The Actor and the Housewife (20 page)

He put his arm around her as they walked back to the table. Karen was staring. So was the lunch crowd. Becky flushed.

“Karen, do you mind if Felix joins us?”

“Not . . . at . . . all,” Karen said, hitting each word with delighted emphasis.

“I’m sorry,” Becky said. “I’m so rude to interrupt our lunch like this. But at least I’m not a shameless show-off . He pretends he wants to be anonymous, but really he’s a ham around any audience. Did you see how he hurdled that fence? Flaunting his manly fitness, trying to pretend he’s still twenty. Look at those eye wrinkles. Does this look like the face of a twenty-year-old to you? I bet he pulled a muscle performing that jump, but he’ll never admit it.”

“My pride is shocking,” Felix said, shaking Karen’s hand and taking a seat. “As is my incivility. But I can’t be blamed. Some force in the universe makes it unbearable for me to be away from this woman. I mean, look at her. Does it make sense to you? No scientist in the world can explain it. And believe me, I’ve hired dozens.”

“It’s pretty simple, actually. I drug his tea. He’s English—
and
he drinks tea. It’s so cliché. I tried to tell him, but he insists.”

“I eat crumpets too.”

Becky rolled her eyes. “I ask you, Karen, is this to be born?”

“Don’t make me tell her about you.”

“
And
he has his eyebrows waxed. Professionally waxed. I know this for a fact. I saw the receipt.”

Felix rested his elbows on the table, leaning toward Karen, getting enthused. “Let’s talk about cliché—she lives in Utah, she’s Mormon,
and
she has four kids. And she makes zucchini bread.”

“I love zucchini bread,” Karen said.

Felix waved his hand in the air. “You’re all freaks.”

Becky pulled his hand down and examined the fingernails. “You see these white marks here? These are signs of vitamin deficiency. You’re not taking multivitamins anymore, are you? I’m going to have to call Celeste about this. You know I will.”

“I know.” He leaned back to look at her. “Stay longer.”

“Impossible. I can’t stand to be away from Mike since . . . Besides, tomorrow is laundry day, and if I miss that, our system takes weeks to recover. Come stay with us. I could dig
The Little Mermaid
comforter and matching shams out of storage.”

“Storage? No more Ariel fascination for fair Fiona?”

“Hardly. Fair Fiona is into indie rock, and Polly . . .” Becky fl inched, anticipating his reaction. “Polly is enamored of a certain bow-wielding elf.”

“No! Not Polly too!”

“No! Not “I know.”

“If only . . . but I can’t. The Sydney movie resumes shooting in two days.”

“Oh, Felix, when are you going to give up that ridiculous fantasy?” She turned to Karen. “It’s sad, really. He wants to be an actor and he has reasonable talent, but you need more—a certain charm, an indefinable handsomeness. And look at him!”

Karen looked. She nearly drooled.

Felix started to pick through Becky’s salad, eating the nuts and celery. She pushed the plate toward him, instructing, “But not the beets.”

He plopped a cubed beet into his mouth.

“Not the beets, I said. Hey, drop that beet!” She slapped his hand.

“Ow.”

Karen picked up her purse. “Well, maybe I’ll go and let you two catch up.”

Felix and Becky started to protest at once.

“No, no,” Felix said.

“Let’s just pretend he isn’t here. It’s easy—I’ve done it many a time.”

“I should really—” Karen started.

“Don’t you dare leave,” Becky said. “Alone, we’re liable to sit around saying stupid things trying to get the other to laugh while drinking carbonated beverages. It’s embarrassingly immature. Besides, you’re far more important.” She turned to Felix with a smug smile. “Karen’s interested in buying my new screenplay.”

Felix snorted. “Claimed it was hers, did she? You can’t believe a word Becky says.”

“Well, it’s mine now,” Becky said. “I won the eBay auction fair and square.”

“Becky couldn’t write a screenplay to save her life.”

“Felix can’t act his way out of a box.”

“Boxes are tricky,” Felix said, frowning. “And sometimes they’re taped shut.”

“Felix,” Karen said slowly, as if an idea was just emerging, “I assume you’ve read Becky’s script?”

“Me? No, of course not.”

“Ha! That’s as ridiculous as the thought of me going to see one of his movies. They’re all rated R lately. He has
such
a potty mouth.”

