“I need to sharpen up my image,” Bambi told Clay. They were having Sunday breakfast in her house, surrounded by the newspapers. It was strange how Clay took up so much more space than Simon ever had. For one thing, Simon had hardly ever been there, while Clay was home a lot, and for another, Clay brought all these scripts and books, and things he intended to file. After scavenging the papers their Sunday routine was then to go through all the magazines that had arrived at the office during the week, looking for famous dead people or worthy news events that might make good material for television. She no longer lived in Little House on the Prairie, she lived in a media executive mess.
“What’s wrong with your image?” Clay said.
“I should probably wear Armani. It’s expensive, and big shoulders command respect.”
“I respect you,” Clay said.
“I know you do, but I’m talking about meetings. I was going to buy some designer suits in Paris, but we never got there.”
“We’ll get there.”
She certainly hoped so. She had been looking forward so much to the MIP last spring, but then one of the men Clay had wanted to see had decided not to go there, and the other one had come here the month before so there was no point. So far the only trip the two of them had taken in their two years together had been a weekend in Miami, trying to get the rights to a book. It had been hot and oppressively humid, with enormous ugly bugs, and the water in their highly recommended small hotel had come out brown. It certainly wasn’t the French Riviera. And after all their trouble the networks had turned down the project anyway.
“I’m going to buy a new car,” Bambi said.
“Good,” he said mildly. He was reading the book review section.
“I can’t go to meetings in an old Honda,” Bambi said. “It’s worse than your secretary’s car. People here judge you by what kind of car you drive.”
“Remember, it was I who told you that,” Clay said.
“I wish I had a Fifties Thunderbird convertible like yours,” Bambi said. “Everybody would notice me.”
“They’d see it in the parking lot at the restaurant and rob your house while you were eating lunch.”
“Nobody ever robbed us,” she said, annoyed.
“Why don’t you get a Jaguar?” Clay said. “You can afford it.”
“I’m not the Jaguar type. I’d like to get a De Lorean with the gull wing doors.”
“I bet the people who bought that one are sorry,” he said.
“I bet they’re glad. It’s going to be a classic someday. Like your T-Bird.”
“I’m smart,” he said, and tapped his forehead.
“And I’m going to get a computerized treadmill,” Bambi said.
“What for?”
“To run on. You and I are the only people in Hollywood who don’t do any exercise.”
“You look great to me.”
“Thank you, but I’m talking about health.”
“I’ve lived this long without doing anything; I’m not going to start now,” Clay said. He poured another cup of coffee from the pot Bambi had made and started to take it into the bedroom. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“Don’t leave your plates for me to clean up,” she said.
“I was going to do it later.”
“You were not. You always leave everything for me, and you leave your coffee cup in the bathroom.”
“Nag, nag, nag,” he said pleasantly, and put his dirty dishes into the machine.
“I work too, you know,” Bambi said.
“A liberated woman.”
“Damn right. And I pay the rent on this house, and I buy the groceries.”
“You should,” Clay said. “I still have to pay for my apartment even though I don’t live there, I pay for all our dinners in restaurants, and your expense account, I pay the rent on the office, and I pay your salary.”
“My salary is not a present!”
“I didn’t say it was.”
“You certainly implied it.” For the first time she was really upset.
“What happened to the little girl who said she would be happy to work for nothing?”
“I almost do work for nothing, and I’m embarrassed to have to lie about my salary.”
“Everybody in this town lies about everything,” Clay said.
She groaned and made a face.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Are you getting your period?”
“I hate when you say that!” Bambi screamed. “You know I hate when you say that! Biology is not destiny. Freud was a stupid shit and so are most men.”
“Me too?”
She looked at him for a moment to torture him, and then she smiled. Of course not him, she loved and respected him. She just liked to push him around once in a while because it gave her such an incredible sense of power. “Except you,” she said. “In spite of a few really grotesque remarks you make.”
He came over and put his arms around her. Some of his coffee sloshed onto the Sunday Times before he put the cup down. Oh shit, she thought, and I haven’t read it yet. She curled into his arms and made a noise in her throat. “Are you a tiger?” he said.
“No. You know what I am.”
“You’re a cat.”
“No.”
“You’re … Bambi! The little wonder deer!”
She nodded. “And your partner.”
“Forever. I love you,” Clay said.
“I love you too.”
“I know it’s frustrating,” he said, “not getting anything off the ground. This is a very slow business. You just have to learn to be tough, like me. I’m wise, I’m patient, I know how to play the game. I’m teaching you things. We’ll get something on this year, you’ll see. I’ll be wise and you be tough.”
“I’ve been struggling all my life,” Bambi said. “I’m tough.”
“Good.”
“I don’t know why we can’t get anyone to do that Susan Josephs book,” she said. “I still think it’s timely. Women are still being abused.”
“Television goes in cycles,” Clay said. “We’ll get another chance.”
“And ‘White Collar, White Powder.’ We don’t have to do all the people, we could do one, and it could be a movie of the week instead of a miniseries. I’d like to develop the story about the woman stockbroker.”
“Why don’t you do that,” Clay said.
“Could I try to write the script?”
“If you like.”
“Oh, good. And then we’ll get it on and I’ll have my first credit at last.”
“That’s the spirit.” He moved away. “Well,” he said, smiling, “that’s settled, everybody’s happy, I can take my shower and then we’ll get to work.”
“You know what I think?” Bambi said. “I think you are the Jaguar type.”
“What’s the Jaguar type?”
“An executive. Someone sophisticated, a little older. I am definitely the vintage Thunderbird type. I would be happy to buy it from you.”
“Oh honey, my car is a mess. It needs a paint job.”
“I’d paint it red,” Bambi said.
“You’d paint my beautiful car red?”
“So no one would know it used to be yours. I need my own image.”
“Never mind image, what about safety? It doesn’t handle like a new car.”
“A new Jag would. You hate the windy little roads and the big hills. I’m used to them. I think you should buy a new Jaguar and sell me your T-Bird.”
“Sell it to you,” he said.
She looked at him with her big soft brown eyes. “I have money.”
“I know.” He chuckled. “Little deer. Sprinting away from the hunters, lickety-split, safe and sound. I’d never sell it to you. I’ll give it to you.”
“Give!” Her heart leaped. This was the best present she’d ever had in her entire life. “Oh, Clay!”
“I love you,” he said.
“Oh, I love you too. And I want to go with you tomorrow to buy your new Jag. I think it should be a dark forest green.”
“Nobody could ever accuse you of not being in a hurry,” Clay said, amused.
“Before you change your mind,” Bambi said. Now she had to think of something unique to put on the personalized license plate she was going to get for it. Not “Bambi.” People would think she worked for Disney. It should be something subtle but her.
Clay went into the bathroom and she sat there at the kitchen table thoughtfully. Somehow the scene popped into her mind of that day so long ago when she and Simon had gone to buy her white lace dress. The first time she’d defied her parents and become her own person … But it was Simon who had encouraged her, persuaded her, planned it. This time she had gotten something she wanted all by herself. Sweet sixteen was a millennium ago.
She suddenly realized what she had done. As they said in the business, she certainly knew how to close a deal.