Standing Naked In Public, page 5
“What do you want me to tell people?” Jason asked. “You know, why you aren’t at the party?”
“I don’t care what you tell people, Jason. Make something up. I am not going to the after party. Tell everyone I have a stomach flu. No, wait a minute. The press will say I’m pregnant. Here’s what you’re going to say. Tell everyone my throat is sore and I probably have strep. It was a miracle I made it to the awards ceremony at all. My doctor ordered me to stay home. I’m on antibiotics,” Angela instructed.
“Ok, Angela, whatever you need to do. But I must say I am disappointed in you.”
“That’s harsh. You know, for once in my entire career, I’m doing something to take care of me. It really sucks that you don’t get it.” Angela’s face was bright red with anger.
Jason changed his tone. “Hey, Angela, I’m sorry. We’ll talk about it tomorrow. O.k.? Go chill and take care of yourself. I’ll handle it,” Jason said, trying his best to appear compassionate.
“Thanks, Jason. We’ll talk tomorrow.” Angela’s ire left her face.
“I love you. I’m sorry you didn’t win. You deserved to win,” Jason said, hugging her.
“Yeah, well the Academy didn’t,” Angela grumbled in his ear, but accepting the hug.
“Fuck the Academy.”
“Maybe if I’d done that I would have won,” Angela said sarcastically, with a smile.
“There’s always next year.”
“Will you arrange my limo? I don’t feel like doing anything at this point.”
“Only if you give me another hug,” Jason reached his arms out.
Angela responded by reaching her arms forward and embracing Jason’s waist.
“You’ll be o.k. Just don’t wait up for me,” Jason said as he released his embrace from Angela’s back.
“Maybe you’ll get lucky,” Angela winked, giggling. Angela wanted nothing more for her “husband” than for him to be happy. Apart from his man-slut personality, he was a great guy. She loved hearing Jason’s sexual conquest stories. Her favorite was the time he slept with a woman who was into S&M. She poured candle wax all over Jason’s body, including his penis. He ended up so badly burned that he couldn’t get an erection for a week.
Unlike Jason, Angela hadn’t even had a single one night stand since marrying him. She was too paranoid of the press finding out. According to the press, Jason cheated on Angela all the time and she was a lesbian. Although this was the absolute truth, Angela and Jason denied these reports and insisted people would do anything, make anything up, in an effort to ruin their marriage.
Once Angela was in her limo, she grabbed her cell phone from her tiny gem-encrusted purse. I can’t believe I lost. I feel like the biggest fucking loser. I should call someone, but whom? Angela thought. The first person Angela thought of calling was her closest friend and confidante—her sister Mary. She was the only one in her family besides her brother who knew Angela was a lesbian and that her marriage was a farce. Mary was very supportive of Angela, the majority of the time. However, Mary often gave her opinion that Angela needed to stop living a lie, find a woman, and be happy.
Angela decided not to call Mary. She could use the consoling, but didn’t want to hear about how she should live her life, though Mary was almost always right when it came to dishing out advice.
So who to turn to?
Angela had few female friends in her life. She considered her sister to be her best friend. Every other relationship she had with a woman was superficial, like those she had with her publicist or agent, or random actresses with whom she’d worked. She hadn’t had a lover or girlfriend in over a year and missed the intimacy and friendship she shared with her last lover, Kristan. Suddenly she longed for Kristan.
Reluctantly, she decided to dial Kristan’s phone number. She hadn’t spoken to Kristan since their breakup over a year ago.
CHAPTER 5
“Here Kitty, Kitty. Where are my little angels?” Kate called for her two cats, Snowy and Mitzy, while opening the door to her modest two bedroom cottage she rented in Malibu. It was oceanfront property with a balcony that overlooked the ocean. Kate lucked out with the rental. The cottage was owned by a very wealthy friend of her mother’s. Having recently inherited the property, the owner hated Malibu and spent most of her time in England and Australia. Kate rented the cottage for half of what similar rentals were going for in Malibu, making the cottage one of the motivators for Kate to remain in the L.A. area. Besides the rent being cheap, the sunsets were magnificent and her celebrity neighbors were hardly ever around.
