The Actress: A Novel (19 page)

W
hen Steven came home from the lot that night, she was by the pool. She wore a long beige cashmere sweater and held a du Maurier collection in her hand. She had bought it in an English-language bookshop in Paris on their honeymoon and had been reading it in small doses. She had started a story called “Split Second,” about a middle-aged widow who gets a feeling of foreboding as she’s eating her lunch. The woman goes out for a walk and almost gets run over by a van, and when she returns to her house there are other people living there.

The French doors opened, and she could hear his steps on the patio. She buried her nose in the book. He sat on the chaise next to her. Kissed her on the cheek.

“How was your day?” he asked, lacing his fingers through hers.

“Tell me about Alex,” she said, pulling her hand away. She would have to bluff a little.

“Alex who?” he said, his face betraying nothing.

“From the theater.”

“Where did you get this?” he asked. He seemed to be working hard to see just what she knew.

“Julia was at the ball. She said you used to go off with Alex.”

“The ball? I didn’t see her. What did she say to you? She was in an institution. You can’t trust a word out of her mouth.”

“She told me about Alex. So I know. He was at the Duse Rep, and there was something between you.”

She waited for him to correct her, say Alex from the theater was a woman, but he said nothing, only sighed, stood, and paced by the edge of the pool. Then his shoulders slumped and he straddled the chaise, facing the water.

“When I was in my mid-twenties . . .” He drew in a breath and started again. “When I was starting out in my career . . . there were a lot of gay men at the Duse. There was no line between work and fun. We were all passionate about what we did and about each other. Alex was in the com
pany with me. I knew he was gay, and he knew I wasn’t. We were friends. I went to gay bars with him as a lark, and sometimes he came to straight bars with me, trying to guess which women I would hit on. He’d had a difficult childhood, too, and we talked about it. We were very close. And then one night we had been out late, drinking, and we were back at his apartment and . . . we slept together.”

She was almost relieved that he had finally told her; she was getting to it at last. All day she had heard the inscription in her head. The words he had taken from another lover and used on her. To seduce her. This was what shook her more than Alex’s gender: the idea that the proposal hadn’t been genuine, that she was a stand-in for someone else.

“Was he the one on the phone in your study?” she asked.

“I told you, it was Vito.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Well, you should. I don’t even know where Alex is these days.”

“How long did it go on?”

“It didn’t. It was just that one night. It was confusing. He understood that I was straight. That it could never be. It messed with our friendship. We didn’t speak for a while, but then we made up. After I married Julia, sometimes he and I would hang out. She thought I was still seeing him. I wasn’t. He was my friend.”

“In London I asked if you had been with men. And you said no.”

“I thought if I told you, you wouldn’t get it. You’d— Most women think if a man has been with one man, he’s gay.”

“
Are
you?”

“No, Maddy.” He said it like she was stupid. “Are
you
?”

“No!”

“You slept with a woman.”

“We made out a little! It was mostly kissing.”

“And you enjoyed it. And I didn’t judge you. You’re a hypocrite.”

“You lied to me, and now you’re calling me names?”

She raced up the lawn toward the house. He followed and pivoted her toward him roughly. “Maddy. It was only Alex. One night and one man. I’m not gay. The line between friendship and attraction—it’s—it can be complicated. You know that.”

She wondered where Alex was now, even if he wasn’t the one in the
photo. Maybe he was dead of AIDS and Steven missed him. Or maybe she was being stupid to think any gay man in the ’80s must have died of AIDS.

He put his hands on her shoulders. “It was a youthful indiscretion. I was going to tell you about him. I was just afraid of how you would react. And now . . . I feel like I was right to be.”

“I went into your study,” she said. She waited for a lecture on the importance of privacy, the terrible invasive thing she had done, but he was listening, as though he understood that Julia had shaken her. “I was so upset last night. I felt like I didn’t know you. I went to your bookshelves, and I was thinking about how you love Henry James, and I took out
The Ambassadors
and there was an inscription . . . from Alex.”

“Yes, yes. A quote from the novel.”

