The Actor and the Housewife (22 page)

No further discussion was needed. It was as good an exercise as any to make sure all collective organs were feeling fine.

The next morning they packed for California.

In which Becky plays the role of karma

Mike decided to stay at the rental house with the kids, some sporting event on television more enticing than finger food and hobnobbing with strangers. Becky and Felix went separately, which she now regretted because he hadn’t arrived yet, and here she was alone, shuffling around the edges of the mostly glass room in a khaki skirt and teal blouse, while most everyone else was wearing highly fashionable jeans. Who knew jeans could look so fl ashy, so expensive, so skinny? She was feeling backwoods and bogus and tempted to hide behind a planter, so she scolded herself and got to work learning names and faces. Nine times out of ten, she was able to guess cast from crew purely by the whiteness of their teeth.

She felt a lot more cozy around the crew members, who dressed down and leaned back. She tried to make friendly with the cast too, but . . . well, here was one conversation:

Becky: “Have you worked with Wally before?”

Supporting Actor 1: “Wally? No, no, no . . . he’s a little too gamey.”

Becky: “Gamey? Uh . . .”

Supporting Actor 1: “I took the role as a favor for a friend of mine, Matthias, one of the producers. You know Matthias of course?”

Becky: “I—”

Supporting Actor 2: “Bonnie’s partner, right? What was all the fuss about last—”

Supporting Actor 1: “In
Variety
? Oh that, you didn’t know?”

Supporting Actor 2: “I heard about Bonnie and the other one . . .”

Supporting Actor 1: “Well, if you know a doctor who can treat schadenfreude, I could refer at least one potential patient . . .”

Supporting Actor 2 (laughing): “That’s barbaric! But sure, that’s how it’ll be.”

Supporting Actor 1: “Mmhm . . . and then it was all over the boards that she only got eight.”

Supporting Actor 2: “But it’s likely an affected leak, don’t you think?”

Supporting Actor 1 (stirring his drink and looking coy): “That’s not what Edith said . . .”

Supporting Actor 2: “No!”

Supporting Actor 1: “That’s the word. And I don’t doubt Edith. She was part of it all since—”

Supporting Actor 2: “Since
Chinatown
, I know, I know . . . Wow, that
is
news.”

Supporting Actor 1: “Not that you heard it from me.”

Supporting Actor 2: “Mum’s the word.”

Becky: “Sure. I won’t tell a soul either. About . . . it.”

And four years after the ward potluck, she felt belated sympathy for Felix.

After half an hour of exhausting chitchat, she took a break to investigate the food table. As she suspected, not one item in the spread would be approved by her personal trainer. So she loaded up her plate (after all, Justin the Jazzed was hundreds of miles away) and turning around, bumped into a young man with an affected hat-hair-do.

“Oh, hello! I’m Becky.”

“Yeah, hi.”

“What’s your name?”

No answer.

“Uh . . . I’m sorry, what was your name?”

His gaze slowly took her in. “Scott. S-C-O-T-T.”

“Hi Scott. Are you going to be working on this picture?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Great.” She was a little put off by his manner but tried again. “I hope this whole experience can be great for everyone. I’m trying learn names, but you know how that can be! There are so many crew members especially, I don’t know how I’ll—”

“Look, I’m not really interested in chumming it up with the script girl or what ever, okay?”

Script girl? Couldn’t he see how white her teeth were? She smiled a little more broadly so he would get the hint. But he wasn’t looking at her anymore. Her smile began to wilt.

“Okay. Scott.”

“I’m looking for Felix Callahan, if he bothered to come. So kindly bug off for a minute.”

She gave him a glare that was turning from aghast to blazing. “I don’t make a habit of
bugging off
, so I think I’ll decline. I’m starved. I’m going to camp my mother-of-four rear end by the snacks table and plan on staying here most the night. Scott.”

He gave her a smarmy smile. “I know one of the producers of this flick
very well
, so—”

“Who, Matthias? Oh, I know all about that, and Bonnie and
Variety
and only getting
eight
. Very hush-hush but fascinating too, huh? Really? Isn’t it?”

She raised her eyebrows and smiled encouragingly. Scott didn’t laugh. Well, it’d been a long shot.

“Are you crazy or something?” Scott looked around as if for security, his eyes lighting up at the sight of Felix.

