Picture Perfect

She was okay-looking, she thought, but growing up with intellectual parents meant you were much more focused on your brain than your looks.

Dinner time in the Mercers’ brownstone was spent discussing her mother’s ethical legal riddles from her university tenure and her father’s more bizarre psychiatric cases, while Dylan tried to keep up with the conversation.

She was bright, but she had to work hard for her marks and staying on the honor roll wasn’t easy but she did it because her parents expected nothing less of her.

Sometimes Dylan longed to remind them that she didn’t have their genetic code so it was unreasonable to expect her to be as brilliant as them, but a part of her was grateful that they treated her as though she was an extension of them.

That was until she found the letter they had never shown her.

‘Excuse me.’ She heard a voice and turned to see another famous face, a starlet who had recently been named as the sexiest woman in film. ‘Do you have a Band-Aid? My shoes are killing me.’

Dylan opened the first-aid kit, took out a Band-Aid and handed it to the girl. Now she was beautiful, Dylan thought, after the girl had left the bathroom.

She glanced at her face in the mirror again. It was too wide; the sort of face that didn’t look right in everyday life, but it did kind of work in photos. She might have sought out modelling work, if she’d even known where to start, but it never seemed like the right time to say that to her law professor mother, with tenure at Columbia, or her ailing psychiatrist father, who had recently been diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease.

As more women came into the bathroom, there were several faces Dylan recognized, but she wasn’t as star-struck any more. Hell, she had Maggie Hall’s Givenchy shoes! She couldn’t wait to get home and tell her best friend back in New York.

That was the sort of thing Addie loved to hear. During their almost daily Skype sessions, Addie always wanted to know what celebrities Dylan had seen in LA.

But in the two months she’d been in LA, Dylan hadn’t seen many, until tonight. She thought she’d glimpsed Kevin Bacon in a frozen yogurt store, but couldn’t be sure. A Kevin Bacon sighting probably wouldn’t impress Addie anyway, but Maggie Hall was different.

Her supervisor walked into the bathroom with a sour face. ‘You can go now. Make sure you sign your hours sheet before you leave.’

‘Okay,’ said Dylan politely. The woman had been a total bitch all night, but Dylan refused to let it bother her. This job had been way better than working nights at the greasy chicken shop downtown, trying to avoid the slick on the floor and the even more oily owner.

Dylan picked up her bag and put the gift bag with the Givenchy shoes in it over her shoulder. ‘Thanks, it was fun.’

The woman looked at her and made a face. ‘Being stuck in a bathroom with needy celebrities bitching about each other and fighting over the mirror was fun? You’re nuts.’

Dylan smiled as she stepped into the elevator, feeling the slight weight of the shoes in the bag slung over her shoulder. Tonight had been a rare good night.

‘How you doing?’ she heard as the elevator doors opened and she saw a handsome man leaning against the opposite wall, one hand in the pocket of his tuxedo pants as though he was posing for a cologne advertisement.

It was both cheesy and funny, and she started to laugh.

‘What?’ he asked, looking behind him.

As he turned, she pressed the button and the doors of the elevator closed again, leaving her laughing out loud.

Was he serious? He probably worked that move in the mirror over and over before trying it on countless girls. Maybe some fell for it, but not Dylan. She liked boys who were less handsome and less presumptuous, guys who made her laugh and didn’t act like they were in a perfume ad.

So far she hadn’t met anyone close to decent in LA. Every guy wanted to be an actor, and assumed Dylan wanted the same thing. They all asked her who her manager was, who was her agent? Would she do nudity?

Checking her phone, she saw it was after two in the morning and she sighed as she walked towards the cab rank. Even though the cab was expensive, at least she’d get home to her studio apartment in Koreatown in time for a few hours’ sleep before her next shift.

She had to be at work again in five hours’ time, waitressing at a breakfast in a private home in the Hollywood Hills. She had begged for the shift as it was extra money and she could then afford to take two days off for her research.

Her furnished apartment was cheap because the owners were planning on pulling it down and rebuilding on the site, but according to her new neighbour they’d been saying that for ten years and there was still no sign of any development.

At seven hundred and twenty dollars a month, the apartment was manageable, just. There was no way Dylan would ask her parents for help. Not after what she knew now.

