Susan Phillips - Glitter Baby

“I’ll try.” She had to endure more humiliation as wardrobe noticed she’d sweated through the work shirt and had to bring her a new one without half-moons under the arms. As she headed back for the porch swing, she knew no power on earth could make her throw her body full force at Jake Koranda again. Her chest tightened, and she swallowed hard.

“Hey, wait up.”

Slowly she turned and watched Jake walk up to her. “I was off balance the first time,” he said curtly. “It was my fault, not yours. I’ll catch you the next time.”

Sure he would. She nodded and started to walk away.

“You don’t believe me, do you?”

She turned back to him. “I’m not exactly a lightweight.”

His mouth curved in a cocky grin that looked strange on Bird Dog Caliber’s face. “Hey, Johnny Guy!” he called over his shoulder. “Give us a few minutes, will you? Flower Power here thinks she’s got me beat.”

“Flower Power!”

He grabbed her arm and propelled her none-too-gently around the side of the house away from the crew. When they were ankle-deep in weeds, he let her go. “I’ve got ten bucks says you can’t knock me over again.”

She shoved a hand on her bare hip and tried to look like she wasn’t nineteen and scared to death. “I’m not getting into a wrestling match with you.”

“Glitter Baby worried about messing up her hair? Or are you afraid you’ll knock me down again and win the bet?”

“I know I’ll win the bet,” she shot back.

“We’ll have to see about that. Ten bucks, Flower. Put up or shut up.”

He was baiting her on purpose, but she didn’t care. All she wanted to do was wipe that stupid smirk off his stupid mouth. “Make it twenty.”

“I’m scared, Flower. Real scared.” He moved back and braced himself. A lot of good it would do him.

She glared at him. “I hope you have a good doctor.”

“So far all you’ve got is talk.”

“Don’t you think this is just a little juvenile?”

“Glitter Baby’s chickening out. She’s afraid she’s going to hurt herself.”

“That’s it!” She dug her feet into the sandy ground, pumped her arms, and charged him.

It was like hitting a wall.

The impact would have sent her to the ground if he hadn’t caught her. Instead he held her tightly against him. A few seconds ticked by as she tried to catch her breath, then she jerked away. Her chin hurt where she’d bumped it against his shoulder, and her shoulder throbbed. “This is stupid.” She started to stomp away.

“Hey, Flower.” He ambled forward with his worn-out cowboy gait and reined in next to her. “Is that really the best you can do? Or are you afraid of getting that skimpy white bikini dirty again?”

She looked at him incredulously. Her ribs ached, her chin was killing her, and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. “You’re crazy.”

“Double or nothing. And this time get farther back.”

She rubbed her shoulder. “I think I’ll pass.”

He laughed. It was almost a nice sound. “Okay, I’ll let you off. But you owe me twenty bucks.”

He looked so smug that she actually opened her mouth to take him up on his challenge. Fortunately her common sense kicked in. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, he’d done a nice thing for her. They began walking back around the house together. “You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you,” she said.

“Hey, I’m a boy genius. Read the critics. Any of them. They’ll tell you.”

She looked up at him and curled her mouth in a fake-sweet smile. “Glamour girls don’t know how to read. We just look at the pictures.”

He laughed and walked away.

They did the scene in the next take, and Johnny Guy said it was exactly what he wanted, but Fleur’s brief moment of satisfaction disappeared as he rehearsed them for the following scene. While Lizzie was still in Matt’s arms, she was supposed to give him a sisterly kiss. They exchanged a few lines of dialogue, then Lizzie kissed him again, but this time it wasn’t supposed to be sisterly. Matt would pull away confused while the camera showed him trying to take in the changes since he had last seen her.

Jake continued joking around with her, refusing to go to work until she’d handed over twenty bucks. He made her laugh, and she handled the sisterly kiss without a problem. But her dialogue delivery was stiff and required too many takes. Still, Lizzie couldn’t have been all that comfortable, either, and it wasn’t a complete disaster. When they broke for lunch, Jake pulled on her braid as if she were ten years old and told her not to beat up anybody while he was gone.

After lunch, they shot some close-ups, and by the time they were done, she’d perspired through her third shirt. The wardrobe people started sewing in dress shields.

The second kiss was up next, and she knew she was going to have trouble. She’d kissed men on camera and a few of them off camera, too, but she didn’t want to kiss Jake Koranda, not because he was being a hard-ass-he was going out of his way to be friendly-but because something weird had started happening to her when she got too close to him.

The assistant director called for her. Jake was already in place talking to Johnny Guy. While Johnny Guy explained the shot, she stared at Jake’s mouth, that soft, sulky, baby’s pout. He caught her at it and looked at her funny. She yawned and gazed at her bare wrist.

“Does the Glitter Baby have a hot date waiting?” he asked.

“Always,” she said.

Johnny Guy turned to her. “What we need here, honey lamb, is a real open-mouth tonsil bouncer. Lizzie’s got to wake Matt up.”

She gave him a grin and a thumbs-up. “Gotcha.” The butterflies in her stomach started a war dance. She wasn’t the greatest kisser in the world. But how could she be when she hardly ever got to go out with someone she actually liked?

Jake put his arms around her. She felt his hands flatten against the bare skin just above her bikini bottom and realized she’d spent most of the day crawling over his body in one way or another.

“Your feet, honey,” Johnny Guy said.

She looked down. They were as big as ever.

“A little closer, baby lamb.”

That’s when she saw what she’d done. Although her chest was pressed against Jake’s, she’d pulled her bottom half as far away as she could. She quickly adjusted herself. With his shoes and her bare feet, he was about four inches taller. That was weird, and she didn’t like it.

