We're So Famous (11 page)

The air conditioner blasts throughout the house and I stand in the modern kitchen and hug myself. The phone rings, startling me, and I hear Sean's voice on the answering machine. His mother leaves a worried message and when he hangs up the phone rings again and it's Sean's publicist, wanting to know where he is. She leaves three or four numbers where she can be reached and I scribble them down in case Sean wants to call her back before he leaves.

Found it, Craig says. He's got Heidi's purse slung around his shoulder.

Is everything in there, I ask.

Craig opens the purse. Yep, driver's license, credit cards, and passport.

The phone rings again. This time it's Sean's sister calling from Phoenix. Craig tries to pick it up but she hangs up before he can get to the phone.

I go to the refrigerator and swing open the double doors. The bright light hurts my eyes and I squint at a pitcher of orange juice that has an island of mold floating along the top.

They eat out a lot, Craig says when I point it out to him. He switches on the small TV in the kitchen and scans the channels. I'll bet it's on CNN, he says. Let's wait for the entertainment news and see.

We sit at the kitchen table and listen to the drone of the newscast. It's ten after the hour, which means we only have to wait ten minutes for the entertainment news but Craig seems to be concentrating on the little screen with the same intensity he uses to memorize lines. A memory I've been fighting back since I saw the paper this morning surfaces, the time Craig told me about how he felt jealous of Sean's success. It was the first time in our relationship where he was vulnerable to me and he very honestly described his bitterness at having to do dinner theater at the Starion while Sean got roles in bigger and bigger films. Craig was confused as to why it wasn't happening for him too, especially since they'd started out together. What makes one person go way up and not the other one, he asked me. I remember telling him I thought a great deal of it was luck. I haven't even been in movies like
Nimble
, so I should be feeling the same sort of
frustration, but then again there's something hopeful about not yet having to play a down-and-out thief in a movie that wasn't released in theaters but went straight to video.

So when I come back from turning down the air conditioning I'm not entirely surprised to overhear Craig picking up the latest call in the kitchen.

He's staying at the Chateau Marmont, Craig says into the receiver. But he's leaving tonight for Greece. Yeah, you're welcome.

I pause in the hall and when I walk back into the kitchen Craig is watching the TV again. Is it on yet, I ask.

It's coming up, he says expectantly.

In Hollywood movies take forever to make but a good rumor can circulate as fast as it's told so the scene back at the Chateau was, in some respects, predictable. By the time we got there, the police had been called to hold off the reporters who had been ferried by the vans lined up outside the hotel, their satellites aimed at the sky, ready to beam the first salacious tidbit anyone could dig up into homes all around the world.

Craig and I scale along the outside of the mob—men in suits so early in the morning and on a Saturday was a curious sight—and find the back gate. The cop posted there is telling a reporter to get lost, that he is trespassing, and is about to tell the same thing to us when Craig says, We're guests of the hotel.

So am I, the reporter says.

Get lost, the cop yells and the reporter backs off. He turns to us and says, I'm not in the mood for tricks, so you better be who you say you are.

We were here earlier, Craig says. We just ran an errand and now we need to get back in.

The cop calls out to another cop, who appears from inside the grounds and Craig and I are escorted to the front desk. We tell the woman at the desk who we are and she says, I'm sorry, but they've left the hotel.

We're really his friends, Craig says. He looks out the windows at the cops yelling at the reporters and an amused smile comes across his face. It's okay, he tells the woman, we're his friends.

I'm sorry, she repeats, but they left about a half an hour before all this started.

Did they say where they were going, I ask.

The woman shrugs.

Maybe they left us a note in the room, Craig suggests.

I can't let you in their room, the woman says as if we ought to know better.

But we have their car, Craig says. I can't believe they'd leave.

The elevator opens and I'm thinking, Maybe the key to their room is on Heidi's key ring and I'm about to pull Craig away from the desk to ask him, when I glance up at the curious figure peering out the window at the cops and crowd, a figure that seems instantly recognizable from the countless photos I've stared at over and over. Bryan Metro stalks over to the front desk, his hair slicked back and held in place by a pair of Ray • Bans, and asks the woman, What's going on out there?

