Beneath a Starlet Sky Page 9

  “It’s Lagerfeld, right?” I say.

  “Yes, isn’t it something?” Cricket says. “Don’t I get a hello, Julian?” she adds, reaching out her willowy arms.

  “Sorry, sweetheart,” he says, enveloping her. “I was having a Fashion Paralysis moment.”

  “I’m so happy to see you guys,” Cricket says. “I can’t say I’m lonely here. We’ve become like a big family in just two short weeks. But there’s nothing like real family,” Cricket says, pulling us in for a group hug. “Let me take you to the costume department; come on, follow me.” Cricket leads us through the small corridors of the set, stepping over large cords and between lights and a hive of workers. “You guys are meeting with Saffron today, right?”

  “Yes, we need to get her approval on the gown.”

  “She’s … well, she’s absolutely magnificent,” Cricket stammers. “She’s just the real thing. She’s so unbelievably talented and she’s so present and just so incredibly beautiful—”

  “Sounds like someone has a girl crush,” Julian says teasingly.

  “Totally!” Cricket chirps.

  “Yeah, I get those girl crushes all the time,” Julian says. “So much easier to have a crush with no actual sex involved.”

  * * *

  Saffron stands before us draped in Julian’s exquisite off-the-shoulder gown, an ivory antique Valenciennes rose point lace that makes her skin look so golden it could be the sun itself, the waves of fabric hitting her curves in all the right places.

  “I think it’s … well, it’s…” Saffron pauses as she walks up to the mirror, turning around slowly to get another look at the back, the raw-edged georgette rosettes and the train wafting gently behind her.

  Julian keeps pacing back and forth and back and forth behind Saffron, biting the fingers of his left hand while inspecting the dress nervously from a distance.

  “It’s flawless, really, isn’t it,” Saffron says, more as a statement than a question. Flawless? I love the sound of that. I couldn’t think of a more apt word myself. And she’s not speaking in third person or asking her Maltipoo to bark if he likes the gown, like some other clients I don’t care to mention.

  “It’s truly flawless. It’s spectacular on you,” Baz says as the art director snaps Polaroid shots of the gown.

  I can finally breathe again. They like it! They actually like it! Of course they do! I knew they would. Julian and I exchange quiet smiles. I have to stop myself from throwing my arms around Saffron and Baz and asking for a group hug.

  “I think it’s just absolutely extraordinary,” Cricket says. “Saffron, you are absolutely, positively, the most gorgeous woman in the whole world in that dress. You look like a goddess!” I feel slightly embarrassed for her. Note to self: point out to Cricket later that she should probably tone down her obsession with the superstar.

  “I’m only sorry that I don’t get to be the one to marry you in that gown. You look ravishing, S,” Markus Livingston says, stepping into the room and putting a proprietary hand on her dreamy shoulder. With his dark hair sweeping boyishly over chiseled features, his green eyes sparkling, and his skin tanned as though he’s just been surfing for a week, Saffron’s male costar and boyfriend oozes charm and sex appeal. No wonder Star put the two lovebirds on their cover under the headline “X Marks the Spot for Saffron Sykes.” In Touch screamed, “Markus Spices It Up with Saffron!” TMZ, classy as always, went for the S&M angle when it posted video of the two shopping for leather coats at Maxfield on Robertson.

  “Thanks, M,” Saffron says with a smile. “It’s a perfect combination of modern but still classic. It’s feminine without being too soft. It’s bold without being pretentious.” I can’t help but notice that this could be a description of Saffron Sykes herself. She seems almost too good to be true. I’m almost waiting for the other stiletto to drop. Or at least for her to change her mind. Or ask to call in an aura analyst. Or a wedding gown intuitive. Could one of the biggest stars in the world really be this nice? This is a woman who takes things seriously. Not just her acting work, that much is obvious. But everything she does, she does with complete conviction. You won’t see this PETA poster girl eating a NY strip at Cut. Or the coauthor of Go Green or Go Home, a book she wrote with Al Gore, driving a Mercedes G-Wagon. I’m on the verge of forming my own girl crush when Julian approaches Saffron.

