38. Bambi
Bambi
The November air is crisp and cold, the scents of pine trees from the hills and fireplaces burning make the evening feel alive.
Bambi dresses quickly while Jason waits downstairs, Agnes on the speakerphone, her voice blaring.
Her skin prickles at the sound of their voices.
He had returned so suddenly when the scandal broke out and sent a text minutes after boarding his flight.
Now he was back home and insisting on a public display of bravado.
“Please, Jason. Don’t do this, honey.”
“Do what? I’m not going to hide away like some criminal.”
Her hands shake as she applies foundation and then contours her face. A smear of lipstick—a blood red shade Jason always liked.
“You just got back. Why not let things settle down a little first, you know? We’re in talks with the studio. We’re hopeful they’ll agree not to cancel your contract.”
“My contract?” she hears Jason howl. “Are you kidding me, Agnes? They’re trying to ruin me!”
“Sweetie, I know. But you need to lay low, okay? Let us handle this. We’ll get things back on track.”
“No way. I need to show them they cannot destroy Jason Redfern that easily.”
“The media will be all over this. They want to see you misstep. You can’t afford another disaster.”
“Fuck the media!” he shouts, and Bambi jumps, smearing the edge of her lipstick. She quickly wipes it off, reapplies, and heads downstairs before they get in the car to leave.
Jason speeds the entire way in the Wraith, making Bambi’s legs quiver nervously.
Jason swerves through the city streets, narrowly missing parked cars and pedestrians, running stoplights, and cutting through intersections.
Bambi grips the leather interior, her hands leaving impressions in the cream seats.
Paparazzi are already waiting for them when they arrive. They rush the car as they pull up to the restaurant, and the valet takes the keys to the Wraith. Cameras flash in Bambi’s face, and Jason pulls her close to guide her toward the doors.
“Jason! Jason! Is it true that you sexually assaulted Lauren LaMonte?”
“Bambi! How are you feeling knowing your husband cheated on you?”
“Is Lauren LaMonte filing charges?”
“Will the studio pull the plug on your contract?”
Bright lights flicker with the snap, snap, snap of professional cameras clicking, and Bambi must remind herself to breathe. Her body pulses with adrenaline, and she whispers to Jason, “Please, let’s go inside.”
Jason lingers once more, before they escape into the cool, dark interior of the steakhouse.
They are greeted by the ma?tre d’ and led to a table in the middle of the restaurant, right in plain sight.
Jason settles in and takes up the menu for just a moment before putting it down.
I know what I want, his gesture says. He gazes at Bambi, cool and calm as she shrugs off her leather jacket and positions it on the back of her chair, heart pounding.
From nowhere, a server arrives with a glass bottle of water.
“Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Redfern. My name is Jeremy. I will be taking care of you this evening. What can I get you to drink?” His eyes linger on her, as if her expression might give something away.
Jason sighs, a waft of exasperation. “Macallan. Neat.” Bambi notes his breath is sour, like rotting milk. She rubs her nose.
“Absolutely, sir.” The server tilts his head to look at Bambi. “I’m fine with water.”
A single nod and he disappears. The low thrum of voices all around suddenly hits Bambi’s ears, as if the entire restaurant had been listening to their order. She fidgets with her clutch, then stills, aware of the eyes on both of them.
Jason smiles—a bright jolt of white teeth—and darts his hand across the table.
Bambi takes his hand, and he lowers his head to kiss her knuckles.
She can’t help but stir a little at his lips on her skin, a spark of electricity out of context with the moment.
She catches herself flushing. It isn’t him, she thinks.
This is the actor, not the man. She knows the difference now.
“Here we go.” A hand lands a stout glass with amber liquid in front of Jason, then reaches over to pour Bambi some water from a chilled glass bottle.
“What can I get for you this evening?”
Jason glances up. “I’ll have the bone-in ribeye, cooked rare. A side of those greens you do. The tuna roll and a house salad to start.”
“Excellent choices. And would you like—”
Jason interrupts. “And I’m allergic to shellfish. Absolutely no shellfish in anything.”
“Certainly, sir.” Jeremy leans in. “I will inform the chef myself. And for you, Mrs. Redfern?”
Bambi hesitates, the hole in her gnawing with hunger.
“Get a steak,” Jason instructs. “Protein.”
Bambi flashes him an angry expression. She wants seafood—a nice piece of lobster—but of course, that is out of the question.
For a moment, she imagines his bloated, swelling face, the way his lips would pucker up, how his throat would tighten and close, a red complexion coming over him. A little smile forms across her lips.
“Petite filet, please. Medium. And a side of greens. Steamed. No butter.”
The server nods and rushes off. Jason sits back in his chair and casually checks that people are indeed looking at him. He adjusts his watch and glances at Bambi while sipping his Macallan.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” he asks her, setting down his drink.
Bambi stiffens. “I’m glad you’re home.”
Jason’s eyes intensify. “Really? Because you don’t seem glad.
You seem fucking miserable to me,” he says, teeth gritted into a fake smile.
