The Perfect Location

Giulia looked at her almost skeletal arms and wondered how on earth she would manage the array of cases the driver had left in the foyer up the flight of stairs.

‘The staff will come by every morning to make up your room and restock your kitchen once you are on set, as requested. They have all signed the confidentiality papers and these have been faxed to your agent.’

Sapphira nodded and Giulia walked out the door. ‘Thanks again,’ Sapphira called as Giulia climbed into her red Alfa. Sapphira closed the door behind her.

Giulia sat in the car for a moment, looking for her car keys. Sapphira’s appearance troubled her. Her demands, while not extraordinary compared to some stars, still seemed covert and secretive when she had received them from Sapphira’s agent. She required no one to look after her in the villa, didn’t want a tour of the vast property, only a map to be left for her in Italian. She asked for two cartons of Marlboro Light cigarettes and an espresso maker with the best local coffee blend. Seeing her in person, she seemed edgy and anxious, and clearly could not wait for Giulia to leave. Giulia knew it was more than tiredness; she had seen it in her brother years before when he had come home from living in Rome. She picked up her mobile phone. ‘Hello, TG? It’s Giulia.’

‘Hey, how’s our star Sapphira?’ he asked as he jumped out of the shower.

‘Okay, all settled. She seems fine.’ She paused. ‘She’s a little, how you say, preoccupato. Worried. Anxious, you know?’

TG laughed. ‘That’s Hollywood stars for you, Giulia. They’re all a little crazy, although she is supposed to be great on set, so don’t worry about it, she’s fine. Kelly said so and she’s worked with her plenty of times.’

‘Okay then, I will not worry. You all okay for tonight?’ she asked as she turned on the car engine.

‘Fine, it all looks great, Giulia. Thank you, you are a star! Arrivederci.’

‘Arrivederci,’ Giulia replied and drove off down the driveway, the huge gates closing behind her.

Sapphira watched Giulia on the phone in her driveway from the upstairs window. ‘Go,’ she said as she willed her away from her house.

Finally the red car disappeared and the gates closed in the distance. Walking over to the bed, she emptied her bag out onto the crisp white bedspread.

Opening a small Comme des Garçons bag, she took out her instruments and prepared her hit.

Thankfully her tattoos were placed all over her body and so she was always accustomed to covering them up. If she knew she would be showing a lot of flesh then she shot up between her toes. Citing privacy, she always dressed herself and never allowed herself to be partially dressed in front of the costume or make-up crew. Living with her addiction for the last ten years had taught Sapphira a thing or two about secrets and how to hide them. A few of her lovers had been addicts as well, sharing her bed and her smack till she got sick of them. She had tried to get off it, taking OxyContin, which her LA doctor had only been too happy to supply. But there was nothing like pure snow, she thought.

Sapphira was a big enough star not have to go through the medical tests for insurance. Her record on set was flawless, she was a hard worker and big money earner; as far as the studio could see, there was no problem.

Coming to Italy was not a problem on the private jet, once she had been waived through Customs. She had enough to get her through the next eight weeks and then she would have to sort out her next supply. No problem, she thought. Rome is filled with drugs, I’ll send someone off to score. Who that might be, she was not sure, but there was always someone to help Sapphira De Mont, she figured.

She took an alcohol swab out of the bag. Getting her spoon, she wiped it down with the swab and placed the chunk on it. Filling the syringe with water, she squirted it onto the spoon and lit the tea light candle she carried in her kit. Melting down the smack, she rubbed her fingers with another swab and then placed a small piece of cloth on the spoon. Rubbing between her toes with the alcohol swab, she drew the shot up into the syringe and looked for a vein. Finding one between her little toe and the one next to it, she put the needle in, withdrawing it slightly to ensure she had it in the vein. Seeing a small prick of blood come out, she injected herself.

The OxyContin worked when she was doing the action movies, as she had to be fit and trained everyday. But the hit from heroin lasted longer and so she was back on it whenever she could get away with it. When she took it she felt like nothing would ever go wrong in her world again. She stopped injecting once, a long time ago but then started again after her hopes and dreams had been shattered. That was too much for anyone to handle, she had justified at the time.

As soon as the needle touched her skin she lay on the bed and felt the relaxation drape over her like a blanket. She breathed in and out, listening to the sound of herself in the silence, thinking about the first time she took heroin.

What was the guy’s name? she wondered. They had met at a party for someone whose name they didn’t even know, and the attraction between them was instant. The knowledge that Sapphira had with her a bag of coke, twelve joints pre-rolled in her father’s Cartier diamond Art Deco cigarette case was also appealing. They blew her bag of coke together in the bathroom, smoked three joints in the spa and then fucked at her apartment.

