The Truth about My Success (6 page)

Jack Silk’s heart may not be much for leaping, but it has no trouble sinking like a satellite in quicksand. “Look,” he says, “it’s not like she’s making it sound. I appreciate your— I think it’s great that you want to protect Ms Ginness, but all I want to do is talk to her. That’s all I want to do.”

Brightman jerks his head towards Ferlinghetti’s. “Then why don’t you talk inside?”

“I have to go home,” says Oona. “My Dad—”

“I’m sure Mr Silk will pay for you to take a cab,” says Brightman. “That way you won’t be late.”

“What a good idea,” says Jack.

It’s
a crazy idea. Jack Silk’s the agent of some TV star who, he says, looks just like Oona. Give or take an inch or two and a couple of other unimportant details. He and this girl’s parents want Oona to impersonate her. To live in her house, sleep in her bed, wear her clothes, and act in her weekly show.

They came up with this off-at-least-a-thousand-walls idea because the TV star is overworked, exhausted, hounded by that pack of hyenas known as the press, and possibly on the verge of a breakdown. It’s been all-systems-go for the last few years, with hardly an afternoon to call her own. As if that isn’t enough, she broke up with her boyfriend towards the end of last year, which she took very hard. “The poor kid,” murmurs Jack Silk, “she doesn’t know if she’s coming or going. She needs a rest.” Only yesterday the poor kid was in tears, begging them to let her get away for a few weeks. Just to be able to sit on a beach and do nothing for a while. But a new season is about to begin, and if she steps away now it could jeopardize her entire career. Jack Silk says this is because the politics of Hollywood make the intrigues and conspiracies of the old royal courts of Europe look like a bunch of four-year-olds playing musical chairs.

Which is why he and the Minnicks want Oona to pretend to be Paloma Rose. To protect her when she’s at her most fragile and vulnerable. Paloma Rose wants her to do it, too. Paloma Rose sobbed with joy when they told her their idea. And they’ll pay Oona, of course. They’ll pay her a lot. But the money doesn’t make the idea any less crazy. And that’s what Oona tells him.

“You have to be nuts,” she says. “That’s the craziest idea I’ve ever heard.” This, possibly, isn’t strictly true. Before he got the super’s job at El Paraíso, her father wanted them to move to Mexico – even though they had no money, knew no one south of the border, were about to have the truck repossessed, and he wouldn’t even be able to watch TV since the only words he knows in Spanish are thank you, good day, wine and beer. If that wasn’t a crazier idea than Jack Silk’s, it definitely ties it for first place. “It won’t even work, either,” Oona adds.

“It’s not crazy,” insists Jack Silk. “It’s just a little unusual.”

Oona silently stirs her coffee. You have to wonder what this man’s idea of “sane” and “very” is.

“And it will work,” he further insists. “I know it will.”

“Well I think you’re wrong. We’re not in a movie, you know,” says Oona. “That kind of dumb idea only works in movies.”

Jack lifts his cup with both hands, as if he’s about to offer her a magic potion. “I’m not saying it’ll be easy. But it’ll work. I’m certain of that. It just requires some effort.”

No prize for guessing who’s supposed to make that effort.

“Mmmm … well … maybe…” Oona automatically takes the tone she uses with her father; non-committal, humouring him. “But I don’t even know who this Paula person is.”

“Paloma,” Jack corrects her. “Paloma Rose. She’s very famous.”

“Not to me, she isn’t,” says Oona.

Jack sips his coffee as if counting each drop. “I take it you don’t watch much television.”

“I don’t really watch any.” Oona figures Abbot watches enough for both of them. Besides, even in the summer she’s studying or reading. She really needs that scholarship. “I have better things to do than that.”

Of course she does. In a nation where the average person thinks TV is as important as air, he’s found the one girl who has better things to do. “I’m glad to hear it,” says Jack. “That’s very commendable. But people who don’t have better things to do know who Paloma Rose is.” He takes another measured sip. “And love her.” Which distinguishes them from the people who know Paloma personally.

“But if they love her so much they’re not going to believe that I’m her, are they?” counters Oona. If there were a thousand dogs that looked exactly like Harriet, even down to the black dot on her right paw and the bend in her left ear, Oona would be able to pick her out from the others without a second of hesitation.

