Country checked his watch.
“Where is that girl?”
He let out an angry grunt.
“She can be so petty sometimes.”
The sleeves of the rented jacket slipped past the end of his wrists. He pushed them back and listened to the constant chatter which had melded into one long buzz.
Here, he stood in the midst of Hollywood’s power players: A-list actors, producers, studio executives, politicians, wealthy people who used their riches to pretend they were celebrities for an evening. A guest list which also included the starstruck and star wannabes chosen for their unique combination of youth, beauty, and inhibition. And him, a country boy at heart, more comfortable communing with the creatures of the forest than mingling with the famous.
He checked his watch again. Ten-thirty. Country had hoped he would have already shown up so they could talk before Genny arrived. Now, it seemed like neither would come. He couldn’t be sure, of course. Perhaps, he had been there for a while, observing Country from a distance. He took one more look around the plaza to see if he could spot him.
“I’m here,” he told himself. “Might as well make the best of it.”
Waving off an offer from a waiter carrying a tray of champagne in fluted glasses, he made his way to the buffet tables. Plates designed to carry no more than a few small hors d’oeuvres waited at one end. Rows of tiny sandwiches without the crust, imported cheeses, meatballs on toothpicks, fresh fruit, and a colorful vegetable display offered themselves as sacrifices to his hunger. Choosing three of the tiniest meatballs he had ever seen, he shoved them into his mouth all at once and, with no trash cans in sight, spent the next five minutes trying to decide what to do with the toothpicks. In the end, he put them in his pocket, just in case an opportunity presented itself.
Meaty fingers slapped him on the shoulder. Country turned to see a portly man with the smirk of a person used to getting his own way finishing off the creamy remains of a camembert on mini toast. The liquor on his breath came off in nauseating waves. Country took a step back and timed his breathing so the two would exhale and inhale at the same time.
“Nice night for a fundraiser. I haven’t seen you around before,” he said, neither introducing himself nor intending to do so.
Country understood the play. The Hollywood elites’ way of saying, ‘You should know who I am without me telling you.’ A game of passive-aggressive dominance. The last vestiges of a pampered man’s inner masculinity. Country dubbed him Porky, mainly because his jowls reminded Country of porkchops.
“I don’t make it a habit of attending these affairs,” Country said.
The response took the man off guard. He stood back and cocked his head to look at Country. “Aren’t you the Affirmative Action hire at Universal?”
Country couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol or the man’s insufferable ignorance which asked the question. “I’m with Harbinger,” Country answered, “and I don’t do Affirmative Action.”
“Ahh, Harbinger. Roger Ivel. That explains it. He does like his boys, shall we say, on the darker side. I assume you’re an actor, one he recently ‘discovered.’ Figure he’s giving you a leg up, so to speak.” Porky chuckled to himself. “He always had a soft spot for colored people. It’s so difficult for your type to make it out here.”
Country stared at the man. Hard. For a long time. Finally, he spoke up. “I’d say it was a pleasure to meet you, but I have a thing against lying. And talking with bigots. If you’ll excuse me.”
“My apologies if I did something to offend you,” Porky said, clearly taken aback by Country’s rebuke. “I can assure you I’m no bigot. If you knew me, you’d know I’ve hired many colored boys to come ‘work for me’ at my estate in the Hills. I always make sure to tip them well.”
“Apology accepted.” Country made sure to put his words in air quotes as well.
“Great! So, you’ll come sleep with me.”
The first of the three toothpicks found a new home in Porky’s left nostril.
“Good thing I kept them,” Country said to himself.
He felt a pair of hands wrap around his head and cover his eyes. The aroma of lilac floated in the air.
“Guess who,” the voice said.
“You made it,” he said. “Glad you did. What took you so long?”
Genny released her hands so Country could turn around. “I would’ve been here an hour ago, but I got stuck on the 405. Traffic accident by LAX.”
“You should’ve taken the 110.”
“I know that now,” Genny said.
Country paused and took a good look at her. Red dress. Long, beautiful curls. Makeup. He took a closer look.
“You wearing makeup?” he asked.
“Just a little.”
“You never do.”
Genny grinned. “Quince did it for me. Do you like it?”
Country scrunched his lips and hesitated, then, started and stopped, paused, and started again. “I … I didn’t think you could be more beautiful. I was wrong.”
He almost wished Genny had heard it.
“Is that … is that Johnny Depp?” Genny gasped, distracted by her favorite scissor-handed actor. She wrapped her arms around his left elbow. “Take me over and introduce me.”
“I don’t know him,” Country said. His heart still had a little extra pound to it.
