.”

“Okay,” he said disappointed. “I’m ready, already, and will just sit around bored while Mom and Dad keep making eyes at each other.”

“Okay, I’ll see you in a few
,
” I resigned and hurried to get dressed.

Manuel lived with his mom
, Liz
;
dad
, Carlos
;
and sister
, Janet
;
in an apartment south of Montana
Avenue
and south of Wilshire
Blvd
.
Liz
owned the apartment building, managed it, and lived “rent free” in the biggest three-bedroom unit.
She
inherited it from her mom
.
Carlos
worked for a delivery company. Like
Dad
, he was a gorgeous man but wanted nothing to do with
Hollywood.