Star Time (55 page)

In addition to problems at work, Marian was increasingly preoccupied by worry over her personal life. The long stretch with no work and no prospects had persuaded Derek—made him "see the truth," as he put it—that he lacked the talent to succeed as an actor, which Marian had always suspected. He was now considering leaving the West Coast for good. He didn't want to leave her, he assured her, but he couldn't bear to be that close to the center of his failed profession.

She had left the house early, before Derek was awake, so she phoned him as soon as she had a free moment. She caught him packing to leave California. Marian was distraught.

"But I love you. I can't live without you."

"I love you, too, but I'm at the end of my rope. You'll be better off with a guy you can respect."

"Promise me you won't leave until we can talk it over. Promise me that. When I get home tonight, we'll discuss it." She refused to let him off the phone until she had his promise. She immediately ran downstairs to Elaine Rubin's office.

An old friend who worked under her, Elaine was in charge of FBS's casting. Marian told her to get to work immediately to find parts among the network's projects for Derek Peters. Preferably nothing that took some talent and he might mess up. They didn't have to be too big. The important thing was to do it immediately and have producers call his agent right away, today, to set up auditions. And, oh, yes, she shouldn't mention Marian's name. Seeing the strain on her boss's face, Elaine asked no questions.

Marian returned home to find Derek ecstatic at the miraculous turnabout in his fortunes. He had an audition the next day for a small part in a miniseries; his agent had told him the producer happened to have his photo and résumé on file and thought he'd be right for it. Derek was the only one up for the part, so the chances were he'd get it.

"There's a possibility of some other things, too, she told me. It's incredible. Just when things seemed hopeless . . ."

"I'm really thrilled for you," Marian told him.

"It's not much, but it's a start."

"It's your time. That's how Fate works."

She hugged him tightly for a long while.

Sally and Annette sat on the brick terrace overlooking the latter's swimming pool. Annette was stretched out on a chaise. It was a bright, cloudless day. An umbrella shielded both women from the sun. Sally had been admitting to her friend how badly the tension was getting to her as she waited to learn whether FBS would order episodes of
Adam and Eve
. The network would not make the decision until after the fall lineup premiered and it had some notion of which shows were doing well and which were not.

"In my heart, I know we won't get a commitment," Sally confessed.

"You can't be sure. I liked the show. It's probably just a matter of their wanting the right time period to open up."

Annette shifted on the chaise overlooking the pool and reached for her iced tea. The glass slipped through her hand and shattered on the bricks.

Sally jumped. Annette did not move.

"Would you do
me
a favor and get the maid to clean it up?" Annette asked.

"Are you all right?"

"Just a little accident."

Annette dabbed on some of her new perfume. Sally noticed something.

"Your hand is shaking."

Annette dropped it to her side. Her other hand flew up to cover her face. She was crying.

"What is it?"

Annette continued to cry for several minutes. Sally, now on the chaise beside her, tried to comfort her, but did not know what was wrong. The maid had heard the crash and was sweeping up the glass.

When Annette regained control, Sally started to ask again what the matter was, but Annette gestured for her to keep quiet until the maid went back inside.

"All the
maids
trade gossip," Annette said when the woman was gone. "I sometimes think the
TMZ
has them on retainer."

"What's wrong?"

Annette stared upward into the cloudless sky. The house was high in the hills, above the smog. She had not told anyone except Johnny, but she and Sally had shared so much over the years. Needing her friend's support, she relented.

"The doctors think I have some kind of nerve disease. They're not sure what it is. I'm losing control of my muscles."

Sally embraced her friend.
"You poor baby."

"They're doing all kinds of tests, but it's been getting worse. This morning I had trouble walking."

"Oh, God!
I've been chattering on so self-absorbed. You couldn't even work right now if you wanted to."

Annette nodded. "We always shoot the show with three cameras, in front of an audience. There's no way." She paused to catch herself from losing control of her emotions again.

"There must be something they can do."

"Tests and more tests.
My own feeling is it's one of those irreversible diseases where you end up a vegetable. They're afraid to tell me the bad news before they're absolutely sure. You
know,
malpractice."

"Then all those demands you made on Monumental and FBS—"

"I needed more time for the doctors to figure out a medicine so I could do the show." Her eyes beseeched her friend. "That's why you can't tell anyone."

"Of course not."

"If I couldn't do the show"—Annette's voice caught—"I'd know I was dying. I'd
want
to die."

"Don't say that. You have everything."

"I feel I'm watching myself fade away. But I keep telling myself, as long as the show is still there waiting for me, I've got a chance. . . . I've never missed a show, so I won't miss this one. I can lick this thing."

"You bet you can," Sally declared, hugging her again. Annette's stamina was legendary. "Why didn't you tell me? I'll be with you every moment, just like you were for me."

The two-engine Cessna located the old logging company airstrip, descended into the narrow rectangle shaved out of Maine's north woods, and taxied to the now-vacant dispatcher's shack. Chris, her producer, and a cameraman stepped onto the hard-packed dirt. Parked by the shack was a station wagon and driver sent out for their use from the Bangor affiliate. This was the height of the state's summer tourist season, but the town was too far north to attract many tourists and the coast too forbidding. Obtaining three rooms in the only hotel on a weekend had not been a problem. The news team planned to claim they had come to do a story on how rural economies were recovering, so as not to arouse suspicion when they inquired about new construction in the area.

