We’d stopped off at a liquor store on the way to the diner, and I saw the fifth of Jack Daniels make another appearance from under his jacket as he spiked his gazillionth Coke.
I watched him in amazement, wondering where he put it all. He’d commandeered the majority of our vat of popcorn during the movie, then proceeded to down a junk-food feast of epic proportions at the diner. “You better watch it, Chester. You’re gonna get fat and then no one’ll ever hire you again.”
He leaned back in his seat, patting his hands across his taut belly. “Impossible. I am a study in superior genetics.”
Yep. That he was.
“Besides,” he continued, “I have to take advantage of the food while I’m here. California cuisine is not great.”
I scrunched up my nose in agreement, even though I’d never been out there myself. But I knew we had great food here and I just figured he knew it, too. I mean, come on. Disco Fries? Yum.
He’d lived in a bunch of different places in his life, but he told me it was only when he was back in Jersey or New York that he found himself checking off a list of things he needed to eat while he was here. Then he shot one of his trademarked smirks in my direction, and in another lifetime, I would have registered the look on his face as suggesting I was the next thing on the list.
“And hell,” he added, “DeNiro packed on sixty pounds for Raging Bull, and it won him an Oscar.”
That made me chuckle. “His acting won him the Oscar. Not his fat.”
Trip unabashedly popped the top button of his jeans, trying to relieve some of the pressure. I caught a sliver of skin just above his waistband. And crap. I felt my stomach flip.
Trip countered, “Don’t be so sure about that. Yes, he was amazing in that role, but Hollywood people can’t comprehend the thought of deliberately messing up their looks.”
He’d said that last part with disgust (and with more than a bit of slur to his speech), his contempt not hidden for the very people he was forced to schmooze on a daily basis. But he’d just begun the tirade.
“I mean, look at Cameron Diaz. She explodes onto the screen in The Mask, this beautiful blonde young thing. Instant stardom based mostly on her great looks and the sexy role she played. I’m not trying to take anything away from her talent, mind you. She’s a pretty decent actress to begin with. But then she goes and does Being John Malkovich last year. Did you see it?”
“No. Should I?”
“Yeah. No. Well, maybe. You might like it. Anyway, she does this Malkovich film, without makeup, frizzy hair, just completely au naturale, and suddenly, she’s being lauded as a great actress.” He took a swig of his Jack and Coke to continue. “Again. Not taking anything away from her performance. She did a good job. But the point is, the majority of that role required nothing more than for her to show up to the set every day looking “ugly”. Everyone in the industry just about fell all over themselves to shower praise on her for her bravery.”
I’d considered that it does take a certain amount of bravery to break the standard mold of Hollywood glam. But I got where he was going with his rant. Just in case I hadn’t grasped what he was trying to say, he punctuated, “I mean, it shouldn’t be like that. It should just be about the actual performance an actor puts out there. That’s it. But it doesn’t work that way.”
I gave him an “oh really” look.
“What? What’s that face?”
I pointed out the obvious. “Trip, come on. You think if you didn’t look... well, like you look, that you’d be enjoying the kind of career you’ve got going for yourself right now? You think it would have happened as quickly if you looked like, well, John Malkovich, for example?”
He rested his forearms against the table and focused his sole attention on me. “What exactly is it that you’re trying to say?”
The bite in his voice didn’t register until after I’d already answered, “Well, look at you! Dammit, Trip. You’re gorgeous!”
I’d meant it as a compliment, but the icy look he shot my way turned me to stone. “You can’t be serious. Layla, for fuck’s sake, tell me you’re not serious right now!” He slammed a fist down on the table, making the dishes and silverware rattle and causing a few heads to turn. He leaned forward ominously and practically spat out through clenched teeth, “Do you have any fucking idea how hard I work? I bust my ass every day, every minute trying to do the best job I can! And you think I’m lacking? You just sat through one of my movies and that’s what you took away from it? This?!” He made a circular motion around his face with his index finger, and that’s when I realized what I had said.