Susan Phillips - What I Did for Love

“I want Georgie in the Greenberg project,” he said.

Somehow she kept her smile even. “The bimbo vampire story? An interesting idea.” A horrible idea.

“It’s a great script,” he said. “I was shocked at how clever it is.”

“Genuinely funny,” she agreed. “Everyone’s talking about it.”

“Georgie will bring a new dimension to the story.”

Once again, Paul was ignoring his daughter’s wishes. Revenge of the Bimbo Vampire, despite its funny premise and witty dialogue, represented exactly the kind of role Georgie wanted to get away from.

Laura tapped her fingernails on her desk. “The part could have been written for her. I just wish Greenberg weren’t so determined to have a dramatic actress play the lead.”

“He only thinks he knows what he wants.”

“You’re probably right.” She rolled her eyes. “He believes bringing in a serious dramatic actress will give the project more credibility.”

“I didn’t say this was going to be easy. Earn your fifteen percent and make him see her. Tell him she loves the script and wants to do it more than anything.”

“Absolutely. I’ll talk to him right away.” How the hell was she going to convince Greenberg to meet with Georgie? She had much more confidence in Paul’s ability to steamroll his daughter into going after a part she didn’t want.

“You know…” She’d only found one shoe, so she couldn’t stand, which gave Paul the advantage of being able to tower over her desk. “They start shooting next month, and Georgie’s demanded six months off.”

“I’ll take care of Georgie.”

“She’s basically on her honeymoon, and-”

“I said I’d take care of her. When you talk to Greenberg, don’t let him forget how perfect her comic timing is and how much female audiences identify with her. You know the drill. And remind him about all the press she’s getting. That’s going to sell tickets.”

Not necessarily. Georgie’s success as a tabloid darling had never translated into big box office. She nudged the legal pad on her desk. “Yes, well…You know I’ll do my best, but we have to remember this is Hollywood.”

“No excuses. Make it happen, Laura. And make it happen quick.” He gave her a curt nod and walked out.

Her head ached. She’d been so thrilled six years ago when Paul had chosen her instead of one of the other agents at Starlight to represent Georgie. She’d viewed it as her big break, belated recognition for a decade of hard work during which she’d been passed over by a dozen young Ivy League hotshots with half her experience. She hadn’t understood that she’d made a deal with the devil, a devil named Paul York.

Her dreams of becoming a Hollywood power player seemed laughable now. She didn’t have the cockiness of the other agents, or their flash. The only reason Paul had hired her was because he wanted a mouthpiece he could control, and the top Starlight agents wouldn’t play his game. Her livelihood, which now included a luxury condo, depended on her ability to carry out Paul’s wishes.

She used to pride herself on her integrity. Now she barely remembered what the word meant.

Over the next four days, Bram met with another potential investor, who was no more willing to gamble on him than the rest had been. Georgie took two more dance classes, got an inch snipped off her hair, and worried about her future. When that became too depressing, she tried persuading Meg to go shopping. But Meg was wise to the ways of Hollywood.

“If I wanted my face plastered all over the pages of US Weekly, I’d go out with my parents. You guys chose this life. I didn’t.”

Meg went horseback riding instead, and Georgie endured a difficult lunch with her father at L.A.’s newest luncheon hot spot, where they sat in a leather booth beneath a sheet metal chandelier.

“Revenge of the Bimbo Vampire is brilliantly written and really funny,” he said, digging into his grilled steak salad. “You know how rare that is.”

He pushed the bread basket at her, but she didn’t have much appetite. For the past two weeks, Chaz had been feeding her mountains of mac and cheese, slabs of lasagna. True, the edges of her bones had begun to lose their sharpness, and her cheeks had stopped looking like fatal cave-ins, but she was fairly certain that wasn’t Chaz’s intent.

“I’m sure it’ll do amazingly well. But…” She poked at a bowl of lemon risotto and fought to hold on to her resolve. It was her life, her career, and she had to carve her own path. “I need a break from playing emotional lightweights. I’ve paid my dues, Dad, and I don’t want to sign on for another comedy. I want something that’ll challenge me, something I can get excited about.”

She didn’t bother bringing up the six-month vacation she’d fought for so fiercely. She needed to get back to work as soon as possible just to avoid spending so much time around Bram.

He leaned back in the booth. “Don’t be a cliché, Georgie-another comic actress who wants to play Lady Macbeth. Do what you’re good at.”

She couldn’t let herself cave. “How do I know I won’t be good at other kinds of parts when I’ve never had a chance?”

“Do you have any idea how hard Laura is working to get you a meeting with Greenberg?”

“She should have talked to me first.” As if Laura would even think about consulting her.

He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He looked tired, which made her feel guilty. It hadn’t been easy for him, widowed at twenty-five with a four-year-old to raise. He’d dedicated his life to her, and all she had to give him in return these days was resentment. He slipped his glasses back on and picked up his fork only to set it back down. “I’m guessing this laziness of yours-”

“That’s not fair.”

“This lack of focus, then, is Bram’s influence, and frankly, it scares me that he’s passing his unprofessional attitude on to you.”

“Bram doesn’t have anything to do with it.”

As she pushed around her risotto, she waited for him to point out how much more cooperative she’d been during her marriage to Lance. Her father and Lance had seen eye to eye about everything, so much so that she’d often thought Lance should have been his kid instead of her.

But Paul was picking his battles. “They’re planning to release Bimbo Vampire over the Fourth of July weekend next year. A perfect summer movie. It has blockbuster written all over it.”