Inside her one room, she pulled her laptop out from under the mattress—it was the only thing in her room of any value—and opened it to check her emails.

An overflowing laundry basket sat in one corner, and a bowl half-eaten ramen noodles sat on the linoleum floor.

Her mom would freak if she saw how messy her room was, she thought, making a mental notes to clean it after tomorrow’s shift.

Nothing of any importance, she thought crossly as she slammed the laptop shut and went and lay back on the uncomfortable single bed that had come with the apartment, along with a dripping sink and some oversized cockroaches. They probably had fillers also, she thought, thinking of some of the faces she had seen at the party that night.

Why did people think they had to do that to their faces? she wondered as she rolled over on the lumpy mattress, her eye caught by the gift bag on the floor.

Clambering out of bed, she put on the strappy shoes and stood up. Maggie Hall was right, they hurt like hell, but they looked amazing. Taking her phone, she sent a picture of them to Addie with the text: Maggie Hall let me walk in her shoes. They are now mine.

It was six in the morning in New York, no chance Addie would be awake, but she knew her friend would be thrilled.

Tottering back to the bed, Dylan lay down again and lifted one leg to admire the shoe. What did shoes like this even cost? she wondered idly, as her phone started ringing.

‘Why the hell are you awake?’ Dylan said, as soon as she saw Addie’s number.

‘I wasn’t really, but I heard the message come through and saw it was from you. How the hell do you have Maggie Hall’s shoes on?’

Addie’s voice was groggy but excited, and Dylan laughed.

‘You didn’t need to call me now, Ads,’ she said. ‘I meant it to be a surprise for when you woke up.’

‘I always keep my phone on,’ said Addie. ‘Now spill.’

Dylan told her all about her night and her encounter with Maggie in the bathroom. Addie, as she’d expected, was duly impressed.

‘God, I wish I had your life! Instead I’m stuck here, it’s snowing, it’s boring, and I have no idea why I’m studying when my degree is just a ticket to working at Starbucks for the rest of my life.’

‘You don’t have to do that course,’ Dylan said for the one hundredth time.

Like most of Dylan’s friends from her prestigious private school, she and Addie had been spoiled for choice when it came to deciding which college to attend. Addie had ending up enrolling in a comparative literature degree because she didn’t know what else to do.

‘Show me the shoes again, without your ugly feet in them,’ Addie demanded, sounding more awake by the second.

Dylan obediently took off the shoes and sent the new photo. ‘She asked for my number,’ she said, when she put the phone back to her ear.

‘For what? Like in a date? Is she a closet lesbian?’ Addie squealed.

‘No, you tawdry hoe, I told her I’m looking for work and she said sometimes her assistant needs an assistant.’

‘Jesus,’ said Addie, ‘what a world.’

‘I know, right?’

‘How’s the search? Any more leads?’

Dylan was a smart girl, with a four-point average and acceptance letters to both Brown and Wellesley, so why was her task proving so hard?

‘None. I feel like I’m going about it in completely the wrong way. I can’t find anything. I’ve contacted the agencies, but no one will give me any information unless I have both parents’ signatures because I’m under twenty-one.’

Addie paused. ‘You know, babe, you could just ask your mom and dad who your birth mother was and save yourself all this trouble?’

‘I can’t,’ said Dylan. ‘It would kill Dad.’ She put on the heels again and flopped back on the bed. ‘Besides, I don’t think I could stand to hear any more of their lies right now.’

‘I get it,’ said Addie softly.

Dylan nodded, forgetting for a moment that Addie couldn’t see her. This was why she and Addie were so close. Addie really did get it, she got everything about Dylan, even her hare-brained scheme to head to LA and find her birth mother.

‘Hey, I have to crash. Gotta be at another job in a few hours,’ said Dylan, yawning.

‘Okay, sleep well, I love ya, you crazy bitch.’

‘Love you too, loser,’ said Dylan, and she went to sleep, still wearing Maggie’s shoes.

West Virginia

September 1995

Shay Harman looked at the pregnancy test and shook it vigorously.

‘It’s not a Magic 8 Ball,’ her friend Krista said, as she swung her skinny legs from her perch on the bench in the mall’s public toilet.

‘I wish it was,’ said Shay.

Someone had once left a cigarette on the bench, burning the lino into a perfect groove, which Krista now lay her finger in.