Karen wet her lips. “I just had the most scrumptious thought. Felix, what would you think about playing the male lead?”

“Certainly not. I assume it’s another romantic comedy.”

“Wait, wait, I haven’t finished.” Karen scooted forward in her chair. “I can see you playing the male lead, Felix, and Becky playing opposite.”

They stared at Karen, both quiet for some time. Then, as if on cue, they laughed.

“I’m serious,” Karen said.

“Wait, wait, tell me the plot,” Felix said.

“This gorgeous guy falls in love with a woman over the telephone, you see,” Karen explained. “But he knows she’ll be suspicious of him and won’t believe he really loves her, because she’s self-conscious of her own looks and had been played by an attractive man in the past. So when he starts to woo her, he pretends to be blind.”

“And what is it called,
Love Is Blind
?”

“Of course not.” Becky said. She took a bite of salad. “It’s called
Blind Love
.”

Felix began to wheeze with a laugh.

“There are excellent supporting characters, witty dialogue, lots of opportunity for physical comedy,” Karen said. “This part was made for you, Felix. Becky must have been hearing your voice in her mind when she wrote the part. One romantic comedy every ten years can only improve your career. You’re brilliant at it. You’re the king of this.”

Felix shook his head. He was still laughing.

“And Becky, you’ve acted before.”

“I’ve played background scenery in made-for-TV movies and done a little community theater. I’m no motion picture star. I mean, look at me!”

“This part is about an ordinary gal who captivates a gorgeous man.”

“Hm, that’s very interesting.” Felix rubbed his chin and slitted his eyes at her.

Becky sighed. “It’s
not
about us.”

“Perhaps not. Or perhaps you’re expressing your pent-up desire for me.”

“Yes,” she said dryly, “that’s what I’m doing. Expressing pent-up desire. For you.”

“Seriously,” Karen said, “the way you work off each other! Becky, you know Hattie is more of a supporting part while the Lionel character carries the story. This is more about relationship and chemistry than complicated acting. You know this script. Now, can you imagine exchanging those lines with Felix?”

“Seriously, Karen, what studio is going to let me star in a film?”

“If it meant they could have Felix Callahan?”

Becky turned to smile at Felix and share the joke, but his face had gone serious.

“You’re actually considering this,” she said.

He shrugged. And she knew that he was. So did Karen, by the way her eyes lit up.

“But my family . . .” Becky started.

Karen leaned forward, getting really excited now. “A rented house in Los Angeles will be part of the package, peaches. Your hubby can telecommute or, with the extra dough you’ll be bringing in, take a leave of absence.”

For a minute, no one spoke. Becky became conscious of the cacophony of conversation all around her. Every table on the patio was filled. How many of those sunglassed, tight-jeaned people were negotiating movie deals as well? It was unnerving. She didn’t belong here.

Becky sighed. “But—”

“Plan on about three months for the shoot,” Karen interrupted. “And the money you make could go in a college fund for your kids.”

Becky’s sigh became a moan. “But—”

“Before we talk numbers, let me just pitch this to you: one location. No exhausting globe-hopping. A rented house for Becky’s family. And when the movie is released, all publicity will be joint publicity—that means if Felix is asked on a talk show, so is Becky. We’d pitch this as a friendly romantic comedy acted by best friends. The media will eat it up.”

It was ridiculous. But they’d been apart for so long, and the idea of working with Felix, of seeing him every day, was filling her chest. She looked at him. He was looking at her. He’d started to smile.

“What do you think?” he asked. “You and me on set together? A nice two-month slice of liver time?”

She couldn’t help smiling back. “I think it’d be bloody great.”

He gasped. “Mrs. Jack, you swore!”

“Not really. Did I? I mean, it’s a British word. Does it count as swearing if I’m not British?”

“Karen, I have to apologize on Becky’s behalf. She has such a potty mouth.”

“I didn’t think it counted. I was just . . .”

Felix patted her shoulder and whispered over her head to Karen, “We’re getting her help.”

“I mean, ‘bloody’ just means—”

“Let’s run up to my office and film you two talking together,” Karen said, gathering her things and tossing some bills on the table. “It’ll take an hour, Becky, I swear, then I’ll have a car take you to the airport. Once the execs see you two together, I’ll have no problem pitching a newcomer opposite Felix Callahan. Oh, this is going to be so great!”

