Scatter the Stars, page 42
Randy bought a case of champagne, the press soon lost interest and the press cuttings of Randy’s Mediterranean indiscretions were consigned to files where they were buried over the years by hundreds of less damning stories of his life on and off the screen.
But as Randy complained to Ariel, ‘Mud slung still sticks. I was conned and used and for nothing. It’s cost me. A hell of a lot.’
Randy and Lena arrived back in LA and moved into a mansion rented by Lena’s mother and youngest sister. While it was nice someone else had made all the arrangements and organised their life, Randy was less than thrilled to discover they were also ensconced in a wing of the house.
‘How long are they staying?’ he demanded. ‘I thought they liked living in Italy.’
‘They’re having fun. They are a great help to me. They’ll go back when they’re ready.’
‘When the money runs out you mean. Lena, who’s paying all these bills? I can’t afford these parties and nights on the town and the stuff you buy, for chrissake. Look, we’ve never talked about practical things. I think we need to call in the accountant. I’ll talk to Ariel. I’m still on my lousy contract where I get peanuts and the studio makes a mint off me or loans me out for a fortune which they pocket.’
‘Nonsense, caro. You are the beeeg star. If your agent is so good, get her to ask for more money.’
Randy longed for his suite back at the Chateau Marmont – his own space. He never had time for a quiet read. For Lena life was go-go. He tried to persuade her to do what the Gabors did – hit the town with her mother and sister.
‘And have people think you are bored with me!’ she shrieked. ‘No, we go out and we smooch and show everyone how good we are together. It is good press. And mama mia, you need it.’
As the weeks wore on, he began drinking heavily. Life was difficult. He had married an Italian family and they were all under his roof – Lena, her mother, sister and now a string of relatives. He could see the nightmare ahead of him. Voluptuous Lena would become like the rest of the women in her family – plump, bossy, aggressive. Randy admitted to Ariel that what he really needed was someone wholesome, sweet, real and genuinely loving. Lena was demanding, selfish, self-centred, spoiled and only showed affection to him when a camera was present. Sex had become a physical exercise without conversation. But her ultimate sin was that Randy now found her boring.
She hadn’t believed Randy when he’d said he had no money to speak of. They had yet another roof-lifting fight as bills from expensive jewellery stores rolled in, ‘gifts’ she’d bought from him to her. He threw an ultimatum at her, move out the family or he’d move out.
Lena’s solution to their current financial crisis was, ‘Let’s buy a boat and head for the Mediterranean and make a few Italian films for big bucks. And have a holiday. We could live on the yacht. Just the two of us.’
Never one to resist going to sea, Randy agreed. It sounded a perfect escape from LA and the studio grind.
Ariel lost her temper and screamed down the phone at him. ‘You’re mad! This will ruin you, financially and professionally. You don’t speak Italian or French. You’ll end up doing those crummy films she makes where a hack actor will dub your voice and make you sound like a clown for God’s sake.’
‘So long as they send the cheque to me, I don’t care. Ariel, you’re nagging. Come to the Mediterranean with us. You need a holiday.’ He cajoled and teased her. ‘We’ll go to all the Riviera towns, laze in the sun, eat in the trattorias, swim . . . how’s that sound?’
‘Yeah, and who’s paying? Randy, I have to acquaint you with a few facts. Namely, you’re broke. You can do a crap quickie film and finish out the contract, or stall for a decent film by coming over to New York and doing that play. It’s a risk. But hell, you’ve never turned your back on danger.’
‘New York in winter doesn’t have the same appeal as the Riviera, my darling.’
‘Here’s the bottom line. You can’t afford a goddamn rowboat. I’ve made a few inquiries. Lena is loaded. You get her to pay for this mad Mediterranean adventure and I’ll tell the theatre no go. You’ve got three days.’
She slammed down the phone and banged her head against the wall. She gave the marriage another couple of months, max. She wondered whether her patience with Randy would last the distance.
Los Angeles 1998
Janie had been mulling over her efforts on the Casanova script, longing for another opinion. She’d talked it over with Randy and his immediate reaction was one word – Ariel.
