Beneath a Starlet Sky Page 10

  “Mom, everything looks beautiful,” I say, trying to ignore the cameras pointed in my face. Millions of clear balloons float on the ceiling, and the pearl-filled vases spill over with white roses, hydrangeas, and orchids. There are more flowers in the house than at Huntington Botanical Gardens. “You’ve really outdone yourself! I thought this was just supposed to be a small engagement party.”

  “Premiere engagement party, darling,” she corrects me, which I’m assuming means she wants to keep the option open to be able to throw another party. “And this is nothing compared to what I’m envisioning for the actual wedding,” Mom says, scanning the crowded living room. Is that Amy Adams talking to Emily Blunt? And why is Michael Cera in our living room?

  “Hi Blanca,” Lev says as my mother reaches out her hand to him as though she’s the pope and he’s supposed to kiss the ring, which in Mom’s case is an eighteen-karat borrowed Winston. Instead, Lev wraps her in a hug.

  “Oh Lev, you’re so wonderful,” Mom says in a new over-the-top singsong voice she’s acquired for the cameras that sounds eerily similar to the British accent Madonna started using when she first moved to London. “I always imagined Lola would end up with someone in Hollywood, never a nice Jewish doctor.” My mother lets out a hearty fake laugh in the camera’s direction. “Now come get something to eat. The winner of last season’s Top Chef is one of the caterers and he made the most delicious foie gras. Don’t you just love Escala? And there’s an even more special treat for you two later!”

  “I’m surprised you couldn’t get Heidi and Spencer here,” I joke, thinking, I’m so not a celebrity, get me outta here.

  “Darling, I’m so sorry. They’re fulfilling Heidi’s lifelong dream of bringing plastic surgery to Africa. Otherwise they’d be here,” my mother says, oblivious to my sarcastic tone. “But they said they’d co-officiate your wedding ceremony, so we’ve been looking at dates.”

  “What, Mom, no!” I say between clenched lips. “We don’t want those two marrying us.” And Africa doesn’t need them either, for crying out loud.

  “Well, maybe that sweet Stephen Baldwin, then,” Mom trills. “He’s just so … enthusiastic! I’ll look into it first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “Mom, thanks, but—” My mother is already staring intently behind my shoulder at more arriving guests. “Have fun, darlings, I have to go say hello to Anjelica.” The final emphasis is for Alex’s benefit as he dutifully marshalls his camera crew so they can film the triple air kiss.

  I turn to Lev. “Honey, this is a nightmare! What is she thinking of?”

  Lev rubs my arm. “Okay, sure, this is ridiculous. But just try and breathe. Your mom clearly went to a lot of trouble for us; let’s try and enjoy it.”

  “Not for us, for her show,” I say. “Let’s get some champagne.”

  “Wouldn’t you rather have a Levtini or Lolatini?” asks the bartender, plying his shaker amid a blizzard of Ketel One signage. “And don’t forget your commemorative coaster,” he says, pressing a woolly disk into my hand along with my drink. There are spidery outlines of me and Lev on the front. “Darryl Hannah made them herself from the fleeces of sheep she personally rescued.” A chocolate fountain burbles and splashes beneath a plaque for Teuscher with our names spelled out in giant three-foot chocolate letters. “Did you want a lasagna pinwheel?” asks a waiter, proffering a huge tray emblazoned with a Food Network logo. “Rachael Ray says they’re absolutely yum-o. Or perhaps some of Paula Deen’s Beer in the Rear Chicken?” My face is flush with embarrassment as my mother laughs it up with Goldie and Kurt center stage in the middle of the living room—or should I say—camera right.

  I’m gearing up to buttonhole her when my father pokes his head out from around the corner in the dining room. All I can see is the top of his straw fedora and the tip of a burning cigar, which he removes from his mouth and points at the nearest cameraman.

