Under the Rose, page 21
"I'd rather be in that limo with you, looking at the city of lights."
"That comes later, during our private party."
"You were amazing tonight." She lightly caressed his cheek. "I'm so proud of you."
"You gotta know, this would be really hard without you." Elliott's eyes glassed over. "I can't get them out of my mind."
She put her finger on his lips. "Shhhh, it's all right. We're celebrating, as of right now."
Elliott wiped his eyes with his fingertips. "Yes, we are. C'mon, let's wrap this picture thing and go celebrate."
Cassie hoped for a brief respite from the limelight during the ride to the Governor's Ball, only to discover they just had to walk across the red-carpeted street to the Convention Center. Outside the tent, it looked like a formal New York block party, with the glamorous people from the theatre now on the street schmoozing and sipping Champagne.
A waiter carrying a tray of Champagne flutes offered them a glass. Elliott gave her one. "You need to relax and enjoy yourself. It's party time."
In spite of being tired, hungry, and overwhelmed, Cassie did her best not to be a wet blanket. "I'm enjoying myself, but I think I need to eat more than I need to drink."
"Danger, Danger, Will Robinson! Hypoglycemia alert!" He turned her around. "See those stairs over there? Let's make a run for it. We're at table seventy-seven if we get separated." At least it was an easy number to remember. She followed Elliott around the crowd perimeter, and they managed to slip past the press. There'd surely be more reporters at the party, but at least she could find a bread stick to chew on.
Once inside, Cassie resigned herself to sharing Elliott for the duration. Every few steps, people stopped him to offer congratulations and kudos on his performance. He handled the attention and photo ops graciously, while she sunk deeper into the black hole of nauseous hunger. They weaved through a cavernous, flamboyantly decorated hall filled with hundreds of lavishly set round tables. On the verge of being as green as one of the colored lanterns hanging overhead, Cassie finally saw the seventy-seven sign. It jutted out of an over-the-top floral centerpiece. They were the first to be seated at their table.
Elliott put his Emmy beside the kitschy flowers and held her chair as she sat down. "Are you okay? You look like you did that night on the pier."
"I'm a little queasy."
Not buying her understatement, Elliott grabbed the bread basket and put a roll on her plate. "No way in hell are we waiting for everyone to get here." He sat down beside her and pointed to the salad already served at each setting. "Eat."
Cassie broke her roll in half. "If you need to walk around, go ahead. Everyone wants pictures with you."
He held up a booklet placed on all the chairs. "Know what this is?"
"No."
"It's a seating chart. If anyone wants me, they'll find me. I'm not leaving you." His protection of her could be gentle as well as fierce, and it touched Cassie deeply.
The other eight people at their table showed up en masse a few minutes later, led by Dick and Samantha. This was definitely the Street Cred group. Cassie recognized the fellow who won the Emmy for his New York cinematography, as well as a couple actors from the show. Dick put his hand on Elliott's shoulder. "I wondered where the hell you went. We need to get some pictures." He sounded mildly annoyed.
Elliott wasn't about to be pressured. "There's time for that. Sit down and have a glass of wine."
Steadier now that she'd eaten something, Cassie offered an apology. "Dick, I'm sorry, it's my fault. I was feeling a little faint and asked Elliott if we could sit down." She hoped that deflected the perceived slight.
"Yeah, you do look pale." Dick sat beside Elliott. "You should've seen her during your speech, she turned beet red. Don't want her passing out on us."
"Exactly what I thought." Elliott poured Dick a glass of wine from the opened bottle. "I knew some food would help."
"The evening's young, we'll get plenty of pictures later." The double-teaming worked, but the presumptuous way Dick continued to ride Elliott's coattails ticked Cassie off. She bit into her roll as well as her tongue.
They ate their meal a few bites at a time, in between interruptions. As Elliott predicted, people who wanted him found him, usually with a photographer in tow. Who'd have guessed? Dick wedged himself into as many of those shots as he could.