‘You call her, darlin’. Say I said. I’ll call her too. Let her read it and tell her you want her to represent you. After all, if I’m going to play the old bastard, I want to make sure you’ve got me down right.’
‘You’ve taught me more than you know,’ said Janie.
Randy the larrikin, she mused, and leaned back in her chair to think about him. He’d introduced her to that word larrikin as a bit of ‘pure Oz’. She smiled at the recollection. He’d been discussing the various international influences on his character when she talked to him for the research for the Foreshore Studio tribute. Randy had declared that the ‘larrikin element’ in his personality was the overwhelming Australian contribution. He then went into a long dissertation on how the British word for a young hoodlum had undergone something of a sea change on the trip to Australia in the pioneering days, and now larrikin was a term of endearment in Australia.
Ariel was friendly, but she cut to the business angle immediately she and Janie had exchanged pleasantries.
‘How’s the Casanova stuff coming along?’
‘It’s looking like Amadeus meets the Titanic.’
‘Love it,’ chortled Ariel. ‘And the old Casanova, plenty of scenes of him chasing servant girls round the chateau in his nightgown?’
‘Not quite. But there’s a wealth of wonderful material. That’s why Randy suggested I call you. I’ve decided I want to write the script. I have it in my head. The whole picture.’
‘Hmm. And you haven’t run this past Ms Jordan, I assume?’
‘No. Not yet. I’m still trying to work out how to sell her on the idea that I should write the script.’
‘Well, dear girl, my advice is stall for a while. Send the script, whatever you’ve done, to me to look at. I’ll represent you. I’d like to help you, Randy says he has a lot of faith in you, he’s very fond of you. And to be blunt, I have to look after Randy’s interests too. Between the two of you we can help make this film work for all of us – big time.’
Janie was suffused with excitement. She worked for days polishing the draft of the script. She ate and slept only when necessity reminded her. When it was finished, she couriered it to Ariel and went to the fridge for a beer. She hesitated and looked at the printout photo stuck to the freezer. It was the ultrasound of the tiny sac in her womb that was her three-month-old foetus. Maybe she shouldn’t have a beer. Well, it was only a light. And she deserved to celebrate. Even if Pat Jordan didn’t buy the idea of her co-writing or working on the screenplay, she knew what she’d put together was good.
A gate had opened for her, just a little, but enough to reveal her path ahead. Perhaps if she took the gamble and followed it, she’d end up where she’d always dreamed of going. Janie didn’t want to write books, she wanted to be the catalyst for the pictures up on the screen. At the heart of every good movie was a fantastic bloody story, the work of the screenwriter.
She opened the beer. With the pressure off her, for a while at least, she could concentrate on this growing baby. Maybe she should move to a bigger apartment. And she still had to break the news to her mother.
Two nights later, Janie’s world fell to pieces.
The cramps started about ten o’clock and she went straight to bed to lie as still as possible. Maybe it was her menstruating time of the month and the twinges were a reminder. But then the pain became more intense and she drew up her knees, unable to stop herself rolling from side to side as the ripples twisted across her belly. She got up gingerly to go to the bathroom and found blood spots. In fright she rang the hospital’s duty nurse, who told her to get a taxi there straight away.
Doubled over, she went to Emergency. She was put in a wheelchair and taken to a room and examined.
‘We’ll do an ultrasound, then all we can do is wait. The cervix doesn’t appear to be opening. Just relax,’ said the nurse. ‘Is there someone we can call to sit with you?’
Janie bit her lip. ‘No. Thanks anyway.’ Relax, for God’s sake. How did they expect her to do that? She was so scared she’d lose this baby that she’d never even seen.
The hours passed with agonising slowness. Janie lay there, berating herself. If anything happened . . . no, it just couldn’t be. She’d come so far, all had been going so well. Then the doubts crept in. She shouldn’t have had that beer, she’d worked too hard, hadn’t looked after herself properly. She lay there, willing her body to hold onto the small little dot that she’d pinned all her hopes of happiness on. She’d planned everything, done everything she could, taken the decision and gone through with it on her own. She was creating her own life, her own happiness. She had no-one else to do it for her. She didn’t have a family like other people she knew. She had wanted to create her own and now it was in jeopardy. Why was she being punished like this?
