The Perfect Location

It was irritating that her family never met her halfway when she asked them. They had no understanding of her fame or if they did, they were unaffected by it. In fact, Rose was certain her parents had not even seen her last two films. Rose had offered them premiere tickets but they declined, saying they had promised to babysit for Rose’s brother and look after the grandchildren.

Rose had yelled at her mother down the phone from her hotel suite, claiming she didn’t care, which her mother gently pushed back onto Rose. ‘Rosie,’ she had said, ‘I had promised Martin I would help him and Fiona months ago. I cannot drop everything just because your face is on the trams. First in, best dressed,’ her mother had explained in her usual unemotional way.

Rose had begrudgingly apologized to her mother and later, with her therapist, had acknowledged that her parents’ refusal to be spellbound by her job and instead retain equal relationships with their children was to be commended. Sometimes though, Rose felt a little left out, being so far away from England and with no grandchildren for her mother to babysit.

Rose’s temper was legendary in her family. If anyone threw a tantrum, they called it ‘doing a Rose’. It was something she was able to keep a lid on when she worked, but privately she could rage and rage. It never had any effect on Paul; in fact, it became worse when she was married to him. She would yell and throw things just to be heard but he just ignored her. His cruelty was astounding, something she did not realize he had in him till it was too late. His favourite way to punish her was to ignore her; he would literally cast her out of his life till he decided to forgive her. She never knew when this would be. He would eat at the same table, sleep in the spare room but he would not answer her, not even flinch when at times she slapped him. If he had a message for her, he would leave it with their bewildered Mexican housekeeper. Once, her parents came to visit in the middle of one of these episodes. Whenever they were around he would act as if they didn’t have a care in the world. The minute they were out of the room, he started ignoring her again.

Her ex-husband, Paul Ross, had been a teen heartthrob and had become a household name, loved by critics and the public alike. After seeing Rose in a small independent film that she had made when she was first in LA, Paul had pursued Rose relentlessly.

Rose, at twenty-two and fresh out of acting school had been entranced by his fame, good looks and energy. But the more Rose learned about Paul after the ring was on her finger, the more she realized he was unhinged. Taking huge doses of vitamins and prescription and non-prescription drugs, convinced that they would help him stay young. Drinking a bottle of tomato ketchup every day to prevent prostate cancer. His obsession with immortality even went to the extreme of his forging an obsessive relationship with a South American plastic surgeon, whom Rose secretly called Doctor Dorian Gray.

Rose and Paul’s sex life was uninspiring but a sexually inexperienced Rose hadn’t known any better. They tried for a baby – well, Rose did – but it’s hard to make a child when your husband won’t even talk to you, let alone have sex with you.

After ten years of marriage, Rose was no closer to having a baby and no closer to fulfilling the talent and potential that she had shown in her first film.

The treatment ate away at Rose’s self-esteem. She started to see a therapist and while she told him of her marriage problems she never told the whole truth about the way Paul rejected her.

‘You need to talk more, you and Paul. Communication is the answer,’ advised the therapist.

Rose nodded and smiled. She had finally communicated her frustration by running into a wall with a small kitchen knife to her chest. Not that anyone besides Paul, her agent and her mother knew this – and her trusted doctors, of course. After intensive therapy and a five-week stay in hospital, Rose slowly revealed the years of Paul’s mental torture. She still remembered the look on her doctor’s face when he spoke to Rose. ‘He’s a bully. Anyone who treats another person like this is in pain. They hate themselves and they hate everyone else. He feels better when you feel bad. It gives him power. It’s abuse, Rose.’

What he said was the truth, as Rose knew in her heart, but to leave Paul was the biggest decision she would ever have to make. The suicide attempt had actually saved her, as had the film in Europe. Maybe this was why she worked so much. When she worked she was safe and busy and did not have time to think about what her life lacked or the choices she had made.

Had she been serious about wanting to die, Rose often wondered. Was she trying to get Paul to notice her? Or did she just want to feel something, prove she existed? Thankfully, her agent, Randy, had arrived in time to get her help and cover up everything so it didn’t end up in the tabloids. But not once did Paul visit her in hospital, not even a card or a phone call.

