The Moonstone Starlet

Chapter 8

The Blackhawks beat Montreal on October 30th, and their next game was almost a week later in Phoenix. Elia had to fly to LA for some meetings and would meet the team in Arizona the day before the game. Before she could leave, Coach Quennville had requested a meeting with her in his office. Up until then, Quennville had seemed happy to ignore Elia’s presence. She was glad about that, because truthfully he was terrifying. His eyes were like glass, with tiny pupils that could cut through you. During games he would glower from the bench, his mouth twisted down and his thick eyebrows and mustache following the frown line. His yell was fearsome. Outside of games, he was a very nice man, intimidating, but genuinely kind. Sometimes they would run into each other in the hallways and he would stop and start telling her stories about life that usually had some kind of convoluted lesson in them. Mostly though, he said nothing.

He sat behind his desk and looked at some papers while Elia sat silently across from him. He sighed loudly and looked at her.

“Elia, I know you don’t exactly have a strong relationship with your father,”
This was quickly becoming awkward.
“And I realized the other day that maybe he wasn’t around to guide you and tell you there are kinds of men you shouldn’t...get involved with. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
If I say yes, will he stop talking? Elia wondered, but then he just kept talking anyways.
“Elia I’m going to tell you that every father knows there are guys you want your daughter to be with and there are guys you hope to God your daughter never meets. Understand? And as a father of two daughters, I would hate to see a young lady like yourself get mixed up with the wrong kind. And most of the guys on this team are the wrong kind.”
“Ooohh…”
“I know you’ve been spending a lot of time with Patrick Kane and that pest Adam Burish and some of the other guys, and I know that a couple of them used to have pictures of you in their locker from GQ or whatever the guys read,”
“Wait, what? Which ones?”
“Elia some of these kids maybe a few years from now will be good decent men, but I am telling you, right now? They are not men looking for a respectable relationship with a woman.”
“Oh, wow!” Elia said completely disturbed to be having this conversation.
“I know, it can be quite surprising.”

They sat in silence for a few moments.

“Can I go now?” Elia asked slowly.
“Yes, good talk Downs.”

That was the fastest Elia had ever gotten out of the United Center.

Avoiding Los Angeles had been a goal of Elia’s ever since she started working in film. She loved Chicago, and had grown up there, but that was only part of the reason she lived there and not LA. Tasks as simple as walking through LAX were infuriating. People lined the exit, asking for autographs and taking pictures. Elia longed for the time when nobody had camera phones or phones with video on them. In Chicago, hardly anyone gave a shit what Elia did. There were no professional photographers following her around in Chicago, it wasn’t worth it for them to have one celebrity to stalk. In Los Angeles they swarmed like mosquitoes. Hundreds of voices called out “ELIA DOWNS,” as she walked outside. The air rolled in from the coast and hung in the valley thick and muggy. It felt suffocating. Normally, Elia would have stayed at Colin Farrell’s house while she was in town, but his girlfriend had just given birth to a baby. They insisted she was still welcome to stay but Elia preferred not to worry about waking up a 1 month old or being woken up by a 1 month old. Instead she was renting a house in Laurel Canyon for the week for $6000.

When they arrived at the house she told the cab driver to wait outside. She took her suitcase inside and walked right back out the door.

“Hotel Cafe,” She told the driver. Her phone rang.
“Whats up?...Yeah I’m on my way, be there in like 15 minutes.”

The cab drove slowly through the tree lined twisting and winding roads of hills until they reached the main thoroughfare. They pulled up on the side of a windowless cement brick wall, painted black with the words “Hotel Cafe” in white along the side. There was a line of people outside, and of course photographers. Elia stepped out of the cab, wearing sunglasses even in the dark. She walked through the screaming crowd, stopping to take pictures with a few people, and finally got to the door. The bouncers let her in immediately. Inside the atmosphere was relaxed, the lights dimmed. She walked straight towards the stage until she saw her friend Kristen in one of the booths.

“Yo, K-Stew,” she said as she slid into the booth.
“I will seriously kill you if you call me that again.”