Then she told herself it was going to be all right. God couldn’t be this cruel, it would be okay. She’d come through this. She had to. She couldn’t go through all that agony of conception again.
Ten hours passed. Was she over the worst? She’d slept a little, though fitfully and had strange dreams that she was drowning. Of being under water, of being in some sunken city, all alone, looking for her father. But not knowing his name or what he looked like, she never found him. She woke up angry and discovered she’d been crying.
The cramps were still there. They examined her and there was a huddled conversation with the doctor. They did another ultrasound and the doctor came and sat by her bedside and took her hand.
‘My dear girl. I am sorry.’
‘I’m not going to lose the baby. I haven’t bled any more, the cramps are okay . . . they don’t seem stronger,’ she ran her words together.
‘The baby is dead, Janie. There is no heartbeat. It’s gone. I’m sorry.’
Tears streamed down her face and she clutched her arms protectively around her womb in a gesture of denial. ‘It’s there, it’s all right. I can feel it’s all right. Please, Doctor . . .’
‘Janie. We’ll give you something. Calm down. I’m afraid the baby is dead. I’ll show you the ultrasound. And there is no heartbeat. We’re very sure.’ He paused. ‘Please, there must be someone we can call?’
‘Your mother, a friend?’ asked the nurse again. ‘The doctor will have to do a curette.’
Janie fell back on the pillow. ‘I need help with this one. I can’t do this on my own any more. I give up.’ The nurse was shaken at the bitter, crushed expression on Janie’s face.
Michael was at the door of his apartment when the phone rang again. He’d planned to be at the TV studio an hour ago, but hassles with some paperwork and too many phone calls had sabotaged the schedule and he was angry with himself. He looked at the phone and swore, contemplated walking out but impulsively threw down his document case and strode over to the phone. ‘Yep?’ he snapped uncharacteristically.
A very soft, shaky woman’s voice answered. ‘Is that you, Michael?’
The voice was unmistakable, despite its tremulous tone. ‘Janie?’ he queried unnecessarily.
‘Michael . . . please . . .’ she paused and he heard a short sob. ‘Help me, please, Michael,’ she whispered.
‘Where are you? What’s wrong?’
She gave him the hospital address. ‘Don’t ask me anything more, Michael, just come.’
‘Okay, Janie. Hang in there and I’ll be over as fast as I can. Anything I can bring?’
‘Just you, Michael. That’s all I need.’
For a moment his hand held onto the telephone as if it provided a continuing link with the frightened little voice. That she ‘needed’ him was the appeal that hit hardest, bringing up conflicting emotions. Not for a moment, since they had broken up over the pregnancy issue, had he stopped thinking about what might be going on in her life. Need meant dependency and her plaintive appeal left him feeling confused but he moved quickly, dialling his office to announce curtly that he would be very late getting in. He drove with almost reckless haste to the hospital.
He spoke to a nurse outside Janie’s room. ‘Fill me in, please,’ he said calmly.
‘And you are?’
The question threw him momentarily. ‘Oh, a friend. Her best friend,’ he added firmly.
‘Not the father, husband?’ asked the nurse with a slight flick of the head in surprise.
‘No. A friend. She’s not married.’ Now he was almost brusque in his response, not so much because of the nurse’s questioning but with the realisation that Janie must have conceived and had just lost the baby.
‘She’s had some tranquillisers. She’s a bit out of it, but there are no complications,’ said the nurse.
No complications . . . that’s easy for you to say, thought Michael. He knew how devastated Janie would be, and his heart went out to her. ‘Can I go in?’
‘Most certainly. Actually she told us after making the phone call that someone was coming to pick her up and I assumed it was family.’
‘Well, in a way I am sort of stand-in family,’ explained Michael a trifle awkwardly.
‘She’s ready to be discharged. Just take her home and put her to bed. She needs rest,’ said the nurse in a professional voice.
