The Perfect Location

‘Hey, how’s our star Sapphira?’ he asked as he jumped out of the shower.

‘Okay, all settled. She seems fine.’ She paused. ‘She’s a little, how you say, preoccupato. Worried. Anxious, you know?’

TG laughed. ‘That’s Hollywood stars for you, Giulia. They’re all a little crazy, although she is supposed to be great on set, so don’t worry about it, she’s fine. Kelly said so and she’s worked with her plenty of times.’

‘Okay then, I will not worry. You all okay for tonight?’ she asked as she turned on the car engine.

‘Fine, it all looks great, Giulia. Thank you, you are a star! Arrivederci.’

‘Arrivederci,’ Giulia replied and drove off down the driveway, the huge gates closing behind her.

Sapphira watched Giulia on the phone in her driveway from the upstairs window. ‘Go,’ she said as she willed her away from her house.

Finally the red car disappeared and the gates closed in the distance. Walking over to the bed, she emptied her bag out onto the crisp white bedspread.

Opening a small Comme des Garçons bag, she took out her instruments and prepared her hit.

Thankfully her tattoos were placed all over her body and so she was always accustomed to covering them up. If she knew she would be showing a lot of flesh then she shot up between her toes. Citing privacy, she always dressed herself and never allowed herself to be partially dressed in front of the costume or make-up crew. Living with her addiction for the last ten years had taught Sapphira a thing or two about secrets and how to hide them. A few of her lovers had been addicts as well, sharing her bed and her smack till she got sick of them. She had tried to get off it, taking OxyContin, which her LA doctor had only been too happy to supply. But there was nothing like pure snow, she thought.

Sapphira was a big enough star not have to go through the medical tests for insurance. Her record on set was flawless, she was a hard worker and big money earner; as far as the studio could see, there was no problem.

Coming to Italy was not a problem on the private jet, once she had been waived through Customs. She had enough to get her through the next eight weeks and then she would have to sort out her next supply. No problem, she thought. Rome is filled with drugs, I’ll send someone off to score. Who that might be, she was not sure, but there was always someone to help Sapphira De Mont, she figured.

She took an alcohol swab out of the bag. Getting her spoon, she wiped it down with the swab and placed the chunk on it. Filling the syringe with water, she squirted it onto the spoon and lit the tea light candle she carried in her kit. Melting down the smack, she rubbed her fingers with another swab and then placed a small piece of cloth on the spoon. Rubbing between her toes with the alcohol swab, she drew the shot up into the syringe and looked for a vein. Finding one between her little toe and the one next to it, she put the needle in, withdrawing it slightly to ensure she had it in the vein. Seeing a small prick of blood come out, she injected herself.

The OxyContin worked when she was doing the action movies, as she had to be fit and trained everyday. But the hit from heroin lasted longer and so she was back on it whenever she could get away with it. When she took it she felt like nothing would ever go wrong in her world again. She stopped injecting once, a long time ago but then started again after her hopes and dreams had been shattered. That was too much for anyone to handle, she had justified at the time.

As soon as the needle touched her skin she lay on the bed and felt the relaxation drape over her like a blanket. She breathed in and out, listening to the sound of herself in the silence, thinking about the first time she took heroin.

What was the guy’s name? she wondered. They had met at a party for someone whose name they didn’t even know, and the attraction between them was instant. The knowledge that Sapphira had with her a bag of coke, twelve joints pre-rolled in her father’s Cartier diamond Art Deco cigarette case was also appealing. They blew her bag of coke together in the bathroom, smoked three joints in the spa and then fucked at her apartment.

She tried heroin because she could. There was no thought that she would be hooked, no thought of her father’s addiction. She was attached to nothing and addicted to no one but the drug had other ideas. The first time she was sick. The second time she thought she was kissing God. And now all she did was shoot up trying to chase that feeling.

The sex with the guy on smack was beyond anything she had ever felt before. It lasted for hours and Sapphira recalled a continual searching for something elusive, not finding it, yet still being incredibly satisfied.

‘Ethan,’ she said out loud. ‘That was his name. Ethan.’