During a brief lull in the photo ops, Cassie excused herself to go to the ladies room. At least going by herself, no one stopped her. She took her time and looked around. The seating chart listed over thirty-five hundred names, an intimate little dinner party for the nouveau riche and trendy. The laughter and excitement were as loud and garish as the decorations. Cassie really didn't get it, she'd been fighting the tedium since they'd arrived. For Elliott's sake, she'd kept smiling, but she honestly couldn't wait for this party to be over.
Elliott stood up when she came back. "How are you doing?"
"Much better." She wasn't lying. "I got my second wind."
"Good. We still have a stretch to go." He glanced at his watch. "I need to hit the men's room before the next round. I'll be right back." Dick heard him and grabbed his arm.
"Maybe you'd like to take this along." He reached into his pocket and put something in Elliott's hand.
Elliott looked at it, then set the small silver box on the table. "Thanks, but no thanks. Don't need it, don't want it." He winked at Cassie, then disappeared into the crowd.
Dick put what looked to be an antique snuff box back into his pocket, then shifted to Elliott's chair. He patted his pocket. "I don't suppose you indulge either?"
Cassie imagined her hair fluffing like an angry cat's tail, but kept her cool. "No, never have."
"Too bad. If ever there was a night to fly high, this is it."
Cassie pointed to Elliott's Emmy. "That's enough of a rush for me."
He glanced at Samantha who was involved in a lively conversation with the cinematographer. When he turned back to Cassie, he lowered his voice. "We haven't spoken since that day I called your office. That didn't end very well. I'd like to try again."
"Try what?" That came out sharper than Cassie intended.
Dick flashed his Ken doll smile. "You don't like me very much, do you?"
Cassie measured her words carefully. "I don't know you well enough to say one way or the other."
"So, have lunch with me sometime and get to know me." He ran his finger down her arm, "You might find out I'm not such a bad guy."
Cassie's whisper sounded more like a hiss. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because I'm attracted to you, I have been since I met you."
Cassie noticed Dick's dilated pupils, and remembered what cocaine had done to Elliott. Dick's reckless, aggressive behavior suddenly made sense. She deliberately sidestepped a confrontation. "Like I told you on the phone, I'm flattered, but I'm involved with Elliott." She sipped her wine. "When does your party start?"
"As soon as Elliott gets back, we'll get those pictures and then get the hell out of here."
Samantha turned around. "Dick?"
"Yeah, beautiful?"
"Picture request."
He shifted back into his chair and put his arm around Samantha. Cassie quietly left to intercept Elliott.
Retracing her steps to the bathroom, she saw Elliott talking to Lorne Michaels. He gave her a questioning look and waved her over. "Lorne, this is the now infamous Cassie. Cassie, Lorne Michaels."
Lorne scolded Elliott. "What? I don't at least rank a 'formerly infamous?'" He shook Cassie's hand. "Pleasure to meet you. Maybe you'll help my cause."
"It's nice to meet you, too. What cause am I helping?"
"Talking Elliott into doing Saturday Night Live."
Cassie grinned. "You'd be a perfect musical guest."
"Lorne wants me to host."
"Crap, Elliott, that's even better. Do it!"
"She's absolutely correct." Lorne took out a business card and gave it to Elliott. "Call me when you get back to New York. We'll hash something out. I want you on SNL."
Elliott tucked the card in his wallet. "I'll call later this week and we'll talk. That's as good as it gets tonight."
"Good enough. Again, congratulations."
Once Lorne left, Elliott apologized. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be gone so long."
"You weren't. I wasn't comfortable at the table without you."
"Dick?"
Cassie nodded. "He wants pictures before leaving for his party."
"I know there's more . . ."
"It's all right, I handled it. Just don't leave me alone with him." Someone walked by and asked for a picture. They put on happy faces and smiled for the camera.
* * * *
Chapter Thirteen
"Are you going to tell me what the hell happened?" Elliott didn't waste any time, the driver had just closed the door. "I'm not sure we should even be going to his goddamn party."
"If we don't show up, guess what the headline will be tomorrow. Screw that, we're going." Cassie wouldn't let anything steal the thunder from Elliott's night.
"He came on to you again, didn't he?"
