Dreams Are Not Enough (8 page)

“You and Barry come on inside.”

Barry made an uncertain sound in his throat.

“Dad,” Hap said, “we were all at the wedding. It’s legal and binding.”

Desmond Cordiner replied genially, “When the law’s in question, Hap, I get advice from the head of legal.” He opened a glass door, glancing from Barry to Alicia.

Barry went inside, and a second later Alicia followed. He has a reputation or being cutthroat in business. Dad, but he’s a terrific family man, Hap had said. Now if only she knew whether she were business or family.

The living room of the Zaffarano beach house had a wall of windows overlooking the bay, which made it appear yet more expensive, not that it needed such embellishment. Centuries-old Provencal tables and chests mingled with deep chairs and couches upholstered in various patterns of blue and white toile dejouy. Desmond Cordiner went to the paneled bar, poured himself a large shot ofJ&B and carried the drink to an ell at the far end of the room where they could not be seen from the deck, indicating with his free hand that Barry and Alicia should sit on the berg ere chairs facing him.

“Barry,” he said jovially.

“The good news about this is it proves that you’re not a faggot.” Desmond Cordiner stubbornly manifested his hatred of homosexuals in a business where a large number worked with great and indispensable talent. Of necessity he hired gay people, but whenever problems arose on a film, he laid the blame on them. His loathing was psychotic—and implacable.

Barry smiled uncertainly.

“Were you worried, Uncle Desmond?”

“Hardly.” Desmond Cordiner spoke in a way that indicated such proclivities were impossible among his relations.

“On the other hand, the bad news is you’re a horse’s ass.”

Barry’s left eyelid began twitching.

Alicia shifted in the deep upholstery, moving closer to her husband.

“You don’t have any right to talk to Barry like that, Mr. Cordiner,” she said.

The drink splashed violently in Desmond Cordiner’s hand. He was the tribal chieftain, and nobody in the family had ever dared tell him what he could or could not say. His face was terrifying. It was as though the tanned skin were stretched into a mask—obviously the mannered charm could be put on and off like a piece of clothing.

“Since when do I need a fucking right to talk to my nephew?”

“You weren’t talking to him, you were insulting him.” Alicia’s heart was banging so hard that she was positive the erratic movements were visible through the borrowed shift.

“And whether you like it or not, we’re married.”

Desmond Cordiner turned to Barry.

“Barry, I’m about to show you how easy it is to become a single man again.”

“Uncle Desmond … I don’t w-want” -Barry stammered.

But the sunglasses were fixed on Alicia.

“How much have you got in mind?”

“Much?”

“Money.”

“We have enough,” she said.

“Of course you do. That’s why you’re scrubbing other people’s shit out of toilets.”

Alicia’s surge of fury blanked out fear.

“For the time being, Mr.

Cordiner, I work. Later on Barry’ll support me. “

“Bullshit.”

“He’ll have his law practice.”

“If you’ve a brain in your head you’ll see that he’ll never make it through college, much less law school, if he’s married to you.”

“I will, Uncle Desmond,” Barry muttered.

“You don’t have the staying power, you never did. Beth got the stamina and sense of responsibility. All you want to do is waste your time at the typewriter and pretend you’re Ernest Hemingway.” His shielded gaze returned to Alicia.

“I want your claws out of my nephew—so tell me the tab.”

“Uncle Desmond” — “Shut up, Barry. This is between me and Mrs. Bigmouth Cordiner here.

One thousand bucks? “

“You’re only embarrassing yourself, Mr. Cordiner.”

“I’ll do a damn sight more than embarrass myself to get one of my family out of hot water. Fifteen hundred?”

“I don’t want your money.” The fury that gave her courage had blanched her face.

“Two thousand.”

Alicia got to her feet.

Desmond Cordiner’s frightening tension remained, but for a moment his head tilted as if her continued refusal not only surprised him but also challenged him.

“Twenty-five hundred.” He shifted his weight so he could reach into the back pocket of his slacks to draw out a large wad of bills that were divided by five paperclips. Heavy paper thumped and metal clicked as he tossed the money on the coffee table.

