The Actress: A Novel (28 page)

7

You need to get some perspective,” Bridget said to Steven. They were lying on two of the chaises by the pool.

A separation was never good for a career, especially not one that made the man look cruel. It was one thing to play a womanizing asshole—you could win awards for that—and another thing to be one.
The Hall Surprise
would be released in just seven months, and Bridget didn’t want any bad publicity before then. A film was like a baby. You had to be extremely careful until the birth.

“I have perspective,” Steven said. “Walter wants to ruin me, and she wants to help him.”

“That’s not true. It was the wrong arena for you. We know that now.”

“I won’t have her working with him.”

“She wants something meaty. Walter got a good performance out of her the first time.”

“Why are you taking her side? She fired you.”

“It doesn’t mean I stop caring. But I’m not saying this because of her. I’m saying it because I still represent you.”

“How could she think I would okay this? Are we living in a world where women are no longer expected to show deference to their husbands?”

When he said things like this, Bridget always felt like smacking him. She had to wait a moment before responding so as not to yell. In over two decades of working with Steven, she had never raised her voice at him, and now was no time to begin. Not when
The Hall Fixation
had done so well, not when Neil Finneran was looking upon her with such favor.

“Of course a wife should show deference to her husband,” she said. “But a husband must also show deference to his wife. She did Faye Fontinell. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“You say it like she was a victim of torture,” he said. “Two million dollars. And you wanted her to do it.
The Hall Surprise
will be good for her
,
too, not just me.”

“Yes, but now it’s time to support her in her choice. If it gets out that she’s left this house, that you fought over Walter’s next film, maybe she says something to a friend who talks to the press, you know how they’ll spin it. ‘Steven Weller is domineering.’ ‘Abusive.’ ‘Sexphobic.’ Worst of all, ‘Steven Weller has a secret.’ They’re already watching you closely because of your friendship with Ryan. Which, I advised you, has become a distraction. Given all you’ve been through. If you want to quiet the noise, the proper thing is to let her do it. Show it means nothing to you.”

She looked out at the glassy surface of the pool, crossing one ankle over the other. Steven was not himself these days. In Wilmington, he had not been cautious. There had been many late nights before Maddy came and after she left, when Bridget, Ryan, and Steven were the only ones in the beach house. They would eat and tell jokes and recount stories, and Bridget was a part of it, but then she would give a one-liner and neither one would hear because they were looking at each other. Understanding that a manager needed to give her client space, she would slip out the door, hearing the men’s loud laughter from the windows as she went to her car.

“But they’ll say the same things about me if she
does
do the film,” Steven said. “I can’t stand making it so easy for them.”

“There’s no reason the content should threaten you. You’re a married man. Three years now.
The Weekly Report
is old news. The glossies love you two, the fans love that you’re together. She’s on bump watch every week, without a baby.”

“It’s funny you say that.” He had a whiskey next to him on the table. He took it into his hand and looked down at it as if trying to read the cubes.

Bridget sat up in the chaise. “Why is that?”

“She just went off the pill. But now she wants to do this film that insults me. She’s a mess.”

Bridget took out her cigarette case and lit one contemplatively. “Well, there is one way to solve this problem,” she said, and took a deep drag.

“What’s that?”

“The two of you have to get away. Be together. Take her on a vacation before you go off to do
Flush
.” His next film was set to shoot in Providence, a neo-noir about a criminal poker ring. “Try to remember the love you felt for her when you two were first married. Show her you adore her, respect her. And then tell her to do
The Moon and the Stars
.”

“I can’t,” he said.

She held the cigarette off to the side, far from her body, so as not to get smoke in his portion of air. “Yes, you can, Steven. You are a confident man. A confident man wants his wife to do what pleases her.”

“I just want her to consider me when she makes decisions.”

“She already has. Say you’ve had a change of heart and give her your blessing. Have a wonderful night together. Show her the depth of your love. You won’t regret it.”

“I have no idea where she went,” he said.

“I’m sure you can find her,” Bridget said. “You’re her husband, after all.”

K
ira and Maddy got back from the club at two in the morning. Kira made up the guest room and brought in extra towels, a toothbrush, a washcloth. A gallon of spring water because Maddy had downed too many Seabreezes.

Then Kira sat on the edge of the bed and looked at Maddy. “You’re a strong woman,” she said. “You’re going to be fine.”

“Are you spelling ‘woman’ with a Y?” Maddy asked tipsily.

“You’re going to figure this out. You should be with a man who supports you. And if you decide to be alone, it’s not so bad. I prefer it, actually. No one telling me, ‘Close the window, open the window, let the cat out, leave the cat in, come to bed, don’t stay up late, don’t drink coffee if I drink tea, don’t want sex if I don’t want sex.’ It’s so much easier to be alone.”

