Secrets of a Soap Opera Diva (33 page)

“Oh, my stars! Is that who I think it is? Lord Jesus somebody tell me I ain’t seein’ a ghost. Wilson Turner, I just love you! You’re my favorite! Been watchin’ you since
Yesterday, Today and Maybe Tomorrow.
Can I get a picture,
please
?” Candelaria said coquettishly.

Basking in the rare acknowledgment, he gloated, “Step aside, folks. The lady wants a photo with
me
. Whatchaname, beautiful?”

“Candelaria.”

“You can call me Willie.”

“Oh, Willie, I just love you, I’m your biggest fan. Wait till I tell all the ladies in Greenwood, you just don’t know.”

Phillip roiled, incapable of understanding how the under-five-near-beer-serving actor could be popular with
any
demographic.

“Can I just say, your Calysta is an outstanding actress?”

“Why thank you, Willie.”

“I tell her all the time, no matter what them writers give her, she always finds a way to put some ‘pork chop’ in a scene.”

“What did he say?” whispered Phillip into Ethan’s ear.

“Hell if I know.”

“You sure are some kinda nice, Miss Candelaria. And I hope I make your front room wall,” Wilson said flirtatiously, kissing her hand.

“Ah, Willie, you are such a stitch. I’ma blow this one up ’n’ everything.” She beamed.

“If you wouldn’t mind, I have an interview waiting and—” attempted Phillip.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Fink, to keep you waitin’ but could you give me one more second so I can get a picture alone with my Wolfe? And then you can jump in with the rest of the cast.”

A chorus of “No problem, Mrs. Jones” could be heard as the bubblers moved away from the pair, with the exception of Phillip, smarting from the snub.

Flash
went the disposable.

Emmy noticed Alison heading back to her dressing room from craft service, the actors’s trough, wearing high-waisted mom jeans and her Sarah Palin T-shirt—she just couldn’t let it go—and sidled over to her, saying, “Alison, Calysta’s grandma is visiting.”

“So?” Refusing to be in today’s pool scenes next to the bikini-clad youngsters, an intimidated and water retentive Alison, still bound in breast augmentation bandages, had been sulking in her dressing room.

“Wanna come over and be in the group shot?” Emmy asked.

Alison glared. “I’m not taking pictures today.” She moved past with her plate of bagels and cream cheese.

“Is that for you and Randall?” Emmy pointedly asked.

“No, it’s for me.”

“
All
of it?”

“Yes.”

“No wonder,” Emmy scoffed, sashaying away in her mini set robe, leaving Alison staring down at the carbs.

As the group finished taking a barrage of pictures, Emmy interrupted, petting Candelaria’s arm, “Grandma Jones . . . do you mind if I call you that . . . I just feel so close to you already, after being like a sister to Calysta. You know, I rushed to the hospital to be at her side as soon as I heard she was in that car wreck, but incredibly they wouldn’t let me in. I’m so sorry she’s in rehab. You simply have to tell me all about her troubled childhood.”

Shannen narrowed her eyes. “Not now, Emmy. I’m showing Mrs. Jones around the set. Excuse us.”

“I’ll uh, catch up with you guys in a few,” Weezi said, sizing up Javier.

“Whatever, Weezi,” Shannen dismissed.

Throwing in the kitchen sink trying to sound black, Emmy put her hands on her hips and cocked one to the left, saying, “Yo Shannen, slow your roll, sistah, and stop bogartin’ Ms. Jones. Tryin’ to get acquainted is all, but that’s
aight
. . . I ain’t gonna sweat it ’cause I sho nuff gotta bounce . . . laytah, homie.”

R
olling to a stop in her Bentley, Veronica pressed the security intercom button.

“Hello. May I help you?”

“It’s Veronica Barringer, I have an appointment.”

The gates swung open. The soap heiress drove forward and parked, immediately to be met with a firm handshake from Kelly Lava. “Welcome to Tranquility Tudor. If you’ll follow me I have lunch set out.”

“Thank you, but I just came to talk to Calysta Jeffries.”

“I understand, Ms. Barringer, but there’s a protocol we like to follow here at Tranquility Tudor. It’s what sets us apart from the rest. Now if you please.”

Kelly led her out to a sunny veranda. Rising as she approached, Pat Quigley said, “Ms. Barringer.”