Felix gobbled up the remaining beets from Becky’s salad as they rose from the table.

They started after Karen, weaving through the tables, but Becky had to grab the back of a chair to keep upright.

“Whoa, easy there,” he said, catching her arm. “Are you okay?”

Karen was waiting at her black SUV, gesturing for them to hurry.

“I think I nearly swooned. Swooned! Honestly, this is too crazy. I can’t be in a movie. With you. With anyone.”

Felix put her arm in his and walked her to the car. “Don’t worry, darling. The odds are astronomical. Thousands of movies are pitched for every one that actually gets a green light.”

Two months later,
Blind Love
got a green light.

In which a Hyde family dinner isn’t fun ( for some)

“But are you sure, Bec? Do you want to do this?”

“Be in a movie? I think it’s a grandly stupid idea. But I’m sure that I missed Felix. And I’m sure that this is going to be an adventure of epic Jack family proportions. But I’m only sure so far as you’re game.”

He winked and clicked his tongue, pointing at her with his gun finger. “I’m game, baby. I am so Hollywood.”

“Oh, thank goodness you’re so not. But really, can we pass this up? It seems ungracious to be given this crazy chance at a fantasy and throw it away.”

“It’s like if I was asked to play the U.S. Open.”

“Sure, kinda like that.”

“Yeah, okay.”

They sat the kids down and gave them the scoop.

“It would be for the entire summer. Uncle Ryan wants to stay with us, so he’ll hang out with you, take you to the beach and other cool places, while Dad works from home. I’ll be pretty busy. Still, we can do Disneyland and other fun stuff during my free time. You’ll have to leave your friends, but you’ll get to know a new place, and there will be times when you can come on set and see the workings of a Hollywood movie. So, what do you think?”

Fiona: “Whatever.”

Polly: “Oh.”

Hyrum: “Cool.”

Sam: “Will we get to go on an airplane? Will there be ice cream? Like, an ice cream store by our house? Or a 7-Eleven I can walk to and buy Slurpees with my allowance? Can I make new friends there and have them over and can we play video games? Can I go play a video game right now? Aw, come on, Mom! Aw, come on, just for a minute. Aw, Mom, come on, just for one minute.”

Mike and Becky weighed their children’s responses and determined that they qualified as a resounding “Yes, let’s do it, dear parents. We’re elated about the upcoming exploits.” After all, children were barely fluent, so wasn’t it the parental prerogative to interpret what they were saying?

It was settled. And Becky was unsettled. Time to take some aggressive preemptive action.

First she wrestled with the script. She made sure she and Felix were always together, trimming herself out of scenes opposite the talented supporting cast. Her character didn’t make a journey, didn’t require range. Becky would only need to be a little funny, to have some chemistry with Felix, and to help move the story along. She thought (hoped!) she could do that much.

She sent it to her agent, Shelley, who passed it along to the director. He approved but went a step further, employing a script doctor to “punch it up a notch.” It came back with a new subplot: Hattie (Becky) had been a young mother, her husband good-looking but a scoundrel. He’d left her with a baby and never come back. Now said baby was grown into a gorgeous young woman, creating a romantic subplot as Hattie’s daughter falls for Lionel’s (Felix’s) attractive assistant. It was a good addition, Becky thought. Audiences didn’t seem to have much patience watching a less-than-dazzling woman for too long, so the gorgeous daughter and attractive assistant magnified the film’s eye-candy quotient. And the subplot whittled even more screen time away from Becky.

Next, Becky started working out. Yes, she was going to play the “ordinary” woman, but that didn’t mean she had to sport a mother-of-four kangaroo pouch. She was going to pump up, tone up, get fit and fine and in the best shape of her life!

Then it turned out, to get into the best shape of her life, she had to give up her secret stash of caramels and stop making snickerdoodles and go to the gym practically
every
day. After a month and no change to her belly, she buckled down and hired a personal trainer. Justin the Jazzed put her through twenty intensive weeks that felt like boot camp, but it did the trick. She’d thought that biceps were a muscle unique to the male anatomy, but there they were on her arms, pushing through her shirt in a pleasing little arc.