Snowy, an entirely white shorthair with bright blue eyes, greeted her as she headed for her dark room to unload her film. Kate had to quickly develop the rolls of film so that she could scan them and email samples to photo editors. She often thought about going to digital photography. The few times she’d tried digital, the photos were of mediocre quality—too flashy and grainy. No matter what filters or lighting she used, she could never achieve the same effect she accomplished with good old 35mm film. Plus, she felt as though she would be “cheating” if she went to digital. She wouldn’t be a real photographer if she used digital.
Mitzy, a fat tabby, leapt on to the dark room table to greet her as she laid out all of her film rolls from her canvas tote. She paused to pet Mitzy, who by now was purring very loudly. She loved her cats. They served as her companions and sources of comfort. Snowy meowed at Kate’s feet. Then she realized they probably had no food left in their bowls.
Kate scooted her cats out of the dark room and went into the kitchen to replenish their bowl, which was indeed empty. The two cats ravaged the food as the last pellet landed in the bowl. Kate noticed the red light on her answering machine was flashing to indicate there was a message. Kate walked over to the answering machine and saw the number twelve blinking. She hesitated to press the playback button. She feared all twelve messages were from Tami.
Kate had changed her cell phone number, but hadn’t gotten around to changing her land line yet. It was a pain in the ass calling every contact in her address book to let them know her number changed. Hopefully this would be the last insane ex-girlfriend for Kate and the last time she’d have to change her phone number.
Kate pressed “play” and sure enough, it was Tami’s voice. “Kate, we have to talk. I’m in love with you. I’m sorry I was a jerk. Please, you have to call me. I love you. Call me tonight. I need to hear from you.”
The next three messages were also from Tami, sobbing for Kate to call her. The fifth message was from her friend Marisol. “Kate, you have to call me. Victoria left me. She left a note and all of her things are gone. Please call me,” Marisol sounded desperate.
The next six messages were hang-ups. Kate reviewed her caller id. They were all from Tami. How do I get myself into these messes? Kate thought. She seemed like the perfect woman—beautiful, intelligent, caring, great in bed. At least that was when we first met. Now she’s gone absolutely psycho on me. If this continues, I’ll have to file a restraining order against her.
Tami seemed perfect—for the first month or so. Soon she showed another side—an obsessive, paranoid, jealous, and controlling side. After they dated for a few months, Tami began questioning Kate about every woman in Kate’s life and career. When Kate would be on an assignment or visiting with friends, Tami phoned and left messages every half hour. One day, Tami threatened to kill herself if Kate didn’t call her back. Although Kate felt bad for Tami and still had feelings for her, she knew she had to let her go.
She really didn’t feel like dealing with Tami’s phone calls. She had to develop her rolls of film. On the other hand, she had to make time for her best friend, Marisol, who sounded like a train wreck.
Kate dialed Marisol’s cell number. The phone rang five times, and went to voice mail. At the prompt, Kate left a message. “Are you ok Marisol? I’m worried about you. Call me as soon as you can. I’m here for you and love you.”
She hung up the phone and returned to the dark room. She very carefully began removing the film from the film cans and secured them on the film reels to be immersed later in the chemical solutions.
Kate began setting up the photo paper and poured the chemical solutions into the basins. She retrieved a film reel and began the developing process. The image of Angela Moore slowly appeared through the clear liquid. So far, it looked like the perfect full length shot. She picked up the photo with her tweezers and attached it to the suspended string to hang dry. The next photo was a bust shot close-up of Angela. Kate could feel her blood flowing to her private area. Usually in control of her feelings, it frustrated Kate that she got turned on so easily by the mere sight of Angela.
Kate thought about the upcoming photo shoot with Angela and wondered how she’d be able to compose herself while in the same room with her. She envisioned herself acting like a bumbling idiot. Kate thought about her vibrator. Once the film was developed, she would go into her bedroom and pleasure herself. Unfortunately her needs would have to wait. The paparazzi were a cutthroat bunch—one in which you snooze, you lose. She couldn’t think about masturbating right now, it would have to wait until later.