“Mr. Quigley, thank you for meeting with me on such short notice and on your day off.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Today we’re serving black curry fluke carpaccio and jicama slaw with a green apple feuilleté for dessert,” Kelly announced. “See what you would’ve been missing?”

“Lovely.” Veronica sat, placing her hemstitched napkin in her lap.

“So, Mr. Quigley—”

“Call me Pat.”

“Pat, I came to ask permission to discuss a personal matter with Calysta. And although my family is saddened by her predicament and this is a sensitive time for her, my ailing father insisted I deliver his highly confidential message in person. I’d be grateful if you’d assist me.”

“Well, Ms. Barringer . . .” He paused, waiting for her to give him permission to use her first name; she didn’t.

“. . . where your concern for Calysta and loyalty to your father are admirable I couldn’t possibly—”

Gracefully interrupting, Veronica continued, “I read that Tranquility Tudor has an endowment. My father would like to make an anonymous donation for a future client who might not otherwise be able to afford such a noble and illustrious establishment,” she said, sliding a check across the table. “I also heard that in special cases you offer sober coaches to chaperone clients for off-site business.”

“My, you’ve done your research.”

“I don’t like to waste time. Can that be arranged for Calysta? I need her at Oppenheimer and Berger Law Offices in Century City Wednesday morning at nine. I can’t go into more detail.”

Glancing at the check, he suavely said, “You’re a very beautiful woman and your father’s a very generous man. I never could resist beauty or generosity.
Salut,
” he toasted, holding up a sparkling lemonade. “Calysta should be back from collage therapy by the time we finish lunch.
Bon appetit!
”

*   *   *

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” Jay said to Roger Cabott as he pulled up to the WBC security gate.

“Yeah, been real busy these days. I’m here to see my wife.”

“Sure, no problem.”

“Jay, do you mind if I park in the back by the loading dock?”

“Suit yourself, Mr. Lassiter.”

Roger bit his tongue and drove onto the lot.

“I’m going in, Anita,” Emmy announced as the secretary cut her eyes at the bubble-trouble.

Before the door closed, Emmy purred, “Hi, Snuggle Bunny, I brought you a Starbucks and a Krispy Kreme.”

The doughnut was a knockoff and she had recycled the cup, filling it with commissary java.

“I only have five minutes, Emmy.”

“That’s all we need, you naughty boy, let’s get busy,” she went on, dropping her robe and wiggling out of her thong. “I figured with everything going on, you could use a coffee break.”

Four minutes later, she faked, “Wow, that was one for the record books. You still taking that Viagra?”

“Only for you, my little slut.”

“I love when you talk dirty.”

“So, Emmy, I have some news.”

“Oh?” she said as she slipped back into her thong.

“I’ve decided to stick it out with Alison.”

“What?” Emmy’s eyes blazed. “You mean . . . stay together?”

“I’ve done more soul-searching than you could possib—”

“But what about
us
?
Our
future? You were gonna marry me and dump old crispy-crotch, you sonofabitch!”

That was before Alison told me she would fillet my dick if I ever left her,
he thought.

“I’m sorry, but everything’s changed. It’s over.”

“You piss-ant, you really think you can
do
me then
dump
me?”

“Uh, yeah, I do. Don’t get me wrong, it’s been a ton of fun, but you’re D for done.”

Emmy dropped to her knees. “But Randall, I’ll do anything, anything. I’m begging you—”

“Get up, Emmy, don’t degrade yourself any more than you have.”

“I
hate
you,” she snarled, baring her teeth like a rabid dog.

“And Emmy,” Randall added, not raising his voice. “If you value your job you won’t mention our little secret to anyone.”

“. . . and this is wardrobe, Mrs. Jones. This is where the entire
Rich and the Ruthless
archive is kept. Let me show you our humongous cast closet.”

Candelaria, at a rare loss for words, followed along with a pep in her step. “Whoo, it’s kinda tart in here.”

“Yeah well, what are you gonna do? It’s a big cast and producers had to cut back on dry cleaning to save money.”

“What are you all doing in here?” The Pattern Cutter emerged from the back pulling two full racks of clothing. “Shannen, you don’t have a fitting today.”

“I know that, Penelope, I’m giving Mrs. Jones a tour.”

“Mrs. Who?”

“Nice to meet you too. Isn’t that Beulah’s wedding dress and aren’t these her clothes?” Candelaria asked.