‘What are you going to do?’ Krista asked.

‘Go back and finish my shift,’ said Shay. ‘I’ll think about it later.’ Denial was always a good choice in the face of chaos, she thought.

Back at the Great American Cookies stand, the smell of the dough made Shay feel ill. She fought down the nausea, staring out at the crowd in the mall.

She didn’t feel like she belonged there, but soon she would become one of the throng, pushing a second-hand pram and living on welfare.

‘You okay, honey?’ asked her coworker Jackie.

Shay had no idea how old Jackie was. But as far as she could tell, after four babies in six years, Jackie wasn’t living, just existing, sleepwalking through her shifts at the cookie stand.

Jackie said she was lucky—she and her husband both had jobs and her kids went to school—but Shay couldn’t work out what was so lucky about that. Wasn’t that something everyone should have?

This attitude had gotten her into trouble with her foster families.

‘You need to be more grateful for what you get,’ said the social worker.

Eventually the social worker convinced Shay’s grandmother to take her in. At least Shay didn’t have to pretend to be grateful then. She knew her grammy only agreed so she’d get the extra welfare cheque for her dead son’s only child.

Shay served a teenage girl whose swelling stomach couldn’t be hidden by the oversized Disneyland sweatshirt. Was everyone pregnant all of a sudden?

Was she really any different to this girl? Shay wondered. Was her future now to raise a baby when she could hardly raise herself? And what would Grammy say when she went home to the trailer and told her she was pregnant to the first guy she’d slept with?

Bud Harris wasn’t her boyfriend. She’d only had sex with him because she’d yearned for someone’s loving touch. She knew damn well he wouldn’t want this baby; he was already working down the mines, never calling Shay again after he had left school.

Finally the shift ended and she was relieved to find Krista waiting for her.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ said Shay as she walked up to her best friend.

‘Sure,’ said Krista, tossing her bleached hair over her shoulder, ‘but I don’t want to go to my place, they’re all down on their knees praying for something that doesn’t include me.’

Shay laughed wryly. Some foster homes were better than others, but each had its own special way of reminding you that you didn’t quite fit in. It might be special food that wasn’t for the welfare kids, or second-hand clothing that was the wrong size. In Krista’s current ‘home’, it was prayer.

Shay looked around. ‘I don’t know where we can go,’ she said, and then she started to cry.

‘Hush now,’ Krista said, in that voice that always calmed Shay. ‘I’ll think of something.’

And Shay nodded, knowing that Krista would. She had never once let her down.

Krista’s eyes lit up and she smiled the magnificent smile that made social workers believe she really had changed this time.

Soon, Shay and Krista were sitting up the back in the only movie theatre in town, let in for free by the pimple-faced projectionist who had a thing for Krista.

‘What’s the film?’ whispered Shay.

‘Matilda,’ whispered Krista. ‘It’s about a little girl who uses her magic to get her revenge on her shitty family and school, and finds a new mom to adopt her. I’ve seen it twice already, it’s my favourite film ever.’

Shay smiled and took Krista’s hand and squeezed it tight.

‘Thank you,’ she said and Krista smiled in the darkness as the screen flickered to life.

Chapter 4

Zoe was driving out to Malibu in her new Jaguar sports car, the top was down and Bruno Mars was blaring out of the stereo. The overcast day couldn’t dull Zoe’s mood. Even when it was turning to winter, it wasn’t cold. She hated being cold almost as much as she hated being overlooked just because she was a woman. People assumed she was the mother hen of her clients, and to some extent she was, but this new deal with Jeff Beerman meant she was now a power-player. She couldn’t wait to tell Hugh the news about the deal and how well she had played her hand at the party, when her phone rang.

Christ it wasn’t even eight a.m. and people were hassling her already? The morning after the Oscars should be a public holiday in Hollywood, she thought crossly as she pressed the answer button on her steering wheel.

‘Zoe Greene.’

‘Zoe, it’s Rachel Fein, from Hollywood Reporter,’ came the nasal tones of the woman who could make or break a film with a single article.

‘Rachel, sorry I didn’t see you last night. How are you?’ said Zoe silkily.

‘You may not have seen me, but everyone saw you,’ laughed Rachel. ‘So what’s the dealio with you and Jeff Beerman? Is it business or pleasure?’

