Authors: Mary Jane Clark
The Look of Love (13 page)
W
hen she got to her room, Piper sat on the bed, took a deep breath, and called Anastasia.
“All right,” she told the reporter. “I’m in.”
“Really? That’s fantastic, Piper. Thank you,” said Anastasia. “Maybe we should get together, talk over the details, and come up with a more precise plan. Want to meet at the pool?”
“I was just down there,” said Piper. “And guess who I saw?”
Anastasia chuckled. “Let me think. Was it a blond actress who hasn’t done anything in a long time?”
“How’d you know?”
“Because I was excited the first time I spotted her, too. Plus, I saw her this morning with her beach bag and caftan. I knew where she was headed.”
A
s George watched his daughter, he was deeply relieved. She had finally fallen asleep. Wendy had cried for so long—deep, racking sobs that tore at him. As much as he tried, George couldn’t console her. Gradually, though, the tears subsided and Wendy just stared straight ahead for what felt like forever, saying nothing. Finally she got up from the sofa, went to her bed, and lay down.
She closed her eyes and murmured, “I don’t want to live anymore.”
“Oh, angel, it seems like that now,” George said softly as he sat on the edge of the mattress. “But you’ll see. It will work out.”
Wendy opened her eyes above the mask. “No it won’t,” she said. “But I love you, Dad.”
“I love you, too, sweetheart.”
He listened for her breathing to become deeper and more even. Once he was satisfied that Wendy was truly asleep, he returned to the living room. Exhausted by physical and mental fatigue, he kicked off his shoes, put his feet up on the sofa, and lay back.
The phone rang. George grabbed the receiver before it could ring a second time, lifting it and hanging it up again. Then he set it to not ring.
Deep as his anger was, he was too tired to scream or yell or lash out in despair. What good would that do anyway? There was no point in holding his fist up to God and chastising him for the tragedy that had caused, and would continue to cause, Wendy the most dreadful anguish. God wasn’t to blame.
Vernon Abernathy was.
T
he blond actress was just getting up from her chaise when Piper and Anastasia arrived at the pool area. Piper nudged her companion and led the way to chairs just past where the actress had been lounging.
“Hello again,” said Piper as they walked by.
The actress smiled sweetly. “Back so soon?”
“I wanted to keep my friend company,” said Piper.
The actress stretched. “Well, I’m going to head upstairs and take a nap. I don’t know why I’m so tired. I had the most wonderful sleep treatment yesterday. You’d think I’d be totally rested.”
Piper and Anastasia looked at each other.
“Oh, really?” asked Anastasia. “What’s that like?”
“They have a wonderful paramedical aesthetician here,” said the actress as she stuffed a magazine into her bag. “His name is Kyle. I went for a facial, and he suggested this new treatment he’s developed. He said they’re doing it in Europe but not in the United States yet, except for him.”
“I haven’t seen any sleep treatment on the spa menu,” said Piper.
“That’s why,” said the actress. “It needs FDA approval or something. I guess because he gives you an injection.”
“Of what?” asked Anastasia.
“I don’t really know,” said the actress. “I saw the bottle, and it looked very official, but I didn’t really notice the name of the stuff. Besides, I wouldn’t worry. A place like Elysium wouldn’t do anything that wasn’t safe.”
Slipping on her sandals, the actress started to pull her caftan over her head. Piper elbowed Anastasia and nodded in the direction of the actress’s long, slender legs. Anastasia looked in time to see the giant bruise on the right thigh.
“Whatever Kyle did, I’m going back for more,” said the actress, gathering up the rest of her things. “My face hasn’t looked or felt this good in ages.”
W
ell, thank you for lunch, Irene,” said Hudson as he rose from his chair. “That was the best chicken salad.”
“I wish I could take credit for it,” said Irene, smiling and touching her expertly tinted hair. “But I had them bring it over from the Elysium kitchen. Just think: You’ll be having that food again all the time.”
“I’ll be looking forward to that,” said Hudson. He glanced at his watch. “I can’t believe how late it is. I’ve been here for almost three hours.”
“Time well spent,” said Vernon as he patted Hudson on the shoulder. “I’m so glad we’re both willing to let bygones be bygones. It will be good to have you with us again, Hudson. I know that Jillian feels the same way. She’s well aware that she needs help. And after the wedding I want her to take some time off, even after she and Ben come home from their honeymoon. So I’m glad you can start right away.”
