For advance chapters there on Patreon!
LA summer parties from Long Beach to Calabasas were everywhere, but it was Paris Hilton's iconic Malibu house party that was the crown jewel for Hollywood elites and celebrities.
The drive along the Pacific Coast Highway felt like another dimension. Andrew's dark Audi rolled along the winding roads of Malibu, and as we passed each oceanfront home, Rebecca pointed out the owners.
"Steven Spielberg bought that last one last year. 20 million dollars. What would l buy for 20 million dollars" She was checking her reflection in the makeup mirror.
"That's how much you made for Marvel right, Andrew?"
"I wish". He laughed, "l would never live here though."
I nodded and Rebecca chimed in, "Why not?"
"Because—"
I smiled, "He's a loser that's why"
"I'm a loser?", he grinned, "Look at what your wearing."
"What's wrong with my Hawaiian shirt? You want me to wear a costume?"
He nodded, "By the way, never do a superhero film unless it's like Batman or something"
She shook her head, "l mean if the money is good—"
We reached the end of a long line of cars outside a pair of white security gates. Valets moved between Aston Martins, vintage Porsches, Mercedes convertibles, and Ferraris.
"Hell, l would be Ant-Man if l could buy one of those," l said.
"Who's Ant-Man?" Andrew said.
"It's this actor turned superhero from Surrey who every time has sex becomes smaller. And eventually becomes a villain because he turns so small that he becomes a virus that kills everyone"
Andrew nodded his head, and Rebecca began writing something down on her notepad.
"What are you writing?"
"This movie idea. Are you going to be the lead?"
I hid my smile and spoke in a perfect London accent, "Of course l am. And l already have a director's who signed on."
"Who?"
"Christopher Nolan"
"Really? What? How?", she put down her eyeliner, "Umm, how do you even have the time with Whiplash?"
Andrew chuckled, "You might actually give her whiplash with all of your pranks one day. What's this Whiplash project anyway?"
"It's really an amazing script. I mean not better than Luca", Andrew nodded, "but l trust the director's vision"
"Who's the director?"
"This newbie. You won't know him, Damien Chazelle. You're older than him actually"
"Really?"
Our car crawled forward until we were second in line.
"How long?"
"Only 20 days"
"God and l thought CMBYN was too short."
I agreed and looked toward the rearview mirror. Rebecca still looked dazed, and I couldn't help but laugh out loud.
Andrew's voice grew softer—his voice was already soothing; I pictured Andrew one day being on the Calm App Sleep Stories and falling asleep to it.
"If you ever want to work for me Rebecca l'm always here"
I smiled, "Trying to poach my employees?"
I was too distracted by the beautiful sunset to my right. Rebecca, who had returned to her usual self, said, "There some paparazzi there, but as long you don't look at them your fine"
"I don't think l can ever get used to this"
Andrew nodded. "Look where we are"
We finally reached the gate, and the full house came into view.
The house looked like a modern white sculpture overlooking the Pacific, as if it were a guardian deity protecting its rich residents from the ordinary citizens of Los Angeles. Long planes of white limestone and warm teak framed towering sheets of glass that reflected the ocean.
To the right—I couldn't see all of it—was a broad terrace that descended toward an infinity pool, where dozens of people stood, some with cigarettes and others with glasses in hand.
Andrew gave his keys to the valet, a young Mexican man who nodded, and as we all got out of the car, I was stunned by the sheer luxury of it.
There were Oscar winners in almost every corner, and my palms began to sweat. The heat was almost oppressive, and the party was just starting.
Andrew immediately went a separate way after finding a friend, and Rebecca went straight toward the outdoor bar in the sun.
The first woman I saw—who immediately stood out—was Paris, who wore a flowing white silk dress and had long blonde hair. She was talking to Nina Dobrev, and they both had animated expressions. They stood at the edge of the house overlooking the beach.
The moment I stepped inside, I realized how poor I was. White limestone floors stretched almost endlessly and reflected the golden sunlight.
The party seemed separated by profession: Chace Crawford and Garrett Hedlund were taking shots, Katy Perry and Adam Levine were dancing, and the Victoria's Secret Angels drew the most attention from the other young men there.
One of them—who looked almost six feet tall—looked straight toward me. She had long dark hair and high cheekbones. Although I was distracted by someone else, I couldn't look away.
I saw a young, freckled man with curly hair. "Damien! It's been too long."
He laughed, and I continued, "I didn't think you were the type to come to these."
He nodded his head. "The moment Blumhouse heard you were attached, they almost exploded. So Jason invited me here. Actually, he just went to the bathroom."
"Well, I'm excited to be a part of it. I'm going to practice the drums soon."
I finally noticed the exhaustion on Damien's face. He said, "I was planning to just make a short for Sundance, but I sent that email to Mark just for fun. I never—"
I patted his shoulder. "This movie was always going to be a success without me."
Damien looked up, and in the corner of my eye, I saw probably the least flashy person there, dressed in a blue Oxford shirt and dark jeans.
He yelled, "Ryan!" His green eyes lit up.
"The man of the hour!" he said.