The dealio? Zoe rolled her eyes as she turned the corner and took the highway towards Malibu.

‘Rachel, we both know I’m too old and too smart to be anything other than business in Jeff’s life,’ she said.

Jeff’s three ex-wives would all attest to his penchant for young starlets, which was well known in the industry. Rumour had it that his last marriage had cost him twenty-seven million dollars.

‘So it’s true you’re executive producing The Art of Love with Jeff and Palladium Pictures?’ Rachel asked.

Zoe gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, imagining it was Rachel’s neck.

‘I can’t comment on any deals right now. But when I have an announcement to make, you’ll be the first to know,’ she answered. Just as soon as I’ve signed the papers, she thought.

‘I see. Well, is it true that Palladium Pictures is in financial trouble, and that Jeff Beerman has put up his own money to get this project off the ground?’

Zoe glanced in the rear-view mirror and pulled over sharply to the side of the highway.

‘Rachel, I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ she said evenly. Stay calm, girl, she reminded herself. You’ve got this.

‘Then I suggest you find out before you sign anything because you might find you just sold yourself, your writer and the book of a lifetime to a man who a few people are saying is on the downhill slide.’

‘What people? What are they saying?’ Zoe tried to keep her voice calm, as the cars went whizzing by her. Everyone was going in the right direction and here was Rachel telling her she wasn’t and if anyone knew what the state of affairs were with Jeff, Rachel knew.

‘Zoe, not everyone can stay on top for ever, not even Jeff Beerman. I’ve just heard a few money men saying Jeff needs a hit and soon. I’m just warning you. Anyway, you’ve given me a few leads over the years; I’m giving you one now.’

The line went dead and Zoe sat in the car staring at the road ahead.

This isn’t how it’s meant to play out, she thought, dialling Jeff’s number, knowing he would be in his office. People may question his morals but they could never question his work ethic.

‘Jeff Beerman’s office,’ an assistant answered.

‘Zoe Greene for Jeff,’ she said, tapping on the steering wheel with her fingernail.

‘Greene, how’s the head this morning?’ he asked, his voice filled with cheer.

‘Listen to me, I have to ask: are you in financial trouble? Because if you are, obviously I have to go elsewhere with this project.’

‘Good morning to you too, Greene,’ he said calmly.

‘Well?’ she demanded.

‘Say good morning and I’ll answer you,’ he said calmly. ‘Manners are free, remember?’

Zoe shook her head in frustration and gritted her teeth. The man was the worst game player she had ever met.

‘Okay, okay. Good morning, Jeff. Now, stop fucking me about. Are you in financial trouble?’

‘Me? Personally? Not at all.’

‘What about the studio?’ She asked. It was always best to be straight up with people, she had realized over the years, even if they found it confrontational.

Jeff took a moment to answer, and during those seconds Zoe felt herself fly backwards in time and space and she was outside, hearing the chickens roosting for the night, cold, alone and hungry. The emotional memory of her body always betrayed her, she thought, as she tried to remain present.

‘Greene?’ Jeff’s voice jerked her out of the chicken coop and back onto the side of the highway. ‘Did you hear what I said?’

Zoe blinked and breathed away the anxiety in her chest.

‘No, I didn’t, can you repeat it please?’ she asked, trying to keep the edge out of her voice.

‘I said, there isn’t a problem, as long as we keep costs down,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you come in now and we can go through them together? I have your contracts here too.’

‘Really? That was quick, even for you,’ she said, thinking aloud.

‘I know a good thing when it’s offered to me,’ said Jeff, sounding as though he didn’t have a care in the world. ‘I had my lawyers draw them up last night.’

They must have loved that, thought Zoe. The night of the Oscars and they had to work? By all accounts, Jeff was a punishing man to work for, exacting and relentless, but there was no doubt he was brilliant and to learn from him was a once-in-a-lifetime chance.

And she didn’t know if one of the larger studios would give her a producer title if she asked. Time was running out. If they didn’t move now, then the momentum of the book would be lost.

‘I’m on my way,’ she said.

Before she pulled out into the morning traffic again and headed back to Hollywood, Zoe dialled another number.

‘Zo.’ Maggie’s voice was groggy. ‘What’s up?’