“Yes,” said Irene, slipping her arm through her husband’s and snuggling against him. “Vernon has been so worried about Jillian. All of us will rest easier having you as Elysium’s assistant director.”
Hudson’s jaw tensed. He managed to smile, shake hands with Vernon, and kiss Irene on the cheek. As he walked out to his car, Irene’s words irked him. Assistant director wasn’t good enough.
T
he cloistered sisters at the Monastery of the Angels looked forward to the second Sunday of every month, a day of fewer chores and a more relaxed, retreatlike schedule. Today the bells rang at two forty-five so that the sisters would be gathered in the chapel by three o’clock for the special speaker.
Mother never revealed who the visitor would be, so it was a surprise to watch a Passionist monk leave his pew and walk toward a wooden lectern set up in front of the altar. The light that illuminated the golden tabernacle also took in the lectern. The tall, handsome, black-haired priest stepped into the glow.
Sister Mary Noelle took the measure of the man. Crisp black cassock, with a heart-shaped emblem sewn over his chest. His left hand was wrapped around a foot-high wooden crucifix stuffed into the wide black leather belt around his waist. He was the spitting image of Gregory Peck—as if he had just stepped off the set of
To Kill a Mockingbird
. She thought,
This is going to be good
.
“My dear sisters,” he began, “God wants one thing, and one thing only, from each and every one of you.” He shifted the crucifix from its jaunty position over his left hip to a spot perpendicular to his ribs, his fingers enclosing the shoulders and chest of the dead Christ. “He wants something beautiful.”
He looked out at the nuns, most of whom were middle-aged and elderly. He paused before continuing to speak.
“Many of us in this chapel can remember, over forty years ago, the documentary on Mother Teresa called
Something Beautiful for God
. The journalist in the documentary believed that a miracle had taken place during the filming. Technicians had predicted that there wasn’t enough light to shoot the scenes in the Home for the Dying. But when they viewed the processed film, those scenes were bathed in a beautiful, soft light.
“It may shock some of you to hear me tell a rather brutal truth: Mother Teresa was not a pretty woman, by earthly standards. In fact, the week she died, one of the most beautiful women in the world had also died. Princess Diana’s funeral shifted the attention of the world to her and left television commentators with the unenviable task of trying to make comparisons.”
The priest moved away from the podium, walked down the center aisle, and stood in the midst of the sisters. Every eye was on him—and the nuns sitting in the front pews had to turn around in order to see him.
“Both women, they said, had devoted their lives to charitable causes. Both women had experienced sadness and had overcome obstacles. And both women, they said, were known throughout the whole world. But the one comparison they could not make—dared not make—was that they were both beautiful. Simply because one of them was the most photographed woman in the world, one who set off a new fashion trend whenever she left her palace. And the other? She was a gnarled, wrinkled, hunched-over gnome of a creature who set fashion back a hundred years every time she stooped to pick up a dying man from the gutters of India.
“No one can deny that Princess Diana captured the world’s attention with her daring work for land-mine victims and the compassion that moved her to hold children dying of AIDS in her arms. In fact, it was not only her royalty but also her God-given and astonishing beauty that made her charitable work possible.
“However, I ask you, sisters: Was Blessed Teresa of Calcutta any less beautiful?” The preacher gripped the crucifix one last time and raised his voice. “The answer to that question is what convinces me that I know what the Lord desires. He wants each of you—no matter how the outside world judges such things—he wants each of you to be ‘something beautiful for God.’
“Don’t disappoint him.”
All the sisters remained in the chapel long after the preacher left, considering his words.
Sister Mary Noelle knelt in prayer. She certainly did not want to disappoint God. As she buried her face in her hands, she prayed,
Lord, will nothing convince my sister Jillian to stop wasting her life on wrinkle creams and tummy tucks—and, like Princess Diana, start using her beauty for good?
MONDAY, JANUARY 10 . . . FIVE DAYS UNTIL THE WEDDING
T
he distance from Elysium to where Piper’s audition would take place was only eleven miles, but it took her almost an hour to get there. Cars and vans inched along Santa Monica Boulevard. From the rear seat of the car, Piper noted that virtually none of the other vehicles carried more than one passenger.
Piper had heard about the misery of Los Angeles traffic. After living in and commuting to Manhattan, she’d always dismissed the stories as West Coast whining. It had never occurred to her that anything was worse than the FDR at rush hour. Now she felt as if she should draft a letter of apology to all the residents of Los Angeles County. It truly was different here. Like the sunshine, traffic was a given.