“I’m not afraid of being alone.”

“What is it, then?”

“I’m afraid of making a mistake I can’t undo.” Maddy stared at Kira and touched her face, ran a thumb over her lips. It was the only time she had ever seen Kira look truly uncomfortable. “Why not?” Maddy asked.

“That’s not what you want,” Kira said.

“How do you know?”

“Just trust me.”

“I’m all alone,” she said. “I think I’m scared.”

“I know you are,” Kira said, “but you won’t be scared forever. Keep drinking that water.”

After Kira left, Maddy chugged more water and put one foot on the floor so she wouldn’t throw up. She listened to the cicadas. There was a low bookshelf in the corner with rows and rows of plays, and a sling chair, and a carved driftwood anchor lamp. Kira had gotten all of this with her own money. It wasn’t fancy, and it smelled a little of cat, but it was hers. Maddy hadn’t fallen for Steven because of his money, but he had taken care of things for her. And she had let him.

When she’d left Dan for Steven, it had been like removing a speed governor from the mopeds that she and her Potter friends used to ride around. Steven had let her go as fast as she wanted. She had known it all along, accepted it, because she believed that she had talent. Her mission was to act, and if he could expand her audience, then there was no reason to be conflicted about it. That was how she had seen it.

Now it seemed hubristic: the idea that she had a right to be known. Was it the ugly flip side of having had a father who loved her so much, wanted so badly for her to succeed? He had always been interested in the names. The famous teachers and guest lecturers at The New School, the alums who had gone on to greatness. On the street, when they spotted celebs, he had always been starstruck—why, she was not sure. Maybe because he had done theater at Dartmouth and then had to be an English teacher. When she auditioned for famous directors, she would call him to kvell; he craved the stories, the brushes, the proximity.

There was vanity to her hubris, and she was ashamed. It was how she had justified the many gifts Steven had given her: the press, the money, the exposure, the glamour. All of which changed the way that casting directors viewed her when she walked into a room. She had allowed herself
to go from Maddy Freed to Steven Weller’s Wife, because Steven Weller’s Wife didn’t have to pay dues.

She had let herself be convinced that she was too special to take the local and instead, she had taken the express. And she had justified it by telling herself her talent was genuine. Capitalized on the association of being with Steven, first as a girlfriend and later as a wife. And when he’d asked her to play Faye, he had been asking her to pay.

But she
had
paid, and she didn’t owe him this, she didn’t owe him anything. She was going to bump the Mary Cassatt and take
The Moon and the Stars
. Even if it meant the end of the marriage. In another week, it would be their third anniversary. If the marriage ended and all her money ran out one day, which it surely would, and she couldn’t get work because she was no longer linked to Steven, she would still be all right. She could always go back to hostessing. She knew how to show someone a seat.

M
addy spent the next couple of days hanging out with Kira, running, hiking, and going out to dinners. She met Kira’s circle of friends, actors, directors, musicians, some gay, some not. They were doing comedy showcases or taking acting classes, opening hotel doors or busing tables for rent money.

She had Zack call Tim Heller to get a postponement on the Mary Cassatt, and then call Walter to say she would do
The Moon and the Stars
. Zack loved the script and thought the role was just right for Maddy, who would get to age a couple of years over the course of the film and show extraordinary range.

One afternoon she was sitting on Kira’s porch when she heard a car pull up the driveway. She came around the side of the house and saw Steven’s Mustang. He was coming toward her.

“How did you find me?” she asked.

“I have connections.”

“Was it Zack? Because I specifically told Kira not to say anything to h—”

“I had an idea or two of where you might have gone.”

“I’m doing Walter’s movie,” she said. “Zack already told him. If you have a problem with it, then we shouldn’t be together. I can’t be married to someone who wants to control me.”

“You’re right,” he said.

“What?”

“I’m so sorry. Everything I said was out of line. You should do the projects you believe in.”

She looked at him in surprise to see if he meant it. He seemed to. She wanted to believe she knew how to read this man who had been so foreign to her just days ago.

He stepped closer but didn’t touch her. “I’m sorry I’ve been difficult,” he said. “Playing Tommy Hall, it’s gone to my head. I started to believe I was an action hero. Invincible. I’m not used to being at the top like this, the complete insanity around these movies. Walter is a good director, and
Husbandry
wasn’t his fault. I was out of my league.”

“I thought the critics were too hard on you. I’m proud of your performance.”

“Please forgive me,” he said.

“You have to let me be my own person,” she said. “I need to be able to have a social life. I’m young. I can stay up later than you. We’ve been too isolated.”