She felt strong enough to rise up from the bed and finally explore her surroundings. Walking downstairs, she took in the frescos on the wall, depicting magnificent gardens and angelic characters. Grabbing the map and the large set of keys from the hall table, she stood in the foyer and tried to get her bearings. Sapphira loved this part best: being in the mystery, finding her way. Wandering from room to room, map in one hand and lit cigarette in the other she was almost happy.

Where the church had originally sat in the centre of the monastery had been transformed into the most amazing sitting room. The pews were now around the outside of the walls; the vaulted ceiling had angels and demons carved into the ancient stone. While the space was awe-inspiring, however, it was not really to Sapphira’s taste. A little too overdone and European, reminding her of her father’s house in LA, filled to overflowing with his family’s heirlooms.

Looking at the map, she took in the pool, the pool house, the kitchen, the bedrooms and the bathrooms. She noticed a smaller room on the other side of the property; biblioteca, it read on the map. Padding barefoot through the villa, Sapphira felt at home. She had an almost chameleon-like ability to feel instantly at ease wherever she was, one of the few benefits that came from her gypsy-like childhood. Touching the silk tapestries that covered the walls, she headed down the hallway and checked the map of the villa. The biblioteca should be here, she thought, as she stood in the huge passageway. She could not see a door anywhere. Stopping, she tried to get her bearings. Yes, there was the room there on the map. So where was the freaking door, she wondered, loving the mystery unfolding before her.

Standing in front of the huge tapestry where the door should have been, her eyes squinted at the needlework of knights and maidens in front of a doorway. In the doorway was an angel, holding what seemed to be the Holy Grail and a book. Sapphira stood and looked and then got the message. Knowledge is God.

Pulling back the heavy tapestry, she found the doorway to the room behind the image. The door was heavily carved in Latin, but Sapphira didn’t know what any of it meant. She tried the brass handle but the door was locked. She grabbed the set of keys from her pocket and looked for the oldest one. There were three. She tried the first one but it did not turn; the next one didn’t work either. Finally, she heard the click of the lock as it opened for the third key.

Filled from ceiling to floor with books of all shapes and sizes, it was the most beautiful room she had ever seen. There was a long sofa, as wide as a double bed, filled with cushions and covered with blankets and quilts. The room was long and had thin tall windows along the top of the walls. Running across the centre was a table, similar to one in a royal dining room, but this had Tiffany lamps on it for the readers who sat at it, poring over whatever tome they were interested in. Wooden ladders on wheels leaned against brass rods that ran around the walls of the room to enable its climbers to visit the highest realms of knowledge. Sapphira looked up at the ceiling, which was covered in a painting of the nine muses dancing under the moonlight. A bit racy for the old monks, she thought, noticing the exposed breasts of some of the dancers.

A small, single-arched doorway seemed almost hidden among the books and wooden panelled walls. Sapphira walked over and discovered an exquisite small bathroom, with a shower and walls of azure mosaic tiles. This is perfect, she thought. I can live in here, surrounded by books and I will have no one looking in on me!

She had found her secret hiding place. Her dream come true. She used to hide in the tower of her father’s house when he had his infamous parties, escaping the noise and the endless parade of people who used her father for drugs. The hidden library made her feel safe. It was comforting to be surrounded by all the knowledge. She wished she had more schooling, even though she knew she was smarter than most actresses around her. She could learn anything if she was shown a few times, she thought defiantly.

Looking at the many books, she was pleased to see some were in English, and she clapped her hands in joy and ran out along the hallway and dragged her bags into the room. Scrabbling through a suitcase, she found her iPod and Bose portable speakers. Plugging them in, Billie Holiday filled the room singing ‘Strange Fruit’ and Sapphira sang along.

Looking around the library, her eyes searched out the perfect hiding spot. Crawling under the long table with the Comme des Garçons zippered purse, she felt along the underside and sought out the ledge she instinctively knew was there. Placing the purse on it, she clambered out and stood in the centre of the room. She was safe.

PART TWO

CHAPTER FOUR

Sometimes film sets can be magical places. When everyone comes together with the same goal, and egos stay off the set, great films are made.

