16 While shooting went on in Carla Ortiz’s hotel room, Gina George and Sofia Marés were having drinks in the bar. It was their first time alone together. They had not had much opportunity to spend time with each other during the filming, because their only scene together was the early one in which Lady G is looking for Marco. And on all other occasions Albert or Mario, or both, were there too. In October, with the first chill of Mediterranean autumn, Gina had gone on a shopping spree for cold-weather clothes, hoping that Sofia, with her great sense of style, would accompany her; but Sofia could not spare the time. Her shopping companion instead was Montse, Nacho’s wife, who had also been an actress and who was also quite elegant, even in maternity clothes. She was, moreover, a busty blonde, and her style matched Gina’s. Gina’s hotel closet came to be filled with beautifully cut wool suits, raw-silk and angora dresses, mohair jerseys, and even hats. Now Sofia, who was due shortly to go to the theater for rehearsal, was confirming what Gina had suspected, but with much detail. “I was a young married woman,” she was saying. “I met my husband at the university; he was studying law and I was studying sociology – here they are in the same faculty. When we both finished we got married, and soon I had a baby, so I didn’t work. But I was always interested in the theater, and when the boy was about one year old my husband encouraged me to join a club. In those days we had the dictatorship and Catalan could not be used in public, so the only way we could do theater in our language was in a private club. And that’s where I met Mario.” She paused. “He was very young, only nineteen, but he already knew how to discipline himself. Is that correct to say, discipline himself?” “Yes, it’s fine,” Gina said. “But when he let go of the discipline,” Sofia went on, “he was like a force of nature, and he went after me like a hurricane. It did not matter that I was married and a mother. And I could not resist.” “I know what you mean,” said Gina. “At first we kept it quiet, but after a while I got pregnant. So my husband got a legal separation – there was no divorce – and he kept the boy of course.” “How old is he now?” “Fifteen. He’s dark, like me,” she added with a conspiratorial smile, and continued. “I went to London for an abortion, and there were complications, so I had to stay for two months. That’s when I learned to speak English.” “In just two months?” Gina asked incredulously. “I’m a hard worker,” Sofia said with another smile. “But when I came back, Mario was already with another girl. So I dedicated myself completely to the theater. Meanwhile the dictatorship ended, and we could perform on stage in our language, so I became the star, together with Mario. We continued to work together. And then he came after me again. This time I was practically a single woman and I didn’t need to worry about pregnancy, because of the complications.” “Me too,” Gina interjected, expecting Sofia to continue her story. Sofia, however, did not seem sure of what Gina meant and looked at her questioningly. “I also had an abortion with complications, when I was seventeen, and I can’t have kids – not that I ever wanted any – and that made it easier for me to get into the business. But go on, please.” “It was off and on with Mario, for a few years – there were always other girls.” “What about his present girlfriend, the one who’s on vacation?” “Maria Rosa? She’s beautiful and rich and very independent. She is a journalist, but her father owns the newspaper. She goes wherever she wants, and she writes about it when she feels like it. And then she comes back here to make love with Mario.” “So what happened with you and Mario?” “It ended when I met Victor. He was already a successful novelist in Spanish, but he decided to write a play in Catalan for our company, and he and I had long talks about the personages... I mean, the characters, and I fell in love. And we have been together ever since.” “That’s beautiful,” said Gina. “You know, Gina, I have had only three men in my whole life: my first husband, and Mario, and Victor. Isn’t that funny?” “Why?” Gina asked. “Well, I am thirty-seven years old, and an actress. They say that an actress, who performs many roles, should have many experiences, with many different people, so that she can learn about different characters.” “I’m thirty-one,” said Gina, “and I’ve had more men than I could ever possibly count, and I can’t say I’ve learned a hell of a lot from most of them.” “I’ll tell you what I believe, Gina: when you’re in love, then every experience is new and fresh, and you learn something from it. Have you ever been in love?” “I was in love with my first boyfriend, when