1. New Girl
Deedee stacked the chairs neatly at the side of the rehearsal room, as the cast left for lunch. She'd been working her summer job at the Ladysmith Theater since June, eager to earn the last few dollars she needed to embark on her solo trip to Europe in the Fall.
For as long as she'd known, Deedee had been obsessed with France. The history, the art, the wars, the sexy language. Her whole life contained Gallic influences of some description, from the reproduction chaise in her sitting room to the huge Lautrec poster adorning her bedroom wall. She'd even had a French boyfriend, once, a lover who'd satisfied her in ways no other man had. It had got her wondering whether the Europeans were naturally better at sex than her fellow Americans. So far, in Deedee's experience, she'd seen nothing to prove otherwise.
Deedee also loved the stage. But it was not the acting or the sense of drama that grabbed her, more the creative process of what brought that drama to life. Deedee dreamed of becoming a writer, she'd kept a journal for years and she loved to be around artistic people, so this job fitted her like a glove. OK, so she spent most of her days fetching and carrying for actors and directors, or making sure the coffee pot was full and fresh, but the atmosphere...the ambiance...the sensuality of the theater! There was nothing else like it.
For nearly two months, the company had been preparing for a three-week run of the classic French play "Les Liaisons Dangereuse." With two headline names and a larger budget than was usual, it was to be the biggest production the Ladysmith had ever attempted. A small theater in the suburbs of Calabasas, CA, the auditorium could only hold a hundred people. But, thanks to the innovation of its dynamic new manager, Billy Kramer, the Ladysmith had begun to forge a reputation as a useful practice stage for Hollywood's spoiled B-listers, as they 'rested' between blockbusters.
For "Les Liaisons Dangereuse," Kramer knew he could fill the Ladysmith ten times over. Cast as 'Valmont,' the amoral, wicked seducer, was Brett Carrey, the young, handsome and equally rakish star of a dozen rom-coms and action movies. Deedee had been totally starstruck when Brett had walked into the rehearsal room six weeks before, but had so far not managed to utter a single word to him. As sexy and charming in the flesh as he was on the screen, the theater's entire female staff had spent the summer in perpetual awe of this Adonis, and the tickets had sold out for every performance.
Playing the conniving and frustrated 'Marquise de Merteuil,' the sometime lover and joint conspirator with 'Valmont,' was Rachel de Silva, a thirty-something beauty who, despite her enduring allure and not-insignificant talent, was evidently an actress whose star was on the wane. A stint in a rehab clinic for her prescription drug addiction had all but ended her film career, so she'd been grateful when Billy had called to offer her a part in his 'little production.'
The rest of the cast were just as pretty and talented as its stars, but Deedee had really not had much to do with them. Happy enough to remain behind the scenes, getting on with her menial tasks, she'd been first in at seven in the morning, had sat in on rehearsal after rehearsal, and had been the last to leave at eight in the evening, every word of every line of every speech of every scene, tattooed upon her brain. If anybody were to fall sick for opening night, Deedee could easily fill any of those pairs of French-buckled, satin shoes.
As she finished stacking the chairs, Billy poked his head around the door.
"First dress rehearsal this afternoon, Dee, could you be around to help Rachel if she needs anything? Those gowns are a bitch."
"Sure, Mr Kramer," Deedee replied. "I'll head there now."
"Thanks honey. And I wish you'd stop calling me 'Mr Kramer.' Only my mom calls me that, when I've done something wrong."
He smiled at her, then left the room.
Deedee liked Billy. She'd worked in other places where the boss didn't even know her name, but Billy had been as friendly and welcoming on day one as he still was today. If Deedee were to be offered something more permanent at the Ladysmith, she wasn't sure she could turn it down, France or no France.
She walked down the corridor to the dressing rooms which were situated backstage a short walk from the auditorium. It was always dark along here - the janitor was yet to replace several light bulbs that had been out for months - and it was creepy, too. When she'd had to come up here late at night, and alone, Deedee had imagined the voices of actors past, speaking to her through the wood-paneled walls. The Ladysmith was built in 1921, so it was an old building, and Deedee's fertile writer's imagination liked to think the place had seen its fair share of real-life behind-the-scenes dramatics.
Pausing outside one of the dressing rooms, Deedee looked up at the star that had recently been placed there. Made of cheap, coated aluminum, the name "Rachel de Silva" had been painted across the middle with a flourish. Deedee smiled to herself. Welcome to the world of celebrity...
Deedee knocked three times and waited.
"Yes?" came a voice from the other side.
Deedee opened the door and stepped inside.
"Mr Kramer...Billy...asked me to come and see if you needed any help with your costume?"
Rachel de Silva turned in her chair as she sat at her mirror. She was wearing a corset and stockings, as a wardrobe assistant struggled with a huge bustle.
"Come in, Deedee is it? I've seen you around."
She didn't smile, as she beckoned Deedee inside, but this didn't detract from her aura. Rachel had big, brown eyes, accentuated by thick, false lashes, and her skin was like alabaster, flawless and smooth. Deedee thought she looked twice as beautiful sat right here, half-made up and half-dressed, than she'd ever looked on camera.
"I can't believe I have to wear all this shit." Rachel complained. "For three weeks!"
"The dresses are so beautiful, though..." Deedee replied, truly in awe of the rail of sumptuous gowns staring back at her from the side of the room.
Rachel rose from her chair, and a waft of sandalwood washed under Deedee's nose as the actress stepped into the bustle, the assistant pulling it up around her waist.
"I feel like a giant bell," Rachel continued, determined to complain about everything. "They'll have to roll me across that stage every night. And have you seen the shoes they want to put me in?!"
Just then, the door opened suddenly and Brett Carrey stood before them, his smile a mile wide, his teeth dazzling and perfect.
"Hey, gorgeous." He growled at Rachel, pleased he'd walked in on her in a state of undress.
"It's customary to knock." Rachel replied, curtly.
"I thought we could grab lunch together, go over those first few lines again before the rehearsal?"
"Does it look like I'm available for lunch?"
"Well it looks like you're available..."
He looked at Deedee.
"You're the intern, right?" he said, looking her up and down.
Deedee felt herself blushing, from her long, red hair all the way down to her black pumps.
"Just for the summer." she whispered back. "I'm going to Europe."
Why did I just say that? she shouted silently at herself. As if he's interested?!
"Sure. That's great." Brett smiled, politely.
Deedee wanted the trapdoor beneath her to open and let her fall through.
"So, Rachel?"
Rachel stepped out of the bustle and turned around so the assistant could begin untying the corset, as Brett watched.
"A little privacy, perhaps?" Rachel asked, looking over her shoulder at her co-star.
Brett laughed and turned to leave.