Whispers cascade toward them from the back of the restaurant.
A couple in the booth behind Jason adjust their positions so they can see her.
Bambi breathes, her chest feeling tight.
“I’m scared,” Bambi finally says. “It feels like everything is caving in on us.”
Jason leans back and drinks. “You’re paranoid. This city makes people paranoid. You need to relax.”
“Relax?” Bambi whispers. “How exactly am I supposed to do that?”
A woman approaches Jason and asks for his autograph. Bambi cringes as Jason takes a pen from a nearby server and signs a slip of paper for her. She glows and seems like she wants a selfie but then nervously shuffles back to her table, giggling, where her friend is waiting.
Bambi’s insides squirm. He loves this. Once, she loved it too, and she used to get butterflies in her stomach each time they stepped out in public together.
At first, the visibility was good for her.
She booked more jobs and even became the Sports Illustrated model of the year.
She made money and started gaining fans and followers, her social media taking off almost overnight.
After all, she was dating the most famous actor in Hollywood, whose face was on every billboard and who had a string of hit films, awards, and media attention any actor would dream of. It was the perfect setup for her, too.
Then Jason began hopping from set to set, and his career took off. A few hits later, and it seemed they couldn’t go anywhere without people recognizing them and asking for photos. They were the golden couple of Hollywood.
Tonight, though, they are not quite so safe as before.
Bambi scans the steakhouse, full of tourists and out-of-towners desperate for a look at just one celebrity before they fly back to Nowhereville.
They sit and gawk at them from afar, her marriage on display like some kind of ticketed exhibition.
She can’t shake the feeling that fame itself is insidious, like a magician’s trick—a strange illusion concealing the obvious truth from everyone.
“Jase? OMG, I thought that was you!”
A slender man in skinny jeans and an oversized blazer approaches them, drink in hand. “I was like, is that Jason Redfern?! I thought he was in Europe making a movie!”
Jason rises and shakes hands with the man, whom Bambi soon recognizes as a producer from one of his earlier films. “How are you, Steven?”
“Oh, I’m swell, thanks. New production underway. Scorsese film. Matt Damon is starring. A real ball buster production. I’m not taking another bath for that art house shit.”
“You still trying to finish that script?”
“Which one? The sleepy drama? Oh! Honey, no. I put that thing to bed.” He leans in and rests an arm on Jason. “Tell me, is it true what they’re saying? The press are relentless with it, aren’t they?”
“No. Of course it isn’t true.”
“Of course it isn’t. Just that LaMonte is all high and mighty with her women’s hotline and shit. She’s really become a voice of the times, you know? Speaking out against old Hollywood. She’s saying all sorts of things, and the news is loving it, aren’t they?”
Jason smiles aggressively, and Bambi’s stomach pangs with nerves. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t listen to the cunts on the news, Steven.”
“Oh well, of course. Cunts. The lot of them. I know. It’s insane, though, isn’t it? And I hear the studio is out for blood, huh?”
“No, everything is fine. It’s a misunderstanding. Nothing happened.”
Steven cringes exaggeratedly and, for the first time, acknowledges Bambi. “He’s good, isn’t he? Always has been a good actor.” He chuckles and sips his drink, spilling some on the restaurant carpet. He winks at her and laughs. “But he’s not that good.”
“Like I said. Nothing happened.” Jason repeats.
“Oh, I know, silly!” Steven replies. “I’m only teasing. News travels fast around here. Anyway, I sure hope they don’t cancel your contract. I’m sure they won’t. I’m rooting for you, big guy.”
“Thanks, Steven.”
Air kisses. Steven swings himself back to the bar. Bambi’s skin crawls watching him go.
A flock of servers arrives, hot plates held aloft sizzling with butter and steak. They position the food before them, and Bambi surveys it contemptuously. “Is there anything else I can get for you this evening?”
A pause. Bambi starts to say something, but Jason cuts in, jabbing something white beside the steak with his knife. “What the fuck is this?”
He flips over the item, revealing a hard red shell, a firm little thud on the plate.
Jeremy leans in, a terrified expression on his face. “Oh dear.” Leaning closer, he realizes. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Redfern. I’ll have them remake it at once.”
“What is this? Some kind of sick joke?”
“Yes, of course, sir. I’m so sorry.”
“That’s a fucking lobster, isn’t it?” He grins widely, his bright teeth flashing.
“Yes, my sincerest apologies, Mr. Redfern. I cannot imagine what they were thinking.”
“Is the chef incompetent or something?”
“Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. I’m so sorry. I’ll remove it at once.”
Jason swats his hand at Jeremy, and off he goes. Bambi watches as he disappears into the kitchen. Moments later, a manager arrives and apologizes profusely. Jason smiles, his eyes gleaming, but a small bead of sweat has formed across his brow and sits ready to drip into his eyes.
“It’s fine,” Jason says through gritted teeth. “I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding.”
There he is. The actor Jason, working so very hard to keep the animal within him at bay.