I made the mistake of wearing that 1960s cream-colored sweater dress to the party for Adam's 35th birthday.
   
    I was feeling like old Nick Carraway again.

    I had broken into Hollywood by accident-- I hadn't even tried. I was the unlikeliest of candidate.
    There were girls younger than myself who took acting classes, had gym memberships and eating disorders and personal trainers. They had stylists, publicists, managers, agents, had changed their names to something better, contracted STDs and went to a different studio every single day and a different party every single night-- just for the opportunity to sit in a waiting room with other girls who had done the exact same thing all for a shot at starring in an acne commercial, a print ad for a new psoriasis treatment or a soap opera walk on.
    These girls were working as waitresses, baristas, dog-walkers, retail shop clerks and strippers (sometimes simultaneously) all just to rent an 8x8 bedroom in North Hollywood in a house where they had to share a bathroom with three other hopefuls.
    But me?
    I had been in a band that could pack a club one night and play to no one the next three nights on tour. I had a radio show that only aired on Saturdays from 11pm to 1am (so if you had any social life at all, you missed it entirely) and I had made a film in what could have been referenced as my backyard by living at home with my grandparents and maxing out a credit card.
    I did everything for the sake of art and because of that-- I always stood in my own way. I feared success because I didn't know what to do with it. I had been struggling for every thing that I cared about since I had conscious memory. I didn't know how to get to the top of the mountain and look down at the beautiful valley below.
    I knew how to get close to the top then say,
    "Boy, it's gonna be great someday when I get to the top...but I'll wait here because I'm tired. I'll wait here because once I get to the top-- I'll just have to climb back down..."
    I'd never once sat in the office of a casting director. I didn't have "people"-- not even a primary care physician.
    What I had was a fluke. I couldn't have even claimed to have snuck in the back door because that would have meant that I was looking for a way in-- instead, I was trying to get to the bar next door to a successful career as an actress and got the address wrong. Once I walked in-- there were people who thought that I belonged there. Two men, separate from each other in the same city but separate from my own, had seen this little tin can film by happenstance and took two very different sentiments from it.
    Noah, a film maker who had yet to know success, saw an artist with whom he felt a kinship. He didn't see the film so much as he saw what I was capable of.
    Adrian, an incredibly successful product of Hollywood, saw a piece of art that he held dear to himself. It was not me that he saw but the thing that I had created that moved him.
    Odd how my "fame" happened because these two men switched places.
    I got to Hollywood and Noah needed me for my art not as an artist-- and Adrian, well, he just seemed to like me for whatever that was worth or meant.


    The car that Holly sent for me pulled up in front of the Mitolo house. Cameras flashed and photographers swarmed as they tried to peer into the tinted windows of entering vehicles.
    Holly was there as I walked through the door, waiting to greet me with open arms.
    "Audrey, darling, you look gorgeous! Is this a new dress? Did you get the car okay? Here," She grabbed a glass of champagne from a silver tray, "Drink this."
   
    The conversation was almost identical to the night of the James Davis party-- which frightened me because I was in no way prepared to re-live the last three months. The house was flooded with the sounds of boisterous laughter, elated screams and the constant, indistinguishable hum of dozens of conversations happening all at once.
    I kissed her cheek and looked around the room at all of the people that were so beautiful and identical that it was hideous. I swallowed the champagne down in a few swift gulps and reached for another glass.
    "How are you?" I asked.
    "Grand!"She exclaimed, happily.
    "Have you seen Christian?"
    Her smile fell only slightly and I knew that it was disapproval.
    "Are you happy?" She asked me in earnest.
    "Of course."
    She placed a loving hand on my arm, "I'm serious. If you're happy with Christian then I will take back every thing that I said to you about him. I'll even apologize."
    "To which one of us?"
    "Both of you-- if that's what you'd like."
    "We're happy. Both of us."
    She didn't seem to believe me, "He's out back with Adam."