She tried heroin because she could. There was no thought that she would be hooked, no thought of her father’s addiction. She was attached to nothing and addicted to no one but the drug had other ideas. The first time she was sick. The second time she thought she was kissing God. And now all she did was shoot up trying to chase that feeling.

The sex with the guy on smack was beyond anything she had ever felt before. It lasted for hours and Sapphira recalled a continual searching for something elusive, not finding it, yet still being incredibly satisfied.

‘Ethan,’ she said out loud. ‘That was his name. Ethan.’

She felt strong enough to rise up from the bed and finally explore her surroundings. Walking downstairs, she took in the frescos on the wall, depicting magnificent gardens and angelic characters. Grabbing the map and the large set of keys from the hall table, she stood in the foyer and tried to get her bearings. Sapphira loved this part best: being in the mystery, finding her way. Wandering from room to room, map in one hand and lit cigarette in the other she was almost happy.

Where the church had originally sat in the centre of the monastery had been transformed into the most amazing sitting room. The pews were now around the outside of the walls; the vaulted ceiling had angels and demons carved into the ancient stone. While the space was awe-inspiring, however, it was not really to Sapphira’s taste. A little too overdone and European, reminding her of her father’s house in LA, filled to overflowing with his family’s heirlooms.

Looking at the map, she took in the pool, the pool house, the kitchen, the bedrooms and the bathrooms. She noticed a smaller room on the other side of the property; biblioteca, it read on the map. Padding barefoot through the villa, Sapphira felt at home. She had an almost chameleon-like ability to feel instantly at ease wherever she was, one of the few benefits that came from her gypsy-like childhood. Touching the silk tapestries that covered the walls, she headed down the hallway and checked the map of the villa. The biblioteca should be here, she thought, as she stood in the huge passageway. She could not see a door anywhere. Stopping, she tried to get her bearings. Yes, there was the room there on the map. So where was the freaking door, she wondered, loving the mystery unfolding before her.

Standing in front of the huge tapestry where the door should have been, her eyes squinted at the needlework of knights and maidens in front of a doorway. In the doorway was an angel, holding what seemed to be the Holy Grail and a book. Sapphira stood and looked and then got the message. Knowledge is God.

Pulling back the heavy tapestry, she found the doorway to the room behind the image. The door was heavily carved in Latin, but Sapphira didn’t know what any of it meant. She tried the brass handle but the door was locked. She grabbed the set of keys from her pocket and looked for the oldest one. There were three. She tried the first one but it did not turn; the next one didn’t work either. Finally, she heard the click of the lock as it opened for the third key.

Filled from ceiling to floor with books of all shapes and sizes, it was the most beautiful room she had ever seen. There was a long sofa, as wide as a double bed, filled with cushions and covered with blankets and quilts. The room was long and had thin tall windows along the top of the walls. Running across the centre was a table, similar to one in a royal dining room, but this had Tiffany lamps on it for the readers who sat at it, poring over whatever tome they were interested in. Wooden ladders on wheels leaned against brass rods that ran around the walls of the room to enable its climbers to visit the highest realms of knowledge. Sapphira looked up at the ceiling, which was covered in a painting of the nine muses dancing under the moonlight. A bit racy for the old monks, she thought, noticing the exposed breasts of some of the dancers.

A small, single-arched doorway seemed almost hidden among the books and wooden panelled walls. Sapphira walked over and discovered an exquisite small bathroom, with a shower and walls of azure mosaic tiles. This is perfect, she thought. I can live in here, surrounded by books and I will have no one looking in on me!

She had found her secret hiding place. Her dream come true. She used to hide in the tower of her father’s house when he had his infamous parties, escaping the noise and the endless parade of people who used her father for drugs. The hidden library made her feel safe. It was comforting to be surrounded by all the knowledge. She wished she had more schooling, even though she knew she was smarter than most actresses around her. She could learn anything if she was shown a few times, she thought defiantly.

Looking at the many books, she was pleased to see some were in English, and she clapped her hands in joy and ran out along the hallway and dragged her bags into the room. Scrabbling through a suitcase, she found her iPod and Bose portable speakers. Plugging them in, Billie Holiday filled the room singing ‘Strange Fruit’ and Sapphira sang along.

Looking around the library, her eyes searched out the perfect hiding spot. Crawling under the long table with the Comme des Garçons zippered purse, she felt along the underside and sought out the ledge she instinctively knew was there. Placing the purse on it, she clambered out and stood in the centre of the room. She was safe.

PART TWO

CHAPTER FOUR

Sometimes film sets can be magical places. When everyone comes together with the same goal, and egos stay off the set, great films are made.