CHAPTER 6
Angela panicked as Kristan’s phone began to ring. She had no idea what she would say if Kristan answered the phone. “Hi” was the only thing that came to mind. Angela panicked, decided to hold off on talking to her and pressed the red “end” button.
“Sorry to bother you Ms. Moore. I just wanted to let you know that traffic’s pretty bad. Don’t plan on being home for at least forty-five minutes,” her personal driver said through the limo’s intercom.
“Great. What else is new?” Angela responded, sarcastically. “Thanks Bobby, I’m going to lie down. Please don’t disturb me unless it’s important.”
“Yes Ms. Moore,” he replied.
Angela reached behind her seat and opened a compartment behind the leather seating. She retrieved a small feather pillow and neatly folded blanket. She turned off her cell phone, laid her head down, and thought about the first time Kristan and she met.
Not long after Ted McNeil died of AIDS, Angela injured her back while performing a stunt on a movie set. She was prescribed painkillers and muscle relaxers and became instantly addicted. She quickly discovered that not only did the drugs take away her physical pain; they numbed her emotional pain too. If she thought about the loss of Ted and Julia, she’d pop a pill. If she got stressed over work, she’d pop a pill. If she was breathing, she’d pop a pill. The pills lifted her from her stressful world and plopped her into a nice, fuzzy, safe cloud.
At one point she was popping over thirty pills a day and had prescriptions all over town. Often, her doctors would refuse to refill her prescription. On these days, Angela would hook up with a drug dealer-to-the-stars who would get her whatever she needed, on the fly and delivered.
Her addiction became a major interference when she started nodding off on movie sets and throwing tirades when she’d run out of pills. On one occasion, the director of a film she was starring in held a personal intervention with Angela. He warned her that if she didn’t clean up her act, she’d be out of a job. She thought he was overreacting and continued to pop pills, nod off on the set and have abusive mood swings to the dismay of the movie crew. She never did get fired. The movie was too far into production to replace the lead role. It would cost millions to bring another leading actress on board. Therefore, everyone including the director, tolerated her drug usage and, when needed, rearranged production to meet Angela’s needs.
Angela knew she should cut back on her pill usage, but couldn’t understand why she couldn’t take them in moderation. It frustrated her that she had no control over her addiction and virtually no willpower.
The last day she used drugs she had gone to her dealer’s apartment in Venice Beach. With her prescriptions depleted and no doctor agreeing to refill them, she needed something to stop the insidious cravings. Angela’s dealer wasn’t returning her calls, so she put on her platinum blonde pageboy wig and sunglasses and headed for Venice.
Angela knocked on the dealer’s door. “Who is it?” a man with an unfamiliar voice called out.
“Is Lenny here?” she yelled into the door, trembling and dripping of sweat from withdrawal.
“Naw. He’s in Cancun”, the man answered in a rough, scratchy voice.
Cancun? Since when do drug dealers go on vacation? Angela thought. How dare he. I’m in pain and he’s off sunning his ugly ass. Not knowing who this man was on the other side of the door, Angela’s gnawing intuition told her to turn around and split. She only dealt with Lenny—no one else. As always, her cravings ruled over her instinct.
“I need something. Lenny usually takes care of me. You think you could help me out?” Angela desperately pleaded.
The door opened and a very thin, sickly looking man with long stringy dirty blonde hair motioned for her to enter the apartment.
“So who are you?” Angela asked in an overtly snobbish tone.
“I’m Lenny’s brother, Chuck. I’m crashing here while he’s gone.” Chuck looked like one of those long-haired rockers from the eighties but without the eyeliner, lipstick and big hair. Maybe he had been an eighties metal rocker back in the day. He had to be pushing forty. It was quite possible. Who really cared, Angela decided. She pulled out a chair and sat at a card table situated in the middle of the living room. The high-rent apartment smelled of rotten garbage, which completely made sense, since the place was a pig sty and the kitchen garbage was overflowing onto the littered kitchen floor. Chuck definitely wouldn’t win the Good Housekeeping award.