    There was a pretty crash of the piano that was a sort of chaotic melody. It gave me a start and I turned the corner to the library to find the sound. Holly remained where she stood, looking concerned even though a new person had stepped into my place to chat.
    There was a gaggle of too thin, petite women gathered around the baby grand. I spotted Spencer, first, sitting on the right side of the piano, drink in hand. Once I followed Spencer's line of vision, I found Adrian to his left.
    Adrian was playing his own rendition of Nick Cave's 'I Let Love In'.

    He looked pure and happy-- truly joyful from the inside. His clear, perfect complexion could not contain the joy so it burst into his cheeks and lips as red roses. The joy caused his dark hair to dance in front of his lively green eyes and he could not keep himself from smiling as he was playing piano with his very best friend.
    He paused his murdering of the song to remove his Burberry coat (which gave the impression that he had been accosted the moment he walked through the door) but kept on his Burberry check-print cashmere scarf. He downed whatever full glass had been set before him on the piano, thanked the girl who had set it there for him, feigned stretching his fingers and looked to Spencer.
    "Shall we try another?"
    "We shall not!" Spencer shouted, "Play it again!"

    On the ride back from San Diego, Adrian told me about the time that he and Spencer had followed Nick Cave on tour.
    It was 2003. The U.S. tour for the album, Nocturama. There weren't many tour dates, something like seven, but it spanned the whole country.
    Spencer stood in line for tickets whenever they became available and Adrian sat at home, clicking refresh on his internet browser until tickets appeared that way.
    They had the whole crazy trip completely planned and booked down to the most minute detail. They printed out maps of which routes they would take from which venues, which hotels they would be staying at and which roadside attractions that they would be able to visit for (x) amount of time. Roadside attractions is sort of an exaggeration, they went to a vortex, Dinosaur World, a Space museum and about six water parks.
    They prepared for the tour by listening to every Nick Cave album (including any and all bootlegs of the Boys Next Door and the Birthday Party), and watching every video and documentary that they could get their hands on. They read and re-read books that Nick Cave authored and books authored about Nick Cave.
    Finally, when the tour dates arrived, they loaded up Spencer's station wagon with pillows, blankets, cassette tapes, snacks and three clean t-shirts apiece.
    Adrian spoke about seeing Nick Cave as though it were a religious experience. He was frozen in awe, sometimes breathless, and the brief sting of tears would strike his eyes the moment the lanky man, himself, set foot on stage.
    To him, the dark preacher had arisen.
    Adrian was the true embodiment of a rock-and-roll kid. I knew that feeling of nothing being more important than that person and that music.
    Spencer and Adrian didn't follow Nick Cave because they thought that it was going to be a lot of fun (though it was), but because, once the idea came to fruition, not going wasn't an option.

    I placed my empty glass on whatever flat surface was near me and attempted to turn away.

    "AUDREY MORRRRIIIIIAAAARRRRTTTYYYY!!!" Spencer sing-songed in a jovial shout.
    I flinched and kept walking as though I hadn't heard him but all at once the piano music stopped and there was an audible scrambling. Gentle, familiar hands reached out for me and before I could get away, Adrian's hand was in mine and playfully, hurriedly dragging me away from the crowd. He ducked into the nearest empty room and pulled me inside-- shutting and locking the door behind me.

    He tilted my face up to his and kissed me.
    His mouth tasted faintly of vodka and was soft. His lips were sticky sweet. I should have stopped him. I should have wanted to stop him-- but I didn't. I stood still, holding my mouth to his with gentle pressure. His palm moved down my spine, stopped at the small of my back and brought me in towards him.
    My mind said,
    "This will not hurt you."
    Spencer called out for Adrian with a knock on the door.
    "Hey Ad! I need the car keys. I have to get Gillian."
    Adrian kissed me again. I pulled away from him and looked at him again. Oh, how he glowed! I placed my hand on the door knob, drew myself forward and kissed him again. I slid out the door and stared at the floor in shame as I passed Spencer.
    I found Holly at once. She read my face.
    "What's the matter?"
    "I don't feel well. I need to go."
    "What happened?"
    "I feel ill. It just hit me. Tell Christian I went back to the house."
    "His house? Do you want me to get him for you?"
    "No... I mean... yes. Yes-- I am going back to his house. No-- don't get him for me. I just need to go."
    She was confused, "Well, at least let me get you a car."
    "No. I just-- I'll call you tomorrow."