  “If you even think of pointing that fucking camera in my direction I will ruin you,” he says. “Bing,” he says, jolting the cigar in the cameraman’s direction. “Bang,” this time waving it in small circles at the cameraman’s chest. “Bong,” he says, taking dead aim with the cigar between the cameraman’s eyes. I have a disturbing image of a solitary burn mark between the man’s eyes when a far more disturbing image catches my eye: Coz and Chili are in attendance. And they’re talking to Nic Knight. Coz is wearing the shortest, tightest dress I’ve ever seen smothered in Swarovski crystal and is towering over Nic and Chili in her sky-high suede boots with a stack of silver buckles running up the side. I can hear Chili’s shrieks of “Oh my god, Nic you are so hoot!” and “Isn’t this party strawberries!” and Nic’s fake Colombian accent from all the way over here. Nic’s so Method that he’s now refusing to break character until the movie is out in theaters. Which means he’s in drag now, in a sage green sarong with matching organza sash draped bandolier-style across his chest, with an iPhone6, BlackBerry Torch, N8, Flip, and cigarette lighter winking out of sheer mesh pockets. Chili’s high-tech haute couture strikes again.

  What the hell are they doing here? I have the sudden urge to borrow my father’s cigar. Bing. Bang. Bong. And Coz and Chili could be gone. I’m determined to make it through this party without having to speak to either one of them. As in: fully committed.

  “Okay, that’s it,” I say. “I really need to go speak to my mom.”

  “Of course,” Lev says as Julian comes running up to us in a three-piece herringbone toothpick-thin suit.

  “Oh my god, you look gorgeous,” he says, spinning me around. “But what are Coz and Chili doing here? Look at my chest, those people give me hives,” he says nervously unbuttoning his shirt to show me his splotchy skin. “Wait. Let me take another look at you. Maybe we should make a long version of this for your wedding. Did you get the new JPEGs I sent you? I sketched five new gowns for you last night. You’re going to be the most gorgeous bride in the world. And I’m going to be your maid of honor, right?”

  “Julian, please, slow down! We just got engaged. Please don’t waste your time sketching dresses for me. We don’t even have a date set yet. You need to be focusing on your line.”

  “Are you kidding me, you’re my muse and you’re getting married!” he says. “Hang on, I haven’t gotten a close enough look at this thing,” Julian says, grabbing my left hand and holding up the engagement ring to his inspecting eyeball. “I must say, I’m impressed by the good doctor.” He tosses my hand back at me and winks at Lev. “What is it, like a two-karat princess cut?” he asks. “Honey, after everything you’ve been through, you deserve it.” He gives me a kiss on the forehead. “You really deserve it.”

  And you know what, I think I actually believe him.

  “Thanks, Julian,” I say.

  We’re startled by a loud bray of laughter across the room as Nic minces around, miming putting one caller on hold while texting another. “You’re killing me!” Chili practically screams. “She said that? That’s so strawberries!”

  Julian shudders. “Why would your mother invite Coz and Chili?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m about to find out,” I say, heading toward my mother, who’s laid a soft hand on Larry King’s speckled forearm.

  “How do you do it, Larry?” she purrs. “You’re always so calm and masterful on camera. You’re just such a natural. I practically shake every time Alex starts filming. What’s your secret?”

  “Nonsense, Blanca,” Larry tells her. “The camera’s always loved you. Remember the Studio 54 shoot? You were more dazzling than Jerry!”

  “That was a century ago, Larry,” Mom tells him. “It’s all about the young ones now, with their Cities and their Hills and their god knows what. My first producing credit and I’m so afraid we’re gonna tank. Who’s gonna want to look at me now?”

  “The whole world,” Larry promises her. “We’ll make sure Piers has you on the show so the whole world knows about the most stunning Wristwatch Wife.”

  “Larry, it’s so nice
to see you,” I tell him, slipping my arm through my mother’s. “Do you mind if I borrow Mom for a bit?”

  “Not at all, Lola,” Larry beams. “Congratulations on your mother’s new show! You must be thrilled for her!”

  “Oh, absolutely!” I say, steering Mom down the hallway. I whirl to face her. “Why would you invite Coz and Chili?” I whisper into her ear. “What were you thinking?”

  Mom seems genuinely puzzled by my dismay. “Coz told me that you made friends after you worked with Chili on Four Weddings.” Friends?! The woman stole the Nic Knight design right out from under us! Her sole purpose seems to be to put up every roadblock she can possibly throw our way. Friends we are not. “And aren’t you trying to make nice with her, darling, so Julian can be on her show and we can get his dresses into Vain?” she asks. “You know, she tried to get me to wear a Chili dress tonight, but I absolutely refused.” Oh, what a jerk that woman is trying to get my own mother to wear Chili and not Julian to my engagement party. “Besides, Coz really isn’t that bad, darling. She’s going to do a piece in ‘GAGA’ for Wristwatch Wives. And with all she’s doing with Nic to promote your father’s movie, putting him on the cover in full drag, we had to invite her. Not to mention, she had this wonderful idea to have Chili design the bag that the party favors go in.”