Steven hugged her and stroked her hair. “You can do anything you want to do. You’re so talented. I love you so much, and I haven’t been appreciating you.”

“No.”

“That’s going to change,” he said. “I won’t be like this again. It’s our anniversary. I want to get out of L.A. and remember what we promised each other. Let’s go away. Please say you’ll come away.”

T
hey flew to Venice. All the palazzo staff members were there, and they seemed happy to see the couple, calling her “Signorina Weller,” as they always did, even though it wasn’t her name. They went to L’Accademia and looked at
La Tempesta
hand in hand. They went back to the trattorias where he had taken her before she knew she loved him. They went out
on the Lido in his motorboat and to the Basilica on Torcello. They dined at Locanda Cipriani, where the gracious host greeted her as if she were Kim Novak.

When they came back to the palazzo, there was champagne in the bedroom and olives and bread and wine and cheese. “I love you so much,” he said. “I never want to lose you. You scared me this week.”

He got on top of her, and she was grateful that he was being warm to her again; he understood what he had done wrong, and would change. Everything was coming together now, her marriage and her work. She had a partner. Her career would get back on track and Steven loved her and their bodies were close. He moved his mouth on her navel, then lower, and she felt herself opening. “You’re so wet,” he said.

She closed her eyes and forgot where she was for a moment, and then she was coming. The champagne, the long journey, the jet lag, she wasn’t even sure what day it was anymore. He was moving in her, and she was light-headed and drunk, was he pulling out, or it seemed like he was, she couldn’t tell. She didn’t want to think about anything, she just wanted to be close to her husband who understood her and respected who she was. It was as it had been at the beginning. They were a couple.

Act Four

1

Production on
The Moon and the Stars
began in London in October. On the fourth day, Maddy was shooting a scene where Betty follows her husband out of the apartment and sees him kissing a man in the park. They had already done the kiss, and now they were doing the reaction. It was a difficult, emotional scene, and she wasn’t giving Walter what he wanted. She kept feeling dizzy and cold.

“Do less but do more,” Walter said, one of those directions that drove actors crazy because it was so meaningless. Maddy did a take where she cried, but he said it was “too showy.” She remembered how frustrated he had gotten when she was doing the love scenes with Billy Peck, and she hoped that Walter would not be difficult again. After the seventh take, Walter said, “What do I need to do to get you to listen to me?,” and on the word “listen,” she vomited onto the grass.

She was convinced it was food poisoning, but then it happened the next day, and the next.

T
he ob-gyn was in her mid-fifties and resembled Julie Christie. Dr. Liddell. She saw all the London celebs and had been recommended to Maddy by a model who’d had a role in
The Pharmacist’s Daughter
. When the doctor came in the exam room looking down at her file, Maddy knew. She hadn’t taken any over-the-counter tests for fear she would be noticed in the store. Because of that, she had been able to lie to herself that it was food poisoning, even though she hadn’t been running a fever.

“The urine test indicates that you’re pregnant,” Dr. Liddell said after she took her seat.

Maddy nodded nervously. The finality of it. She wanted to feel joy about becoming a mother, but the pregnancy was so ill timed, she felt only dread. She didn’t have anyone to blame but herself. She had noticed that her period hadn’t come since she went off the pill, but because she had been on it so long, she had been telling herself it was her body adjusting to the lack of hormones.

She remembered Palazzo Mastrototaro, how she wasn’t sure whether Steven had pulled out. She had been drunk on champagne, and jet-lagged, and confused, but none of that was an excuse, she should have made sure he used a condom—every time. She was an actress; to work she needed to be healthy. To work she needed to control her body. How could she have been blasé about something so important to her career?

“Is this a surprise?” Dr. Liddell asked.

“A little,” Maddy said. “I went off the pill in August. And we went on vacation and—we weren’t careful enough.”

“Based on the estimated last menstrual you gave me,” said the doctor, “you’re about seven weeks along.”

“When would you expect me to start showing?”

“With first pregnancies, it can be as long as five or six months. It’s different for every woman. I’d like to do an ultrasound today. We should be able to hear the heartbeat by now.”

Maddy went to the exam room and waited, and then Dr. Liddell came in. As she put the wand on Maddy’s belly, they looked at the screen. There was a little peanut. And she could hear the lub-dub of the heart. “Oh my God,” she said. There was a living being inside of her that she had made with Steven, that had come out of their love. If only they had timed their love a little better.

Afterward Maddy asked what she should do about the vomiting, and Dr. Liddell said, “Eat small meals. Crackers. Ginger helps. Eat as soon as you wake up. Keep some food by your bed. If it continues, call me.”