“But you used that quote when you proposed to me!”

“Because I believe it. Alex did, too. I want to be someone who embraces life. For so many years I’ve been about work, and that’s something I’ve wanted to change. To soak up the world, to appreciate my good fortune. Even though he gave me the book, we had discussed those lines before that, the words Strether speaks. You should read it, you would like it. When Alex wrote that, he knew the quote had meaning to me, and it still does. It’s not about him, it’s about Henry James.”

“Henry James was a closeted fag.”

His eyes widened. “Is that the way you think of gay men? You won’t get very far in this industry.”

“You weren’t proposing to me. You were proposing to Alex. I don’t even know if you love me. Why did you have me sign that agreement?”

“The postnup? I thought it was what you wanted.”

“It was your idea. I was afraid you’d leave me if I didn’t.” She hadn’t admitted it to herself, but she had believed if she fought him, he would end it. She had wanted so desperately to please him. “Was it because you don’t love me, because you don’t think we’ll last? Was it because you still love Alex?”

“Of course I love you. The books a person gives us, they last longer than the relationship itself. Alex was a very important person to me. He introduced me to James, and now James is mine, like he belongs to so many others.”

“But it wasn’t just a friendship,” she offered.

“Are you going to be haunted by this man whom I literally have not spoken to in decades? Dan was important to you. You said he turned you on to Walter Juhasz. And to Lubitsch and Sturges. I’m not angry about that. It doesn’t make me love you any less.”

He was right. You took words and poems from one lover and shared them with another. It wasn’t wrong, it wasn’t deception.

He knelt on the grass as though proposing all over again. “You have all of me now. There’s nothing hidden. If you want me to, I’ll tell you everything I did with Alex.”

“That’s the last thing I want to hear!”

“I just mean I won’t hide from you again.”

“I’ve never kept secrets from you.”

“But you’re so much younger than I am.”

He stood and cupped her face. She was afraid of his power. She needed space. “I think I want to be alone for a little while,” she said, going to the lounge chair and fetching her book.

“What are you reading?” he asked.

“Daphne du Maurier,” she said. “It’s a collection. I was reading it on our honeymoon.”

“I didn’t notice you reading,” he said.

“I did after you were asleep. You always fall asleep before I do.”

“Tell me about one of the stories.”

“A woman arrives home and finds these strange people living in her house. She tells them she lives there, but they won’t believe her. They act like she’s insane, when they’re the ones who are acting crazy.”

F
or the next few nights, they saw little of each other. Both were working long hours on their films, and at night Maddy would retire to one of the guest rooms, trying to make sense of everything. She was more hurt that he had lied than that he had slept with one man.

Surprisingly, Steven gave her space. He didn’t ask if she’d forgiven him. He seemed to want to allow her the room to be hurt.

And when she took a pill each night at ten
P.M
., or sometimes earlier, because it was better than lying awake for three or four hours and then
taking it, she came to feel she was being too hard on him. She understood why he hadn’t told her about Alex, and she even understood why he had used the line from
The Ambassadors
to propose. She didn’t want to let Julia Hanson put a spear through her marriage. Terry had warned her to have walls and windows. She hadn’t built enough walls.

On the fourth night, around eleven o’clock, she went into the master bedroom. Steven was reading a script about James Earl Ray. He put it down beside him and pushed his glasses to the top of his head. “I tried not to love you,” she said, “but it didn’t work.”

He pulled her toward him, held her face. “I feel lucky,” he said.

“Promise you’ll never lie to me again.”

“I won’t,” he said, kissing her. She looked in his eyes while he moved in her and got on top. She wondered what he was thinking about.

But he didn’t have to tell her. Not now that she knew. If he thought about men, that was all right. She thought about Kira sometimes and didn’t feel the need to tell him. They were closer now. Wedded. She felt a surge of love. The man inside her was more complicated and thus more real than the one she had known before.