  “Party favors? Don’t tell me you’re giving people swag bags at my engagement party!”

  “Darling, don’t get all frowny; it doesn’t look good on camera,” Mom chides me, looking around quickly to make sure Alex isn’t getting this on film. “Please. Work with me on this. I really need some decent footage. You know how uncooperative Papa’s been. And all the other Wristwatch Wives are total camera hogs. That Francesca is such a bitch. She’s just put her daughter into rehab for anorexia—again. How convenient. The girl’s been doing nothing but Master Cleanse for the last three months and now she notices? And Lucinda’s maid oh-so-conveniently turns out to be an illegal alien, so now she gets a big deportment court scene. It’s not fair.”

  I’m not sure what to be more scared by at this point. That Papa is bearing down on Lev, threatening each cameraman en route with his cigar. Or that my own mother would sell her soul to Coz for a mention of Wristwatch Wives in Vain’s “Girls Are Gossiping About.” But right now I need to prioritize. “Mom, we’re not done talking about this, but I need to talk to Lev now.” I rush to Lev’s side.

  “Hi, Paulie,” Lev says as my father lurches up to him.

  “So, Levin,” he says, waving his cigar toward my fiancé. I’m chagrined that Papa hasn’t yet retired it as a lethal weapon. “You think you’re good enough for my little girl?”

  “I don’t know, Mr. Santisi,” Lev says. “Lola’s so wonderful, I’m not sure anyone is good enough for—”

  “You still in the ER, right?” Papa cuts in. “That’s shit money. If you want, I could make some calls, get you something decent. Did I mention I know the top cardiologist at Cedars-Sinai?”

  “You did,” Lev says levelly. “But that won’t be necessary. I assure you I make more than a decent living. And I’m sure you realize that as a CEO, Lola’s more than capable of making her own—”

  “Oh yeah, the clothes thing.” Papa dismisses my career with a wave of his cigar as he turns toward my mother, who is furiously beckoning him from across the room. “Who knows how long that’s gonna last?” he mutters as he saunters away.

  “La-La!” Christopher says, crossing the floor in a few long lopes and wrapping me in a bear hug. Oh thank god for my brother. He’s always had a sixth sense for when I need him. “Still can’t believe my little sis is getting hitched!” He kisses the top of my head and shoots a grin at Lev. “How’s it going, man?”

  “I’m great, Chris. Some party, huh?”

  “You look really good,” I say to Christopher once he’s released me from our embrace. And he almost does. He’s lost a little of the hollowed-out look he had in the first few weeks after Kate dumped him. He’s still way too skinny, but at least he’s shaved and dressed in clean clothes.

  “Yeah, taking off to finish the movie was just what the doctor ordered,” he says to Lev. “I’m just finishing up the final edit.”

  “It’s good to see you, Chris,” Lev says, giving my brother a hug. “When are we gonna get to see this movie?”

  “Soon,” Chris says with a gleam in his eye. “Lo,” he adds quietly to me, “Crimini’s been amazing,” he says, placing his hand on my arm. “Seems like he might take over the costs of the movie.”

  “Oh my gosh, Chris, that would be so great,” I say. I knew my Russian financier was dying to bankroll more than Julian Tennant–designed Sweet Sixteen ballgowns.

  “Everybody into the screening room!” says Mom, clapping her hands for attention. She nods at Alex to make sure he’s got cameras rolling. “We have an extra-special surprise for Lola and Lev!”

  It takes a few minutes to settle everyone into the plush maroon-velvet seats of the screening room Mom had built for Papa. Then Mom steps to the front of the room and clears her throat gracefully.

  “Lola, Lev, a number of people couldn’t be here today to wish you both well, so we’re doing the next best thing. Lights!” As Papa’s twelve-by-twenty-foot screen purrs down from the ceiling, the room goes dark. Then the screen springs to life.

