The Disappearing Act(38)
Cynthia’s email tells me not to worry about parts that I’ve already auditioned for over here; everything must come second to this. But there’s no mention of which Galatea scenes I need to prepare for the screen test yet, so it looks like I’m free for the day. A full day off.
At a loss for how to fill it, I scan the rest of my inbox and find an old email from Michael: an invitation to attend a gifting suite this afternoon at the Sunset Tower Hotel. I’d been hoping I might be free but hadn’t expected I would. Because it’s the week running up to the Oscars, gifting suites are cropping up all over town—and as Eyre starts to air on streaming services in the US within the next two weeks, I’ve obviously been added to someone’s PR list. I’ve been to a gifting suite before with George and understand the concept, but this could be my first official time.
Essentially PR companies invite actors in popular shows and films to a series of hotel suites in order to receive free gifts. And not just goodie bags either but larger things: holidays, luxury brand endorsement, villa stays, island-hopping, private jet usage. A good gifting suite does not pull its punches. Depending on what type of actor or celebrity you are, you’re offered a certain color and tier of pass that you have to wear around your neck on a lanyard. I’m sure whatever list I’m already on specifies my preordained gifting level.
Much to my shame I feel a thrill of excitement. I may like to think I’m a relatively egalitarian, un-shallow person, but when push comes to shove, I have to admit I love sparkles and presents just as much as the next person.
The suite opens at noon, which gives me something to do before the screen-test scenes arrive, but I really don’t want to go to this alone. I dash off a quick text to Souki and slip into a jewel-toned outfit: emerald cashmere sweater, deep-amethyst pants and slip-ons, finishing off with a clean makeup look and my thick hair tied back into a loose bun. It’s a PR event so I know there’ll be photographers there for the brands, and while I’m sure there’ll be more interesting people for the photographers to snap than me, it’s worth being camera-ready just in case.
A text lets me know Souki can’t make it, she’s meeting her agent for lunch. I look in the mirror and my heart sinks: all dressed up, no place to go.
I definitely don’t want to go alone but, other than Souki, I really don’t know anyone in LA. I can’t ask Nick to be my plus-one—that would be the most embarrassing first date ever, not to mention we said we’d go to dinner. I scour my phone for a last-minute savior but at the back of my mind I already know there’s only one person guaranteed not to turn this event down, even at such short notice. She may not be the perfect brunch companion but I can’t think of a better gifting-suite ally than Bee Miller.
* * *
—
We meet in the lobby of Sunset Tower Hotel at noon. Bee, camera-ready, dressed in a minuscule doll-like playsuit, with sheer black tights and ankle boots, looking every inch a millennial Edie Sedgwick with the wide eyes and thigh gap to match.
She clutches me in a tight sinewy hug and gives me a lipsticked peck on the cheek. “This is so exciting, babes. I did one of these last year at the W, West Hollywood, for Final Conflict, but this one is better—I asked around. This is a really good one.” Her hot flushed cheeks are my only clue to the excitement bubbling beneath her implacable poise. “So I asked at reception,” she continues, her tone businesslike. “It’s on the fourth floor, we get our passes up there. Apparently, I get a plus-one guest pass but I’m going to have a word with PR up there. See if I can get a proper pass. I got that new show, by the way, the one I was telling you about the other day.”
“Oh,” I say as delicately as I can. “I thought they’d offered it to Poppy Fenchurch?”
Bee pulls a tight little face. “Yeah, they did. I’m actually quite annoyed about the way they went about the whole thing to be honest. Apparently I was always the showrunner and the studio’s favorite but the director went with Poppy Fenchurch, for some unknown reason, and then Poppy pulled out anyway. I got the call last night. Poppy’s doing a film instead, God knows what, anyway, I think it’s all worked out for the best. I’m going to have to keep an eye on this director, though, God knows how she got the job.”
I struggle for a response before settling on, “That’s great! Congratulations.” Though I’m pretty certain neither sentiment fits the news Bee has just told me entirely.
On the fourth floor Bee disappears into a back room with two PR assistants and emerges victorious with a Gold-tier pass, the joy of her acquisition barely dimmed by seeing my Platinum version.
“Oh babes. You got Platinum. Nice. So listen, we need a game plan. If there’s something you’re not into then grab one for me anyway, okay?”
I let out a laugh. I don’t know why but I really was expecting an actual game plan. Still, there’s something refreshingly straightforward about Bee’s attitude to life that sits well with me after the last few days I’ve had. I don’t have to worry about her intentions at least, and for the next few hours I don’t have to think about Emily, or the apartment, or George, or my screen test. And with that we’re ushered past security and into the glittering belly of the beast.
17
Gifted