“It’s not as if they live with her or actually spend time with her,” explains Jack, patience and reasonableness made flesh and blood. Assuming patience and reasonableness would wear a hand-tailored suit and gold jewellery and a hand-painted tie that cost as much as two month’s rent at El Paraíso. “They know her as the character she plays and from stuff they read about her. And that’s how they’ll see you.” A smile skates across his face. “Once we’ve done a little cosmetic work.”

He can’t mean surgery, can he?

“No, of course not,” Jack assures her. “Nothing drastic. Just a little make-up. Contacts. That kind of thing.”

But Oona isn’t as easy to convince as Leone.

“And what happens when I open my mouth?” she wants to know. “Are you saying we sound the same, too?”

Which makes it fortunate that Jack Silk is a man who has an answer for everything. That, after all, is part of his job as well as his nature.

“It’s not a problem. Mrs Minnick happens to be an excellent voice coach. She trained as an actor and singer herself when she was young.”

If this impresses Oona, she hides it well. “OK, so let’s say she’s this genius voice coach. What about the other people in this show? They—”

“I appreciate that you don’t know how our business works,” says Jack. “Naturally you think that her co-workers will notice the difference.”

It’s pretty interesting how ridiculous he makes that sound.

“Well, yeah,” says Oona. “I bet you Brightman and everybody here would notice if somebody was pretending to be me.”

“You can’t compare
this
—” he waves his hand as if Ferlinghetti’s is more a coffee spill than a coffee house “—with television.” Jack gives the impression that he might laugh at the absurdity of that idea if he weren’t such a gentleman. “What you have to understand is that it’s very intense and professional on set. It’s not like a school play. There’s very little fraternizing.” Not with Paloma at any rate. He silently returns his cup to its saucer. “Paloma – and everyone else in the cast and crew, of course – comes in, does her job, and goes home. It’s not a social occasion. It’s very difficult and demanding. Which is why we have the problem we have.”

“But what about her friends?” asks Oona. “Her friends will notice.”

“No problem,” beams Jack. “She doesn’t have any friends.”

Like many people – and despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary – Jack Silk thinks that money and status are an indication of intelligence. Which explains why he thought it would be easy, especially with his charm and sophistication and talk as smooth as polished glass, to persuade a girl who works as a waitress and rides on buses into doing what he wants. It won’t be the last time that Jack turns out to be wrong.

“Well, I’m really sorry that your famous star is so tired, Mr Silk—”

“Please. Call me Jack.”

Oona pushes her cup away. “But I can’t do it. Jack.”

He has found the one teenager who doesn’t watch television; and the one teenager who doesn’t want to be a celebrity. What were the odds?

“Don’t be hasty,” says Jack. “I know it’s a lot to take in. You need a little time. But think about it. You’ll be living the dream. Mansion in the hills… Expensive clothes… Anything you want, you get…”

“Yeah it sounds great, but there’s no way. You’ll have to find somebody else.”

As if. As if he can just walk along Hollywood Boulevard and take his pick of Paloma Rose look-alikes.

“If you’re worried that it’s too demanding, I told you, you’ll have support and training. There’s enough time to get you into physical and mental shape before—”

“It’s not that. I can’t leave home, that’s all.”

“Is it that dog?” When they came back into Ferlinghetti’s he discovered that she had the funniest looking dog he’s ever seen in her backpack. It’s not even a crossbreed; it’s a hodgepodge. As if God had a bag of spare dog parts and just stuck His hand in and put them together without looking. It might even have some mutant wolf in it. “You can bring the dog. The Minnicks love animals. Absolutely crazy about them.”

“It’s not just Harriet.” Oona is now pushing back her chair. “If you want to know, it’s mainly my dad. I can’t leave my dad.”

Jack stands up, possibly to tackle her before she can escape. “And why is that?” His smile is neither satanic nor angelic now but the smile of the one person in the world whom you can trust two-hundred percent.

Though not to Oona Ginness, it seems.

“It’s none of your business.” Oona goes to get Harriet while Jack pays the bill.

In the universe run by Jack Silk, everything is his business. Or should be. He can even tell you Paloma’s bra size and when she usually gets her period.

As soon as they’re outside, waiting for the cab, he picks up the conversation where Oona left it. “Obviously, I respect your privacy.” He is still patient; still reasonable; still the one person a young girl can trust in a species that invented dishonesty, betrayal and corruption. “And if you don’t want to answer my next question, then, of course, just tell me to get lost. But your answer would help me to know if there’s something – anything – I can do to change your mind.”