  “We’re so happy that you like it,” he says with a wide, relieved smile.

  “Julian, it’s genius,” she beams back. She turns to Baz. “It’s this gown. Are we agreed?” As Baz nods, she claps her hands with joy. “And Lola, I understand I have you to thank for getting this beautiful gown to me.”

  “My pleasure, Saffron; we’re so honored you’ve chosen Julian Tennant,” I say.

  “Well I’ve heard a great deal about you from Cricket,” she says. “Best girlfriends are one of the most important things in life,” she adds kindly, looking at Cricket and then back to me with an outstretched hand.

  “You’re so right,” I agree.

  * * *

  “Let me help you guys with those,” Cricket says as we load up the backup gowns to head out after we say our good-byes. She grabs several of the garment bags and we make our way to our rental car. “Well, that seems like it was a big success,” Cricket says once we’re outside.

  “Mission accomplished,” I say, a wave of relief washing over me.

  “I think I’ll actually sleep tonight without a pharmaceutical cocktail,” Julian adds as he opens the trunk and we carefully lay out the gowns.

  “I wish I could at least have dinner with you guys,” Cricket says, “but I don’t think I’ll see you again before you leave. We shoot all night tonight.”

  “We’re so exhausted from the flight anyway, sweetheart. We just need to crash,” I say, wrapping my arms around Cricket and whispering in her ear, “I’m so happy for you. You’re in your element here.”

  “I’m happy for you too,” she whispers back. “This is going to be fantastic having Saffron in Julian Tennant,” she says with a little squeeze. Cricket opens the car door for me and, once I slide in, closes it gently behind me. She blows a kiss as we take off, looking her usual otherworldly self, her white blond hair blowing gently in the Australian breeze, waving good-bye to us until she becomes a speck in the distance.

  * * *

  My eyes are at half mast when I finally get back to the hotel room. I can barely keep them open as I dial Lev’s number to say goodnight.

  “Hi honey,” I say when he picks up.

  “You sound exhausted,” he says immediately.

  “I am. That flight is brutal, and I can’t remember the last time I actually slept. I don’t know how you can function on so little sleep on a regular basis.”

  “You just get used to it, but I don’t recommend it. How’s it going there?” he asks.

  “Everything is great. Saffron loves her gown. So we’re in good shape,” I say.

  “Well, mission accomplished! I’ll let you go to sleep then. Sounds like you need it badly,” Lev says.

  “No wait. First tell me what’s going on with you,” I say.

  “Oh, not much. Actually, something funny happened on the set of Para-Medic today. I was there in my scrubs and I guess I looked the part, so Shonda gave me a few lines.”

  “Oh, that’s funny,” I say with a little forced laugh, because something about it doesn’t strike me as funny at all.

  “Yeah, it was fun.”

  “Oh good,” I say halfheartedly.

  “Honey, I better let you go; you sound like you’re already asleep.”

  “Okay, love you,” I say.

  “Love you too,” Lev says before hanging up.

  The second I close my eyes, I’m out. I’m not sure how much time has passed when the phone rouses me from a deep sleep. I check the number. “Christopher? What is it?”

  “She dumped me, La-La,” Christopher says on the other end of the phone.

  “What?” I ask, pulling myself up i
n bed and trying to shake myself awake.

  “She told me she’s just not cut out for monogamy and that we’re just too different. She said the only relationships she’s any good at are the ones with her clients and that she needs to focus on those,” Christopher says, choking over the words.

  “Oh, Chris, I’m so sorry,” I say as he lets out a disturbing guttural sound. I haven’t heard my brother cry since we were kids and I’m at a bit of a loss. I’m usually the broken-hearted one calling my brother after some Actor Boyfriend shredded my heart to bits. But this time it’s my older brother who’s had his heart shredded to bits by—my best friend. And it’s not only going to be hard for my brother to get over Kate, but I wonder how I’m going to get over my best friend breaking my brother’s heart. “It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay,” I say because it’s all I can think of.

  “I don’t know, Lo, I just don’t know if I will be.” Chris chokes, then bursts into tears again. I have to wonder myself if he’s going to be okay.