“Pretend you do,” Genny countered. “I’ve always wanted to ruffle that luscious mop of hair.” Her fingers made weird movements like she was playing an air piano very poorly.
“I doubt he’d appreciate it.”
Genny gave him a look of feigned disgust. “I’m sure girls do it all the time.”
“Even if that were true, it doesn’t mean he’d like it.”
“Of course, it does,” Genny said.
“Really? Would you like it if Mr. Depp came over and ruffled your hair?”
Genny’s eyes grew wide. “You think he would?”
Country started to shake his head but didn’t follow through. “Probably. I’ll ask him next time, though.”
“Alright.”
Genny’s hands re-wrapped themselves around Country’s sturdy elbow as they walked past groups of people, each cluster more famous than the one before it. When she came to one near the champagne fountain, her hands started to flap like a Tuscan in an argument with his neighbor over whose wife made the best frijoles.
“Cher?” she blurted out, unable to contain her emotions any longer. “Alyssa Milano! Tom Hanks!! Denzel!!!!!”
“That’s me in a mirror,” Country said. His lips lent an annoyed quality to his face.
Genny squinted. “I … I guess it is. That’s strange.” She peered more closely into the mirror. “I never noticed how much you looked like Tom Hanks. Especially his early films. Glory. Mo’ Better Blues. Malcolm X.”
Country rubbed his temples.
“You getting one of those headaches again?” Genny asked.
He nodded.
“You should drink a super cold slushie really quickly. That always helps my headaches go away.”
“No. No, it doesn’t,” Country said, but Genny was already ogling the next celebrity.
A deep, dry cough, growing steadily louder, alerted Country that Roger Ivel was headed that way. Before Genny could say, ‘Mr. Pacino, you were wonderful in Forrest Gump,’ the head of Harbinger Studios stood next to Country.
“Good to see you, my boy,” Roger said.
He coughed twice, then, sneezed into his meaty palm. Country looked at the outstretched hand and politely declined.
“I’ve got a few people I’d like you to meet,” he said and turned to Genny. “Mind if I borrow him for a minute?”
Genny shook her head. “Not at all.”
“Great,” Roger said. “I’ll bring him back before you know it.”
Roger walked him over to the stage. Three men in button-down shirts with no ties and one woman in a slimming, black dress, which sort of covered the legal essentials, chatted amicably. The woman held an unlit cigarette in one hand. In the other, a fluted glass brought sips of champagne to her full, scarlet lips.
“Gentlemen,” Roger said. “And lady.” The woman dipped her chin. “I want you to meet Marvin. Marvin, this is Benny Carnberg, Karl Lukin, and Horace Harbinger. You know this lady, I’m sure.”
The actress in the black dress held out her hand in the fashion of movie stars and other people of noble origin, who are, apparently, genetically predisposed to limp wrists.
Country took hold of the end of her fingers and nodded. “I do.” He moved the back of her hand to his lips. She let out the faintest hint of a seductive smile.
“These are three of our most important producers,” Roger said to Country.
“Good to make your acquaintance,” Country said.
“What’d I tell you,” Roger said to the producers. “Eloquent, attractive, young, and fresh.”
The three producers nodded in agreement. Benny let out the faintest hint of a seductive smile. Country double-checked to be sure.
“No, thanks,” his mind and lips said simultaneously.
Roger pulled the three aside. “Give us a moment,” he said.
The actress held out her cigarette. “Got a light?” she asked.
“Uh, no,” Country said. “I don’t smoke.”
“That’s OK,” she said and reached into Karl’s pocket. A few seconds later, a warm, orange glow ringed the tip of the cigarette. She took a puff and let a stream of well-placed smoke blow past Country’s ear. The lighter found a new home in her bosom.
“I wonder if I could do that with my toothpicks,” Country thought. He stared at his own bosom and decided against it.
“You a producer?” she asked without waiting for an answer. “Roger, here, got me my start in show business. Bet you didn’t know that.” The champagne glass rose to her scarlet lips. A red imprint stained the rim. “I’ve been with Karl and Horace too. Benny once, but he tends to float against the current, if you know what I mean.”
Country did and abruptly changed the subject. “I loved you in The Bridge on the River Kwai IV, the Toll Collector.”
She exhaled another puff of smoke. Nicotine and disgust darkened her voice. “Yeah.” She took another drag and held it in. This time, the puff of smoke appeared from the back of her dress. Country was both repulsed and impressed at the same time.
Her arms crossed as though in impotent defiance. “That was the last film I did for a major studio. Getting a little long in the tooth, you know. When things start to sag, the boys start to look for something new.” She adjusted her bosom.
“They look fine to me,” Country said.
“Tape.”