“There you are!” Felix bounded into the glass-walled room, owning the space at once. He was wearing a white button-down shirt with jeans—casual, simple, and yet he seemed to bury everyone around him in the shadow of his brilliance.

Scott straightened up. “Mr. Callahan! It’s such an honor to meet you. Do you have a free moment? I have a thought I’d like to—”

Felix waved politely at the young man, but his eyes stayed on Becky. “Look at you! I don’t care if you’re wearing the most absurd costume I’ve ever seen—you’re still gorgeous to behold. Good enough to eat. You belong on a platter.”

She made noises of protest as he picked her up and set her on an empty platter. He leaned against the table beside her.

“Do you have any idea how tedious these things can be? Celeste stopped coming to any parties that didn’t include media, and I can’t blame her. But you are the sun in this gloom.”

“The sun?”

“Well, at least a planet.”

“Hey, I lost fifteen pounds!”

“And you look smashing.” He turned to Scott. “Doesn’t she look smashing? Let me warn you away from her or you’re likely to fall in love. And it’s a most inconvenient thing to be in love with this woman. She winters
and
summers in Utah.”

“I’ll, uh, I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You better.”

“When can I get off the table?” Becky asked.

“Becky,” Felix said with lips nearly closed, as if what he was telling her was too embarrassing for others to hear. “It’s a common custom at Hollywood parties to sit on platters. Don’t protest or you’ll look the novice.”

Scott was now standing even closer with a hopeful grin plastered to his face.

“And you’re still here,” Felix said. “Was there something you wanted?”

Scott straightened his tie. “I just . . . I had an idea for another scene between our two characters. I play Buddy? The busboy? You know? Anyway, I think it could be showstopper funny and I wanted to pitch the idea to you, maybe over lunch this week?”

Felix stared at him in silence for so long that Scott took a step back. Felix leaned toward Becky and whispered in her ear, “What do you think?”

“Do I get to be karma today?” she whispered back.

“Of course.”

“Then, no.”

“Was he rude to you?”

“Don’t blame him. He probably had a miserable childhood.”

Felix’s eyes narrowed but he still spoke under his breath. “No one belittles you, not in my town. Except me. Those are the rules. Shall I ask him to audition for a stunt role and you can display your right hook?”

Becky looked over Felix’s shoulder to see the young man glance around as though unsure whether he should leave.

“Poor kid,” she said quietly. “Maybe you should at least hear his pitch.”

Felix leaned in closer as if they plotted something illegal. “Not a chance. Maybe he should have treated my best mate better. Karma’s a bitch.”

“Hey, I thought
I
was karma.”

“Bitch in the very best sense of the term.”

“Like a dog, you mean. A female dog of good breeding and a lovely, glossy coat.”

“Exactly, a best-in-breed bitch, a real show bitch.”

“Let him down easy,” Becky begged as Felix began to turn.

“What was your name? Buddy the busboy? A quick tip. You never know who in this town is important, so it’s best to assume that
everyone
is important. Do you understand me?”

Buddy the busboy nodded, looking a little afraid.

“I want you to repeat it back to me,” Felix said.

“I want you to repeat it back to “Uh, everyone is important.”

“Without the ‘uh,’ Buddy the busboy.”

Scott’s eyes widened in genuine fear. “Everyone Is Important . . . sir,” he said, his voice cracking over the last word as if he just hit puberty.“

Very good. And since Becky forgives you, I will too, and you may keep your current role. Now do us a favor—run to the kitchen and see if they can’t drum up a hot chocolate for this movie’s star.”

Buddy skedaddled. Felix turned back to Becky, smiling proudly.

“See how easy I was on him?”

She patted his head. “I am so proud. But it’s going a bit far to say I’m the star.”

Felix blinked innocently. “Oh . . . did you think the hot chocolate was for you?”

She slugged his shoulder. “Stop that.”

“At any rate, don’t think you can hide in this movie. Anthony Hopkins was only in
Silence of the Lambs
for seventeen minutes. You still have enough screen time to steal the show.”

“Ack! No, I don’t want to steal it, stealing is bad, thou shalt not steal a show and take any focus away from Felix Callahan and promise me you’ll steal it instead so no one will even be watching me when I’m on-screen—promise!”