EXT. HIGHLAND GARDENS. NIGHT.
We See
STELLA
quietly get out of bed, already fully dressed. She slips out of the house without waking
CRAIG.

EXT. HIGHLAND GARDENS PARKING LOT. NIGHT. STELLA
pulls out into the night traffic
.

EXT. CHATEAU MARMONT. NIGHT. STELLA
parks along a side street
.

EXT. CHATEAU MARMONT POOL. NIGHT.
We see
STELLA
spying around a corner on
BRYAN METRO,
who is laid out on a chaise lounge, the pure white light coming from the pool reflected in his mirrored sunglasses
, BRYAN METRO
is in jeans and a T-shirt and appears to be sleeping. There is no one else around. The traffic on Sunset Boulevard can be heard
, STELLA
walks stealthily towards
BRYAN METRO,
stopping in front of his chair
.

BRYAN METRO
(
without taking off his sunglasses
)
What's up, man? I don't need anything.

STELLA
(
in awe, almost whispering
)
I thought you were dead.

BRYAN METRO
(
mildly alarmed, raises his sunglasses but then sees he's in no danger
)
It's L.A., man. Everyone here is dead.

STELLA
Are you hiding out from someone?

BRYAN METRO
You got a lot of questions for a cabana boy—, er, girl.

STELLA
I don't work here.

BRYAN METRO
(
pauses
)
Are you a reporter?

STELLA
sits down tentatively in the chair next to
BRYAN METRO'S,
as if he's a mirage that may disappear
.

STELLA
No.

BRYAN METRO
Cool, man.

STELLA
Why did you cancel those shows in Japan?

BRYAN METRO
Why do you want to know?

STELLA
(
thinks
)
I guess it doesn't matter now.

BRYAN METRO
(
not really hearing her
)
Fuckin' Chinks.

STELLA
I don't think Japanese people are called Chinks. Those are the Chinese.

BRYAN METRO
Whatever, man. Fuckin' Japs, then. Okay?

STELLA
Why did you say you would play shows in Japan if you hate the Japanese?

BRYAN METRO
I don't hate them, man. They hate
me
.

STELLA
Is this about the maid at the Hilton claiming that you raped her?

BRYAN METRO
(
sits up, shocked
)
Who told you that? That fuckin' Roger, I told him to keep his mouth—

STELLA
(
cutting him off, laughing
)
I heard it on the Internet.

BRYAN METRO
Yeah, well.

STELLA
Is it true?

BRYAN METRO
(
automatically
)
Next question.

STELLA
goes to the edge of the pool and kicks off her sandals, touching her toes to the water. She is still somewhat fascinated by
BRYAN METRO,
having spent so much time thinking about him. She can't believe she's talking to him and is trying to remain calm
.

BRYAN METRO
Wanna go to a party?

INT. PRIVATE PARTY AT NAMELESS CLUB. NIGHT. BRYAN METRO AND STELLA
are stuffed in a booth with
FAMOUS
ACTORS AND ACTRESSES
from popular film and television. Candlelight is the only light and everyone is chain smoking, talking rapidly. The music, the newest song from the hottest band, is playing too loud and people have to scream to be heard
, BRYAN METRO
offers
STELLA
a cigarette and even though she doesn't smoke, she takes one. The
FAMOUS ACTOR
sitting across from her lights it and
STELLA BLOWS SMOKE ACROSS THE TABLE.

BRYAN METRO
(
yelling
)
… so I told them to fuck off. Right, man?

FAMOUS FILM ACTOR #1
(
yelling
)
That's fuckin' right, Bryan. Scumbags.

FAMOUS TELEVISION ACTRESS #1
(
yelling
)
Bryan, where've you been? We haven't seen you in forever.

BRYAN METRO
(
yelling
)
Camped out. Stella here got me out.

STELLA
waves and smiles awkwardly
.

FAMOUS FILM ACTRESS #2
(
yelling, to Stella
)
Are you in the business?