Lauren’s voice pulled Rose out of her dark memories. ‘You have dresses from Oscar De La Renta, Zac Posen, Dior, Elie Saab and Chanel for the Cannes Film Festival opening. I can send you images via email or FedEx them over if you like.’

‘Send over the images and I’ll have a look.’

‘Maybe you can wear one of them there. You sure you don’t want me to send them over?’ asked Lauren, looking at the divine dresses hanging in the office.

‘Nah, I’ve nowhere to wear them. All I do is try not to eat the entire contents of this house,’ Rose sulked. ‘The housekeeper feeds me every five minutes, I swear. I’m going to be too huge for the dresses anyway. Call Weight Watchers, they just got themselves a new spokesperson.’

Lauren knew this voice. Rose was feeling sorry for herself. ‘What about Sapphira or Calypso? What are they doing?’ she said, ignoring Rose’s self pity.

‘Ha!’ said Rose. ‘You’ve got to be joking. Sapphira is as odd as a box of frogs and Calypso is so young, it makes me feel old just looking at her. Maybe you can come over and play Snakes and Ladders with me,’ Rose laughed. ‘I could throw a fit and send a private plane for you, courtesy of the studio and you can come and visit with me.’

Lauren was silent on the phone.

‘Lauren, are you there?’ asked Rose.

‘Yep, sorry, I’m here, just distracted,’ came back Lauren’s tight voice.

‘Did I say something to upset you?’ asked Rose, confused.

‘No, no. Not at all. I would love to come, of course, but I’ve lots to do here, you know that,’ said Lauren, and the ease between them closed over and Lauren was back as an employee.

Rose shook off her concern and put Lauren’s reaction down to her being over-friendly. She had to remember to put up professional boundaries, her therapist said. But boundaries were not Rose’s strong point; she barged in and tried to fix everything in everyone’s lives. Choosing not to explore Lauren’s reaction to her invitation in the name of boundaries, she and Lauren then chatted about the emails Lauren was forwarding her and then she rang off.

Hanging up from Lauren, she walked around the grand salon. She didn’t want to watch TV; Italian TV was odd, filled with semi-nude women and dancing – and that was just the nightly news report, she thought. Lucia had left her a delicious looking frittata and salad. She had asked for no more carbs, like pasta. Lucia mumbled to her husband that Rose was ‘too thin, needed feeding’.

She walked down to the study and stood looking at the Wii machine. Wondering how it worked she opened the manual and, following the prompts, played around with the buttons until it sprang into life on the screen. What did she want to play? Tennis? Baseball? Basketball? Bowling?

I was always good at tennis, she thought, remembering her days back on the school team. Playing through the demonstration, Rose found it easier than she expected. Next thing she knew, she was playing the machine and laughing and cheering herself on. An hour later, she was in a lather of perspiration and her serving arm was quite sore. Who needs a trainer, she thought as she drank from a bottle of water she grabbed from the large kitchen.

Opening the fridge, she cut herself a large slice of frittata and put some salad on the plate. Wandering into the lounge, she turned on the TV. Flicking through the channels, she saw a film that Paul had made during the time of their divorce. He seemed so beautiful onscreen, untouched by the drama in their personal lives. Paul had dealt with the breakup by dating a new starlet from Romania, tipped to be the new Bond girl. Rose knew she was with Paul’s agent, so didn’t believe the relationship; the agency manufactured relationships between their stars all the time. For years the rumours about her and Paul’s marriage was that it was a business deal. Perhaps it was to Paul but to Rose it was a real marriage and even though she was happy to be free, all the same she grieved for what life might have been like.

The last time Rose and Paul had faced each other was with their lawyers at her lawyer’s plush offices to sign the papers and work out a satisfactory financial deal. Paul had been charming to Rose, friendly and caring, claiming he wanted the best for her and mostly for her to be happy. Rose had sat waiting for the change in him to manifest but Paul kept up the act until the lawyers left them for a moment in the large boardroom.

As the door closed behind them, Paul had leaned over the table and hissed, ‘You will get nothing, you slut. Nothing, you hear me. I am gonna bury you. That affair with that asshole was the final straw. I always knew you couldn’t keep your legs shut.’