Her hands were gripping the front of his shirt in panic, and she realized it wasn’t cotton like she’d thought. She fingered the cloth.

“Ooh, silky.”

He removed her fingers from his shirt, smoothing it fl at. “Are you calmed?”

“Did you promise?”

He sighed heavily. “Not that I have any choice in the matter. Everywhere I go, I simply dazzle.”

“You simply dazzle . . . Yeah . . . okay, that did the trick. I’m calmed.”

“It really is wonderful to see you . . . even though I have no idea what you’re wearing. Is that a . . . skirt? Never mind. Mostly I’m happy because the fact that you’re here means you’re not going to back out.”

“Did you think I would?”

Felix examined a tiny quiche shaped like a heart then put it back on the tray. “After all those panicked phone calls? Yes, it crossed my mind.”

“I’m terrified, Felix. But there’s no question about backing out. My teeth are just too gorgeously white. Besides, I lost fifteen pounds, and I didn’t even sniff a snickerdoodle for six months. That kind of sacrifice can’t be wasted.”

“You’re going to be beautiful,” Felix said.

“I hope so.”

“You are. You already are.”

He sounded so sure. Either he believed it or he was an excellent actor.

They wandered into the enormous sitting room with a full-sized bar and six separate sofas. Some of the crew had set up a karaoke machine on the raised fireplace. The first song was “I Will Survive,” performed by many of the women and some men who weren’t afraid to shake their groove thing. A couple of soloists followed, performing a slow Elton John and an off-key Lisa Loeb. Someone hollered for Felix. He shook his head, content to sit at the bar with Becky while she nursed her hot chocolate.

“Go on,” she said. “They probably don’t even know that you can sing. Put them all to shame.”

“Not in the mood.”

“Of course you are.”

“No, not drunk enough.”

“That’s a lousy excuse. Go on.”

Felix’s expression turned sly. “Only if you perform a duet with me.”

“Nooo,” Becky said, shaking her head. She still had nightmares about auditioning for musicals, and there was that whole incident where her brothers caught her singing to the mirror. “I don’t sing—I warble. I croak. And I don’t know everyone yet, and Buddy the busboy thought I was too lowly to contemplate, and I still feel a little vulnerable and I’m not anxious to make everyone hate me. And besides, it would be a bad idea.”

The sly expression evolved into mischievous. Felix went to fl ip through the list of songs while one of the producers (not Matthias or Karen) screeched a Céline Dion song. At the end, Felix hopped up on the brick stage, to the raucous pleasure of the audience.

“This is a duet, but since she won’t join me, I dedicate this song to my best mate, Becky.”

She hid behind her hands. The song was “Islands in the Stream.” There was no way she was going to squawk through any song in front of all those strangers, but especially not that one. She thought it was kind of lame.

She was wrong.

Felix sang both the Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers parts, and Becky could objectively say that the bouncy country tune became a little sexy with his British accent. He looked at her as he sang, making pleading motions. Soon everyone was staring. Some prodded her, saying helpful things like, “Go on, go on . . .” Her bar stool was becoming more awkward than a stage.

“I can’t stand being serenaded,” she said, jumping up there and grabbing a sparemic.

On the fly, Becky changed the word “lover” to “liver” and realized that Felix had done the same, and after a few bars, she was having fun. Felix didn’t leave her alone, still singing the Dolly Parton parts so Becky never had to go solo. With a little bit of hot chocolate in her system, she relaxed, letting her body do the karaoke sway. The really delicious part was joining her own voice with Felix’s, hearing how he made her sound better. It gave her chills.

She wondered, Is this what it’ll be like to act with him?

She hoped. She even crossed her fingers behind her back.

Let this be it, she prayed. Let his talent pull me up higher, rather than my amateur self pull him down. Let it be good. Please let it be good.

There was wild applause when they were done, and someone stuck in “Summer Nights,” so they stayed at the mic. Felix really hammed it up this time, forcing a severe John Travolta accent and improvising some semi-impressive lunge moves. Wally laughed so hard he kept having to remove his glasses and wipe his eyes. Several women and men joined them for the chorus parts. Someone tossed up a pair of pink underwear. It was one of the weirdest experiences Becky could remember. She grabbed Felix’s arm when they were done and said, “You’re a wild man.”