As Maddy walked out of the office, she told herself to stay positive. The pregnancy would inform the work; it would make her performance better. She could imagine the excitement on Walter’s face when she told
him—the vibrancy of an expectant lead. Audiences would see her glow, and costuming would be no problem since it was so early, and the shoot was short.

She called Steven in Rhode Island from the Dorchester. When she told him, he said, “Oh my God. How did this happen?”

“I told you I was off the pill.”

“But we were careful, we’ve used condoms.”

“In Venice, the first night, I think. Do you remember?”

“I was so tired,” he said. “The jet lag.”

“I should have made you use protection,” she said. “It was my responsibility.” She was quiet and then said, “So are you happy?”

“Of course I am. This is what I’ve been wanting. I was ready to start as soon as we got married. We’re going to have a family. Are
you
happy?”

“I will be when I feel better,” she said. “Right now it seems like everything’s going wrong.” She told him she was worried about the vomiting, had thrown up again as soon as she got back from the doctor.

“It’ll resolve,” he said. “You’ll be fine. You’re young. I’m going to figure out how to get a break so I can see you. I want to look at you, look at your belly.”

Over the next week, the nausea and vomiting resolved somewhat as she sneaked small meals to the set, nibbled crackers, and bought ginger pills. She was certain that was the worst of it and decided not to tell the costume designer or Walter. It was early, anything could happen.

But about a week after her visit to Dr. Liddell, they were shooting a scene where Betty goes to a poetry slam. It was an important scene, just after her discovery of the affair. They had taken over an old Swinging London café and decorated it to look authentic. There were a hundred extras, all in period clothing. They were shooting day for night, and as soon as Maddy entered the room in full makeup and costume, she threw up all over her minidress. That was when she knew it was the end.

D
r. Liddell weighed her, ran a few tests, and went with her to the ER. She had lost weight since the last visit. In the ER, they put her on an electrolyte drip and moved her to a private room.

Dr. Liddell said Maddy would need to be hospitalized for at least a week, possibly more. She was diagnosed with hyperemesis gravidarum: vomiting so severe it was dangerous to the fetus. She would be put on a drip indefinitely and monitored until she began to gain weight.

As soon as the doctor left the room, Maddy began to weep. On the phone, Steven said he would get there as soon as he could. “I don’t want to lose it,” she said.

“You’re not going to. You’re in good hands. I’ll be there soon.”

She called Zack because she couldn’t bear to call Walter herself. He said he would let Walter know. “What about the bonding company?” she asked.

“Let’s take it one step at a time, okay? Let’s just wait to hear what Lloyd’s has to say.”

When Steven arrived at the hospital two days later, she embraced him and broke into tears again. Since her pregnancy had been diagnosed, she had barely been sleeping, not taking any lorazepam for fear it might harm the fetus. For the past year or so, she had been taking it three or four nights a week.

With no respite, her mind had been alternating between worries about the baby, the film, and her inability to sleep, all of which were tied together. If she couldn’t sleep, she couldn’t gain weight, and if she couldn’t gain weight, she couldn’t get discharged, and if she couldn’t get discharged, she couldn’t work.

In the hospital that morning, she had complained to Dr. Liddell, who had confirmed that it could cause birth defects, and had sent a doctor to see her, a psychiatrist, a woman, who specialized in reproductive issues. The psychiatrist told her that lorazepam was the safest of all benzodiazepines for pregnancy, and that she could take it for a few weeks along with Zoloft, until the Zoloft started to kick in. Then she could go off the anti-anxiety medication.

“What if I can’t do the movie?” she asked, burying her face in Steven’s shoulder.

“We’ll get it worked out. For now you have to focus on getting rest.”

“But I want to work. I want to be Betty.”

“We have to keep the baby safe,” he said. “Maybe Walter can stop the production until you get better. He’s very committed to you.”

“This has been the strangest couple of days,” she said. “I went from not knowing I was pregnant to knowing to worrying about the baby nonstop.”

“That’s what it means to be a mother,” he said. He said it like it was good, but she wasn’t sure she agreed.

“I wish we’d been more careful in Venice,” she said.

“You can’t blame yourself. There’s no perfect time for a pregnancy.”

“I just wanted to do this film. And now everything’s ruined.”

“Don’t you want to be a mother?”

“I want to be a mother, but I also want to be an actress,” she said.

“You’re going to get better,” he said.

“I’ve been taking pills at night,” she said. She told him she had been relying on them since
Husbandry
, whenever things were bad between them or she had an early call, and then she told him about the psychiatrist and the antidepressant.

“You can’t take those when you’re pregnant,” he said. “They’re not good for the baby.”