“Not if I’m in it.”

“Don’t do that, Georgie. Negative thoughts bring negative results.”

“Cake Walk is going to tank. We both know it.”

“I agree they made some bad decisions, and that’s why you need to have your name linked with Bimbo Vampire as soon as possible. All this publicity has given you a window of opportunity that won’t come again. If you pass on this, you’ll regret it the rest of your life.”

She suppressed her anger by reminding herself that her father always looked out for her best interests. From the beginning, he’d been her staunchest champion. If she lost out on a part, he’d tell her the casting agents were the losers. That was the thing about him. He’d always done his best to protect her. He’d even refused to let her take the starring role of a child prostitute when she was twelve. If only his protectiveness had been rooted in love instead of ambition.

Once again, she considered how things might have been different if she hadn’t lost her mother. “Dad…If Mom hadn’t died, do you think you’d have gone on with your own acting career?”

“Who knows? It’s useless to speculate.”

“I know, but…” The risotto was too salty, and she pushed it aside. “Tell me again how you met.”

He sighed. “We met in college our senior year. I was playing Becket in Murder in the Cathedral, and she interviewed me for the college newspaper. Attraction of opposites. She was a complete scatterbrain.”

“Did you love her?”

“Georgie, it was a long time ago. We need to focus on now.”

“Did you?”

“Very much.” The impatient way he bit out the words told Georgie he was only saying what he knew she wanted to hear.

As she gazed down at her uneaten risotto, she found it ironic that she’d grown more comfortable with her disreputable husband than with her own father. But then she didn’t care about Bram’s opinion.

Maybe one of these days she’d stop caring about her father’s.

Before the end of their lunch, Georgie’s guilt got the better of her, and she invited him to dinner that weekend. She’d ask Trev, too, and make Meg stick around. Maybe she’d even call Laura. Her puppet agent was good at keeping conversations going, and with Bram and her father tossing darts at each other, she’d need a mediator.

Chaz threw a fit when Georgie told her she intended to hire a caterer. “My meals have always been good enough for Bram and his friends,” she declared, “but I guess you’re too high class.”

“Fine!” Georgie retorted. “If you want to cook, then cook. I was only trying to make it easy on you.”

“Then tell Aaron he has to help me serve.”

“I’ll do that.” She had to ask: “What friends of Bram’s did you cook for? He doesn’t seem to have a lot of people hanging around.”

“Sure he does. I cooked for his girlfriends. For Trevor. And he had that big director guy, that Mr. Peters, over a couple of months ago.”

Hank Peters really had met with him. Interesting.

The bad publicity from the balcony photos finally began to die down, but she and Bram needed to make another public appearance before it started up again. On Thursday, two days before the dinner party, they visited Pinkberry in West Hollywood. Bram hadn’t commented on their lack of a sex life in days. It was disconcerting. He behaved as if sex weren’t even an issue, except he couldn’t seem to keep his shirt on, and he touched her arm whenever he went by. Georgie had started to feel as if she were burning up.

He was playing her.

The West Hollywood Pinkberry had become a celebrity favorite, which meant the paps always hung around. Georgie chose navy slacks and a scooped-neck white blouse with a row of six retro red plastic buttons down the front. It had taken her an hour to get ready. Bram was still in the jeans and T-shirt he’d pulled on that morning.

Georgie ordered her frozen yogurt topped with fresh blueberries and mango. Bram grumbled about wanting a damned Dairy Queen and didn’t get anything. As they came out of the shop, the half a dozen photographers who’d gathered sprang to attention.

“Georgie! Bram! We haven’t seen you guys in a few days. Where have you been?”

“We’re newlyweds,” Bram shot back. “Where do you think?”

“Georgie, anything you want to say about Jade Gentry’s miscarriage?”

“Have you talked to Lance?”

“Are you two planning a family?”

The questions kept coming until a photographer with a pronounced Brooklyn accent called out, “Bram, are you still having trouble landing a decent job? I guess Georgie and her money came along just in time.”

Bram tensed, and Georgie snaked her arm through his. “I don’t know who you are”-she maintained her smile-“but Bram’s days of slugging photographers who act like worms aren’t all that far behind him. Or maybe that’s what you want?”

A few of the other paps regarded the man with disgust, but that didn’t prevent them from keeping their cameras ready in case Bram lost his temper. A shot of him throwing a punch would bring thousands of dollars, along with the possibility of a lucrative legal settlement for the photographer who’d provoked the attack.

“I wasn’t going to hit him,” Bram said as they finally broke clear. “I’m not stupid enough to fall for that crap.”

“Only because you fell for it so many times in the past.”

He cocked his head toward the paps, who were on their heels. “Let’s give them their money shot.”

“Which is…?”

“You’ll see.” He took her hand and pulled her down the sidewalk, the paps trailing close behind.

The small shop with its rich, mustard yellow exterior reminded Georgie of an old-fashioned British haberdashery. Above the door, an art nouveau figure of a woman curled around the glossy black letters that spelled out the shop’s name. provocative. The two os formed her breasts.

Georgie had heard about the upscale sex shop from April, but she’d never visited. “Excellent idea,” she said.

“And here I expected you to go all prudish on me.” Bram’s hand settled in the small of her back.

“I haven’t done prudish in years.”

“You could have fooled me.” He held the door open for her, and they stepped inside the store’s perfumed interior accompanied by the shouts of the photographers and the deafening click of shutters. Trespassing laws would keep the paps outside, and they scrambled for position, trying to get a shot through the window.