***

    I lost my composure once I walked down the driveway and the photographers were away from sight. I sprinted the block, biting the back of my hand until the marks turned purple with the threat of blood.
    "It isn't safe for new Hollywood actresses to be wandering these parts."
    I looked up to see who was addressing me and for a fleeting moment-- I caught sight of Eugene. I shook my head in terror and focused my eyes. It was the actor that I had been introduced to the night of the Oscars. He didn't even slightly resemble my brother.
    "There's a party down the street. You could be seen by tabloid photojournalists," He spoke in a mono-toned cool. He calmly looked around the corner of his gate, "Paparazzi."
    "It's great that I'm not a Hollywood actress. New or otherwise," I countered.
    "Would you prefer starlet?"
    He had the most piercing blue eyes that I had seen. They seemed infinite and I felt extremely unsettled when his gaze fell on me. It were as though he were viewing me as a slide on a microscope.
    "I'd prefer...to be normal."
    He scoffed.
    "Come in. I'll give you the tour."
    I stood motionless.
    He exhaled impatiently, "You are obviously having a difficult evening. I am being a gentleman and inviting you in. If you'd like my help, enter now and quickly before anyone sees you. It could create a huge scandal otherwise."
    "I don't remember your name."
    "Edward Brent," said Edward, "Remember it. It could become dear to you."
    "Audrey," I introduced myself.
    Edward looked at me as though I had said the most stupid thing possible.
    "I know who you are," He replied before he disappeared from the gate.
    I looked both ways to make sure that no one saw me entering.