“So what’re you lookin’ for?” he asked as he took a drag of a freshly lit cigarette.
“Percs, Vicadin, whatever you got”, she eagerly blurted.
“Wait a minute. Let me go see if he’s got anymore left,” he said, leaving the room and entering one of the bedrooms beyond the kitchen.
A minute later he returned with a bag of pills. Angela began to salivate. “Here ya go,” He handed the bag to Angela, drool spilling from the corner of her mouth. “That’s gonna be $500.”
“Five…Hundred…Dollars? You’re out of your mind,” Angela protested as she marveled at the bag that would soon end her pain.
“Hey, there’s ‘round fifteen Oxies in there. That’s a bargain.”
“What’s an Oxy?”
“They’re better than Percs. You never had an Oxy? They’re the best thing ‘round.”
“They better not be ibuprofens.”
“Believe me. These ain’t no ibuprofens.”
Angela held the baggy up to the light and counted the pills. “There are only twelve pills in here. And you want five hundred dollars? Lenny charges me that for fifty percs. I’ll give you two hundred,” Angela tried to negotiate.
“Un uh,” He shook his head. “You’re nuts, lady. These pills go for fifty a pop on the streets. If you don’t have five hundred, I’ll sell you a couple. But I can’t go any lower than forty a pop.” Chuck reached out and tried to grab the bag of pills from Angela.
Angela held onto the bag with all her might. She wasn’t going to let these babies get away. “All right. I know you’re ripping me off, but I guess I have no choice,” Angela dug into her Louis Vuitton bag and produced five crisp one hundred dollar bills. “Here,” she angrily threw the money in Chuck’s face.
“You don’t gotta be a bitch about it,” Chuck complained as he knelt to pick up the fallen bills.
“Don’t think I’m not gonna tell Lenny about this when he gets back,” Angela warned.
“’Bout what?” Chuck asked.
“That you ripped me off,” she barked.
“Look, you got yer shit lady,” Chuck snickered, grabbing Angela’s elbow to usher her to the front door. “I don’t fucking rip people off.”
“Do not touch me!” Angela snapped.
“Hey. Hey. Ease up. I was just seeing you out,” Chuck quickly let go of Angela’s arm and held up both of his hands appearing to surrender.
Angela left the apartment infuriated. Who did that fucking idiot think he was touching me? Once she got into her Mercedes, her mood quickly changed to excitement and elation. She opened the plastic baggy, and retrieved four oblong-shaped blue pills that had the number “160” imprinted on them. She had never seen pills like these before. Maybe they were some Mexican generic brand. Every once in a while Lenny would sell her strange looking generic pills from Mexico. Shrugging it off, she popped the four pills into her mouth and chased them down with a bottle of Evian water. Fifteen minutes later, she still felt the pangs of withdrawal and decided to ingest two more.
That was the last thing she remembered.
“Huh? Wa happened?” Angela mumbled, groggy and half awake. She tried to lift her head up, but it was too heavy. She sat, slumped over the steering wheel of her car, wondering why she felt so lethargic.
“Angela. It’s me, Lindsey. I got here as fast as I could. They’re going to take you to the hospital,” Angela’s publicist, Lindsey said, leaning in through the driver’s side window.
Angela muttered, “What happened? My head feels like it’s full of lead.”
“You hit that car, dumbass,” she said wildly, pointing to a red sedan parked in front of Angela’s car. The front end of the sedan’s hood was crushed under the front end of Angela’s bumper.
“You’re being charged with a DUI Miss Moore,” a police officer chimed in.
“That’s not possible. Where am I?” Angela groggily wondered through a drug-filled haze.
Lindsey leaned forward to whisper in Angela’s ear so the cop couldn’t hear, “You really did it this time. You’re in a goddamn grocery store parking lot. You’re all fucked up and for some reason felt the need to waltz into the store and walk out with a bottle of wine, which you didn’t pay for. Then, you got into your car and to put the final nail in your celebrity coffin, you put your car into drive and flattened the car in front of you.” Lindsey was furious.