TG thought that hosting a dinner at his villa with the female actors in attendance would create a connection between everyone. Giulia, his Italian assistant, had been working for the last two weeks with Italy’s premier party planner to create the perfect welcoming event. Lanterns had been strung across the vast courtyard in the centre of the villa. Candles were all around the outside, giving the place a ceremonial feel. There were two long tables running down the centre to seat the sixty guests and armfuls of sunflowers had been placed in tall vases with lengths of grapevine laced between every place setting. The soft orange linens lay on the table with an array of glasses in different sizes and shapes.

Local chefs were to provide a Tuscan feast for the crew. When asking for the dietary requirements of the leading stars, Giulia was relieved to find that there were not too many quirks to cope with. Calypso was a vegetarian, so Giulia ensured that there were delectable pastas that would appeal to her as well as salads and breads. The thought quickly passed through her mind that maybe this American actress was ‘carbophobic’, but she pushed it away again. Who doesn’t love pasta, she mused as she moved the chairs around the tables.

Upstairs, TG was being interviewed on the phone by a Variety reporter about The Italian Dream.

‘Tell me about the film, it seems very different than your other films, more of a chick flick,’ said the reporter.

‘I don’t know about that,’ said TG, trying to keep the exasperation from his voice. Why wouldn’t Hollywood ever allow you to change, he wondered. ‘But, yeah, it is, very different,’ said TG. ‘It’s a story about three women in Italy all at a crisis in their life. Sapphira De Mont plays the role of the woman mourning the loss of her husband and trying to renovate a villa so she can sell it to return to the US. Rose Nightingale’s character plays a woman discovering herself after leaving her husband who cheated on her and Calypso Gable is a young backpacker who finds love in Italy. It’s an ensemble piece and I’m really excited about working with such great women,’ said TG. He was actually terrified of fucking it up but he didn’t say such a thing. Variety wanted to hear about the biggest film to be released next year, destined to be a critical and commercial success, provided TG could pull it off.

‘Your last film had the most expensive car chase ever filmed. How are you going to go from filming such high-impact scenes to filming women talking about their feelings?’ laughed the reporter.

TG paused. He asked himself the same thing every night since he had agreed to direct the film. ‘Telling the story is what I do. So whether it’s a car chase or an interchange between two actors, I do my best to get the story across.’

As the interview finished, TG hung up the phone and ran his hands through his hair and walked over to the large window in the study, staring at the amazing view in front of him. The hills of Umbria rolled out in front of him, the violet skies signalled twilight and TG knew the party was soon to start. He sent a small wish out as he saw the first star start to twinkle. Please let the shoot go well, he thought and laughed to himself, wondering what the Variety reporter would think of him, if he knew he was wishing on a star.

TG walked downstairs and looked at the party Giulia and her party planner had organized. It was a sight to behold: the lanterns and candles were lit, citronella was in the air and, as dusk fell, the courtyard was heavy with atmosphere and romance. The waiters stood by waiting for guests and ready to ply them with Prosecco and wine. The chefs were busy in the huge kitchen, applying the finishing touches to the feast. All they needed now were the guests.

The lower members of the crew arrived first, then the producers and finally the stars. Calypso arrived, always punctual, as taught by Leeza. She glowed in the courtyard like a firefly, stunning in a One Vintage gold lamé dress from the 1920s that had been reworked for her. The beaded appliqué around the low neckline shimmered and a tulle detail around the skirt edged up over one side to reveal just the right amount of thigh. Worn with a pair of patent leather Christian Louboutin black slingbacks and her new evening bag from the Perugia flea market, Calypso shone in the dark. Gratefully accepting a glass of champagne from a waiter, she took a sip to relieve her nerves.

The start of any job, big or small, made her nervous. Self-doubt and worry stayed with her till her director made her comfortable. Working with TG, she hoped, would be easy and he would be helpful. Calypso relied heavily on her director for both moral and directorial support. While she was a good actor, with sound comedic timing reminiscent of a young Ginger Rogers, she lacked the self-confidence and maturity to truly explore the options for the character. The last film she had done had really just required her to say her lines, look gorgeous and do her perfect laugh several times – the laugh which made audiences fall in love with her. This shoot was going to be different; she was really going to have to act, particularly in the scenes with Sapphira and Rose. Christ, she thought, I hope I can cut it.