Cassie propped her gift bag filled with souvenirs on the seat, then grabbed the champagne. "Can you open this? I could use a glass."
Elliott took the bottle and unscrewed the wire. "Why the fuck are you protecting him?"
"I'm not protecting him. I just want to get through the next couple hours without an incident."
"What? You're afraid I'll cream the son of a bitch?" Elliott popped the cork and poured her a glass.
"Actually, I'd kinda enjoy that." She held up a second flute. "We haven't had our private toast." Pointing to his Emmy sitting on the seat beside him, she added, "In case you forgot, you won tonight."
Elliott poured the second glass. "Dick already tried to get his hooks in me. Now that I got an Emmy with his label, he thinks we're joined at the hip."
"Well, you're not." Cassie clinked her glass against his. "Here's to the brightest rock star in the sky, about to go supernova. I'm so God awful proud of you I'm about to bust."
"Thanks. That means a lot."
"Just remember, you don't owe Dick anything. You're doing this tonight because you have to do it. After that, fuhgettaboutit!"
"You've been in New York too long, that accent wasn't Irish."
"I'd rather be in New York than here. I don't know how you put up with it for so long."
"Not impressed?"
"Pretentious people and flashy decorations don't impress me."
Elliott chuckled. "It was colorful, wasn't it?"
"Colorful? I'd call it downright psychedelic!"
"Who knows, maybe 'shrooms inspired it. They're into trippin' out here."
"No kidding! Don't suppose you noticed Dick stealing a napkin?"
"No . . .when did he steal a napkin?"
"During that last set of pictures. I killed his hanky during your speech. He swiped a linen napkin to wipe his runny nose and stuffed it in his pocket."
"I'm not surprised his nose was running."
"He said tonight's the night to fly high, and from the way his eyes looked, he's in the stratosphere. Don't let him get to you, walk away if he gets too pushy."
"Sounds like what you did."
"We've come this far, we can get through the rest of it without a scene, I hope."
"It helps that I'm sober, I didn't even finish my wine at dinner." He refilled his champagne. "Which means I can do more of this." He held up his glass. "Cheers!"
While they had a few minutes to themselves, Cassie showed Elliott the text from Fred and played the message from Mrs. Mahoney. Her comment made Elliott laugh.
"Once we're back, I'll call her bluff and pay a visit. If she feels she undercharged me, she can tell me to my face and I'll make up the difference."
"After I negotiated a good deal for you? What kind of businessman are you?"
"A smart one. I want her on my side, so she doesn't think about selling my story."
"Point well taken."
"I'd also like her to take that trip to Ireland. Don't think she'd let me pay for it outright, but giving her more for the furniture helps the cause along."
"Maybe she'd let me arrange it for her. Funny, she kinda feels like family to me, I'd like to help her, too."
Sooner than Cassie would've liked, they stopped on Sunset Boulevard, outside the Mondrian hotel's Skybar. She saw Dick and Samantha already heading inside. Elliott picked up his Emmy. "Well, this is almost the last lap dance of the night. Ready to do it?"
"As ready as I'm going to be."
Cassie wanted to ask what he meant by almost the last lap dance, but Elliott didn't wait for the driver; he opened the car door himself. The paparazzi swarmed around him as he helped Cassie out. With his arm around her waist, he held his Emmy over his head and gave them the picture they wanted. At least this one didn't have Dick in it.
Cassie had never been to the Mondrian, but she had read about it, and really wanted a peek at the lobby. "Can we go in that way?" She pointed to the thirty-foot mahogany doors beside the Skybar entrance.
"I suppose we can. I don't think anyone will stop us while I'm carrying this." He held up his Emmy again, as the cameras clicked away.
The hint of man-on-the-street modesty made Cassie laugh. "Rock star, nobody would stop you even if you weren't carrying that."
Cassie recognized the Philippe Starck doors; the thirty foot behemoths were his signature. Inside, ethereal light bathed the cream and gold entryway. Cassie had the sense of a sunrise, or maybe a sunset, the marigold shades of orange brought both to mind. The stark spaciousness in the lobby drew attention to the sparse, oddly shaped furnishings. The abstract lines of the seating seemed to slice through the golden space.
