Blair’s father is having this party for a young Australian actor whose new film is opening in L.A. next week. Blair’s dad is trying to get the actor to star in the new film he’s producing, some thirty-million-dollar science fiction adventure film called Star Raiders. But the Australian actor’s price is too high. I go to the party to try to talk to Blair, but I haven’t seen her yet, only a lot of actors and Blair’s friends from film school at U.S.C. Jared’s there and he keeps trying to pick up on the Australian actor. Jared keeps asking him if he’s seen “The Twilight Zone” with Agnes Moorehead, and the Australian actor keeps shaking his head and saying, “No, mate.” Jared mentions other episodes of the show and the Australian actor, who’s sweating profusely and drinking his fourth rum and coke, keeps telling Jared that he hasn’t seen any of “The Twilight Zone” episodes he’s talking about. Finally, the actor walks away from Jared, and Jared’s joined by his new boyfriend, not the waiter from Morton’s but a costume designer who worked on Blair’s father’s last film, and who might, or might not, work on the costumes for Star Raiders. The Australian actor walks over to his wife, who ignores him. Kim tells me that the two of them got into a fight this afternoon and that she left their bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel in a rage and went to an expensive hair salon on Rodeo and had all her hair chopped off. Her hair’s red and cut close to the scalp and when she turns her head to a different angle, I can catch patches of white beneath the spiked hair.
Talk of the damage the storms caused at Malibu is brought up and someone mentions that the entire house next to theirs collapsed. “Just like that. One minute it was there. The next—whoosh … Just like that.” Blair’s mother nods her head as she listens to the director who’s telling her this and her lips are trembling and she keeps glancing over at Jared. I’m about to go over and ask her where Blair is, but some people, a couple of actors and actresses and a director and some studio executives enter, and Blair’s mother walks over to them. They’ve just come from the Golden Globe Awards. One of the actresses sweeps into the room and hugs the costume designer and whispers to him loudly, “Marty just lost, get him a whiskey neat, fast, and get me a vodka collins before I collapse, will you, darling?”
The costume designer snaps his fingers at the black, gray-haired bartender and says, “Did you hear that?” The bartender rises out of his stupor a little too quickly, a little too unconvincingly and makes the actress her drinks. People begin to ask her who won what at the Golden Globes. But the actress and most of the actors and producers and studio executives have forgotten. The director, Marty, remembers and he recites each name carefully and if someone asks who they were up against, the director will look straight ahead and tell them, in alphabetical order.
I start to talk to one of the boys who goes to film school at U.S.C. He’s very tan and has the beginnings of a blond beard and wears glasses and ripped Tretorn tennis shoes and he keeps talking about the “aesthetic indifference” in American movies. The two of us are sitting alone in the den and soon Alana and Kim and Blair walk in. They sit down. Blair doesn’t look at me. Kim touches the boy from film school’s leg and says, “I called you last night, where were you?” And he says, “Jeff and I smoked a couple of bowls and then went to a screening of the new Friday the 13th movie.” I look over at Blair, try to make eye contact, get her attention. But she won’t look over at me.
Jared and Blair’s father and the director of Star Raiders and the costume designer walk in and sit down and the talk soon turns to the Australian actor and Blair’s father asks the director, who’s wearing a Polo sweatsuit and dark glasses, why the actor is in town.
“I think he’s here to see if he got nominated for an Oscar. The nominations come out soon, you know.”
“For that piece of shit?” Blair’s father barks.
He calms down and looks over at Blair, who sits by the fireplace, near where the Christmas tree used to be, and she looks depressed. Her father motions for her. “Come here, baby, sit on daddy’s lap.” And Blair stares at him incredulously for a moment and then looks down, smiles and walks out of the room. No one says anything. After a while the director clears his throat and says that if they can’t get that “fuckin’ Aussie” to be in Star Raiders, then who’s going to star in it? Some names go around.
“What about that delicious boy who was in Beastman!? You know who I’m talking about, Clyde.” The costume designer looks over at the director, who’s scratching his chin, deep in thought.