6

The premiere for
I Used to Know He
r was held in September at the Chinese Theatre. Zack, Kira, and the other cast members did the red carpet, along with all of the VIPs Maddy had asked Steven to invite on her behalf. Sharoz was in Austin on an independent thriller, but Kira had flown in from New York with her new girlfriend, Reggie. Reggie wore cat’s-eye glasses and a geisha dress, and Maddy liked her immediately. Dan came with the screenwriter Oded Zalinsky; he and Rachel Huber had broken up.

Maddy walked the press line with Steven, less nervous than she had been at the Housing Project USA event that spring, now that she’d had more practice. She wanted the film to do well because she believed it deserved to, and she knew Steven’s presence would ensure maximum publicity. All the reporters wanted to see her engagement ring and wedding band. The press had dubbed them “SteMad,” and some reporters even called out the name, which she found bizarre. Steven was game on the press line, indulging but never overshadowing Maddy, standing behind her. The questions about the movie were the usual idiotic ones, but Maddy had learned how to answer them. You had to be brief and positive, and you had to act like each was being asked of you for the very first time.

The after-party was at a club called Havana, on Ivar, in Hollywood, a big, decadent place with multiple levels and banquettes. There was a table reserved for the cast, and Maddy found herself sitting opposite Dan and next to Steven. She kept waiting for Steven to show hostility toward Dan, but he was so convivial that if you didn’t know she and Dan once lived together, you never would have guessed.

Kira couldn’t keep her hands off Reggie. They kept nuzzling and smooching and petting, which seemed inappropriately showy at first, but it was clear Kira was besotted and it soon became cute.

At the table, the cast reminisced about the shoot. Bridget and Steven were uncharacteristically quiet, unable to chime in. Since moving to L.A., Maddy had been socializing in Bridget and Steven’s world. Now they were in hers. For the first time, they seemed old to her, too rich, too successful, and too smooth.

Dan asked Maddy if she had liked working with Walter Juhasz, and she said quickly, “Walter was amazing to work with. He hasn’t lost a step.”

“That’s what I’ve heard,” Kira said. “But
you
didn’t like him, did you, Steven? I feel like I read that somewhere.”

His face was unyielding. “It was one of the best professional experiences of my life,” he said. Maddy was shocked to see the ease with which he lied. It was as though he did it professionally, which, in a sense, he did. “The press likes to make movie sets seem more exciting than they are. As I’m sure you’re aware.”

“This is the first film I’ve done that’s gotten press,” Kira said evenly, “so I really wouldn’t know.”

“Do you guys have a release date yet?” Zack asked.

“Next fall, in time for the awards circuit,” Bridget said. “Maddy is unbelievable in this.”

“I think you mean she’s believable, Mom.”

Bridget pursed her lips at him and went on, “I mean she is just stellar. Even though her character is unfaithful, you’re rooting for her. You’re going to be biting your nails and turned on at the same time.”

“That reminds me of a hooker I once went to,” Zack said, and everyone laughed. Maddy felt he was trying to make sure everyone got along, to bridge the gap between old and young.

“So what have you been working on, Kira?” Maddy asked, clearing her throat.

“I did a couple days on
Freda Jansons
. The Tim Heller film. I just had a small role. Lael was fucking awesome. I played a babysitter to the boy. A day’s work, but supposedly, Tim Heller really liked me and wants to find me something more substantial.”

“Kira just booked another movie, actually,” Zack announced. “It’s a
black-and-white indie called
Rondelay
. She plays a modern dancer with a bad love life.”

The title rang a bell. Bridget had sent Maddy the script, but the salary was SAG minimum and Bridget felt strongly that it was too small for her. Bridget had said that the director, Deborah Berenson, had a mixed track record. She was said to be mercurial and to have trouble getting projects off the ground. One of her scripts, a girl-girl buddy comedy, had been in turnaround for ten years, Bridget said.

“My girlfriend’s going to be very famous someday,” Reggie said, running her fingers through Kira’s hair, which had grown down to her chin.

“You’re only saying that because I sleep with you,” Kira said.

“No, I’m saying it because I think you’re the most talented woman in the universe.”

“What do you do for a living, Reggie?” Steven asked.

“I work at a domestic-abuse crisis center?”