Alicia stared. Angled across the corners of the visible bills was the number 100. She had never before seen a hundred-dollar bill. It was incomprehensible to her that anyone, even a man who owned—no, ran—Magnum Pictures, could carry all this money, much less toss it at a stranger.

“Not a nickel more.” Now Desmond Cordiner was smiling benignly.

“Cash on the line.”

“Barry,” she said quietly, hiding her sudden, panicky dizziness, “I’d like to go home. Right away.”

The blood drained from Barry’s head. Desmond Cordiner was the man before whom all Magnum trembled, and none of the hierarchy of executives, none of the major stars or the thousands of employees—including his father and uncle—dared walk out before he signaled the interview was over. Yet Barry found himself mutely leading the way to the front door.

The instant Alicia got into the old De Soto, she crumpled and began to weep.

Barry drove jerkily down the block and was toiling up the humpbacked bridge before he realized that he’d left the hand brake on.

“Jesus, Alicia, how can I drive with you caterwauling?”

She wept harder. “… I’ve stolen … your aunt’s swimsuit and shift.”

She drenched his spare handkerchief and then used the dirty one.

Barry, by now even more distraught about her hysteria than his uncle’s rage, patted her knee.

“Stop worrying. As soon as we spot a pay phone, I’ll call the house. Beth’ll bring up your things and take back Aunt Lily’s.”

Even though he made the promised call to his sister, Alicia wept all the way to Disneyland. As they passed the enormous parking lots her tears finally ceased.

Wiping her swollen eyes, she stared up at the fake Matterhorn.

“Barry?” she said.

“What, honI never saw a hundred-dollar bill before.”

“Mmm,” replied Barry, who hadn’t either.

The next morning, Monday, the door chimes sounded before nine. Mrs.

Young bitterly resented being wakened so early. Alicia, anticipating Beth’s arrival with the clothing swap, reached for the big paper bag containing the swimsuit and shift, both of which she had carefully laundered, darting through the hall before a second repetition of the loudly unmusical sound.

At the front door stood an elderly black chauffeur.

“Does Mrs.

Cordiner live here? ” Politely he removed his peaked cap.

“Mrs. Barry Cordiner?”

She nodded. The Rolls-Royce at the curb told her whose chauffeur he was, and therefore she felt no surprise to see Desmond Cordiner emerging from the gleaming limousine. Yet instinctively she took a step backward.

“We didn’t get a chance to finish our conversation,” Desmond Cordiner said as he gave her short, tight nylon uniform the once-over.

“That Pucci thing you wore yesterday didn’t do you credit. Your body’s top grade.”

Did he think to flatter her out of marriage? Or was he making a pass?

Did men this powerful and rich make passes?

“Mr. Cordiner,” she said, “I’m not allowed to have company.”

“Alicia?” Mrs. Young, frowning irritably and tying her chenille bathrobe, came into the hall. Then her eyes bulged at the apparition in a handsome black silk suit that had cost more than the entire contents of Dr. Young’s closet.

“Mrs. Young,” Alicia said, “this is my husband’s uncle.”

Desmond Cordiner formed his urbane smile.

“I hope it wasn’t my man who woke you, Mrs. Young.”

“No,” she said, glancing out the open door. The elderly chauffeur was rubbing a chamois on the Rolls-Royce’s windshield.

“No, of course not.

Alicia, dear, why don’t you take Mr. “— ” Cordiner,” he said with another smile.

“Desmond Cordiner.”

Mrs. Young recognized the well-publicized name. She said respectfully, “Alicia dear, take your guest in the living room.”

Desmond Cordiner made himself comfortable on the plastic-covered couch.

“My approach yesterday was crass,” he said affably.

^ “But you’d be surprised at how often the actual sight of green does the trick.”

“Barry and I want to stay married.”

“So you made abundantly clear,” he said, pausing.

“I could have been far, far worse, you know.”

“Mr. Cordiner, there was no point in your coming here.”

“How do you know what I have in mind?”

“To separate me and Barry.”

“Many, many years ago I learned not to waste energy on losing battles,” he said.

“I’ve decided you’ll support your husband in a more dignified manner.”

“He works at the UCLA Student Store, and that should be dignified enough for two.”

Desmond Cordiner’s manicured hand waved away her protest.

“I admire loyalty, Alicia, but have you ever considered the marriage from his point of view?”