  “You will be. It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay,” I say over and over because I hope that if I say it enough times it will actually be true.

  Chris and I have barely hung up when the phone rings again. It can be only one person, and I make a concerted effort to take the edge out of my voice when I answer.

  “We broke up,” Kate says.

  “I know, I just got off the phone with Chris. I’m so sorry,” I say.

  “No, don’t be sorry,” Kate says gruffly. “It was my choice. I’m just not cut out for the whole relationship thing.” The Great Wall of Kate buttressed and cordoned off. There’s not going to be any getting through, so I simply ask, “What happened?”

  “We’re just too different,” she says. “I just thought it would be different. I didn’t think it would require so much work—and talking. And I didn’t think it would bother me as much as it does that he’s happy doing music video shoots and commercials when he should be making movies. And the sex…”

  “Kate, relationships do take work, and you do have to actually communicate, but he really loves you and I thought you really loved him and—”

  “How’s it going in Australia? How do Cricket and Saffron seem to be getting on?” She’s already changing the subject in a typical Kate Wood’s technique: avoidance. I can’t believe Kate’s trying to shift into agent mode. I’m not playing.

  “Everything looks really great. But Kate, I’m really not up for talking shop with you at three o’clock in the morning Australia time. If you want to talk about your relationship falling apart, that’s one thing. But I’m not going to do this.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. I don’t know how to do relationships. That’s it.”

  I think about telling Kate about Christopher’s movie, Into the Woods, and wonder whether if she knew about it, it would make a difference, but I don’t want to betray my brother’s trust. Of all the things I could say to Kate, about relationships, about my brother, about her fear of commitment, I simply say, “Okay, well, I have to go to sleep.” Kate’s a lost cause.

  “Don’t be mad at me,” she says matter-of-factly.

  “Just give me a second to adjust,” I say.

  “Oh geezus, what? I’m breaking up with your brother, for crying out loud, not you!”

  “Yeah, Kate, I’m pretty sure I got that part,” I say, losing that battle with the edge in my voice.

  “Do you, Lo? Do you get that?” she asks, then adds quietly, “I need to know for sure.”

  “Yeah Kate,” I say softly, knowing that Kate and I—for all our differences—will always be together. “I get it.”

  “Okay then, good luck there. Go to sleep,” she says, hanging up.

  Click.

  * * *

  I don’t know if it’s summer or winter or what time or day it is as I step out of the car from LAX in front of Lev’s house in Sherman Oaks. I don’t even care. All that matters is that I’m back home. I never knew what it was like to have a home to be happy to return to. This feeling that I’m safe. That I can trust someone. That I have someplace where I can just be. And breathe.

  When I open the front door no one seems to be home. But then I realize that there are candles lit everywhere. I’m so tired that I didn’t notice before. What are all of these candles for?

  “Honey,” I call out. “Honey!” I yell again, following a trail of tea lights leading into the bedroom. When I walk through the bedroom door, Lev is standing there by the large picture windows with his back to me and his arms stretched out toward the garden as if greeting it like an old friend.

  “Honey, what are you doing? Is everything okay?” I feel like maybe I’ve walked in on a private moment, but Lev turns toward me, a small black box with gold borders balanced on an upright palm, and drops to one knee. Before he can say anything, I start shouting, “What is happening?! What is happening right now?!”

  Lev beams at me. “I’ve been thinking about our life, about our lives together, about us, and that’s what it is, it’s about us, that’s all it is. It’s that simple to me. I love you. I want for us to be together forever. To have our children, our family, for you to be my wife.”

  “What is happening?” I keep screaming because my body is up there, above me, floating above me, though all I’ve ever wanted is right there in front of me on the floor, on one knee.

  “I’ve applied to Lenox Hill Hospital so that we can live in New York for your work. I’m asking you to marry me,” he says, his eyes shiny with tears. “Will you marry me?”

  “What is happening?!” keeps coming out of my mouth and tears spill like uncontrollable geysers out of my eyes.

  “Will you answer me?” he says, smiling and crying and laughing.