***

    Edward had all of the looks of a modern James Dean. In other words, he was a Hollywood cliche in every meaning of the phrase. Sex, drugs, tabloid scandal, booze, money and far too good looking to be of any benefit to humanity.
    An angelic face that could only do harm.
    He had a telescope set up on the stairs in front of the window next to the door.
    "Can I get you a drink?" Edward offered.
    I looked over my shoulder at him, "Do you have vodka?"
    I wanted the taste that Adrian had in his mouth, in mine.
    "What brand?"
    "Your well brand will do fine," I smiled but he didn't find me to be nearly as clever as I did.
    "Mixer?"
    "Tonic."
    "Lime?"
    "Please."
    I peered through the telescope and was disturbed when I didn't see the vast universe. I saw the Mitolo patio. The telescope was so powerful that if I focused, I could identify people at the party.
    "Incredible, isn't it?" I felt Edward's breath on my neck.
    I gave a jump. He slid the cool drink into my hand, beads of moisture dripped down the glass. I lifted it to my mouth, holding the rim between my lips. The liquid was thick against my tongue. It cupped the back of my throat.
    Edward pushed my hair to one side, placed his hand over my hand that was holding the drink and whispered into my ear,
    "You left the party very shortly after entering it. Why?" My blood froze. He continued, "Was it Adrian or was it Christian?"
    "Maybe if you were there you would know."
    "You would be amazed at what I do know," He locked his fingernails into my hand. It wasn't painful so much as it was alarming.
    "Weren't you invited?"
    "There isn't anything that I can't get myself into," He said it in a menacing sort of way and paused for effect, "The party seemed like a real bore. This is a beautiful dress."
    He ran his hand against my hip, pinching the fabric between his thumb and forefinger.
    I pulled away from him in a violent way, taking a few steps down the stairs.
    "Am I making you uncomfortable?" He asked.
    "Yes. Very."
    "You're safe with me. I can have any woman that I want and I don't have to force anyone to go to bed with me."
    "Then what is your sudden interest in me?"
    "Sudden? Oh. No. I wouldn't call it sudden. Well, Audrey, it's kind of like high school. You're the new girl and everyone is scrambling to find out what they can about you. If you're worthy, they will embrace you and only speak snide things behind your back. If you are not, no one will say anything at all and you'll be eating lunch alone. Of course, I want to be the one with the most information."
    He looked through the telescope, "Adrian and Spencer are leaving and..." He trailed off as he adjusted the lens, "Christian is looking for you."
    "How can you tell?"
    "He keeps looking over Adam's shoulder. You're very smart, you know. Publicly, you're seen with Adrian which makes you seem popular and privately, you're sleeping with Christian which makes you seem charitable."
    I felt myself gag. I had to close my eyes to gain composure.
    "How much have you seen through that telescope?"
    "I've lived in this neighborhood for five years. I've seen many things."
    "Of me?" I was afraid to ask.
    "A lot and not nearly enough."
    "And of Christian?"
    "Ah yes. Poor nobody Christian. He loves you. It's a shame, isn't it?"
    "How so?"
    "He doesn't stand a chance with you when Adrian is near. I suppose the same could be said about Adrian. He can't get close to you while Christian has got his arm about your waist."
    "You've been seeing things through a telescope. You see images from far away and you don't get any sound. It isn't even half of the story."
    He raised the corner of his mouth in a wry, cynical way.
    "And modest, too... or delusional. Not that I could blame you. You have other things to think about."
    "Like what?"
    His forthrightness about my life was unsettling. I was trying to call his bluff and he knew it.
    He thrust his hands down into his trouser pockets and gave a sinister lift of his brow.
    "Should I start with the film that is over-budget, over-schedule and thought to be cursed?" He was momentarily silent but before I could interject about how anyone in the industry could have that information, he shook his head as if to quiet me.
    "Or I could talk about how you don't know what to do with your life."
    "That's obvio..."
    "Please," He held up his hand to stop me, "Then, of course, there's your mentally ill mother who has a drug dependency issue. She hasn't left her bed for more than a couple of hours at a time since your brother shot himself."
    Edward took slow even steps towards me. He combed his fingers through my hair. I shuddered in horror.
    "I could tell you all about Eugene and how you haven't dealt with his death but there isn't nearly enough time. You have to be on set early tomorrow."
    "I've dealt with it," I spoke the words without processing what he was actually telling me-- or that he knew what he was telling me.
    "How do you know this?" I asked.
    "I told you. I like to have the most information."
    "Do you want something?"
    "From you? No, not directly. Not exactly."
    I inched towards the door, craving escape.
    "Are you going to kill me?"
    "That's idiotic."
    "Do you want to kill me?"
    "No. Come sit with me."
    "I'd rather stand here."
    "I've already assured your safety."
    "These things that you know about me, are you going to tell anyone?"
    "I have no interest or intention of doing so," He placed his hand on my shoulder, "Let's talk."
**

    Edward comfortably leaned back in an armchair, a tumbler filled to the brim with expensive aged liquor. Amber in color. Most likely scotch. I sat at the edge of my seat, waiting to spring up at any moment and run with my life.
    "You are quite beautiful."
    "Thank you," I replied, rigidly.
    "Your beauty is unique, different from anyone in this business. Your reputation is, for the most part, unscathed. You are intellegent, poised, graceful and kind."
    "Don't flatter me."
    "I flatter no one. Follow me. I want to show you something."
**