“All the time.”

“Then you must realize that Barry would rather be doing a jail term than living in a maid’s room.”

“We have our own place out back.”

He eyed her again.

“You really are a knockout,” he said.

“A bit exotic, although I wouldn’t for a minute believe there’s anything Latino about you.”

“My name is Lopez!” she protested.

“Let’s try Hollister,” he said with a wry smile.

“So you see, I could have been far less pleasant yesterday. Or does Barry know you’re a fifteen-year-old bastard who worked in the fields when you were six-or was it five?”

She gripped the paper bag closer, as if it were a shield from the naked truth.

“Don’t look so surprised,” he said.

“A private investigator easily uncovers that kind of thing.”

“So what?” she blurted out.

“At least I never ran errands for cheap whores.”

His eyes turned that icy black as he peered at her.

“Barry told you that? How the hell does Barry know? Even Tim never knew.”

That Hap had entrusted her with so closely held a secret shocked her.

“Nobody told me,” she evaded.

“I made a stab in the dark.”

Desmond Cordiner continued to stare at her. She looked away first.

“I’ll kill you if you tell anyone,” he said quietly.

The threat did not sound like hyperbole—Desmond Cordiner would know where to hire a hit man.

“We’ll both keep quiet,” she said.

She expected him to attack her for this audacity, but instead he leaned forward as if they were two merchants discussing business.

“How would you like to be an extra?” he asked.

“Extra?” She frowned, momentarily incapable of grasping his meaning.

“You know what an extra is,” he said impatiently.

“The money’s pretty fair, and I’ll make sure you get enough work at Magnum so you and Barry can manage. I hire hundreds of extras a day. You might as well be one of them.”

An extra. She bit her full lower lip. Being an extra meant she would be up there on the screen.

“Barry won’t let me do it,” she said finally.

“I’ve known Barry since he was two hours old—I know how his mind works. It’s killing him to live in that bug-eyed woman’s house, married to the housemaid.”

“He’s very upset about the way his parents treated me and the things you said yesterday. He’ll never let me take a thing from the family.”

“Believe me, you won’t have the slightest connection with the family.”

Desmond Cordiner’s tone was cold and flat.

“I’m not offering a relationship, I’m offering work.”

“Barry’s very proud, he hates favors. There’s no way he’ll allow me to accept your help.”

“Try him,” Desmond Cordiner said, rising to his feet and walking to the front door.

As the day passed, Alicia’s head pounded and she became increasingly tense. She was realizing that for the first time in her life she was being offered what juanita had called the real breaks. What could be more of a break than a chance to be in movies? Her headache spread to the back of her neck as she attempted to think up ways of presenting Desmond Cordiner’s offer in its most alluring light to her proudly defiant husband. This was Dr. Young’s night to work late and it was after ten before she locked the back door behind her. She was wild with impatience to talk to Barry.

He lay on the mattress, a long pad of yellow lined paper propped on his thighs as he scribbled—he was writing three essays on some book for the college newspaper.

Not looking up, he said, “Talk to you later, hon. The narrative flow’s coming.”

Her planned cajolements vanished. Sitting next to him on the bed, she blurted out, “Your uncle was here.”

Barry’s ballpoint dropped, clattering onto the floorboards.

“Uncle Desmond?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

Her voice rushing and childishly pitched, she reported the visit, omitting the exchange of secrets.

“It wasn’t anything like yesterday.

He was quite nice, actually. Barry, uhh, I’ve been sort of thinking.

Do you think it’s really dumb? I mean, could I be an extra? “

“There’s no creativity or skill involved,” he said in a dismissive tone.

“Extras aren’t expected to be actors.”

“Then you aren’t against the idea?”

“It’s up to you.”

The hundreds of arguments she had fretted into existence spun away.

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“I just told you,” he snapped.

“It’s strictly your decision.”

She could tell by the way he didn’t look at her but bent down to retrieve his pen that he hoped her decision would be affirmative.

The following morning Alicia called Magnum Pictures. Desmond Cordiner’s executive secretary said her boss was tied up in a conference, but she’d been alerted to take a message.

Alicia said, “Will you please tell him that his, uhh, nephew’s wife wants to accept the offer he made yesterday.”