“She’s the real deal,” Kira said. “She couldn’t give a shit about money. She just wants to help women and girls.”

“And how did you two meet?” Steven asked.

“At a bar on Avenue B,” Kira said. She held Reggie’s face and said, “Is this not the cutest girl you’ve ever seen?”

A celebrity DJ had been hired for the party—it was possible that the party had cost more than the film—and as a heavy bass cranked up, Reggie and Kira got up to dance. Oded was already on the dance floor, acting goofy. Zack followed the women, and Maddy was left with her ex-boyfriend, her manager, and her husband.

“Why don’t you stay here without me, sweetie?” Steven said. “I have that six
A.M.
call tomorrow. You’ll have more fun with just your friends.” She pretended to be disappointed, but she was relieved. It was complicated to have to be Mrs. Steven Weller and Maddy Freed at the same time.

B
ridget said she was going to walk out with Steven, and as she headed off to the bathroom, Zack decided to seize the moment. When his mother came out, he was waiting. “Have you had too much to drink?” she asked. “Do you need a lift back to your hotel?”

“I wanted to talk to you for a second.”

“Not near the restrooms. Never talk business near shit.” She steered him to a back corner of the room. “This can’t wait until breakfast?”

“I have to cancel. I’m going back first thing. I have a commitment in New York.”

“But I was so looking forward to sitting down with you. I never see you. Why don’t you move back here? You’re wasting time with those theater people. It’s a dying industry.”

“I like it there. This isn’t the only city where deals get made.”

He was looking at her so heavily that she almost suspected he knew. She’d had only one meeting, sneaked off for a few days to Connecticut, but it was going to happen. A few weeks more and Steven would be catapulted to the top of the A-list. He was doing a good job of keeping it quiet, and she was, too. But it would be bad if it leaked. She was about to become executive producer on a multimillion-dollar franchise that would change everything for her client and for her.

“I want to ask you about Maddy,” Zack said, and Bridget opened her mouth so her exhale wouldn’t sound so loud. He knew nothing. He would read about it in the trades like everyone else.

“What about Maddy?”

“I heard you didn’t send her
Freda Jansons
.”

“I knew it was you who told her. Spare me your guilt trip. The best thing I’ve done for my client since I signed her was not send her that script.” Bridget lowered her voice. “I hear it’s terrible. The screenplay was a mess, and Tim Heller was rewriting every day on set. The actors made up their own lines.”

“That’s not true. Not one thing you just said is true.”

“Whatever you say.” She was looking off in the distance, as if she saw someone more important. It was a look he had seen many times.

“You have a fiduciary duty to your client. Be careful, Mom. You don’t want Maddy getting the idea that you signed her for self-interested reasons.”

“What are you talking about?”

“
Husbandry
was a vanity project for Steven. Juhasz’s last couple movies have tanked. He needed you more than you needed him. You told him to cast her.”

“That’s not true. He wanted her. It was his choice.”

“I’m sure she’ll be very good. But that’s not why she got it. The film was just the hook. It was about Steven. You put her in his way.”

“I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about. Zack, those two fell in love. I had nothing to do with it. I’ve never seen two people look at each other the way they do. Look, I understand you’re frustrated. You’re the one who invited her to my dinner in Mile’s End. But she’s mine now. Let it go. Build your own list.”

“I saw her movie first,” he said.

“I found you your first half-dozen clients. Consider it a trade. I shouldn’t be so important to you. It’s not healthy.”

I shouldn’t be so important to you
. As though she didn’t understand why she was.

She’d been dating the dorky math professor. Clark. Zack remembered that night she came into his room. It was past his bedtime and he was reading Jack London. Bridget sat down on the edge of the bed and rubbed his hair. “I want to talk to you about something,” she had said.

He had been annoyed. He was deep into his book and didn’t want to stop reading. He stuck his finger in the novel. “Yeah?”

“How would you like a baby brother or sister?” she had asked.

He was more confused than anything, unsure what she was asking.
Brother or sister
. His first thought was that she had reunited with Grant. His mom and dad had worked it out. He fantasized about it a lot. But that was impossible. His dad was remarried, with two other kids, in Arizona.