I was thirteen. Since then it’s been just sex. I’m afraid it’s too late for me, Sofia.” “Oh, no, Gina, don’t say that. It’s never too late. Let me tell you a story, about one of my teachers in elementary school. She was a nun – I went to a school of nuns. She also fell in love at twelve or thirteen, but with Jesus Christ, and she stayed faithful for more than twenty-five years. Then she lost the faith, and fell in love with the theater. In our company we needed someone to play parts of older women, so we hired her, and she became a successful character actress. And then, when she was almost fifty, she fell in love with a man. He was a former priest, so they had the common background of the Church. And when civil marriage was legalized they got married, and they adopted a boy and a girl from Colombia, who were already brother and sister. And they are all very happy.” “Your stories are enough to turn me into a romantic,” said Gina. “Romantic? No. I’ll tell you something else that I believe: those who are in love, we are not the romantics; we are the realists.” Gina would have loved to hear Sofia expand on this belief of hers. European women are so wise, she thought. But across the lobby a compact group could be seen coming out of the elevator, led by a radiant-looking Carla and a pleased-looking Mario, holding hands. Behind them were Albert, the cameraman and a technician from the studio. The cameraman had a hand-held camera, and the technician a hand-held lamp. The group made a beeline for the two women’s table. They had all been together earlier in the afternoon, and no one felt the need of a greeting. Albert said that the cameraman and the technician needed to go back to the studio to put away the equipment, and he would go with them to work on the footage while it was fresh. “While it’s still hot,” Carla said with a laugh, and Mario laughed along. “Yes,” said Albert, “very hot.” And everybody laughed. “Well,” said Sofia, “I need to go to the theater, which is in the same complex, so I will go with you. Okay?” “Of course,” said Albert. “I will stay with you,” said Mario to Carla and Gina, “but I will walk out with them. I just need a few words with Albert.” As the group walked away, Sofia was talking with the technician, evidently in Catalan. Mario, Albert and the cameraman where speaking with one another, probably in French, since the cameraman spoke little English. During Mario’s brief absence, Carla gushingly revealed that her European vacation included not only the handsomely paid body-double job but a potentially lucrative recruiting mission as well. Bill Martinez, it turned out, had heard from Barry Bergman, who in turn had heard it from Geoff Scrivener, about Mario Farga’s sexy screen presence, even before there was an explicit version. Carla was charged with luring Mario to Hollywood, and more specifically to Bill’s studio, before any other studio went after him. “But Mario’s an actor, not...” Gina began to protest, but stopped when Mario came back. He sat beside Carla and put his arm around her. “When is Maria Rosa coming back?” Gina asked him. Mario was taken aback by Gina’s acquaintance with his girlfriend’s name, which he had never told her, but only for a moment. “It’s interesting that you ask,” he said. “She just called me this morning. She is in India, and she doesn’t know when she’s coming back. Maybe never. That’s what she said: ‘maybe never.’ ” Carla, rather than ask who Maria Rosa might be, said, “Excuse me while I go to the powder room,” stood up and walked away. “But Mario,” Gina said, “you’re an actor! You don’t want to work for Bill Martinez!” “The money seems good,” said Mario, “and it would help Carla. Bill promised her a starring role if she brings me with her.” “Maybe to you the money seems good, but it’s crap, and what Bill produces is the cheapest kind of crap. At least if you worked for Barry Bergman, my old producer, you’d be making some real money, and you’d get to do some real acting.” “But I like Carla...” said Mario with no seeming embarrassment. Sofia was right about that force of nature. “So are you going back with her? She’s due to go this Wednesday.” “She will stay a few days more, and then we will go together. And in January I will see you in Utah.” “Where will she stay until you go? Here at the Ritz? I’m not paying...” “No, Gina, don’t worry. She will stay with me.” “Listen, Mario. I will ask you for a favor. I am your friend, and I admire you as a person and as an artist, and I am asking you for this one favor. When you get to LA, don’t sign anything with Bill Martinez until you’ve talked with Barry Bergman. He won’t screw you... I mean, take advantage of you. He will give you good advice. He really knows the business, both adult