She felt a little sick. Looking around for a familiar face, she spotted Kelly talking to two men, with their backs to Calypso. She walked over towards them, aware all eyes in the room were on her, except for TG in a navy blue velvet jacket and worn jeans laughing with Kelly. He whispered something in Kelly’s ear and she looked over to Calypso and smiled, waving her over.

‘Hi, doll, you look divine. God, what a dress! Calypso, this is my husband Chris, who is also the DOP. And I presume you already know TG,’ she said warmly, motioning towards the man in the blue jacket.

TG turned and looked at Calypso. Jesus fucking Christ, he thought, she is stunning. When she had walked into the audition back in LA he was instantly attracted to her but he had sworn off actresses and especially ones in his own films.

‘Yes, yes, hi again,’ he heard himself saying. He remembered Calypso was gorgeous but had no idea how beautiful she really was till he saw her dressed in gold and so luminous. The light of the candles lit the shadows under her cheekbones and made her hazel eyes almost seem yellow in the light. He felt a chill run down his spine.

Calypso smiled and took a sip from her glass and remained silent. When she was nervous she said too much, and right now, she was really, really nervous. Any minute he’ll find out I’m an imposter, she thought.

‘How’s things, Cal?’ asked Kelly. ‘How’re you settling into bella Italia?’

‘Great. I slept for nearly eighteen hours, I think, then woke up and went to dinner and ate the most amazing pastry and met a boy.’ Calypso stopped, aware she had just run on and then swore in front of her director again, just like in the audition. I must look like a kid to them, she thought as she felt them staring at her.

There was no judgement from her audience though. Chris was thinking: I can’t wait to shoot her. She is gorgeous.

Kelly was thinking several things: She met a boy? Already? Well played, Calypso. And then looking at Calypso’s slender figure, she thought incredulously, she ate carbs!

TG didn’t hear a word Calypso said. He just watched her mouth move and the way the light flickered over her face and shoulders. He felt himself mesmerized and tried to pull himself together.

A boy? he wondered. Man, she was fast. Lucky bastard, he thought. Shit, TG, you just broke up with an actress. You know what they’re like! The last thing you need is a distraction. Get your head in the game, boy, he admonished himself. Smiling thinly at Calypso, he turned his back on her and walked towards the bar.

Calypso felt her cheeks flush with shame. He thinks I’m an idiot, a silly little girl, she thought as she watched him walk away.

The inadequacies she felt always came back, leaving her feeling stupid and uneducated. She watched TG as he chatted to someone by the bar. He was probably one of those uptight intellectual New Yorkers, she thought and immediately decided to hate him. Partly because this was her normal reaction to someone when she felt less than them, but also because it protected her. Leeza had drummed into her: ‘If they don’t like you, then fuck them, you didn’t like them first.’

For all the self-help and self-improvement books she had read over the years, when Calypso felt threatened, everything she thought she had learned went out the window and she returned to being Leeza’s daughter again, defensive when doubted or questioned.

Kelly watched TG’s reaction and Calypso’s response to him carefully. Knowing TG as she did, he was clearly attracted to her. Yet this is what he always did, she thought. He runs away, afraid of his feelings, and the woman always has to chase him. Looking at the young girl in front of her, she reached out and touched her arm, her skin soft beneath her hand. ‘He’s a little wound up, always like this before a shoot. He really is a great guy, you’ll see.’

‘Whatever, it’s cool,’ Calypso said to Kelly but inside she was fuming.

Looking around for any other faces she knew, she saw Rose Nightingale had arrived. She hadn’t seen her come in but couldn’t miss her now. Tall and slender in a peach georgette chiffon, halter-neck Chloé gown, Rose was beautiful. Her shoulders and arms were lily white, and she wore a gold Etruscan cuff on one arm and matching gold hoop earrings, which showed off her long neck.

Her brunette hair was swept up into a ponytail and she had applied her make-up in such a way that it looked as if she had barely any on but her features were perfect. Calypso knew this kind of make-up took over an hour to apply and she was a little star-struck. Rose was an icon and had the power and respect in the industry that Calypso hoped to one day have herself.