According to the proverb, she who hesitates is lost. Oona hesitates.

“OK.” She sighs. “Ask me your question.”

“Is it that your father’s very strait-laced, is that what it is? Are you afraid he won’t approve?”

Oona shakes her head. Maybe she should just go for a bus and not hang around. “No, it’s not that.”

Aristotle thought that nature abhors a vacuum, but Jack Silk knows that it’s people who don’t like empty space. If there is one thing he’s learned in his years of negotiating deals, it is to know when to say nothing and let the other person fill in the silence. He stares out at the street as if he knows she has more to tell him.

It’s Abbot who tells everyone about his problems, not Oona. She doesn’t like to talk about them. She has enough trouble trying to live with them. But it’s been a long day in a long week and she’s tired. And he doesn’t press her. And there’s still no cab in sight. And maybe she wouldn’t mind being somebody else – at least for a while. Suddenly Oona hears herself telling Jack Silk about her mother getting sick, and then getting worse. She tells him about the bills piling up like bodies in a war. How her dad tried to work and look after her mom. How he lost his wife. And then his job. And then the house. How they had to live in the truck because there was nowhere else to go. How Abbot’s old boss got him the super job at El Paraíso. Even how Abbot’s pretty much given up.

Jack Silk says nothing all the while she talks. His expression is neutral. He makes no clucks of sympathy. He just listens.

“So you see I can’t leave him by himself,” Oona finishes. “He needs me.”

“But this could solve a lot of your problems,” counters Jack. “As I said, you’ll be well paid. Enough to get rid of those debts. Get your dad back on track. Get you some money for college.”

“It’s not just him needing me. He worries about me all the time. He hates to let me out of his sight.” If he left the house more he’d be following her everywhere she goes. “He’s called the cops so many times when he thought something happened to me that they call him Abbot.”

“I don’t think that’s a problem. You can talk to him every day. You can Skype him. It’ll be just like you’re in the room with him. And it’s not going to be that long. Two or three weeks. Four tops.”

“I can’t.” Oona’s hand goes up as a cab comes into view. “He’ll fall apart without me.”

Jack thinks, but doesn’t say, that it sounds to him as if her father doesn’t have far to fall. “We can work something out.” He speaks quickly, wanting to get everything said before she slams the taxi door in his face. “You sleep on it.” He hands her his card. “Let me know tomorrow. But trust me. We can make this go. For everybody.”

Oona says she’ll think it over; she doesn’t mean it. She doesn’t even look back as the cab pulls into traffic, and so doesn’t see Jack Silk standing on the sidewalk, watching her disappear – ready to smile and wave, though he is neither smiling nor waving at the moment.

Nonetheless, it is Jack and his offer that she thinks about all the way home. Not about any of the details or possibilities; not about what it would be like to have nothing to do but learn a few lines and have people wait on her all day. Just about the fact that the offer exists. Like a tiny light on a very, very dark and stormy night. Even though it’s crazy. And she can’t do it. No way, José. Like who would believe Oona Ginness was some big TV star with millions of fans? What a joke. And how could she leave her dad?

Who is exactly where he was when she left him this morning. Of course.

“Hey, Dad,” she calls as she shuts the door behind her and Harriet. “How was your day?”

He looks around. “Hi, honey. I was just about to call the station. You’re so late.”

“I got held up at work.”

“You should’ve texted me,” says Abbot. “Just so I’d know.”

The normal day becomes a normal night. She makes Abbot a cup of the tea that soothes his nerves, and feeds Harriet, and takes a shower. She washes the dishes that were left in the sink, and makes supper, and eats in the living room with Abbot, and with Harriet’s chin resting on her foot. At ten, she takes Harriet for her last walk of the day.

When she comes back Abbot is laughing at something on the TV. Oona stands there for a few minutes, just staring at the side of his head. Once upon a time, Abbot Ginness was a normal dad who went to work and helped her with her homework and took her camping. In those days he was always teaching her stuff, like how to fix a leaking tap or put up a shelf. In those days he never watched TV but he laughed a lot. And that’s when it hits her just how ridiculous her plans are. She’s not going anywhere. She’s never going to look back on now and smile, because she’s never going to get out of it. If she can’t leave him for a few weeks to go to the other side of the city, how is she going to leave him to go to college? To go to vet school? How will she ever be able to look after the sick animals of California when she has to look after him? Abbot Ginness. Not so much a couch potato as a human shipwreck.