“Ah.”
“Say,” she said, the sultry expression matching the evening air. “You got a project that needs a leading lady? I still got my chops. In bed, I mean.” She slid up to Country and rubbed his thigh. “I bet you could show me a thing or two.”
“No, thanks,” Country said. “I’m allergic to penicillin.” He took a step backwards.
“If you ever change your mind.” One last cloud of vapor escaped her lungs.
Roger took Country by the arm and walked him back towards Genny. “Figured you’d like to meet those producers. They can do wonders for your career. Especially Benny. By the way, I put in a good word for you while you were talking with … oh, hey! Mr. Spielberg. You’re leaving now? Before the speeches? Of course. Give me a second.” He turned to Country. “Sorry, Marvin. I’ll try to find you a little later. Business first, you know.”
Country headed back to the same place he left Genny. Her look of awe had changed to one of annoyance.
“That took a while,” she said.
“Sorry,” Country said.
“I saw you talking with some woman. Who was it?”
Country thought he detected a hint of jealousy. “That was ….”
“Oh, never mind,” Genny said. “I recognize her now. Anyway. Don’t leave me alone again, OK? You know how uncomfortable I feel in a crowd of strangers. I did get a bunch of requests to audition, though.” She held out six business cards. “See? Top producers too.”
“I’ll hold onto those,” Country said.
Ripping noises followed by tiny shreds of confetti floating on the breeze. Genny didn’t notice.
“What’d you and your new girlfriend talk about?” she asked.
“Medications,” he answered.
“Is she sick?”
“You could say that.”
The unmistakable sound of tapping on a microphone along with a high-pitched squeal called the gathering to attention.
“They’re starting the speeches,” Country said.
“What speeches?” Genny asked.
“This is some sort of fundraiser. Not exactly sure what for.”
They both watched Country’s ‘girlfriend’ and star of Bridge IV step to the podium.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said. “Thank you for being here tonight. You know our cause is an important one. One that is constantly being swept under the rug or into the dustpan of secrecy. But tonight … tonight, we’re going to shine a light on an issue that has brought shame to our land. An issue that we have the power – dare I say, the obligation – as women and modern men to address.”
The crowd applauded with gusto. Even Genny, who had no idea why.
“It is time to throw off the shackles of injustice …,”
Genny cheered.
“… to reclaim our rights as people …,”
“You go, girl!” Genny yelled.
“… to put aside the notion that a woman is nothing more than a pretty face in the good ol’ boys club known as the U. S. A.”
Whistles and hoots from everybody. “Yeeeessssss!!” from Genny.
“We are people!”
“Yes, we are.”
“With rights and the freedom to choose who we want to be without men telling us who we should be. Where harassment is not tolerated from anyone, not even from the highest offices of the land. You don’t see President Clinton doing it. You’ve never heard of Senator Biden accosting a woman. What makes you think anyone else should get a pass?”
“That’s right. You tell ‘em ….” Genny stopped and looked at Country. “Why aren’t you cheering?”
“I have a stomachache,” he said. “Must be from the cheese. Do you mind? I’m going to step to the restroom. Wait for me, will ya’?”
His pitstop took a minute, which is a Texas way of saying he could’ve written a thesis paper while he was in there. A few songs from La Traviata later and Country made his way back outside. The actress was still bloviating. Genny waited with folded arms and a tapping foot. Even from a distance, Country saw her displeasure. Their eyes crossed and Genny mouthed a, “Let’s go.” Country mouthed a, “I’m coming.”
“There you are, Marvin.” A meaty palm slapped him on the shoulder. “I’ve got another person I’d like you to meet.”
Country looked at Roger and then back at Genny. “Sorry, sir, but I’ve got to get back to my friend.”
“This won’t be more than a moment. Come on. You’ll be glad you did.”
“Really, sir. Any other time, but ….”
“I insist,” Roger said.
“And I must insist more,” Country replied.
Roger put both hands on Country’s shoulders. “Son. You’re not going to make it in this business with an attitude like that. When a studio executive asks you to do something, the answer is always yes.”
“Seems like you haven’t been paying attention to the speeches.”
Roger shrugged. “Of course not. Now, are you coming with me or not?”
Country looked towards Genny again. Roger followed his gaze. Both of them saw the blonde curls swishing as they moved rapidly away from them.
“Looks like your friend is leaving.”
Country brushed Roger’s hands off and ran after Genny. As if on cue, the crowd crammed together, forming an impenetrable mass. Country fought his way through, pushing, bumping, picking up and moving a few people, but by the time he broke through, Genny was long gone. The only sign she had been there, the faint scent of lilac and makeup.