‘I need your help,’ said Zoe as she did a U-turn. ‘But it’s a secret so you have to promise me you won’t tell anyone.’

There was a silence on the end of the phone and then Maggie’s voice came through clearer this time.

‘When have I ever let a secret of yours out into the world?’

Maggie’s voice was terse, but this deal meant everything to Zoe at this moment. She needed someone she could trust and who was nearby in Malibu.

‘I know, but listen this is a big one,’ she said.

‘Has it got something to do with casting The Art of Love?’ said Maggie.

Zoe gasped. ‘How the hell did you know that?’

‘Will told me,’ Maggie answered crossly.

Damn you, Will, thought Zoe. He used any chance he got to needle his ex-wife, even privileged information like the initial casting discussions for The Art of Love.

‘He really shouldn’t have done that.’

‘It was actually Arden Walker who spilled first. She claims she’ll be playing Simone opposite Will,’ Maggie said in a tight voice.

‘What? She isn’t Simone. The movie hasn’t been cast yet. Hell, we don’t even have a studio on board!’ said Zoe, exasperated.

‘But the unofficial casting has begun?’ Maggie demanded.

Zoe made a face at the road ahead. The book was her baby and she wanted to bring it to life, the last thing she needed was Maggie and Arden fighting over a role, and causing drama.

‘No. I only asked Will because Hugh mentioned he liked him as an actor, but nothing more than that. Arden’s kidding herself if she thinks she’s right for this role.’

‘Arden thinks she’s right for every role,’ said Maggie wryly and Zoe laughed.

‘This isn’t funny, Zoe. I’m really hurt you didn’t tell me. You hadn’t even heard of that book before I gave it to you! ‘

Zoe sighed. ‘I didn’t tell anyone, I promise. It wasn’t personal, it was business.’

‘But you told Will,’ Maggie argued.

‘Yes, I admit that, but I had to see if he was interested before I went to the studios, so I could take a big name with me. I was going to talk to you about it, but I had to do the deal first,’ Zoe tried to defend herself.

‘I’m a big name,’ said Maggie, her voice sounding small. ‘You could have taken me.’

Zoe could have used Maggie as bait for the studios, but Will was an even bigger star at the box office, and she knew Maggie was too old to play Simone even if Maggie didn’t realize it yet.

They needed someone new, younger and without any expectations from the public. Someone audiences could easily fall in love with and identify as Simone. They needed to create a star.

‘Mags, I know you hate me right now, but I need your help, I’m going to tell you something no one knows, not my assistant, not even Jeff. Can you help me or not?’

Maggie was silent while she weighed it up. She loved to be included in anything, a legacy of having so often been left out and overlooked as a child, she would regularly remind Zoe.

‘Okay, I guess I’ll help,’ she said eventually. ‘But believe me, I’m still pissed at you.’

‘I know, hate me later, but help me now. I promise I’ll make it up to you,’ Zoe pleaded.

‘Go on then.’

‘Okay, so the thing is, Hugh Cavell is in LA,’ said Zoe. ‘He’s been here for about six months.’ Zoe paused. ‘He’s, ah… he’s been drying out.’

Maggie didn’t say anything, so Zoe continued.

‘He just did four months in Promises and he’s trying to stay on track. But he’s pretty self-destructive, Mags. I don’t like to leave him alone for long periods of time.’

‘Jesus,’ breathed Maggie, ‘that’s awful. I had no idea he was such a mess.’

‘If your wife died of brain cancer and you became a millionaire from the story of your grief, wouldn’t you feel kind of bad?’

‘I guess,’ said Maggie quietly.

‘You guess?’ Zoe started to laugh and Maggie joined in.

‘I don’t know, I suppose so,’ said Maggie. ‘What do you need me to do? Author-sit for you? Just so you know, I’m expensive.’

‘I do know, I write your contracts, remember?’

Zoe had checked in on Hugh every day via phone or email, and usually Hugh was fine, but he had sounded odd yesterday when she’d called. She didn’t want him to fall off the wagon when they were so close to what she wanted.

‘Where is he and what does he need?’ Maggie sighed.

Zoe gave Maggie the address in Malibu. ‘But don’t talk to him about the book,’ she warned.

‘What? How can I not? You know I love that book,’ cried Maggie.