Rose sat silently, relieved to see the Paul she knew come back. His act in front of the lawyers was disarming; this Paul she felt she had finally learned to handle.

‘Be very careful, Paul,’ she said, doing her best Judi Dench impersonation. He was always intimidated by her English accent. ‘I happen to know about you and your South American surgeon, or should I say lover. I had my lawyers look into it with a private detective and if I were you, I would stay tuned to Inside Edition to see the highlights of the tape I have in my possession.’

Rose took a punt and it worked. He was shocked and his face visibly paled in front of her. This time Rose hissed across the table. ‘I want only what I deserve after putting up with ten years of your lies, abuse and bullshit. You’re the asshole. You didn’t even come and see me in hospital, you prick!’ She spat out the words.

Paul sat stunned and Rose felt a tiny bit sorry for him. ‘Paul, if you’re gay then just come out. You don’t need any more money. You are beyond wealthy. You are living a lie and you and I know it. If you care about your doctor then tell him, be with him.’

Paul looked up at her, his eyes filled with tears and Rose finally understood why he was like he was, always trying to push down his sexual urges, trying to control what he couldn’t when what he wanted to control was his attraction to men.

‘Rose, you know …’ His voice was soft, real almost, and then the door opened to the boardroom and the lawyers walked back in. Paul straightened his posture. ‘Whatever Rose wants, guys. She was a good wife and I’m sorry it didn’t work out.’

And with that he grabbed the divorce papers on the desk, signed them with his Visconti pen, stood up, walked around to Rose, kissed her cheek softly and left the room. It was the most tender moment of their marriage that she could remember.

Rose pushed the thoughts away and changed the channel on the TV remote. Satellite had been installed and there were more channels than back in LA. Flicking over, she saw something she recognized. ‘Yay!’ she squealed and sat down with her dinner on her lap and watched an episode of The Bill, alone but content.

In the kitchen, Lucia was less than content with Rose being alone. Apples were a start, she thought, apples would draw a lover to her but it was apple with cinnamon that would bring the man faster to the woman.

Lucia busied herself in the kitchen. Mele speziate con sultanine, she thought. Spiced apple with sultanas. No one could resist Lucia’s cooking, it was magic, everyone said so. Lucia sang as she worked. If only they knew, she thought.

CHAPTER SIX

There was no rehearsal time for The Italian Dream. TG wanted the actors to be ready to film once they came on set. The affable guy who had greeted the women at the dinner party the previous night had disappeared and in his place was a man focused on his task.

‘I’m going to try and shoot as much as I can in order for your sake and the DOP. Chris and I have worked out some shots which won’t require long set-up times but some may take a while, so please be patient,’ said TG as he addressed the women in the make-up trailer, who had already been in hair and make-up for the past two hours, before walking back to the dilapidated villa where the shoot was taking place.

‘He seems stressed,’ said Calypso to Kelly, worried about the day ahead.

‘Nah, he’s not stressed, just focused. He’s pretty single minded when he wants to be,’ said Kelly as she moved about the trailer lining up make-up brushes. ‘He’s a funny one, all soft on the outside but if anyone fucks with him or people he loves he gets all Tony Soprano on their ass.’

Calypso watched TG as he and Chris stood talking as she walked over for her call in wardrobe.

They were discussing the first scene where Rose and Sapphira’s characters arrive at Rose’s character’s villa looking for a place to stay.

TG walked across to wardrobe, where Calypso was about to be dressed by the costume crew. Her character was a young backpacker who had just finished university, so they had pulled together jeans and cut-off shorts, t-shirts, singlets and sandals, as well as a few pretty dresses and shirts. It was casual and homespun; the kind of clothes Calypso felt the most comfortable in. Walking into the dressing room trailer, TG found her standing in a tiny Calvin Klein pink polka dotted bra and pants. With a full face of make-up and her hair in loose plaits, courtesy of the hair department, she looked like a young Brigitte Bardot. She took TG’s breath away, not because she was so incredibly sexy but because she looked so innocent. Her figure was insane, he thought. He could see her tiny waist and pert breasts, her toned legs and gorgeous ass in the mirror behind her.

He felt his cock start to move. Nooooo, he thought, barking at her to cover his embarrassment. ‘Hurry up, you ready yet? We’re waiting.’