The station wagon traveled twenty miles to the coast road and then turned north. On one side the land plunged down to the rocky seacoast.

"This whole thing might just be a wild-goose chase," Chris warned her companions. She had preempted their weekend and was apologizing ahead of time.

"Stop!" the cameraman shouted.

He grabbed for his video camera and pointed it out the window. A dark speck had risen up out of the sea at the horizon and was gradually growing into the shape of a large military helicopter flying low over the water. Nearing the cliff that defended the land, it shot upward until it was about a hundred feet above the road along the rim.

The cameraman followed the helicopter in his optic as it crossed the road in front of the car and became lost to sight behind treetops on the road's inland side. He did not remove his finger from the button until he had tipped the camera down to take in the road sign announcing that the town was seventeen miles away.

"And then again," he said, "it might not turn out to be a wild-goose chase after all."

At the hotel's front desk, the manager eyed Chris as she signed her name on a register card.

"I thought it was you," he said delightedly. "The missus and
me
watch you on the news all the time. Enjoy you, too."

"Thanks. We're here to do a story on how rural economies in various parts of the country are faring."

"Well, this town could use a little publicity."

"That military base they're building outside of town must have helped some. You know, buying lumber, concrete, fencing, hiring construction workers to put up the barracks and so forth."

"A little, but they do most of that work themselves. Keep to
themselves
, too, so it doesn't help the restaurants and bars much."

"What kind of base is it?"

"They say it's a weather station."

"You sound like you're not sure."

“Everybody in town knows a military base is out there in the woods," Chris reported dejectedly. "We even got a couple of merchants to say on camera that strangers bought supplies from them. But none was ever in uniform."

Sitting across from her in his office, Greg was caught up in Chris's intensity as she described what she had learned. In their little apartment he would have swept her up in his arms and covered her with kisses.

Her pencil point marked a point on the map. "We know where the access road to the base is, but you can't see a thing, not even a clearing, from the air. We tried. All the supplying isn't by helicopter. Townspeople say supply trucks enter all the time. Hugo has arranged for a crew from Bangor in an unmarked van to spend some time cruising back and forth near the turnoff onto the access road."

"Keep changing vans," he reminded her. "But getting video of some trucks and jeeps won't be enough."

Instead of discouragement shadowing her eyes, they were filled with excitement. "Remember that soldier I met in Berlin who told me his younger brother was at the base? He's back in the States now and going up there on Saturday to see him. They both have the weekend off."

"Will the one at the base talk on camera?"

"The older brother thinks if I disguise his face and voice he might."

"Sounds promising.
I wish I could go with you."

"I could be back by Sunday," she said hopefully, "if you can get away."

"Sunday afternoon," he confirmed.

"Three o'clock?"

He nodded. "I'll call you in Maine on Saturday, just to be sure."

She broke into a smile. "I can't believe I'm actually going to steal some of your weekend from Diane."

"I keep telling you: You have no reason to be jealous. I love you."

"You have us both, like some Turkish pasha, so it's heaven for you. I'm the one who gets the short end of the stick.
Literally."

"This isn't like you."

She nodded. "The situation is wearing me down."

"I'm sorry, Chris, but time is something I don’t have much of right now. The new season is too close, and too much is at stake."

"And I've got my work, too, I know. But we haven't made love in weeks. When that happens, I get anxious and begin doubting you and me and why we're putting ourselves through all this."

"Sunday."

She stood up.

"Sunday," she repeated. Once again her gaze grew intense. "But if you dare tell me you made love to your wife between now and then, I swear to God I'll cut your heart out."

"Whew!" he joked. "I was afraid you'd aim lower."

"Not a chance."

Sally accompanied Annette to the hospital for the tests and kept the vigil with Johnny in the waiting room. The doctor met with them all after Annette was dressed to report that the tests had been inconclusive.

"Medicine doesn't really know everything, although we sometimes try to sound like it does," he temporized. He wanted to bring in a colleague for another test that might pin it down. He was going to try to schedule it for next week.

Annette was morose on the ride back to her house. "I'm wasting away to death," she said, "and there's nothing anyone can do."

"Hey, don't talk like that," Johnny told her. "You're going to be fine."

Annette did not reply and said nothing more during the rest of the ride. Johnny put her to bed for a nap as soon as they arrived home.

Sally sat on the terrace, waiting for Johnny. A good-looking, large-shouldered man, with abundant black hair and a ready smile, he was glum when he appeared, the optimism he had exhibited for Annette now absent.

"Those tests knocked her out. I had to carry her from the bathroom to her bed."

"She tries so hard not to give up hope . . ." Sally let the sentence drift away incomplete.

"But she's fooling herself. Is that what you were going to say?"

"The doctor sounded like he can't do anything for her. She's the only one
who really believes she's ever going to be able to work again."

Sally let her words hang in the air while she again meditated on a thought that had insinuated itself into her mind, almost against her will.

"What will happen to
Luba
?" she finally asked. "Production is already behind schedule."