  “Yes!! Yes!! That would be a big fat YES!!” I yell, coming back to the ground and joining him, my love, my Lev, joining him in the smiling and crying and laughing for the rest of my days. For always. For us. For all I’ve ever wanted. Bye, Bye, Bi-Lolar. Adios Actorholism. Sayonara Santisi. Hello Lola Levin. Hello …

  6

  “Remind me again why I agreed to let my mother throw us an engagement party on camera,” I say as Lev and I turn onto my parents’ jacaranda-lined street.

  “Because it’s good exposure for you and Julian. The camera is totally gonna love that outfit,” he says, giving an appreciative whistle and eyeing my super-pale lemon-beige, short lace dress and ostrich booties that Julian made especially for tonight. Lev has totally gone over to the dark stiletto side. “And besides, your mother wasn’t going to take no for an answer even if she had to get us here bound and gagged.”

  My hands instantly turn clammy as I notice the colossal number of cars parked on both sides of the road. They can’t all be here for us? Can they? How many people did my mother actually invite? I made her promise me it would be small, but now I’m realizing I should have gotten an actual number.

  “Thank you for still loving me,” I say, kissing Lev. “And I just want to apologize in advance again for the next couple of hours. Please don’t hold any of it against me.”

  “It’s going to be fine,” Lev whispers in my ear.

  “You keep saying that, no matter what I throw at you,” I tell him. “First you’re agreeing to Mom sticking her cameras in our faces. Then you have Christopher on your couch on suicide watch. How are you so okay with this?” Lev has been babysitting Chris ever since he moved out of Kate’s apartment. He was so flattened by their breakup that I was afraid for him and got Lev to propose the arrangement. I think I was as surprised as Chris when he agreed.

  “Okay, I’ll admit it was rough at first, but he’s actually been a pretty decent roommate,” Lev says. “And he stuck to his end of the bargain.” Lev has gotten Christopher up and dressed by ten o’clock every morning, off to do reshoots for Into the Woods, and then later into the editing bay by eleven. In return, Christopher has been springing for the takeout from Jerry’s Deli and Baja Fresh and doing laundry for Lev while h
e pulls extra shifts at the ER to save up for our honeymoon.

  “I’m a little worried about him seeing Kate today,” I confess. “He’s made so much progress. I just don’t want him to roll back.”

  Lev squeezes my hand. “We had a talk about that last night. He’s tougher than you think, Lo. He’ll be okay.”

  I take a deep breath and grab Lev’s hand as we drive through the open wrought-iron gates. There are hundreds of flickering luminaria lining the gravel driveway up to the house.

  “Hi, would you like to check out the new Chevy Volt before you step inside?” a young man in a tux asks, standing in front of a spinning white car that’s holding center stage at the top of the driveway.

  “Excuse me?” I say.

  “One lucky guest tonight is going to be driving home in a brand-new Extended-Range Electric Vehicle that is redefining the automotive world,” he says.

  “What’s going on?” Lev whispers in my ear.

  Oh no. Oh nonono. “I’m not sure, but I think my mother got our engagement party sponsored—by Chevy,” I say, taking in the wedding bells painted on the hood of the car as it spins around and around. “We could just turn around and walk away. Act like this never happened.”

  “Ow,” Lev says, releasing his hand from the vise grip I have on it and shaking it to get the blood back. “No, this party is for us, Lo, and we’re going to enjoy ourselves.” Lev sets his mouth in grim determination and ushers us through the carved wooden front door. Four women in flowing red minidresses and stilettos are playing the theme song from Gone with the Wind on stringed instruments that look like they were sprung from a Transformers set. Omigod—did Mom really book Escala, Simon Cowell’s discovery from Britain’s Got Talent?

  “My darling daughter and gorgeous soon-to-be son-in-law,” my mother says, stretching out her freshly lipo’d arms to us in a divine white bias-cut satin dress with a strategic flutter of ruffles down the back. As my mother looks over her shoulder to make sure that Alex, her cameraman, is filming her good side, I realize that the dress she’s wearing is one that Julian designed for Four Weddings and a Bris that we didn’t end up using in the movie. Only my mother would wear a wedding gown to her only daughter’s engagement party. I wonder if she’ll try and wear one to my wedding as well. Note to self: elope.