    We stood in front of a set of heavy oak doors that looked like they had once belonged to a chapel.
    Edward unlocked the door with an ancient skeleton key and a thrust to reveal a room three times the size of my studio apartment.
    The wall paper was a textured ivory color embossed with gold. There were high beamed ceilings, a brick fireplace, a large bed adorned with silk linens and draped by lace curtains.
    When I was a kid, I was obsessed with the story of Marie Antoinette. I collected and studied picture book after picture book of Versailles. When I walked into that room it was the closest I had ever felt to walking into one of those picture books.
    "Wow. It's very nice..." I complimented with a question mark.
    "It's yours," He replied, evenly
    "Pardon?"
    "My public image isn't great, actually, it isn't good at all. I'm getting more scandal sheets than actual press and the film offers are becoming slim. Nothing substantial, nothing to be proud of. I have a drug problem... you're familiar with what a drug problem is, what with your mother and all... but no, not a problem. I enjoy drugs and have no problem affording or obtaining them. I enjoy sex and have no problem obtaining that either. I enjoy my life but-- it's caught up to me. I can't go to rehab because that would harm my career more than the drugs would. Some have never recovered from such a move," He paced the floor, "I need to clean up. I need a new image. I need the sort of image that you have."
    "You want me to be your nanny?"
    "I want you to be my muse."
    "Okay--I'm going home."
    Edward grabbed both of my wrists and held them tightly to restrain me from leaving.
    "I would not tell anyone about this if I were you."
    "Let me go!" I screamed and struggled to break free of him but it only caused him to grasp me more firmly.
    "No one would believe you," He warned.
    I considered what he said and knew that he was right. I became submissive.
    "I won't tell," I murmured.
    "Do you promise?"
    "Yes."
    He let me go. I watched the skin of my wrists change color and throb. I tried to soothe them by rubbing them.
    "You never lay a fucking hand on me again. Ever," I threatened. He ignored me.
    "Knowing you, as I do, you wouldn't have said anything."
    I sat on the bed. It was soft and gave gently beneath my weight. I was light headed and overwhelmed. I couldn't remember where I had left my drink.
    I was frightened of Edward beyond words. I had no way of knowing how much he knew about me. I was curious where he would put my body after he killed me, which I still thought him to be capable of.
    He wasn't a desperate man making a plea for help. He was a proud man who wanted to use my image (one that I didn't even know that I had) to improve his own. He didn't want to get clean. He needed to get clean for the sake of his reputation.
    "This would be your home," He began, "You could do anything that you like, use anything that you like. This is your room, your bathroom..."
    "Please hurry. I'm fading, Gatsby."
    The colors in the room became faint.
    "I'll buy Severence from you for twenty million dollars. I'll oversee distribution so that you can keep your artistic integrity."
    "Which you need from me, right?"
    "Yes," He admitted without remorse.
    "What do you want from me?"
    "You'll work for me-- in a sense. You'll live here, go to all of the major public events with me and you won't be seen with anyone else."
    "You want me to pretend to be involved with you?" I asked, appalled.
    "The press will think what they want to."
    "You already know what they'll think."
    "It would be strictly for show. Nothing emotional. I'd ask that you stay in your room on your side of the house and I'll stay in my room on the other side of the house. You could still date whoever you wanted to, although I'd imagine neither Christian or Adrian would go much for this arrangement. Everyone involved must understand that the situation is discreet. We could even have contracts to protect us."
    "You're trying to buy me?"
    "I'm offering to fund your life."
    "Lies," I argued.
    "How many people are in a relationship, miserable and faking it?"
    "You want to buy my integrity!"
    "I want to pay for your free will! You have the oppotunity to go anywhere in the world that you want to and do anything that you want to. I'm doing you a favor. You don't know what to do with your life, I'm making it so that you don't have to decide. I could give Noah more money for the budget. I could get your mother into treatment. I could buy your sister a house. This is a God send for you."
    I sat still and silent.
    Noah. My mother. My sister. Me. Eugene. Eugene. Eugene.
    "I can't," I shook my head.
    "You are someone with compassion and integrity, I'll ask that you don't make a brash decision."
    "I don't trust you."
    "I know."
    "Then why do you want me to help you?"
     "Because I'm trying to buy a saint."
    "You shouldn't have to buy a saint. Saints should be free."
***
   
    I walked the couple of blocks to Christian's house, clutching my stomach as it wretched and ached. He wasn't home. He was calling me every fifteen minutes to find out where I was or maybe how I was but I wasn't answering. I couldn't bring myself to. I didn't want to explain the incident with Adrian or how I wanted it to happen. I didn't want to explain how I had taken the role in Adrian's film or why I hadn't been able to tell him about it even though I took the part days beforehand. I didn't want to explain having met Edward Brent and his bizarre offer to me. I didn't want to explain how or why I was considering it.
   