While it was worse during rush hours, it rarely seemed to relent. Piper had taken her newfound understanding into account when she’d booked her driver. The thought of being late for an audition made her heart race. She was well aware that being stressed rarely led to a booking.
She wanted this one. Big-time. A national dog-food commercial had the potential of providing residuals checks for months and months to come. Piper still got an occasional check from the shampoo commercial she’d done a couple of years ago. At this point she would welcome any income.
More than the money, though, she just needed to book something. Except for the episodes of the soap
A Little Rain Must Fall
that she’d done in December, Piper had not worked in months. She knew that Gabe had faith in her, but some days it felt like she’d lost faith in herself. Gabe always tried to reassure her. “Doll, one day it’ll start to rain, and then it will pour,” he’d tell her. Piper laughed to herself at the irony of looking for career precipitation in arid Los Angeles.
“This shouldn’t take too long,” she said to the driver as she got out of the car. She walked up the path and entered the building, which had been converted from a house to a place of business, then signed in at the desk in the front hall.
She picked up a storyboard sheet as she took a seat in the waiting room. The sheet was divided into four squares. The first showed a man and a nervous woman standing at the front door of a house; the second showed the door being opened by an older man and woman; and the third showed the younger, nervous woman now smiling as she leaned over to pet a dog. In the final square, all four people and the dog seemed thrilled to be together.
Piper glanced around the waiting room. Two good-looking guys stood chatting just inside the door. Three other girls had gotten there before her. Just like Piper, all three were blondes. A few moments later, a brunette with a clipboard came into the room.
“Piper? Tom?” She didn’t even look up as she called their names. Piper and the taller of the two guys walked into the audition room. The girl with the clipboard settled behind a camera that had been set up on a tripod. Next to the camera was a foldout table with a man sitting on the other side of it. He looked to be about forty and had a deep tan that complemented his short, sandy blond hair. A phone book rested on a folding chair in front of the table.
“Piper, Tom, welcome,” said the casting director. “So here’s what we’ve got: An engaged couple goes to see the guy’s parents. The girl is nervous to be meeting her soon-to-be in-laws for the first time. The parents and their dog answer the door. The girl makes friends with the dog, causing the parents to like her immediately. Everyone’s happy. So what I’ll have you do is slate your name and height, and then we can go into a little improvisation of the scenario. You can use me as the parents, and, Piper, you use the phone book on the chair as the dog. Okay? Great.”
Piper looked at Tom, her new boyfriend. He smiled and wordlessly gestured,
Ladies first
. Piper looked into the camera lens and said, “Hi, I’m Piper Donovan, and I’m five-eight.”
Tom immediately followed with “And I’m Tom Glass, five-eleven.”
Piper turned to Tom and started to say something about how nervous she was to meet his parents when Tom grabbed her shoulders and started screaming in her face, “You can do this! They’re just my parents. Don’t let them break you!”
Piper instantly went with it. “I won’t! I won’t!” she cried as her face broke into the beginning of a sob. In unison, Piper and Tom whipped around to face the casting director.
“Mom! Dad!” Tom extended his arms for a big hug.
“Hi . . . uh, Mom? Dad?” Piper whimpered. Then she directed her attention to the phone book, and her eyes lit up. She breathed in and clapped her hands together as a smile spread across her face. “Oh, look, how cute you are! Hello there, little doggy. Why are you so cute?”
Piper picked up the phone book and cradled it in her arms. She brought the book with her as she made her way back to stand next to a now-grinning Tom. He wrapped his arm around her and beamed at the casting director. Piper matched his glow and with total confidence repeated the words of her initial greeting: “Hi, Mom. Dad.” She nuzzled the phone book as she heard the casting director burst out laughing.
“Wow, guys. That was really fun,” he said, still laughing.
Piper looked over at the girl behind the camera, and even she was giggling.
The casting director continued, “Okay, thank you so much for coming in, great meeting you guys, and we’ll be in touch.”
Piper and Tom thanked him for his time and walked from the room, through the waiting area, and out the door. As they were about to turn in separate directions, Tom extended his hand. Piper smiled as she took it.
“Well, I’ll see you at the callback, Piper Donovan,” he said.
“Hope so, Tom.”
As she turned toward her car, Piper hadn’t felt so good about an audition in at least a year. It was as if all the acting anxiety she’d had in New York had been melted by the California sunshine.