“I DON’T SUPPOSE you could take the mask off?” asked Camille. They were alone now, a flustered Milton Strauss having practically run off.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Lulu left the avocado cream where it was.
Camille took in the space. “These rooms are small, aren’t they?”
“I’ll repeat the question. What the fuck are you doing here?”
Camille’s tone softened. “Don’t be like that. I come in peace.”
“But why have you come at all?” Lulu asked, arms folded.
“Listen … Lulu, I know this is odd, my just showing up like this. I would have reached out, but I wasn’t sure you’d respond, and I wanted to see you.”
“You know what that’s like, don’t you? Not hearing back from someone.”
“I deserve that, I know.” Camille took a chance and sat down on the edge of Lulu’s bed. “I hope you’re open to hearing this because it’s very difficult for me to say. I’ve had a lot of time to think, and I feel badly about, well, everything. I was very young … I just didn’t know how to handle things…”
“Things.”
“Marriage, motherhood … a child. All of it. I wasn’t that much older than you, you know.”
“So you just show up at my door one day unannounced and think you can snap your fingers and everything’s peachy? You must be kidding.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d agree to see me…”
Flashes of red were starting to show around the avocado edges of Lulu’s mask. “Pretty good fuckin’ instincts there, Camille. Let me ask you something. All these years, you had a child you kept a secret. How do you suppose that made the child feel? Just curious.”
It was true. No one knew that Camille Thornton had a child. The marriage to Sheldon had been a spontaneous, justice-of-the-peace sort of thing. They had known each other for nine weeks, and Camille—April Gilmartin, back then—was already pregnant. The pregnancy forced her to decline a small part in a Broadway play and she was almost immediately resentful, blaming both Sheldon and the unborn child for hindering her career. Almost as soon as she could leave the hospital, she left for L.A. and changed both her name and her look. Things were slow at first, but a year back east at Devon Drama School provided some key contacts, and before long she landed her first movie role—all of seven lines. But “Camille Thornton” was on her way.
For a fresh-faced Hollywood newcomer, though, an abandoned child and busted marriage were flies in the career ointment. Camille offered Sheldon full custody in exchange for signing a nondisclosure agreement. The whole affair, including the existence of a child, was officially buried. Sheldon was barred from telling Lulu about her mother’s identity until her sixteenth birthday. That would give Camille’s career some leeway. Sheldon’s resentment toward Camille ran so deep that this suited him just fine, although he hadn’t anticipated the guilt he felt every time Lulu asked him about her mother.
“I can’t even imagine,” Camille said. “I am so, so sorry. But please understand how different things were then. I was trying to make it in Hollywood, a place run entirely by men. There was a lot of pressure to … present a certain image.”
“Way to take a fucking stand,” said Lulu, still covered in cream. “Does Sheldon know you’re here?”
“It’s been a long time since your father and I have spoken.”
“I tried to call you, you know. When Sheldon told me. Many times. You never called back. That was only two years ago. I suppose you were still trying to present a ‘certain image’?”
“I know you did. I was scared, if you want to know the truth. I didn’t know what to do or say. I felt this horrible guilt and tried to put it—you—out of my mind. It worked for a little while, but then I saw you in the papers and in People, of course, and I just felt so awful about everything.”
“So now I’m famous you suddenly show up unannounced at my door? Do you think I’m some kind of idiot?”
“No! I just so admire what you’re doing. Honestly, you’re taking the kind of stand I never did.”
The two were silent for a minute, each taking the other’s measure.
“I’m sure you know,” continued Camille, “that sexual assault has been a big issue in the film industry.”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
“I myself have had the misfortune of seeing Harvey Weinstein discard his bathrobe, as if anyone wants to see that. Of course, I said, ‘It’s so cute,’ before I ran out the door. What a fat, self-deluded asshole, I hope he rots in hell.” Camille sighed. “I suppose that’s as close to taking a stand as I’ve ever gotten. Tell me, were you really attacked?”
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it matters, but you don’t have to tell me. Anyway, I thought … what you’re doing … perhaps I could help your cause.”
“My cause.” Lulu chuckled slightly.
“I thought I could bring … attention, maybe more press.”
“I seem to be doing pretty well with that on my own, Camille.”
“Of course you are, but we all want more attention brought to this issue, and it’s finally starting to happen. We women are in this together. Aren’t we?”
“Not interested. Go home.”
“Don’t underestimate celebrity, Lulu.”
“I prefer to think of it as not overestimating you.”
Camille turned toward Lulu. “Look, I’m not claiming to be a good person, and I know you got the short end of the stick in all this. I was quite selfish in my younger years. But when I saw your picture, staring back at me at a newsstand, it affected me deeply. I had this daughter out there, doing great things, and it tugged at my heart. I was so proud and so ashamed all at once. And I’m doing this film, you see, and it’s all about this! About what you’re doing, in a way. It’s called Gender Games, and one of the central characters could be you! When I read about you and the Crawl, I felt it had to be a sign, that I somehow had to make this right.” Camille wiped away a tear.
“Make this right. By doing what?”
“I’d like to march with you. And … I’d like to tell the world you’re my daughter.”
Lulu considered this. The wheels turned. “Really?”
“Really. If you’ll let me.”
Lulu’s expression softened for a moment. Camille took this for a sign and leaned in to hug her daughter at long last.
Lulu thrust a stiff arm straight out. “You are so full of shit.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Get the hell out of my room.”