“Are you kidding? Millions of women do and the babies are fine. And I know they’ll work. I did well on them after my father . . .”

“I don’t want my baby to be born with medicine in his body,” Steven said.

My baby. His body.
How did he know it was a boy? As far as she knew, it wasn’t either gender yet. “Do you want your pregnant wife to be a basket case?” Maddy said. “There’s a reason they torture people with sleep deprivation. I’m telling you this because it’s your baby, too, but I’m not asking your permission. I have to help myself. And if you care about me, you’ll want me to.”

“I’m going to do some research on it.”

That night, on the lorazepam, she slept. Her relief in the morning outweighed her concerns. She told herself to trust the reproductive psychiatrist about the drugs. She told herself the woman probably treated pregnant patients far more unstable than Maddy.

Steven stayed in London; after a week, she was still in the hospital room, hooked up to an IV. The vomiting had continued, and she was on the drip all day and night.

Production on the film had been halted, and Walter was going back and forth with Lloyd’s of London about how to proceed. Steven wanted to stay longer, but she said he should go back. She didn’t like him hovering when there was nothing to do but wait. She was like a baby herself, being monitored for weight gain. She had gone from woman to patient.

After Steven left, Zack flew out for a few days to keep her company. They played cards and she would break every hour or so to throw up. She read scripts, though it was impossible to imagine working on any film when she was lying in a hospital bed indefinitely. Zack shared Hollywood gossip. It was good for her mood, but it felt like a Band-Aid. She didn’t want to be stuck in a hospital with her agent, lying on her back, talking about deals. She wanted to be on set with her costars, doing the scenes. Doing what she was meant to.

The morning the call came from Walter, Maddy was shaking. “Lloyd’s won’t let me postpone until after you get better,” he said. She put him on speaker so Zack could hear. “I already put in two claims for delays, and the second one was so long, it’s cost about two million dollars. I am so sorry, Madeline. You know how desperately I wanted you to do this. I am going to have to replace you.”

“I have money of my own,” she said. “What if I reimburse Lloyd’s the cost of all further delays?”

“If it’s about money,” Zack said, “we have options. Let’s trouble-shoot. Problem-solve.”

“I won’t be here forever,” Maddy added. “I’m already gaining weight.”

“You know movie sets are like jigsaw puzzles,” Walter said. “I can’t lose the other actors. I’m sorry, my darling. We’ll work together again, I promise you.”

She looked at Zack. “I’m going to get into it with him,” he said. Hollywood-speak for fixing something. Like it was simple, an error on a contract or a difference of a few thousand dollars. “Just give me a couple of days.”

He flew back to L.A. and called to say he had tried everything, but the insurance company wouldn’t yield. He said, “It’s out of my hands. I’m so sorry, Maddy.”

A few days after that, he called again. “Kira is replacing you,” he said. “After it became clear that Walter wanted to recast, we got a call about her. Apparently, he’s been a fan of hers ever since he saw
I Used to Know Her
. She didn’t even want to go in because you’re friends, but then she read the script and . . . she changed her mind. She wanted to call to tell you, but I felt it was my responsibility.”

Maddy believed him but was hurt anyway. Kira would be playing Betty in
The Moon and the Stars
. Zack would get his commission. That was what happened, you had a problem and someone else took over. Just like Clint as Dirty Harry and Newman as Butch.

“It’s okay if you’re angry,” Zack said.

She was numb. “I’m not. I would have done exactly the same thing if the roles were reversed.”

T
hroughout Maddy’s stay at the hospital, Steven flew back and forth when he could. It made her feel loved that he was taking care of her, but she hated having him see her in the hospital. She felt inadequate for her inability to have a normal pregnancy, and in the back of her mind, she believed it was a result of the surprise. If they had planned it properly, she would be calm, and if she were calm, she would not be ill.

After Kira arrived in London, she called Maddy. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry it worked out this way.”

“No, you’re not,” Maddy said. “You have a job.”

“I mean, I know how badly you wanted it.”

“When I was in your house and you asked me for the script, were you trying to angle in on it? Tell me the truth. Did you track down a copy and read it before any of this happened?”

“I swear to God, no. I didn’t even try. When Zack told me everything that happened, I just felt so sorry for you. But I know you’re going to be fine. Morning sickness is a sign of a healthy pregnancy.”

Maddy started to say it was much worse than morning sickness, but she didn’t have the energy.

“Do you think I could come visit you one day?” Kira asked.

“Probably not a good idea.”

“Can’t we still be friends?”

“If I see you, I’m only going to feel sadder, so I don’t want to see you. I’m sure you understand.”