This is Matt, she told herself, as Johnny Guy moved behind the cameras. You’ve been with other men, but Matt is the one you want.

Johnny Guy called for action and she ran her fingers over the front of Matt’s uniform. Closing her eyes, she touched her lips to his soft, warm ones. She held them there, trying to think about Matt and Lizzie.

Johnny Guy was less than impressed. “You didn’t put too much into that one, honey. Let’s try it again.”

During the next take, she moved her hands up and down the sleeves of Matt’s uniform. Jake yawned when the scene was over and looked at his watch. Something told her it wasn’t because he was nervous.

Johnny Guy took her aside. “Forget about the people watching you. All they’re thinking about is getting home for dinner. Relax. Lean into him a little more.”

She talked to herself all the way back to her mark. This was nothing more than a technical piece of business, just like opening a door. She had to relax. Relax, damn it!

She thought the next kiss was better, but apparently she was the only one. “Do you think you could open your mouth a little, honey lamb?” Johnny Guy said.

Muttering to herself, she stepped back into Jake’s arms and then glanced up to see if he’d overheard her. “Sorry, kiddo, but I can’t help you out,” he said. “I’m the passive party here.”

“I don’t need help.”

“My mistake.”

“Like I’d need help.”

“Whatever you say.”

Johnny Guy called for action. She did her best, but when the kiss was over, Jake rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re putting me to sleep, Flower Power. Want me to ask Johnny Guy for a break so we can go behind the house and practice?”

“I’m a little nervous, that’s all. It’s my first day. And I’m not doing another practice session with you without a helmet and knee pads.”

He grinned and then, unexpectedly, leaned down to whisper in her ear. “I got a twenty-dollar bill says you can’t wake me up, Flower.”

It was the sexiest, most devastating, bedroomiest whisper she’d ever heard.

The next take was better, and Johnny Guy said to print it, but Jake told her she owed him another twenty bucks.

Belinda was waiting on the patio when Fleur got home from the studio. She hadn’t seen her in almost two weeks. Belinda looked fresh and pretty in a sleeveless red and yellow batik print top and belted linen slacks. Fleur gave her a bear hug, then inspected her face. “No pox marks.”

“Do I look good enough to make them wish they’d noticed me when I was eighteen?”

“You’re going to break their hearts.”

Belinda shuddered. “Chicken pox was a horrible experience. I don’t recommend it.” She kissed Fleur again. “I missed you so much, baby.”

“Me, too.”

They ate by the pool on pottery plates generously heaped with Fleur’s favorite salad, a tangy mixture of shrimp, pineapple, and fresh watercress. Fleur filled Belinda in on most of the events of the last week, but, even though she normally told her mother everything, she held back when the subject turned to Jake. By the end of their second day of shooting, which was Monday, she’d decided she’d misjudged him. He teased her and called her “Flower Power,” but he also seemed to be looking out for her. By Tuesday, she’d decided she sort of liked him. By Wednesday, she knew for sure she liked him, and by lunchtime today, she’d realized she had a tiny little crush on him, something she had to make sure Belinda didn’t discover or she’d never hear the end of it. So when her mother pressed her about him, Fleur only told the story of how she’d knocked him over the first day and how great he’d been about it.

Belinda reacted predictably. “I knew he’d be like that. He’s one of the biggest names in film, but he understood how embarrassed you were. He’s like Jimmy, all rough on the outside, but sweet and sensitive inside.”

Belinda’s conviction that Jake embodied all the qualities of her beloved James Dean irritated Fleur. “He’s a lot taller. And they don’t look anything alike.”

“They have the same quality, baby. Jake Koranda is a rebel, too.”

“You haven’t even met him. He’s not like anybody else. At least he’s not like anybody I’ve ever known.” Belinda gave her a funny, fishy look, and she shut up.

Mrs. Jurado, the housekeeper, who’d turned out to be sixty and loved showing off her double-jointed thumb, stepped out on the patio and plugged in the phone she was carrying. “It’s Mr. Savagar.” Fleur reached over to take it, but Mrs. Jurado shook her head. “For Mrs. Savagar.”

Belinda gave Fleur a puzzled shrug, tugged off her earring, and picked up the receiver. “What is it, Alexi?” She tapped her fingernails on the glass tabletop. “What do you expect me to do about it? No, of course he hasn’t called me. Yes. Yes, all right. Yes, I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

“What’s wrong?” Fleur asked after Belinda had hung up.

“Michel disappeared from the clinic. Alexi wanted to know if he’d contacted me.” Belinda clipped her earring back on. “It must be obvious, even to your father, that he gave away the wrong child. My daughter is beautiful and successful. His son is a homosexual weakling.”

Michel was Belinda’s son, too, and Fleur lost her appetite. As much as she still resented him, Belinda’s attitude felt wrong.

Several months ago, gossip had surfaced that Michel was engaged in a long-term affair with a married man who was well-known in Parisian society. The man had suffered a fatal heart attack after the disclosure, and Michel attempted suicide. Fleur was accustomed to the open homosexuality of the fashion world and couldn’t believe the fuss everybody was making. Alexi refused to let Michel return to his Massachusetts school and locked him away in a private clinic in Switzerland. Fleur tried to feel sorry for Michel-she did feel sorry for him-but some ugly, unforgiving part of her found a terrible justice in Michel finally being the outcast.

“Aren’t you going to eat the rest of your salad?” Belinda asked.

“I’m not hungry anymore.”

The stench of Dick Spano’s cigar filled the projection room, along with a lingering onion odor from the rubble of fast-food containers. Tonight Jake was watching two weeks’ worth of rushes from the back row. As an actor, he never did this, but as a fledgling screenwriter he knew he had to see how his dialogue was working so he could think about what might need to be rewritten.