Even fi fteen pounds lighter with noticeable biceps and a diminished belly-pouch, no one could mistake Becky Jack for a movie star. She’d lie awake imagining being on set, trying to speak lines, the director and the crew laughing at her, or worse, looking away in uncomfortable horror. Some nights she nearly panicked herself into a fetal position.

She called Felix. “Ack. Ack. Argh. Ick, help, no.”

“Deep breaths,” he said. “That’s it. Now find your happy place and . . . well, would you look at that? Your happy place is with me! Ten weeks of uninterrupted best-mate time.”

“Help,” she said, drifting off into incoherent mumblings.

“Come now, you’re the kind of woman who walks into a room and knows that she’s the most capable person present.”

“But this is . . . this is . . . for Pete’s sake, what am I doing? I can’t act.”

In truth, she could, a little, enough to know how much she didn’t know. At least that boded well for her. She watched films, practicing her favorite scenes with the television. Actors rarely blink, she noticed. Don’t blink, she told herself. Hold the audience’s attention with the mesmerizing power of your gaze! But just thinking about it made her eyes sting and she’d need to blink all the more.

This movie would be made or broken not by her acting ability or unblinking stare, but by her chemistry with Felix. It was all she could bank on. So she watched her favorite romantic comedies and studied the lead couples.

Becky’s top ten:

Baby Boom

Rattled Cages

While You Were Sleeping

Groundhog Day

Much Ado About Nothing

Philadelphia Story

Bringing Up Baby

Moonstruck

And she signed up for a local film acting class taught by a former soap opera actor.

“You’re always aware of the camera,” the instructor said, holding a lens in her hand and circling the acting students, coming within inches of their faces. “You’re aware of it, you turn yourself to it, you perform for it, but you never acknowledge it. This is your audience, this little glass disc is your entire audience. Don’t look. Close your eyes and sense them.”

Becky closed her eyes. She tried to feel the presence of the camera, to know where it was, to turn herself to her tiny audience.

“But I can’t see anything with the blast shield down,” she muttered.

A fter three sessions, Becky gave up on the class and showed up at her mom’s door.

“Would you take on a private drama student?” Becky asked, looking as bedraggled and pathetic as possible.

Alice squealed and pulled Becky into one of her bone-cruncher hugs. “Ooo, I would love, love, love to. You’re naturally brilliant anyway, Becky. Let’s just polish you off . My own girl, Hollywood-bound. I’m so stinkin’ proud!”

Becky met with her mother once a week. They sat in the basement, going over her lines in the script, doing character exercises, and just laughing. Alice glowed, and for the first time, she began to refer to Felix by his first name.

And Felix spoke to Becky daily, talked her through all the movie-making lingo, describing a typical day on set, the functions of all the different crew members, how best to work with Wally Lamotte, the director, and detailing the kinds of treats that would be offered by craft services (that last bit was particularly inspiring). Once she could imagine her life as an actor, she found she could rein in some of the terror.

In all honesty, the best thing she did in preparation was the dental whitening. She began to fl ash her brilliant smile at the least provocation. Sam thought it was hysterical. Mike began to call her Mother Shark.

“Check out these choppers,” she announced to the whole Hyde family one Sunday dinner at her parents’ house. “Come on, feel my biceps,” she invited her brothers one by one. “Huh?” she’d say proudly. “Huh? How about that? Pretty toned, right? And I lost fifteen pounds. Not too shabby.”

“Let me check out those pearly whites,” her mother said, holding Becky’s face still while she examined her like a horse. “Aah, I’m blinded! They’re glorious!” And she began to sing something from
Starlight Express
while dancing Becky around the kitchen.

Her sister, Diana, was the most encouraging, reaching across the patio table to feel Becky’s bicep and exclaim, “Wow! That’s amazing. And you look great too.”

“Well, hopefully I look ordinary,” Becky said. “But maybe ordinary-great rather than ordinary-frumpy. I had to lose fifteen pounds since the camera adds ten, so I’m left five pounds skinnier.”

“You’re all muscle, sister. You’re going to wow them.”

Dinner was mostly over, the kids already scampering off to attack their grandparents’ playset or sneak into the basement to watch television. Becky’s mother and a few other adults, including Mike, disappeared, most likely to use the bathroom, check on the kids, or eyeball dessert. But Becky and her five siblings remained, along with some of their spouses, creating the ideal environment for the Hyde family’s staple game, Fun for Some. It was a simple concept: pick the victim and roast ’em.

