CHAPTER
ONE
Camille
knew what she wanted. The Beet, Endive, Roquefort and Walnut Salad.
But her friend Lisa was still obsessing over the menu, so Camille sat
back and took in her surroundings. Mosaic floor tiles, large mirrors,
tall wood-trimmed windows. It was very light and airy. She liked coming
here. It made her feel like she’d been transported to a bistro
in Paris.
The
restaurant was actually on the main drag of the meatpacking district.
Just outside the louver doors, carcasses hung in a double-parked truck.
But even that seemed like an illusion. Two blocks away there were chic
West Village shops and three million dollar townhouses.
“Everything
looks so good,” Lisa said. “I can’t decide.”
“I’m
getting the Beet Salad.”
The
proximity to slaughtered animals gave the restaurant that extra layer
of appeal to “well heeled” New Yorkers who wanted to pretend
to be slumming. Not that Camille and Lisa were “well heeled.”
They were actresses. The struggling kind. So they were happy to pretend
to pretend to be slumming.
“I’m
thinking maybe a burger. I just don’t know…”
It
was mid-afternoon. Not very crowded. A woman sitting near the back…
she looked familiar. “Oh my god.”
Lisa
looked up from her menu. “What?”
“It’s
Meg Ryan.”
“Are
you sure?”
“Definitely.”
Camille couldn’t
stop her eyeballs from darting from Lisa to Meg, Lisa to Meg. “She
doesn’t look so good.”
“I’m
turning around.”
“The deuce
behind you to your right, near the bar. Be subtle! She’s with
a man; his back is to me. Can’t tell who he is.”
Camille watched
as Lisa twisted her head around as if she had a crick in her neck, stretched
out her shoulders for added effect, cast a glance back, snagged a look,
then forced her face forward again. “She looks so old!”
“That woman
never made an interesting acting choice in her life.”
“I saw her
bio on E! She was a journalism major in college and then got on a soap
and never stopped working.”
“It’s
so unfair.”
“But I have
to say, I did love When Harry Met Sally.”
“Mmmmm.”
Camille took a sip of wine. Maybe she had felt guilty pleasure watching
that movie when it came out, and then on video, and at least once on
TV, but she wasn’t going to admit it. Still, her eyes couldn’t
help but find their way back to Meg, who was laughing now, but how could
she be happy? Her best parts were behind her. She did have a child,
but her marriage was over and her stalker was in jail. Starring in TV
movies was the next inevitable step in her fall from grace.
The waiter came,
and they both ordered the salad. Of course it was ridiculous to feel
bad for Meg. Camille would be thrilled to get paid to do a TV movie.
She’d be thrilled to do a commercial that aired during a TV movie.
“So,”
Lisa said after the waiter took their menus, “I had a big talk
with Wally last night.”
“And…?”
Lisa had been toying with breaking up with Wally for months. Maybe she’d
finally gone through with it.
“He asked
me to move in with him.”
“Really.”
“And I don’t
know what to tell him.”
“You’re
actually considering it?”
“I know I’m
always putting him down,” she said, hooking her dirty blonde hair
behind her ears. “But he really is such a nice guy.”
Lisa was looking
at her with… could it be… pity? They’d lived two blocks
away from each other for years. It was the perfect arrangement -- always
there for each other, but with their own spaces for when they got on
each other’s nerves.
“I just don’t
seem to be able to end it,” Lisa said.
Camille did her
best to sound supportive. “So maybe you should move in with him.”
“But he’s
so boring.”
“Then maybe
you shouldn’t?”
“You aren’t
helping!”
“I’m
sorry. I don’t know what you should do!”
Camille could never
be with a man who bored her. She was amazed that Lisa could. Of course,
Wally the Wallet earned hundreds of thousands of dollars a year as an
investment banker, and that part wasn’t boring. But. A man with
lots of money had expectations. At least her flaky and broke artists,
actors, and musicians had all been incapable of long-term commitment,
leaving her free to put her own ambitions first.
Lisa took a piece
of bread from the basket and then put it back. “I can’t
believe I’m actually considering it.”
“He is crazy
about you.”
“And he’s
very sweet.”
“He’s
very sweet.”
Camille checked
back in on Meg and her mystery date. He was talking to the waiter. She
could just about get his profile… “Oh my god.”
“What?”
“It’s
Eric Hughes.”
“You’re
kidding.” Lisa turned around and stared at him like a tourist.
“It’s
not fair.” Eric Hughes was incredibly handsome in that Laurence
Olivier-Leslie Howard-Richard Harris-Richard Burton-Cary Grant-Hugh
Grant British sort of way. Why did he have to waste himself on Meg?
“Maybe it’s
the first time they’ve met,” Lisa said. “And he’s
realizing right now that she’s a bore. And when he gets up to
go to the bathroom he’ll pass our table, and see you…”
“Or you…”
“And he’ll
say, Pardon me… I couldn’t help but notice how lovely you
are… Would you like to star in my next movie?”
Camille took a
swig of wine. Of course, Eric Hughes would never know she had worshiped
him ever since she saw him in the movie version of Hamlet. And she didn’t
even hold it against him that he’d left his wife for that twit
Mimi Tyler (and where was she now?) who co-starred with him in Bombshell
and then made that trashy thriller with Harrison Ford even though she
couldn’t act to save her life.
“So tell
me.” Lisa leaned forward onto the table. “What’s happening
with you and Daniel?”
“He called
the other night.” Daniel was an old friend of the Wallet’s.
Lisa had engineered an introduction, and Camille had gone out with him,
once, for coffee the week before. “I haven’t called him
back.”
“Why not?”
“I’m
just not sure he’s my type.”
“I think
he’s sexy.”
“Do you really?”
Daniel was a psychiatrist on staff at Bellevue, the famous state-run
mental hospital. The depository for all the crazies in the city. The
joke. The place you don’t want to end up in. “I just don’t
see myself dating a shrink.” She’d never even been to one
as a patient. Her acting had always seemed like enough of an outlet
for her emotions, and who had the money anyway?
“Wally says
he’s very into you.”
“He’s
nice. But he was so quiet.”
Except that he
kept asking her questions, and listening very attentively to her answers,
and encouraging her to talk. By the end of the date she’d practically
told him her entire life story! And he’d revealed hardly anything
about himself.
“He’s
shy. Give him a chance!”
“I will,
but I have to tell you my really exciting news. I got an appointment
to see an agent!”
“Really?
That’s great!”
“Norman Freed.
Ever heard of him?”
“I’ve
seen his name around for years.”
“Me too,
but I don’t know who he represents. Anyway, I’m seeing him
next week.”
“Good luck.”
“Thanks.
God knows I’m overdue for some luck.” Camille raised her
wine glass. “To us. For not giving up.”
Lisa seemed to
hesitate before raising her glass. “To not giving up.”
As they clinked,
Meg and Eric got up from their table. “They’re going,”
Camille said, “don’t look!”
“I have to.”
So they both pretended
not to watch Meg and Eric leave. And everyone else in the restaurant
pretended not to watch Meg and Eric leave. And Meg and Eric pretended
that everyone in the room wasn’t pretending not to watch them
leave.
The pair snaked
their way through the tables past the hostess who smiled graciously
and nodded. It was as if all the patrons had become extras, and their
conversations were merely dubbed in background noise to give atmosphere
to Meg and Eric’s exit. The door closed behind them. And there
was a communal pause for a moment of self-importance and glee. As if
the entire room of people had shared dinner with the two stars.