“You mean Ruby Stargazer’s dress. And yes, it is. She was such a headache to deal with, I’m happy to say I’m ridding the department of all her wardrobe, including the wedding dress.
R&R
is selling all her costumes to
Medical Clinic
. Good riddance! But to tell you the truth, we
didn’t get much money for it. Most of the clothes I bought on sale. She didn’t deserve the designer labels like the rest of the cast.”

“Well, Miss Penelope, Ruby Stargazer happens to be my granddaughter, and you oughta be ashamed of yourself. If you can’t say somethin’ nice ’bout somebody don’t say nothin’ at all. Shannen, let’s go.”

Shannen flashed her eyes at the Pattern Cutter, “Hmph.”

As they left, Ben rushed in out of breath, Weezi trailing behind. “There you are, Shannen! Felicia wants to talk to you right away.”

“But I only have thirty minutes left of break. Tell her I’ll come see her after my scenes.”

“No can do, she says it’s urgent.”

“I’ll keep the tour going,” Weezi volunteered smoothly, offering Candelaria his arm.

Holding the elevator doors open, Shannen said, “I’ll catch up with you as soon as I’m done, Mrs. Jones.”

“’Course, sugah.”

Weezi bragged, “I’m the
only
representative Calysta’s ever worked with. If you need anything, anything at all, don’t hesitate to use my card,” he said, handing one to her. “Let’s head over to
The Daring and the Damned
.”

Shannen shook her head as the doors closed.

“I hate you!”

As she knocked on Felicia’s door, Shannen spied Emmy storming out of Randall’s office, madder than hell, cinching her robe with her do slightly askew.

“Come in.”

“Hi, Felicia, you wanted to see me?”

“Yes, have a seat. I know you’re on your lunch break so I’m going to get right to the point. Unfortunately, the
R&R
blog is going crazy, fans have written in, and they absolutely hate the Justine/Pepe pairing. We
can’t afford to lose more audience, so I’ve decided to go with the storyline we were saving for Sweeps, and it’s a sizzler, by the way, premium front-burner stuff.”

Felicia stood up, coming around her desk to act out the scene. “You’re upset, you find out Pepe is having an affair with Gina Chiccetelli, you get in your car after catching them in the sack, speed down Whitehaven Highway, around Fink Rotary, roaring onto Lovekin Lane, narrowly missing a bus, you crash into a light pole. It’s going to be
so
dramatic. As a matter of fact, I’m already predicting you’re going to get on the pre-nom list for a Sudsy with this scene.”

“Um, Felicia? Not to sound ungrateful or anything, but it kinda sounds like Calysta’s real-life accident.”

“Well then, I guess it’s in the universe. But where was I? Oh yes, you get into a fantastic diabolical car crash and flip three times before it explodes into a fiery blaze, the special effects are going to be off the charts. Then you go into a coma.”

“And?”

“And that’s it.”

—RALPH WALDO EMERSON

V
eronica, laid out in Kinder Aggugini, rose from the sofa in the common room to greet me as I entered with other TT residents.

“Veronica! Holy crap. This is unreal,” Toby enthused.

“Toby, man, you gotta help put the stones back in the Zen garden,” Rock interjected. “I keep tellin’ you you can’t use them for weights.”

“Aw man—”

“Let’s go,” he reinforced. “Now.”

“I’ll see you at supper, Veronica, and don’t let Rock fool ya, these people are dope.”

“I heard someone was here to see me but I didn’t expect it to be you. Please don’t tell me—”

“No no no, don’t worry, Calysta, Dad’s still hanging in there but he
is
the reason I’m here to see you. Let’s go somewhere more private.”

I led her to TT’s Quiet Room.

“Veronica, what’s this all about?”

“Dad’s resting comfortably at home with around-the-clock care. He asks about you quite a bit. He cares about you.”

“Your father means a lot to me.”

“I don’t think he’d mind if I confided, when he was a little boy he lived in an orphanage until he was adopted. He prefers not to talk about that time in his life, but he admires determined people who work hard and rise from humble beginnings. And believe it or not, he saw a lot of himself in you. As you know, when a writer falls in love with an actor, they write not only for the character but for the person behind it, that’s why he wrote so passionately for you.”

I sat there,
full
and sad at the same time.

“He’d come home from work and say, ‘Calysta did it again. She took my words and breathed life into them.’ He was so tickled with your enthusiasm, you really honored my father doing that.”