Seeing the girl in the gold dress staring at her, Rose made a beeline to her. ‘Hello, I’m Rose,’ she said with a smile. ‘I’m thrilled to be working with you. I saw your film on the plane on the way over. You were great, well done.’

Rose had a way of instantly putting people at ease. After her experience at drama school in London, she worked hard to make women at ease with her. Her warmth and kindness, just when Calypso felt so vulnerable, was exactly what was needed.

‘You’re very funny, it’s so hard to be funny. I can’t ever do it. It’s easy to cry on set, just think of your dog dying or something and then the waterworks start. But to make people laugh, well, that’s hard.’

Rose was so sincere and earnest that Calypso believed her immediately and decided to like her straightaway. Seeing her relax in her presence, Rose touched her arm. ‘Let’s sit together at dinner, shall we? I want to hear all about you.’

Calypso nodded eagerly. Rose’s motherly instinct was exactly what Calypso needed at that moment.

TG walked over and kissed Rose on both cheeks. They had known each other through the industry A-list parties and events and Rose was thrilled to be finally working with him.

‘Well, hello there,’ he said. ‘I see you’ve met Calypso.’

Calypso glared at him. If Rose noticed any tension she didn’t let on, instead she talked about how happy she was to be in Italy and how she hoped her family would come and visit her here.

While she spoke, TG did not look at Calypso once, even though Rose included her in the conversation several times. Calypso was becoming more and more incensed. This guy is an asshole, she thought, wishing she had taken the action film instead.

TG was aware of Calypso next to him though. Her presence was electric and whatever perfume she was wearing was driving him crazy. He knew if he turned to face her he would want to touch her face, her hair, her body. Oh my God, he thought, as Rose kept talking, I’m insane. I’m tragic. What kind of a guy falls for a woman he has just met? This isn’t right. It must be the candles and the fact that I haven’t had sex for five months.

Gun-shy from his experience with the ambitious starlet, he made a vow he would never date an actress again – until he met Calypso. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye and saw her looking at Rose as she spoke. She seemed tense; maybe she was nervous. Perhaps he should say something to relax her, he thought.

Racking his brain he said the first thing that popped into his head. ‘Calypso ate a pastry.’ The shock of this sentence ran through his body and he felt himself cringing.

Calypso shot a deathly stare at him. Was he worried she was going to get fat in Italy? Was he making fun of her? I’ll have to ring my trainer and get her to send me a DVD tomorrow to do while I’m here, she thought. Fuck, what the hell does that comment mean?

Rose clapped her hands, her gold cuff catching the light. ‘Oh God, the food here is wonderful. I plan to get really fat after filming! I want my family to come over and we’ll go on a gastronomic tour of the region. What sort of pastry did you have?’ she asked.

Calypso’s mouth was set in a straight line. ‘Berries, chocolate.’ she answered through gritted teeth.

TG saw her face set and knew she thought he was a dick. Oh well, at least I won’t have to worry about my crush if she hates me, he thought.

Giulia walked over and suggested to TG it was time to sit down for the dinner as the chefs were getting worried their feast would be spoiled.

‘Is Sapphira here yet?’

‘No, not yet but she’s on her way. I rang her driver,’ Giulia replied.

‘Great, we’ll start to get everyone to the table and begin without her.’

‘Excuse me,’ he said to Rose and Calypso, and walked towards a group of people, gesturing at the table.

Rose and Calypso wandered over, setting down their glasses. Rose pulled out her chair and sat down before the waiter standing behind her had time. Patting the chair next to her, she looked up at Calypso, who was debating whether to run away. ‘Come on, sit next to me. This’ll be fun.’

Rose’s enthusiasm was infectious and Calypso decided things would be all right if she stuck with her for the shoot. The party sat down, and TG stood and tapped his champagne glass with his fork. As he did, Sapphira arrived and the whole table fell silent. She stood in the doorway of the courtyard, wearing a white leather Pucci mini dress, with a huge silver and black eagle on the front looking as if it were about to land on its prey. She wore no jewellery and long black hair hung loosely down her back. Her legs seemed to stretch forever, ending in a pair of Balmain suede calf-high boots, with five silver buckles up each side. Her entrance stunned the room; it was dramatic and powerful, not unlike Sapphira herself.