Kristen introduced her to the rest of the people sitting in the booth, some of which Elia had met before. She had a lot of acquaintances on the West Coast but not many friends. Someone had once told a paparazzi “Elia knows everyone, but no one really knows Elia,” and the narrative had stuck. In a way it was true, when Elia was out in LA it was often a whirlwind of parties. Hopping from one bar to the next. The first musician was just finishing their set. Elia and Kristen started doing Irish Car Bombs, and then Jaegar bombs. Soon they were on to the next bar, Beacher’s Madhouse, then 40’s in Coldwater Canyon Park, then Chateau Marmont where there was always a party.

It all happened in a blur and suddenly Elia was in Harvey Weinstein’s office with a raging hangover being yelled at about schedules and budgets.

“You look like shit.”
“Thanks Harv,” she spit back disdainfully.
“This isn’t one of your indie sunday funday projects Downs, you have a lot of money behind you. MY money.”
“I know,”
“And so far, I have not seen anything that slightly resembles progress in pre-production. I haven’t seen a script, I haven’t seen--”
“I am working on it!”
“You broke up with one of your lead actors--”
“If Jeremy backs out I have a list of suitable replacements”
“You are running around partying all night with what, a bunch of fucking hockey player goons?”
“They’re not goons--”
“This is your chance at being a big budget director Elia. Do you remember what happened to Orson Welles at the end of his career?”
“I do.”
Despite making some of the best films in the history of filmmaking, Orson Welles found himself unable to find a job at many times in his career, and was unable to finish many of his projects when he couldn’t find help funding them.
“I can bury you.” Harvey stated.
“I know.” Elia said, defeated.
“Maybe you need to take a tip from you buddy Colin and quit drinking.”
“Maybe you need to take a tip from anyone who has ever met you and stop being a fucking dickless asshole.”
“Get out of my office. I want a FINAL script by New Year’s.”

Elia stormed out of the office. Weinstein was an asshole, she had everything under control. The locations were almost all locked down, the set design was on track, she had costume, hair and makeup meetings the rest of the week and progress was great on those ends. None the less, the pressure was building. He was right. If she failed at this, it could end up as her legacy. Back at the house she put Kanye West’s 808’s & Heartbreaks on the sound system and sat down with her laptop. She hated how quiet it was in the hills. No matter how loud the music was the eerie stillness of the neighborhood. But instead of going out she sat alone with a bottle of gin and tried to focus on the screenplay.

In the morning Elia came out of the bedroom and walked into the living room. Sometime in the night, worked into a fit of drunken rage, she had thrown a chair through the balcony glass door. That hadn’t happened in a long time. She texted Sam that she had broken a chair and a glass door. That was Sam’s problem now.

The rest of the week’s meetings went well. Costume design was looking good, very on point with what she wanted. Most of the cast had been in for their initial measurements to be taken. Hair and makeup was perfect. Jeremy was still a big question mark but men’s clothes and hair were more easily altered. At night Elia hit the bars with various friends, spending too much money and winding up on too many websites. One night she tried calling Toews, but he didn’t answer. He went to bed early a lot, and when he called her back in the morning she was still asleep.

When she finally arrived at the team’s hotel later that week in Phoenix she felt relieved. Throwing her stuff in her room she walked down the hall to try and find the boys. She wore a navy Chloé sweater with white detailing and a pair of Express slim columnist pants and black Manolo Blahniks. Her hair was down and looked gently tousled. Kane had texted her that he and Jonny were in 1745. She went up two flights of stairs and down another hallway. Finally she knocked on 1745. Kane opened the door, “ELLLLL!” He shouted and hugged her. Toews sat on the bed closest to the door.

“What happened to your face?” He asked.
“What? I’m just a little tired is all,”
“You feel thinner, are you eating?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” She thought for a minute, and realized she hadn’t eaten much in LA. She and Kristen had gone through the In and Out drive through a few times, and Elia had lunch at Ammo almost every day. There were a few meals missing that may have been replaced by drinking.
“Well can we order something?”

They watched a movie on the tv in the room while Elia ordered some food. Toews asked how her trip went.
“I sold my soul to the devil for $80 mil and now I have to accept the consequences.”
She started to tell him about her meeting with the producer, and the next thing she knew she was unloading painful details about struggling to perfect every word in the screenplay.
“Do you remember what you’re always telling me?” He said.
“What?”
“That I’m my own worst critic and I need to lay off myself. I’m sure everything is great and you are just putting too much stress on yourself.”
She stared at him, surprised by his advice. It wasn’t like Jonathan to be nice, or to have been listening to her all those times.
“Why don’t you let me read what you have so far?”

