Imperial Bedrooms - By Bret Easton Ellis Page 0,12

Rolling Stone cover story about the very famous actor's new movie which Clifton had a small part in: "We're so into girls it's ridiculous."

"I've never gotten the gay vibe," the director says. "He butches it up, I guess."

And then we refocus on the girls.

"Who are we seeing next?"

"Rain Turner," someone says.

Curious, I look up from Laurie's messages that I keep deleting and reach for a headshot. Just as I lift it off the table the girl from the veranda at Trent and Blair's house in Bel Air walks in and I have to pretend I'm not trapped. The blue eyes are complementing a light blue V-neck and a navy-blue miniskirt, something a girl would have worn in 1985 when the movie takes place. Immediately introductions are made and the audition happens - bad, strident, one-note, every other line needs to be reread to her by the director - but something else starts happening. Her stare is a gaze, and my gaze back is the beginning of it, and I imagine the future: Why do you hate me? I imagine a girl's anguished voice. What did I ever do to you? I imagine someone else screaming.

During the audition I look at Rain Turner's IMDb page on my laptop. She reads for another role and I realize with a panic that she'll never get a callback. She's simply another girl who has gotten by on her looks - her currency in this world - and it will not be fun to watch her grow old. These simple facts I know so well still make everything seem freshly complicated to me. Suddenly I get a text - Quien es? - and it takes me a while to realize it's from the girl I was flirting with in the Admiral's Club at JFK the afternoon I flew out here. When I look up again I also realize I've never noticed the white Christmas tree standing by the pool or that the Christmas tree is framed within the window next to the wall with the poster for Sunset Boulevard on it.

I'm walking Rain to her car outside the offices on Washington Boulevard.

"So, is this the movie you wanted to put me in?" she asks.

"It could be," I say. "I didn't think you recognized me."

"Of course I recognized you."

"I'm flattered." I pause, and then go for it: "Why didn't you introduce yourself to the producer instead? He was at the party."

She smiles as if amazed, then raises an arm to hit me. I back off playfully.

"Are you usually this brazen before cocktail hour?" she asks. "Jeez." She's charming but there's something rehearsed about the charm, something brittle. The amazed smile seems innocent only because something else is always lurking along its borders.

"Or maybe you should have introduced yourself to the director?" I joke.

She laughs. "The director has a wife."

"His wife lives in Australia."

"I heard he doesn't like girls," she stage-whispers.

"So I'm that rare thing?" I say.

"What's that?" she asks, trying to hide a brief moment of confusion.

"The respected screenwriter?" I suggest, half ironic.

"You're also a producer on this movie."

"That's right, I am," I say. "Which part do you want more?"

"Martina," Rain says, immediately focused. "I think I'm better for that, right?"

By the time we get to her car I find out that she lives in an apartment on Orange Grove, off of Fountain, and that she has a roommate, which will make everything much easier. The transparency of the deal: she's good at handling it, and I admire that. Everything she says is an ocean of signals. Listening to her I realize that she's a lot of girls, but which one is talking to me? Which one will be driving back to the apartment on Orange Grove in the green BMW with the vanity plate that reads PLENTY? Which one would be coming to the bedroom in the Doheny Plaza? We exchange numbers. She puts her sunglasses on.

"So, what do you think my chances are?" she asks.

I say, "I think you're going to be a lot of fun."

"How can you tell that I'm going to be a lot of fun?" she asks. "Some people can't handle me."

"Why don't you let me see for myself," I say.

"How do I know you're not crazy?" she asks. "How do I know you're not the craziest dude I've ever met?"

"You'll have to test me out."

"You have my info," she says. "I'll think about it."

"Rain," I say. "That's not your real name."

"Does it matter?"

"Well, it makes me wonder what else isn't