and legitimate – he knows many legitimate producers. Will you do that for your friend Gina?” “I will do anything for you, Gina. You have been wonderful to me.” “Promise?” she asked, lowering her voice because she saw Carla approaching the table. “I promise,” he replied in a whisper as he squeezed Gina’s hand. “I will talk to Barry Bergman.” “We have gathered here in the drizzle,” Barry Bergman began, “to remember someone who was sunshine personified: Leslie Lyman. She will always be Leslie Lyman to those of us who knew her, whatever name the authorities may wish to call her. “We have gathered here, in this place that she once told me was her favorite place in the world, and where she chose, or was made by some power stronger than her, to end her time with us. “Leslie came to this sunny land from the even sunnier state to our east, in pursuit of a dream. It was a childhood dream, for she was indeed a child, though we did not know it. We thought she was merely childlike. She moved through life with innocence, without guile. She took her pleasures where she found them. “But she was also like the sun in that her bright, shiny face hid the kind of restless turmoil that perhaps an astronomer of the soul might have seen, had one been around to look, but the rest of us did not. And just as the thermonuclear explosions that happen in the sun will cause it eventually to be extinguished, so the unrest in Leslie’s soul extinguished her, but far, far too soon. “We have many things to thank Leslie for, but I have a special cause for thanks. It was through Leslie that I met the young woman who has come to brighten our lives at BB Productions, and my life here at home: the lovely Jenni Jarman.” The reference, and the applause that followed, caught Jenni unprepared. She and Barry had agreed that the memorial would be run like a Quaker meeting, with people speaking up to share their memories of Leslie as the spirit moved them, and she was not feeling moved yet. But, she decided, she might as well get it over with. She looked around at the crowd of some twenty-five or so, standing in the drizzle beside the pool, some with umbrellas, some with ponchos or hooded jackets, and yet others who, like her, were feeling the raindrops fall on their hair. Except for a scattering of young men whom she did not know, everybody present was from the studio or associated with it, like Doc Kruger and Alan Marcus. She had briefly spoken with Alan when he first arrived; he told her that he had a couple of properties for her to look at, not that they would necessarily be the right ones for her but they would give her an idea of what she could easily afford. She had not gone to bed with Alan in quite a while. He was around Barry’s age, and not as fit as Barry; she wondered if in an intimate situation she would find that he, too, was getting old, or older. The unknown young men were all fit and good-looking. They must have been ones that Leslie had picked up, or been picked up by, at the gym that she frequented so religiously. One of them had a small camcorder with which he was intermittently videotaping the proceedings. “Leslie was my friend,” Jenni began. “I knew her for a year and a half, and we were roommates for a year. But I can’t say that I really knew her any better than those of you who perhaps knew her for one night.” Is that a respectful way to talk about the dead? she asked herself. Fuck it, she answered herself, we’re not a bunch of innocent babes around here. “I didn’t know her real name or age either,” she went on after ascertaining that no one had, apparently, taken offense at her remark. “But that was the least of it. She was always like a puzzle to me, and that’s what made her so fascinating. Sometimes she could be simple-minded, and other times quite sophisticated. She was always asking me to explain things to her, sometimes the most obvious things, but I think I learned as much from her as she did from me. And if it hadn’t been for her then I wouldn’t have gotten to know Barry Bergman and all you wonderful people at BB Productions. Thank you, Leslie, wherever you are.” As other people spoke up, Jenni didn’t pay much attention. She was only concerned that Doc Kruger might be one of them, and that he might say something stupid. She didn’t like Kruger. Barry had never told her what kind of crisis his friend Nancy of the Volvo had been going through, but it might well have been something to do with her husband. Jenni looked down on her chest. She felt thankful that Barry, and men in general, liked her boobs as they were. The gathering ended without Kruger saying a word, and Jenni felt thankful again. The young man with the camcorder said a few words to Barry as he was leaving, and they shook hands.