And love and sympathy and God knows what else, Michael added silently, as he quietly opened the door of the room. ‘Hi,’ he said and forced a smile.
She was lying on the bed fully dressed except for her shoes and she looked absolutely ghastly. Pale, tired, hair straggly, clothes crushed. She raised a hand in a weak greeting. ‘Hi to you, too,’ she said, failing in an effort to match his smile.
He took her hand and squeezed it gently. ‘I feel for you, Janie. I really do. I know just how much you staked on this.’
‘I can’t talk about it. Just get me out of here, Michael. Please.’
‘Sure,’ he squeezed her hand again and felt the pressure in return which seemed to contract his stomach. ‘Shoes,’ he announced, to cover up his surprise at his reaction to her small gesture.
‘Joggers. Under the bed.’
While he squatted down, Janie sat up with an effort and swung her legs over the side of the bed. He began putting the incongruous clumpy sports shoes on her feet. It was then he noticed for the first time the small birthmark on the ankle. Oddly, it seemed familiar to him, yet he couldn’t remember having seen it during the time they had been close. Then, as he laced up the shoe, it hit him. The girl in the City. Diana’s arrow had struck her ankle. His hands started to shake a little and he fumbled with the laces while a strange emotion surged through his entire being.
The arrival of the nurse with a wheelchair brought Michael back to reality. ‘Quite a walk to the car, why not ride?’ she said cheerfully.
‘Thanks, that’s a great help,’ said Michael, pre-empting Janie’s likely rejection of the chair. He took her arms and led, rather than assisted, her into the chair, picked up her small bag and wheeled her out.
He drove very carefully, put on a soft ambient music CD and left the conversation initiative to Janie. She said little.
At her apartment he turned down the bed-cover, found some extra pillows and, as she sat on the edge of the bed, pulled off her shoes.
‘Ready for a coffee?’ he asked.
‘Love one. Make it strong and black.’ Then she burst into a flood of tears. Michael took her in his arms as muffled words came between sobs. ‘No coffee, for so long . . . the baby . . .’
When she had regained a little composure she gave a forced smile. ‘I’d better take one of those pills they gave me.’
‘And then? Want something to eat?’
‘Yes. There’s some tinned soup in the cupboard. I’ll take a shower.’
‘Will you be okay in the shower?’
‘I think so.’
He heated the soup and made some toast and when she came out of the bedroom in her bathrobe with a towel wrapped around her head, she was carrying a hair dryer and brush.
‘Smells good.’ She sat down. ‘Would you do me a favour and run the drier over my hair, I’m exhausted.’
He plugged in the drier and applied himself to the unaccustomed task with tenderness and care. She sat with eyes closed feeling the warmth as he gently ran the brush through her brown silky bob. He finished and she reached for his hand and kissed it briefly. ‘Thanks, friend.’
She managed a little soup, a cup of coffee and then got into her bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. The pill was working, the pain in her womb had lessened, everything around her seemed slightly fuzzy. But again the tears started to roll down her cheeks.
‘I’m here, Janie.’ He sat on the edge of the bed and wiped a tear-stained cheek. ‘I’m staying. Try to sleep.’
When she was asleep, her face sad and childlike, he tiptoed outside and rang his office again, telling them this time he wouldn’t be in until tomorrow.
Ariel called Randy. ‘Sweetheart, I’m coming out. Figure we can go from LA to Sydney together direct. I need a break from New York.’ It had only been weeks since Beanie had died, and she’d decided she should go with him to Australia.
Randy sighed. ‘So I’m finally going, am I? You know what happened last time I went back. I was not welcomed with open arms.’
‘That was in the sixties. You weren’t in good shape, if you recall. After divorce number four was it, or three? I’ve lost track over the years.’
‘Ariel, it’s burned in my memory,’ said Randy cheerfully. ‘Not the divorces, not the alimony fights, not the property fights, not the fact I was ripped off, conned and beaten about the head by a bunch of tough broads. That was nothing compared to the piranhas of the Australian press. If there was one time I needed you, that was it.’