    Eugene. Eugene. Eugene.
   
    I remembered the way that my grandfather cried after Eugene died. He sat on the back porch with his head in his hands and cried about all of his regrets for the way that he sometimes treated Eugene. I don't even remember him treating Eugene badly but I felt bad because he felt bad. I felt bad because I had provoked it.
    I can't remember how I started it or what I said to him but I think that it had something to do with accusing him of hitting Eugene when Eugene was younger. I don't have proof that this ever happened. Like I said, I had never seen him lay a hand on any of us kids or treat any of us badly but something that I had said and the way that I had said it, ended up with my grandfather sitting down and sobbing,
   
    "I never hit that boy. I never hit him."
   
    Instead of doing the right thing and apologizing, I just stared at the back of him for a while. I just sort of watched him cry. The erratic movement of his breathing and his head bobbing up and down as more and more tears were released. I had never seen him cry before, not like that. I thought about how I was mad at everyone in my family because they were taking what Eugene had done so personally, as though it were an insult or even worse, as though it were something that he had done to them and not to himself.
    I sat down beside my grandfather, put my arm around him and all that I could think to say was,
    "It's okay."

    I took a blanket from Christian's linen closet and curled into a ball on his couch with Mr. Mittens at my feet.
    I wanted to scream and cry and vomit. The emotional hurting was excruciating. It sat heavy on my chest, disabling me from taking full breaths.
    A strange thing happened when I tried to cry; all of the noises came out but there weren't any tears.
    I looked down at the violet bruises on my wrists and the crimson bite and fingernail marks on my hands.
    That stupid troublesome sweater dress twisted about me uncomfortably, half of it hitched up above my hips.

    Eugene.

    It should've been me.

    Eugene.

    I stopped trying to cry and allowed my eyes to glaze over, staring absently at the television.
    I heard the front door open. Christian entered the room before I could decide whether or not to pretend to be sleeping.
    He knelt down in front of me, touching my arm with a loving hand.
    "Hey," He said quietly.
    "Hey."
    "Are you alright? I called you a dozen times."
    "I don't feel well."
    Christian caught sight of my wrists and hands. He grabbed them for closer inspection. I flinched.
    "What happened?!" He questioned with alarm, "Did someone do this to you?"
    "It was a mishap on set."
    "What kind of mishap?"
    "An awkward scene."
    He went to the kitchen and came back with a bag of frozen vegetables wrapped in a dish towel. He gently placed my wrists on the vegetables and held them there.
    "What happened that caused this?"
    "I'd rather not say."
    "Is this movie ever going to finish filming?"
    "We should be done in two weeks if Noah can get the funding."
    "I hope that he does. It seems to have turned violent," He checked my wrists, "How does it feel now?"
    "Numb."
    He pulled the ice pack away, blew on my wrists and then kissed them.
    "What are you doing tomorrow night?"
    "Nothing."
    "Would you go to dinner with me?" He asked in an almost shy nervous way.
    "Like a date?" I made fun of him.
    "Maybe. I do have something important to speak with you about."
    I groaned, "I can't handle anymore important talks!"
    "Am I too serious?" He was puzzled.
    "It isn't you. Is it going to be a good talk or a bad talk?"
    "Depending on you, it could go either way."
    "I'd like to dress accordingly."
    "What you're wearing now is pretty great," He complimented with a smirk.
    "Please don't say that."
    He ran his thumb against my forehead.
    "What is it with you tonight?"
    "I don't feel well," I repeated myself.
    "I'll help you into bed."
    "I'd be more comfortable on the couch."
    "Okay... I'll stay with you."
    He removed his corduroy blazer and tucked it beneath his head as he laid down on the floor beside the couch.
    His hand crept up to mine and our fingers interlocked.
    He stayed there with me all-night.