TG thought that hosting a dinner at his villa with the female actors in attendance would create a connection between everyone. Giulia, his Italian assistant, had been working for the last two weeks with Italy’s premier party planner to create the perfect welcoming event. Lanterns had been strung across the vast courtyard in the centre of the villa. Candles were all around the outside, giving the place a ceremonial feel. There were two long tables running down the centre to seat the sixty guests and armfuls of sunflowers had been placed in tall vases with lengths of grapevine laced between every place setting. The soft orange linens lay on the table with an array of glasses in different sizes and shapes.

Local chefs were to provide a Tuscan feast for the crew. When asking for the dietary requirements of the leading stars, Giulia was relieved to find that there were not too many quirks to cope with. Calypso was a vegetarian, so Giulia ensured that there were delectable pastas that would appeal to her as well as salads and breads. The thought quickly passed through her mind that maybe this American actress was ‘carbophobic’, but she pushed it away again. Who doesn’t love pasta, she mused as she moved the chairs around the tables.

Upstairs, TG was being interviewed on the phone by a Variety reporter about The Italian Dream.

‘Tell me about the film, it seems very different than your other films, more of a chick flick,’ said the reporter.

‘I don’t know about that,’ said TG, trying to keep the exasperation from his voice. Why wouldn’t Hollywood ever allow you to change, he wondered. ‘But, yeah, it is, very different,’ said TG. ‘It’s a story about three women in Italy all at a crisis in their life. Sapphira De Mont plays the role of the woman mourning the loss of her husband and trying to renovate a villa so she can sell it to return to the US. Rose Nightingale’s character plays a woman discovering herself after leaving her husband who cheated on her and Calypso Gable is a young backpacker who finds love in Italy. It’s an ensemble piece and I’m really excited about working with such great women,’ said TG. He was actually terrified of fucking it up but he didn’t say such a thing. Variety wanted to hear about the biggest film to be released next year, destined to be a critical and commercial success, provided TG could pull it off.

‘Your last film had the most expensive car chase ever filmed. How are you going to go from filming such high-impact scenes to filming women talking about their feelings?’ laughed the reporter.

TG paused. He asked himself the same thing every night since he had agreed to direct the film. ‘Telling the story is what I do. So whether it’s a car chase or an interchange between two actors, I do my best to get the story across.’

As the interview finished, TG hung up the phone and ran his hands through his hair and walked over to the large window in the study, staring at the amazing view in front of him. The hills of Umbria rolled out in front of him, the violet skies signalled twilight and TG knew the party was soon to start. He sent a small wish out as he saw the first star start to twinkle. Please let the shoot go well, he thought and laughed to himself, wondering what the Variety reporter would think of him, if he knew he was wishing on a star.

TG walked downstairs and looked at the party Giulia and her party planner had organized. It was a sight to behold: the lanterns and candles were lit, citronella was in the air and, as dusk fell, the courtyard was heavy with atmosphere and romance. The waiters stood by waiting for guests and ready to ply them with Prosecco and wine. The chefs were busy in the huge kitchen, applying the finishing touches to the feast. All they needed now were the guests.

The lower members of the crew arrived first, then the producers and finally the stars. Calypso arrived, always punctual, as taught by Leeza. She glowed in the courtyard like a firefly, stunning in a One Vintage gold lamé dress from the 1920s that had been reworked for her. The beaded appliqué around the low neckline shimmered and a tulle detail around the skirt edged up over one side to reveal just the right amount of thigh. Worn with a pair of patent leather Christian Louboutin black slingbacks and her new evening bag from the Perugia flea market, Calypso shone in the dark. Gratefully accepting a glass of champagne from a waiter, she took a sip to relieve her nerves.

The start of any job, big or small, made her nervous. Self-doubt and worry stayed with her till her director made her comfortable. Working with TG, she hoped, would be easy and he would be helpful. Calypso relied heavily on her director for both moral and directorial support. While she was a good actor, with sound comedic timing reminiscent of a young Ginger Rogers, she lacked the self-confidence and maturity to truly explore the options for the character. The last film she had done had really just required her to say her lines, look gorgeous and do her perfect laugh several times – the laugh which made audiences fall in love with her. This shoot was going to be different; she was really going to have to act, particularly in the scenes with Sapphira and Rose. Christ, she thought, I hope I can cut it.

She felt a little sick. Looking around for a familiar face, she spotted Kelly talking to two men, with their backs to Calypso. She walked over towards them, aware all eyes in the room were on her, except for TG in a navy blue velvet jacket and worn jeans laughing with Kelly. He whispered something in Kelly’s ear and she looked over to Calypso and smiled, waving her over.

‘Hi, doll, you look divine. God, what a dress! Calypso, this is my husband Chris, who is also the DOP. And I presume you already know TG,’ she said warmly, motioning towards the man in the blue jacket.

TG turned and looked at Calypso. Jesus fucking Christ, he thought, she is stunning. When she had walked into the audition back in LA he was instantly attracted to her but he had sworn off actresses and especially ones in his own films.