Jane Austen Goes to Hollywood(16)
Author: Abby McDonald

“Girls!” A voice echoed up from the backyard, all honeyed tones. “Come join us for breakfast!”

Hallie sighed, and started down the stairs. “ ‘Girls,’ ” she mimicked as Grace followed behind. “She’s only three years older than me!”

“Don’t be like that,” Grace scolded. “You should give her a chance. She’s nice, really.”

“Sure she is.”

Hallie wasn’t convinced. The one downside of Uncle Auggie’s generosity was that it came complete with his new bride, Amber — a former soap actress turned trophy wife who was a walking, talking, bleached, manicured testament to Los Angeles’s inferior cultural legacy. As they emerged from the guesthouse, the child bride was sauntering across the lawn in a gauzy white wrap — hair in a perky ponytail, lips glossed bright pink. The sturdy Mexican housekeeper followed behind with a tray of food.

Amber waved them over to the dining area. “You’ve got to try some juice — fresh squeezed! It does wonders for your digestion!”

Hallie forced a smile. Amber had been overflowing with advice and “helpful” tips since the moment they’d walked through the door. So far, she’d offered to “hook Hallie up” with her dermatologist, cosmetologist, and dietician. Hallie had asked where the nearest bookstore was, but Amber had just blinked at her in confusion, and then recommended a salon that she swore gave the best bikini waxes on the West Coast — complete with Swarovski crystal bejazzling.

Hallie couldn’t even.

“How are you girls settling in?” Amber asked as they joined her at the table.

“Great, thanks,” Grace answered. Hallie gave a vague smile and tried to shoo away the matching shih tzus yapping at her ankles.

“Marilyn! Monroe! Come to Mama!” Amber called them over and scooped one onto her lap. Whether it was Marilyn or Monroe, Hallie couldn’t say. “You know, I’m from out of town too,” she told them, nuzzling the dog’s nose. “Mayfield, Wisconsin. Middle of nowhere. Nothing but hogs and hay bales for miles, we used to say!” She giggled. “There was no way I was sticking around waiting tables the rest of my life, so the day I turned eighteen, I was out of there. Hello, Hollywood!”

Hallie didn’t want to encourage her, but part of her was burning with fascination. “How did you meet Uncle Auggie?”

“On set,” she declared, a note of pride in her voice. “You know the Lifetime movie A Small, Distant Scream: The Kayla Bates Story?”

“About the girl who got kidnapped and sold into white slavery?” Hallie perked up. Trashy movies of the week were her secret guilty pleasure; she’d seen more of the posters framed in Uncle Auggie’s study than she’d ever care to admit to her thespian friends.

“Yes!” Amber beamed.

“You were in that?” Hallie frowned, trying to place her.

“I played Social Worker Number Two,” Amber said proudly. “Anyway, Auggie dropped by to oversee production, our eyes met across the soundstage . . . and that was it. Love!”

Grace smiled at her. “That’s so sweet.”

“Uh-huh,” Hallie murmured politely. Love, and the chance to escape from nonspeaking, background roles. “Do you still act?”

“Oh, no.” Amber shook her head. “I don’t have the time now. Life is so crazy!” She popped a fresh strawberry between glossed lips and put on a pair of huge designer sunglasses. Crazy indeed.

“How are my favorite girls today?” Uncle Auggie’s voice boomed, startling Hallie. He crossed the lawn toward them, resplendent in white pants and a bright-orange polo shirt — unbuttoned down his neck to reveal a swath of wiry chest hair peeping through. His dark skin was weathered, hair balding on top, but from the way Amber leaped up and cooingly kissed his cheek, Hallie would have guessed it was Adonis himself come to eat with them. “Remember, mi casa is su casa,” he said, taking a cup of coffee from Rosa’s waiting hands. “You need anything, you just let me know!”

“And be sure to put lotion on, both of you,” Amber added. “You’re not used to the sun down here, you don’t want to burn!” She thrust a tiny tube at Hallie. “It’s like my mama always said, ‘Lotion, lotion, lotion!’ And that goes for moisturizer too.”

“Listen to the woman,” Auggie chortled. “I swear her mama doesn’t look a day over thirty-five!” The couple laughed together, then Uncle Auggie noticed his plate: half a grapefruit and a dry slice of toast. “Sweetie, what is this? Where’s my omelet?”

“Baby, you know you’re supposed to watch your cholesterol,” Amber cooed, squeezing his arm.

Auggie turned to Grace and Hallie. “Isn’t she a princess? Always looking out for me.”

“That’s because I love you, honey.” They snuggled together, cooing. Auggie tickled her under the chin, Amber fed him a grape, and Hallie finally broke.

“You know, I better get going,” she told them, standing.

“Awww!” Amber cried. “Stay, eat.”

“I can’t,” Hallie insisted, already edging away. Another ten minutes of Inappropriate Age Gaps: The Live Show and her breakfast could well make a reappearance. “I’ve got a ton of stuff to do.”

Grace raised an eyebrow. “More tanning and pool time?”

“No,” Hallie told her with an icy glare. So, maybe she had spent the last weeks in a lazy rotation between sun lounger, pool mattress, and couch, but it wasn’t like Grace had been off curing cancer or anything. “I have plans,” she informed them dramatically. “Important plans!”

Hallie changed into a vintage nineties print dress and her favorite Victorian boots, and struck out from the shaded confines of the compound. People who said you can’t get around L.A. without a car clearly didn’t live in Beverly Hills, she decided. Uncle Auggie lived just north of Rodeo Drive, in a leafy, quiet area that could almost be called suburban, if the suburbs were made up of a parade of huge mansions on every block. Their English country manor turned out to be almost dignified compared to the neighbors’: as Hallie strolled, she counted two Tuscan villas, three stucco mansions adorned with Greek columns, and one modern monstrosity — looking like someone had tossed huge cubes in a random heap.

When she made it big, Hallie would show some restraint. A rambling Spanish estate up in the hills, maybe, or a small mansion somewhere. Something that showed a little class. . . . Hallie daydreamed, happily anticipating the change of fortune that was surely just around the corner. Some of her theater-class friends used to argue that to be a true disciple of your craft, you had to cast off material possessions, and devote yourself to your art — body and soul. Hallie thought that was being kind of hasty. There was no reason why she couldn’t become a serious actress and have pretty things. Jodie Foster. Halle Berry. Tilda Swinton. They played worthy, demanding roles, and still got to waltz down the red carpet in fabulous designer gowns.