The mixed elements of nature, glamour and fantasy intrigued her. Cassie really wanted to explore all the nooks and crannies of this otherworldly design, but that would have to wait. Elliott was already leading her toward the Skybar's lobby entrance.
Casual glamour seemed to be an ongoing theme. The open-air Skybar had a breathtaking view of Los Angeles, and seemed to be suspended from the clouds. The plush yellow and gold cushioned benches looked comfortable enough to nap on, which at the moment, really appealed to Cassie.
Samantha intercepted them as they walked in, and she didn't look happy. "It's your worst nightmare, Brenda's here and she's drunk. Dick's trying to get her to leave." She pointed to the short flight of stairs leading down to the pool. Dick and Brenda stood at the bottom, obviously arguing. "You might want to go back to the lobby until he gets her out of here."
Elliott handed Cassie his Emmy. "It's me she's after. We need to finish this."
All of Cassie's alarms went off. "Elliott, what are you doing?"
"I'm going to talk to her. I have the advantage, I'm not ripped." He asked Samantha, "Are there cameras here yet?"
"No, they're still outside getting people arriving. Some photographers and Dick's film crew will be coming in soon."
"Call security and tell them to hold everyone outside for a few minutes until we get this handled, and to get somebody in here in case we need help."
Samantha made the call, then put the word out to those who had already arrived that Elliott and Dick were speaking to Brenda. Cassie watched Elliott go down the stairs, and into the eye of the storm.
In a drunken rage, Brenda pushed past Dick. "There he is, the man of the hour, the king of the fucking world . . . where's your Emmy, hotshot?" She saw Cassie standing at the top of the stairs holding the statue. "Your girlfriend du jour is babysitting? Hey, sweetheart, don't drop it." No question everyone heard her, that sounded like an audition for Neely in Valley of the Dolls.
Dick's usual cool demeanor had been shot to hell. "Elliott, I swear I didn't invite her. She conned her way in before anybody got here." He used his stolen napkin to wipe the sweat off his face.
"I have my invitation right here." She waved a piece of paper in the air. Dick snapped it out of her hand.
"This is the press release about my party. You never got an invitation."
"No, but Elliott did." She turned on Dick. "You said you'd help me, and instead you screwed me! You invited both of them. I should be here with Elliott, not that red-headed bitch."
Elliott hadn't said a word. He'd been standing there stoically listening to Brenda shriek, until now. "When are you going to get I don't want anything to do with you?" He didn't raise his voice, in fact, he appeared totally calm.
"We could've made it work, you didn't even try."
"Made what work? We partied, not much else."
"How many rails did you do today, party boy?"
"None."
"Yeah, right."
"Dick knows, don't you, Dick?" Elliott's question made Dick squirm.
He wiped his face again before he answered. "Elliott's telling the truth, he walked away from it."
"Miss Goody Two-Shoes won't let my baby get high anymore? Let's see how long that lasts. Once a snow bird . . ."
Elliott interrupted. "Cassie, is security here yet?"
"They're here." Two men started down the steps.
Elliott held up his hand and stopped them. "Wait. Give her a chance to leave on her own."
Brenda defiantly challenged Elliott. "Fuck you! They'll have to drag me out of here, I'm not leaving."
"Up to you. The paparazzi will love seeing you dragged to the curb. You wanna feed the vultures, be my guest."
Dick followed Elliott's lead. "Brenda, you can't afford that kind of press. You told me they're already threatening to cut you loose from your next film. Think about your career." He threaded his arm through hers. "I'll go out with you and have my driver take you home."
She started to cry. "I still love him."
To Cassie's utter amazement, Elliott took her hand. "Brenda, you have to stop this, I don't love you. I never did. You're obsessing over something that wasn't real."
"You did love me."
"No, I didn't. That's what you've had wrong all along. We hooked up for the publicity, and you made it into something more. Stop hurting yourself. Let it go."
Dick tried again. "C'mon, Brenders, let me get you out of here." The endearment touched Cassie, she actually felt sorry for Brenda.
