NOVEMBER 13, 2002
MY SUMMER WITH THE MOVIE STAR
(Chap. 18, Cont.)
"Did you have a nice time with Phil last night, dear?"
Carol Stone had decided to get out of bed, or wherever she sleeps, and was pouring a cup of coffee. "I hope you didn't drink too much beer. It's so fattening. Not that you will ever need to worry. I suspect you are constitutionally slim."
The woman just kept twittering on, not giving me a chance to answer. "I guess Ezra is still sleeping. He worked so late on the book. Oh, how nice the table looks! Ezra will love it. He appreciates all the little graceful touches so much."
I know the way I am reporting on Carol sounds like she's off my idol list, but that's not so. She is still my idea of what a woman should look like, only I am just a little more accustomed to being around her. All the same, I keep remembering who she is, and I can never think of anything to say for about the first five minutes of a conversation, which is probably why she never bothers to give me any openings.
Carol had to be somewhere in her late thirties, but she didn't have a single line on her face, and I didn't know anything about lifts in those days, among other things. This morning she had on a long, white cotton housecoat with a stiff, stand-up collar that had lace edging and, naturally, the front of the dress was open about ten unnecessary buttons. She's very careful to display all her good features, which I would be too, if I had any. She was wearing one of her six thousand pairs of sunglasses that she will wear to her grave when they close the lid, and she had twisted up her hair into a knot in back.
Some of the ends were straggling loose because she hadn't done any thing about herself yet. But she still looked good. I just couldn't get over the fact that she--Carol Stone, movie star--was having coffee with me, Sylvia Dormir, who will probably be applauded the next time she gets on the Santa Monica Bus for having ridden a million miles.
"We had a super time," I said, getting right onto her first question after ten minutes. "But we were both nervous about coming back here before Ezra called."
"Ezra called your party?" she asked. "How strange. About what time was that."
Old Foot-in-the-Mouth Sylvia rides again! But he was always making such a point out of sharing our private life with her, and telling her every last intimate detail, that I assumed he called when she was around, or told her. "It wasn't very late," I covered up. "He just told Phil I had tons of work today, and needed to be in bed."
"That would be on his mind," she said. "You should have seen him working last night, Sylvia. I had to force him to eat. I know he feels confident that the book is now truly underway, and he loves getting all his notes typed up, as we go along. I think that was just the impetus he needed."
"Good morning, girls." Ezra was up, and I was worried the coffee might be a little stale. "Excellent idea," he said. "Coffee out here in the sun."
It was easy to see he was in one of his better moods, so I settled back for another cup, and a chat, just the three of us together.
"Sylvia," he said. "Please finish your coffee, or take the cup inside with you. I want you to start working now so we can get something done today. Carol's masseuse is coming, too, and I want you to have time for a massage, yourself. It will do you good. Put you in touch with your body."
"O.K," was all I said, as I picked up my cup. Like my usual day wasn't complete without a good pounding.
"Good morning, Ezra," Carol said, getting him some coffee, as if she had made it.
"Did you sleep well," he asked her, trying to kid me he didn't know how she slept, or where she slept, maybe she slept out in the street or in the garage, and tossed and turned all night for all he knew.
I was forgotten. And he hadn't said a word about the flowers I put on the table or how nice everything looked. Movie stars have a tendency to take every consideration of their needs, or attempts to please them, for granted.