“Maybe they’ll let it slide today,” Laurie whispered to Becky. Laurie was John’s wife, and about as cool a person as Becky had ever known. She’d been thirty-five and a highly regarded speech pathologist when she married a much younger John. Unable to have children, they decided to adopt older children with special needs, and Laurie quit work to take care of their three kids. She had a huge toothy smile, a short sassy hairdo, and a sense of humor that never turned ugly. Fun for Some was
so
not her cup of tea.

Growing up, Fun for Some had been a brothers’ game. As a girl (and a nice person besides), Diana was immune. But Becky’s gender could not protect her after she began to participate in the attacks. How could she help it when she thought of just the right zingers? And in turn, she paid her dues. As a teenager, her times being “It” left her convinced she was as attractive as a bloated frog. In truth, she was prettier than she thought, but what girl isn’t who has four brothers?

Her brother John leaned across his wife to tell Becky, “Mike sure left in a hurry. Isn’t he up for a little Fun for Some?”

“Johnny, I don’t think any of us are today,” Laurie said, serious despite her huge grin.

“Is someone worried?” John raised his voice so everyone at the table could hear. “Maybe Becky’s worried someone might point out that her newly whitened teeth make her eyes look yellow.”

“Ooh!” Ryan said, offering a high five.

“Fun for Some has begun,” Greg said. “And it looks like Becky’s It.”

Laurie sighed and left the table, patting her husband’s shoulder in passing. Becky wrinkled her nose. She’d pinned her hopes on Greg being It. He was wearing a purple shirt with a shimmery sheen to it that was just begging for a good trouncing. Now she’d have to save her lines for another day—“What do you call the color of that shirt, Greg? Nightclub grape? Glitter bruise? Please insult my manhood, steal my wallet, and leave me curled up and crying on the pavement?” Hm . . . maybe it was good she’d have time to work on that last one before he wore the shirt again. Regardless, she wouldn’t be gibing him today. She was in the hot seat, and her job was to sit there and take it. That she could do. She’d had over two de cades of practice.

Her youn gest brother, Ryan, started them off . “ ‘I’m
so
strong, everybody! Let me show you my impressive biceps—just look through this magnifying glass . . .’ ”

Laughter. Becky nodded. It was a fair hit.

Jerry, the eldest brother, piped up. “ ‘I’m Becky, and I smell as sweet as rose—as long as I stay downwind.’ ”

Laughter. Becky shrugged. Accusing a sibling of smelling wasn’t terribly original, but it was a classic.

Next was Greg. “ ‘Be nice, guys, your insults are
suffercating
me! I’m
suffercating
to death!’ ”

Laughter. Becky pointed at Greg and winked. She’d mispronounced “suffocate” into her early teens and wouldn’t be surprised if on her hundredth birthday at least one of her brothers would be there to remind her of it.

Then Carolyn piped up.

Before we hear what she said, some background: Becky and Greg were the nearest in age and had been close growing up. Then he’d married One-Eyed Carolyn. That’s how Becky thought of her, because Carolyn had this habit of shutting one eye and squinting at you when she thought you were being stupid. Which was often. One-Eyed Carolyn, terror of the seven seas.
Arrr!

But it wasn’t the one-eye thing that bothered Becky. When Greg first brought Carolyn home to meet the family, Carolyn put her feet up while others set the table. During the washing up and dessert prep, Carolyn sat on the floor doing yoga poses. Fiona, three at the time, brought over some Go Fish cards and plopped down beside her, asking for a game. Carolyn sighed, but she did play, a move that made Becky (who was spying from the kitchen while pretending she was drying dishes) smile with relief and say a silent prayer asking forgiveness for having judged Greg’s pirate-yogi fiancée too harshly. Until . . .

“No, Fiona, you can’t play that card. I asked for this card. This one. Can’t you see the difference?”

“Fiona, I told you to go fish. That means you draw a card,
one
card, not start sifting through the deck for what you want.”

“Ha-ha! I got the tortoise! That’s what I asked you for and I drew it! Let go of those cards, Fiona. I get another turn.”

“Count up. You got four pairs, and I got eight. That means I win. No,
I
win. Just because you’re little doesn’t mean you can cheat.”