This was the man who turned Paranormal Activity's $15,000 budget into almost $200 million.
I smiled and shook his hand. "Hopefully Whiplash can be like Paranormal Activity."
He chuckled. "I'm sure of it. And now, with J.K. Simmons attached too, I could see it."
His voice grew louder. "What was the initial offer for the $3.3 million budget?"
Damien nodded his head. "You need more funds?"
"Umm."
I chimed in, "I would love to support this film."
Damien and Jason both looked at me.
"I could raise a million dollars."
Almost all of my money was from CMBYN and Margin Call. Although it would be about thirty percent of what I'd earned, I didn't hesitate.
Jason had a wide grin, and Damien looked shocked.
Jason said, "Great."
A waiter in a crisp linen shirt glided between us carrying oysters on crushed ice, lobster rolls, and glasses of champagne. I grabbed a glass.
I said, "Talk to Mark afterward to just put it all on paper."
I raised my glass, and Jason raised his. I said, "To Whiplash."
"To Whiplash."
I drank the champagne, and all of the arguments and the breakup began to fade from memory as I thought about how far I had come. A little kid from a foster home all the way here to a Paris Hilton beach house party.
I couldn't help but laugh.
Damien still looked dazed but began to smile.
Jason left, and Damien immediately said, "You don't have to do it—"
"Loosen up."
I said in French, "Filmmaking is so obviously your passion. You will make great films."
"Thank you."
I laughed. "I haven't even played the role yet. We haven't even enjoyed this party yet! Let's get some drinks."
The outside bar stretched the entire length of the terrace, and stainless steel ice buckets overflowed with bottles of Dom Pérignon, Veuve Clicquot, and rosé.
I immediately saw Andrew again, who was talking to his girlfriend.
"Emma!" I said. My expression changed, but I immediately put on a wide smile.
"Ryan. What's wrong?" Her voice was deep.
"Why didn't Andrew tell me you were coming? I was in the car."
Andrew looked toward me. Emma said, "It was a last-minute decision. Do you still believe that I still have to do press? The movie's out."
I chuckled, and Andrew said, "Welcome to Marvel."
I asked her, "Are you going to take a break?"
She nodded her head. "Yes. I'm going to—"
Andrew said, "Am I interrupting a family reunion?"
Emma poked his shoulder and looked toward me. "How was Italy? I heard it was magical."
"It was beautiful. A dream."
Andrew's and my expressions both changed. I was reminded of the stark gap between the glamour of actors' lives and the lives of the characters they played.
Emma said, "Let me introduce you to my friend. We work out at the same gym."
She went away for a second, and Andrew, who looked straight at me, said, "Your guy just left?"
I looked behind me and saw Damien, who was talking to Brett Ratner. They both had animated, excited expressions.
I said, "When two directors talk, it's a different world."
Andrew nodded. Emma came back with the same model who had looked at me when I entered the party.
Emma said, "This is Lily."
Her dark brown eyes came into full view.
"Hello."
Andrew gave me a bottle, got distracted by something else, and soon left.
Emma said, "Lily is a Victoria's Secret Angel."
I asked, "Where are you from?"
"Santa Monica."
Emma said, "I have to go find my boyfriend."
She soon left, and it was just me and Lily by the bar, where we both looked at the view. As the sun sank toward the horizon, the deep blue Pacific caught brilliant streaks of pink and lavender.
I said, "What a beautiful view."
"I know."
She got another drink and smiled. "Thanks to you, my brother wants a gun and wants to be Joe."
I laughed. "Well, tell him to meet Bruce Willis. He's the real Joe anyway."
She leaned in closer. "What if someone wants to meet young Joe?"
I looked toward the inside of the house. "I don't know. Maybe somewhere private."
"I think I know a private room upstairs."
I leaned in closer. I was buzzed and relaxed. "Take me. Nothing serious, though."
She nodded her head.
We went toward a room upstairs, and the nerves hit me, but she was already undressing and almost ripped apart my Hawaiian shirt. Afterward, when I pulled out, I felt a wave of regret wash over me, and I felt embarrassed. I wondered what I would've done if someone had walked in. Probably hide under the bed.
I no longer felt buzzed. I didn't say a word to Lily. I put my clothes back on, and as soon as I was dressed, I opened the door, stepped out, and closed it behind me.
I went down the white stone steps and straight toward the bar. The party had reached its crescendo. Waiters rushed around, sweat running down their foreheads. There were lines outside the bathroom—and probably lines inside the bathroom—and my friends were gone.
Rebecca came up and said, "Where were you? I haven't seen you at all?"
"Umm. I was here the whole time."
"No, you were not."
I murmured to her, "You know you're off the clock."
She nodded. "I know."
She left with a bottle of Dom Pérignon, and my face went white.
I saw a familiar Mercedes-Benz C-Class. Part of me wanted to go swimming in the ocean, and another part of me just wanted to leave and get an Uber.
A woman stepped out wearing a sleeveless ivory sundress. She carried a Celine Luggage Tote bag but then put it back in the car.
My stomach sank, and I began to pull out my phone.
It was Emma.
Emma Roberts.
Please leave comments