Then he remembered. That professor she had been dating. There was going to be a baby?

“I don’t really know,” he said.

“Well, if you could have one, let’s say, would you be happy about it? Or do you like having me all to yourself?”

He didn’t like that creepy Clark guy, found him phony and stiff. If this meant Clark would move in with them, Zack certainly didn’t want it. “I don’t know. I guess have you all to myself.”

“That’s exactly what I thought,” she said, and gave a little nod.

A week later, he came home to find her already there, lying in bed.
His mother never lay in bed in the middle of the day. She worked through bronchitis and the flu. She was always at work. When he asked what was wrong, she said she had a stomach bug.

It wasn’t until years later that he put the pieces together. He had never asked her, he couldn’t know. But he didn’t think the question had been hypothetical. And even if she had asked him out of pain and desperation, it had been wrong. He was
ten
.

“Just be careful with Maddy,” he said to his mother at the club. A waiter was coming toward them with champagne, but Zack shook his head at him. “If you withhold quality scripts, she might fire you and hire me instead.”

“I’m sure Steven would talk her out of that very quickly.”

“And why is that?”

“Because he loves her. And when a man loves a woman, he only wants the best for her. Now walk me to the car, honey, will you?”

“W
hat happened with you and Rachel?” Maddy asked Dan.

They had sat in silence for a moment after Steven and Bridget left. Maddy had been self-conscious, worried that people were watching them. But Dan was still her director and this was their premiere. It was all right to talk to him.

“She wanted to get married and have babies, and I think she realized I wasn’t there yet.”

“I liked her.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I thought she was smart, and good for you.” She could sense he didn’t want to get into it, so she changed the subject. “Hey, by the way, congratulations on your deal. Do you have a start date for production?”

“Congratulations to you as well.”

Oded and Dan had gone out with their script based on
The Nest
in August, with Dan attached to direct. They had changed the title to
Hirshman’s Mistake
. When Maddy first read the script, she almost called Edward Rosenman to have him take her name off, it was so lewd and immature, filled with fart jokes and frontal nudity. Oded and Dan wound up
selling it for $1 million to Worldwide Films, of which Maddy got a third. She would be able to join the Writers Guild of America, and despite the questionable material that had allowed her to join, she was excited about it in case she wanted to write something of her own down the line.

When the film went to auction, she’d had mixed feelings. She knew that if she hadn’t been with Steven, she wouldn’t be represented by Edward and never would have gotten such a generous collaboration agreement. But Dan had been naive to think she would sign that ridiculous piece of paper. And if $333,333 was perhaps too much for the pages she had helped write, $1 was too little.

“I just hope they don’t try to fire me from
Hirshman
’s when
The Valentine
comes out,” he said, sipping from his tumbler. “I think it’s going to suck.”

“I’m sure it won’t suck.”

“I should have listened to you. If I had listened to you and stayed in Venice, then maybe . . .” He gave her an intense, longing gaze.

“Don’t think that way,” she said, and looked down at the table. She could feel him staring at her, and when she looked back up at him, his eyes were soft. She felt a rush of feeling for him, for what they had made together, for what she had left behind to be with Steven.

“Do you ever wonder what might have happened if . . . if you’d never gone to Berlin?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “I loved you, but I was meant to be with Steven.”

“Do you really believe that?” His tone wasn’t cruel, but it was deeply doubtful.

“Of course I do. Why would I be with him if I didn’t feel we were meant to be together?”

He nodded and gave her a wincing smile that she didn’t like. And then he was gone, dirty-dancing with a couple of girls who didn’t seem much older than twenty, all of whom were grinding against Oded. Who looked like a human teddy bear.

She tossed back her cocktail and went to dance with Zack, Reggie, and Kira. Maddy asked Reggie a little about her work, and she said it could get really depressing but she believed in it, because at night she went to sleep knowing she was helping people. Reggie seemed like the
kind of person who wouldn’t be competitive with Kira, who would be content to let Kira be her outrageous self.