STELLA
(
yelling
)
Yeah, sort of. Trying to be. (
She nods her head rapidly
.)

Someone has complained that the music is too loud and it notches down to a decent level
.

FAMOUS FILM ACTRESS #2
(
to Stella
)
What have you done?

STELLA
Mostly I do theater. At the Starion. (
No one says anything
.) With Craig Copeland.

FAMOUS TELEVISION ACTOR #2
(
laughing
)
I worked with that dude on
La Brea
. What a no-talent fuck.

Everyone at the table laughs, STELLA laughs too
.

FAMOUS FILM ACTRESS WHO STOPS BY THE TABLE: Bryyyyyyyyyannnnnnnn! (
squeals
) Where have you been rascal? I've been soooooooooo worried about you.

BRYAN METRO
(
nonchalantly
)
Hey, baby. I've been around.

FAMOUS FILM ACTRESS WHO STOPS BY TABLE
(
shamelessly showboating
)
Why don't you come around to the Four Seasons? I'm there for a week.

BRYAN METRO
(
salutes her with two fingers
)
Roger, dodger.

The FAMOUS FILM
ACTRESS WHO STOPPED BY TABLE
saunters off. The others at the table make scandalous comments about her
. BRYAN METRO
reaches under the table and puts his hand on STELLA'S inner thigh, which startles her but she lets him as she's been drinking and is comfortably relaxed in the booth
.

EXT. PACIFIC COAST HIGHWAY. NIGHT. STELLA
is sticking her head out the window of a black limousine, puking
, BRYAN METRO
is alternately laughing and trying to remember the words to ‘Billie Jean' by Michael Jackson
.

BRYAN METRO
(
drunkenly singing
)
She was more like a beauty queen… than popped-cherry ice cream—

STELLA
(
pulls her head inside the car
)
Maybe the driver should pull over. There's puke all down the side of the car.

BRYAN METRO
(
continues to sing
)
I told her my name was Super Queen … and she said …

STELLA
(
her head down, eyes closed
)
Bryan.

BRYAN METRO
(
singing loudly
)
I said I am the one, but the kid has got a gun …

STELLA
(
yells
)
Bryan!

BRYAN METRO
What, baby?

STELLA
Tell the driver to pull the car over.

The driver pulls over and
STELLA
stumbles out of the limo
. BRYAN METRO
follows
.

BRYAN METRO
(
singing in a high-pitched voice, trying to imitate Michael Jackson
)
Hee, hee, hee—

STELLA
leans on the trunk and vomits
, BRYAN METRO
comes up behind her and slips his fingers under her skirt
, STELLA
passes out
.

INT. BRYAN METRO'S SUITE AT THE CHATEAU MARMONT. EARLY MORNING
.
The floor is littered with pornographic magazines
. Hustler, Playboy, Oui, Penthouse, Barely Legal,
etc. The night table is heaped high with bloody tissues. The phone is off the hook
, STELLA
is in bed, asleep. Her eye is swollen, she has bite marks on her cheek, and her lip is split. Next to an unopened bottle of champagne are needles, a rubber hose, and a small balloon of heroin. Through the bathroom door we see
BRYAN METRO
curled up on the floor, next to the toilet
. STELLA'S
eyes open and she stares for a long time without blinking, then closes her eyes again
.

INT. BRYAN METRO'S SUITE AT
THE
CHATEAU MARMONT. EARLY MORNING.
There's a knock at the door. The knocking continues and neither
STELLA
nor
BRYAN METRO
gets up from the bed
. CHAZ, BRYAN METRO'S
dealer, opens the door
.

CHAZ
(
holding his nose
)
Jesus.

CHAZ
hears a noise in the hall and checks it out, paranoid
. ROGER, BRYAN METRO'S
manager, walks in
. ROGER is
wearing an expensive Italian suit and we get the impression that he expects
BRYAN METRO
to be ready to make an appointment
.—

ROGER
Hey, Chaz. What's our Boy Wonder up to now?

CHAZ
(
pointing at the bed
)
Not a lot, apparently.