  “Congratulations, Lily and Liev!” growls Jack Nicholson, arching one of his famous eyebrows, his wolfish grin on full display. Lily? Liev? “I can’t believe Paulie and Blanca’s little girl’s getting married! And hey, Blanca, if you ever get tired of that old gasbag, maybe you’ll give it a whirl with me!” Okay, this is ridiculous. I’ve met Jack maybe once, twenty years ago, at Mr. Chow.

  “Sweethearts!” croons Elizabeth Taylor, her famous violet eyes twinkling mischievously on the screen. “I’m just so thrilled to hear about your engagement! I loved all seven of mine! Lorna and Luke, great happiness to both of you, and may your first marriage be your last!”

  “Kids!” shouts Joan Rivers in the next screen tribute, her smile pulled into a strangely frozen rictus. “When Blanca asked me to congratulate you, I could not have been more thrilled. Maybe you could convince Melissa to take the plunge next? Now, Lil, if you want to wear any of the Joan Rivers Classics Collection on your special day, you just let me know, okay?”

  I can feel my face go hot. I’m sure Mom was trying to impress me—or the cameras—but I’m mortified by this empty display. “That’s it,” I tell Chris and Lev. “I’m outta here.”

  “Wait, Lo,” Chris tells me. “Look!”

  And up there on the screen is Cricket’s glowing face—her clear green eyes and soft blond curls cascading around her shoulders. I haven’t heard from her in ages. She’s been impossible to reach ever since reshoots for Four Weddings ended. She’s been traveling around the world with Saffron and Markus, who invited her to join their dream getaway gratis. Last I heard she was in Phuket, at least according to Perez Hilton, who’s been documenting Saffron and Markus’s every move. So far only the back of Cricket’s head has actually made it online. Perez did draw question marks and a wheel appearing above it with a caption reading “What’s the third wheel doing on Saffron and Markus’s love vacation??” I gotta hand it to Mom; she did the impossible tracking my BFF down.

  “Congratulations, Lola and Lev!” Cricket says. “I’m so happy for you both. I only wish I was there to give you a big celebratory hug. I always knew you’d find your soul mate.” Soul mate. I say the words inside my head over and over. Lev is my soul mate. “I can’t believe I’m not there with you right now celebrating your engagement.” Cricket’s eyes well up. “But I’ll be home soon. And I promise I’ll be right by your side when you two walk down the aisle. I love you both so much, Lola and Lev!”

  I’m fighting back tears myself when “Gone with the Louboutin,” pops onto the screen above two animated stick figures holding hands, one wearing a single four-inch Louboutin and one Croc, the other clad in green scrubs.

  Christopher
squeezes my shoulder. “This one’s from me,” he says.

  As “All You Need Is Love,” by The Beatles plays, Lev and I watch as the story of our relationship unfolds frame by frame through animated stick figures: meeting in our therapist’s waiting room without ever even exchanging names. Lev fixing both my busted ankle on Oscar night, and also my broken heart. “We have to stop meeting where things are broken.” Chris’s voice imitates Lev’s voice and then mine, a high-pitched female voice, “I think you just unbroke me.” Us reading the Sunday New York Times (me reading the Style section and Lev combing the magazine for health features), walking along the beach in Malibu, taking a yoga class, Lev trying to teach me to cook, me trying to teach Lev about fashion, Lev giving me my first pair of Crocs, me traversing back and forth and back and forth and back and forth across the country to be with Lev.

  “This is amazing, Chris,” I say.

  “Keep watching, La-La,” Christopher says.

  Tears well in my eyes as I watch Lev’s stick figure get on one knee and propose as a halogen bulb appears in my figure’s chest to illustrate how brightly I’m beaming. “This is not a Hollywood Ending” appears on the screen. As Lev and my stick selves kiss, my leg kicks up to reveal—a four-inch Croc. I’m laughing and crying as I hug Christopher. Lev joins in and the three of us are still hugging when the lights come up amid rapturous applause from the audience. And there in the crowd is Kate, looking spectacular in a form-fitting Missoni dress in gradating shades of blue that offsets her blue eyes and fit physique perfectly. She’s surreptitiously wiping away tears.

  Lev and I are both holding our breath as we look to Kate and then to Chris and then back to Kate. Chris suddenly looks a bit pale.

  “Hey you,” I say, walking over and wrapping Kate in a hug.