Elia wasn’t sure how comfortable she was doing that, but said she would consider it. She asked Toews how he was feeling. He had started working out a few days before, and hadn’t felt any dizziness. In the morning he was planning to try some skating. He assured her he wasn’t going to rush anything. Elia and Kane finished eating and went to Campbell’s room to play Mario Kart 64. Troy Brouwer was still pissed about losing the championship round to Elia last time, and challenged her to a 1 on 1 race.


Going into the second lap, Elia had quite a lead. Burish, who had been sitting on one of the beds with a laptop suddenly started questioning her.

“Hey El, remember when you said you wouldn’t date me because you don’t date professional athletes?”
“And cause you’re from Wisconsin,” She said, trying to focus on the race. She dropped a string of bananas across the track for Troy.

“Well, according to this website I found, famoushookups.com, you’ve already dated a few. Jeff Samardzija on/off from 2007-present, San Francisco Giants pitcher Tim Lincecum March 2008 - November 2008, Derek Jeter rumored, San Francisco Giants pitcher Brian Wilson, rumored,” Burish continued

“The fuck Troy you’re cheating!” In the last lap Brouwer used the jump shortcut to get ahead of Elia and win. The guys started clapping and congratulating Troy on beating Elia. She threw the controller down and walked over to Burish.
“What the hell is this?”
Burish showed her the website.

“This is ludicrous,” she said after a while. “The only one of those guys I actually dated was Tim. Okay maybe I’ve hooked up with Samardzija but how did anyone know that?” She looked through the rest of the list. It was both impressive and disturbing how accurate it was, but overall it was awkward. Some of the most personal moments of her life boiled down to a simplistic list of names and dates that anyone could look up and comment on. She sighed and got up to leave.

“Hey, El, I’m sorry,” Burish called after her.
“It’s fine, I’m just tired,” she replied and walked out of the room. She started to walk back to Kane and Toews room when she got a text.

“Come to room 1812.” The number was blocked.
“Who is this?”
“Not Burish,”
“That’s what Burish would say,”
“Would Burish know how to block his number?”
“Probably not.”

She decided to find out what was going on, and headed towards the elevator. As she turned down the hall a door to her right opened and somebody grabbed her and pulled her inside. Before she could scream someone put their hand over her mouth. Once in the room she was shocked to find Seabs, Sharp and Keith.

“What the hell was that for?!” She yelled at them.
“Sorry, we wanted this endeavor to be untraceable.” Sharp said, a wicked grin on his face. “We need your help,”
“For what?”
“To pull a prank on Tazer.”
“I’m listening.”
“You can never reveal what you know. We need your word you will not speak of this to anyone not even Kaner, not even under threat of torture,”
“Why can’t I tell Kaner?”
“Because he is a bad liar.” That was true.
“Fine, I swear it.”
“We need you to bring us Jonathan’s phone, without him knowing, and to later place it back where you found it so that he never knows it was gone. We also need you to find out his pass code,”
“I already know it.”
“What? How?”
“I knew this day would come, I’ve been gathering intelligence on all of you since the day we met. Remember that should you ever want to cross me.” She looked at each of them intently.
“Damn Elia that is frightening what you just did,” Seabs said.
“Ok, when I see my opportunity, you guys have to be ready. I’ll send you a text and you need to be ready within 5 minutes.”
“Don’t you want to know what we’re going to do?” Duncan asked.
“No, I’d like to share in the surprise.”

The guys made her go through the bathroom into the room next to theirs, and out that door. Just in case someone saw her in the hallway. She made her way back to Toews and Kane’s room and lightly knocked on the door. Toews opened it a crack, saw that it was her and opened the door. The lights were off. She apologized for waking him up, then asked if it was okay if she slept in their room. He nodded. Elia took off her sweater, revealing a black lace camisole. She kicked off her heels and took off her pants, then got into the empty bed near the windows. Through the partially opened curtains some light was coming through from the street. She laid on her stomach and looked over at Jonathan.

“How come you don’t hang out with the guys?” Elia asked.
“Have to stay focused, stay in my routine.” He paused, “Why aren’t you?”
“Just thought it would be good to get some rest for once.”

She closed her eyes, and slept deeply for the first time in a long time.

Notes