producers told me they need some paperwork for your injury.”
“Tell them they can cover their asses with their own paperwork.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
Helen paused and then left.
Paige set the glass down on the coffee table. “You don’t mince words, do you?”
Avalon shrugged. “My mouth gets me into a lot of trouble sometimes.”
“So does your slow reaction to oncoming fists.”
Avalon squinted again and looked adorable. “Funny.”
“I should go,” Paige said as she stood. “Are you going to be all right?”
“My head is fine. And since they’re reshooting that scene tomorrow and scheduling other stuff for the rest of the afternoon, I’m done for the day.”
She looked at her watch. It was just after two o’clock. “Well, now’s the time you’ve wanted.”
Avalon looked at her, apparently not quite understanding.
“Time for you to do what you want to do,” she said, then added, “See you tomorrow.”
Avalon stood and took a step toward her. “Care to take in a double feature?”
“What?”
“I’ll tell my driver to take the rest of the day off. Drive me home and I’ll show you.”
Was Avalon asking her to go home with her? Was she kidding? Maybe she considered this part of the interview. Maybe the blockbuster actress had hit her head too hard.
Did she want to go home with her? Did jackpots come from slot machines?
“My car’s parked on Highland.”
*
Avalon directed Paige east, through the upper-crust neighborhoods of Westwood and Brentwood, down Sunset Boulevard and, finally, to an address on Via De Las Olas Drive in Pacific Palisades. From high in the hills above, the front of the house overlooked Palisades Park and, beyond that, the shimmering, cobalt-blue expanse of the Pacific Ocean.
The house wasn’t a mansion by any stretch of the imagination, but rather a typical California-style ranch house built, probably, in the early 1950s, but typical ended there. These houses were priced in the millions, given the exclusivity of the neighborhood and the exceptional ocean views.
Avalon took her inside and the comfortable décor impressed her.
“I remodeled the place to resemble what it might have looked like when the house was first built,” Avalon said, as if reading her mind.
Blond furniture stood upon a large rug that followed the outline of the room, allowing about six inches of hardwood floor to peek out from underneath. It was a light, pleasant room that captured the spirit of the intended design.
“The interior decorator mixed original fifties furniture with new, retro pieces,” Avalon said. “I feel like I’m in a time warp, but a carefree, innocent one, you know?”
It was almost as if Avalon was looking for her approval. “I like it a lot. It’s really nicely done.”
She liked the exultant feeling Avalon’s engaging grin gave her. When Avalon headed toward the open kitchen, she told Paige to seat herself on a low, red couch that looked like it was taken straight from a mid-century modern encyclopedia. The walls of the front room were not light blue or beige, like contemporary houses, but gray. Classic bark-cloth drapes in shades of gray and yellow framed the large windows. It lacked all the unnecessary ornamentation that the 1950s eschewed.
“Form follows function,” Paige said as she admired the kidney-shaped coffee table and no-nonsense easy chairs in one corner.
“My designer would love you. She said that in a house like this, there needs to be a seamless marriage between eye-pleasing style and real-world practicality.”
The house was probably three or four times the size of Paige’s, but not one of those gargantuan mansions that stars were prone to possess. “You’ve hit the mark, I’d say.”
Avalon returned with two glasses of iced tea, served in large tumblers. “Is this okay?”
“Perfect.” She took the drink and realized that she was more comfortable than she’d been since meeting Avalon.
Here at home, Avalon
“Tell them they can cover their asses with their own paperwork.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
Helen paused and then left.
Paige set the glass down on the coffee table. “You don’t mince words, do you?”
Avalon shrugged. “My mouth gets me into a lot of trouble sometimes.”
“So does your slow reaction to oncoming fists.”
Avalon squinted again and looked adorable. “Funny.”
“I should go,” Paige said as she stood. “Are you going to be all right?”
“My head is fine. And since they’re reshooting that scene tomorrow and scheduling other stuff for the rest of the afternoon, I’m done for the day.”
She looked at her watch. It was just after two o’clock. “Well, now’s the time you’ve wanted.”
Avalon looked at her, apparently not quite understanding.
“Time for you to do what you want to do,” she said, then added, “See you tomorrow.”
Avalon stood and took a step toward her. “Care to take in a double feature?”
“What?”
“I’ll tell my driver to take the rest of the day off. Drive me home and I’ll show you.”
Was Avalon asking her to go home with her? Was she kidding? Maybe she considered this part of the interview. Maybe the blockbuster actress had hit her head too hard.
Did she want to go home with her? Did jackpots come from slot machines?
“My car’s parked on Highland.”
*
Avalon directed Paige east, through the upper-crust neighborhoods of Westwood and Brentwood, down Sunset Boulevard and, finally, to an address on Via De Las Olas Drive in Pacific Palisades. From high in the hills above, the front of the house overlooked Palisades Park and, beyond that, the shimmering, cobalt-blue expanse of the Pacific Ocean.
The house wasn’t a mansion by any stretch of the imagination, but rather a typical California-style ranch house built, probably, in the early 1950s, but typical ended there. These houses were priced in the millions, given the exclusivity of the neighborhood and the exceptional ocean views.
Avalon took her inside and the comfortable décor impressed her.
“I remodeled the place to resemble what it might have looked like when the house was first built,” Avalon said, as if reading her mind.
Blond furniture stood upon a large rug that followed the outline of the room, allowing about six inches of hardwood floor to peek out from underneath. It was a light, pleasant room that captured the spirit of the intended design.
“The interior decorator mixed original fifties furniture with new, retro pieces,” Avalon said. “I feel like I’m in a time warp, but a carefree, innocent one, you know?”
It was almost as if Avalon was looking for her approval. “I like it a lot. It’s really nicely done.”
She liked the exultant feeling Avalon’s engaging grin gave her. When Avalon headed toward the open kitchen, she told Paige to seat herself on a low, red couch that looked like it was taken straight from a mid-century modern encyclopedia. The walls of the front room were not light blue or beige, like contemporary houses, but gray. Classic bark-cloth drapes in shades of gray and yellow framed the large windows. It lacked all the unnecessary ornamentation that the 1950s eschewed.
“Form follows function,” Paige said as she admired the kidney-shaped coffee table and no-nonsense easy chairs in one corner.
“My designer would love you. She said that in a house like this, there needs to be a seamless marriage between eye-pleasing style and real-world practicality.”
The house was probably three or four times the size of Paige’s, but not one of those gargantuan mansions that stars were prone to possess. “You’ve hit the mark, I’d say.”
Avalon returned with two glasses of iced tea, served in large tumblers. “Is this okay?”
“Perfect.” She took the drink and realized that she was more comfortable than she’d been since meeting Avalon.
Here at home, Avalon
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