The Actress: A Novel (23 page)

“Are you asking me to pay you twenty-five grand for having sex with me? Because the sex was not that special.”

“I thought it was.”

She started dressing, quickly, turning her back so he couldn’t see her breasts. He stood, still buck-naked, looking befuddled. “Maddy . . . what happened between us . . . I wanted it to. I’m sorry about the timing of my ask, but—”

“Your ask? Is that what I am to you? You see me as a backer?”

“You’re confusing things. I loved what we just did. I’m post-orgasmically retarded right now, you can’t hold my timing against me. It’s because I feel so safe around you that I thought we could just . . . switch gears.”

“I gotta get out of here,” she muttered, crawling on the floor in search of a flat. When she had gathered all her things, he reached for her and she recoiled as if he were hot. “Leave me alone!” she shouted. “You’re just like him. I thought you were different, but you’re exactly the same.”

In the car, her mind was racing. When she loved a man, made herself vulnerable to him, he betrayed her, and her father had betrayed her by leaving her so soon, leaving her when she still needed him, when she was barely an adult. She couldn’t believe she had been stupid enough to go to bed with Dan. Steven and Dan were wheeler-dealers.

When she got home, it was around midnight. She found Steven in the bathroom, the door wide open. He was standing in front of the vanity mirror, using an electric clipper on his nose hair. His mouth was open slightly, his eyes intent and focused.

She waited for him to ask where she had been, but he said nothing. At first it looked like he was grinning, but he was only tightening his lips to get the best angle into his nose.

3

Over the next few days, Dan texted her ill-written apologies. After she did not respond, the texts stopped. She told herself this was a good thing, she could forget about it and pretend it hadn’t happened.

But to forget was not so easy. Her body would come alive as she remembered the way Dan had touched her, and then the guilt would follow the arousal and she would resolve to tell Steven. A few times she opened her mouth to blurt it out, before shutting it for fear he would leave her if she did. Hoping that he would force her into a confession, she waited for him to ask about that night, but he never did. His lack of suspicion had the effect of making her feel less trusting than she already did. Any man who was faithful to his wife would expect fidelity in return. She became certain that he’d had sex on
Jo,
though with whom she did not know. Every time he went on the boat, she decided, dozens of times since they had met, he was fucking. Terry, another man, a woman, Corinna Mestre, many men, many women, the possibilities multiplied in her head until he was betraying her with half the industry. His directors, his trainers, his accountant, even Edward Rosenman of Rosenman Kogan LLP.

After his lecture about modalities, though, she was afraid to express her doubts, so her fear was accompanied by the pain of trying to hide it. Whenever he was gone for a long stretch but not on set—with his trainer or at meetings or dinners—she was careful to make it seem that she was not suspicious. Even so, he seemed to be waiting for her to attack him. Awaiting signs of neediness. As if he had decided she was a madwoman and nothing she did could change his opinion.

But her work was a distraction, a good one. After
The Pharmacist’s
Daughter
wrapped in October, her next film would be
Barry Hiller’s Loins,
the new Elkan Hocky, in New York. Hocky was a famed Brooklynite director in his seventies, known for his witty dialogue, and
Loins
was an ensemble comedy about a young woman, played by Maddy, who decides to find her biological father only to learn that he’s a mute homeless man. Maddy would be renting a furnished luxury apartment in Tribeca. She had thought about renting in Brooklyn but decided the commute to the Upper East Side locations would be too long.

A few weeks after she was cast she learned that Kira had been cast as her best friend—because of her work in
Rondelay,
which had had a healthy run in independent theaters and turned Kira into a hipster acting phenom. Maddy had watched a DVD of
Rondelay
with Steven in the screening room, and both agreed that Kira was magnetic. She seemed to be digging deeper than she had in
I Used to Know Her
.

Kira had been the subject of adulatory profiles in
The New Yorker, T
he New York Times, Entertainment Weekly, New York,
and
Out
in which she talked openly about her lesbianism. The op-ed page of the
Times
published a think piece on her called “The Non–Coming Out.” The author, a gay-and-lesbian-studies professor at Harvard, said that many of today’s twentysomethings had had same-sex experiences, or had friends who were gay, and weren’t filled with the self-hate that had plagued earlier generations. “In today’s entertainment landscape,” the professor wrote, “homosexuality is no longer a liability to a career, something that must be hidden, as it was by Rock Hudson and Rudolph Valentino.”

Maddy had been nervous when she’d learned that she would be working with Kira again, given their confrontation at the
I Used to Know Her
premiere, but Kira called a few days before shooting began. “I was drunk that night,” she said, “and I was stupid. Your marriage is none of my business.”

“Thank you,” Maddy had said.

Barry Hiller’s Loins
turned out to be easy, fast-paced, and fun. Elkan was gracious and witty, and many days they shot on the streets, which Maddy loved—it was as alive as shooting on a studio lot was dead.

She went to dinner with Zack one night, and he told her he still wanted to work for her. Maddy said Bridget was helping her and she saw no reason to leave. Though he grimaced, he didn’t call her again in New
York. Maddy wasn’t sure whether he hadn’t truly wanted to sign her or was being tactical by not pushing too hard.

One night when she saw that she had an early wrap, she made plans with Irina to see a Polish production of
Waiting for Godot
at the Brooklyn Academy of Music. During the year and a half since she’d left Brooklyn she had been in only infrequent contact with Irina—mostly by email—and was excited to rekindle their friendship.

She had her driver take her to Irina’s place in Williamsburg. With the sunroof open, they drove down the Brooklyn Queens Expressway to BAM and talked. Irina had booked a role in a Wooster Group production. Maddy told her how great Elkan Hocky was to work with, and Irina squinted at her and said, “You look really skinny.”

“I lost some weight for
Husbandry
, and then, I don’t know, I kept it off. We eat pretty healthy, and everyone in L.A. is low-carb, so it’s easy.”

“Is that Stella McCartney?”

Maddy was in a black knee-length dress with a poufy bottom and a double-breasted cropped jacket sewn onto the top. “Yeah, why?”

“I saw it in a
Vogue
spread.” Patti had helped Maddy select it for an awards show.

When they arrived at BAM, Irina started to get out first, but she was on the street side and Maddy held her arm. After waiting for the driver to open the door, Maddy got out, Irina just behind her, and stepped onto the curb. Immediately, the press started flashing pictures. Irina emerged beside her and moved out of frame, waiting for Maddy to finish. Maddy felt bad and pulled her in, spelling her name for the photographers. Irina seemed to enjoy the chance to pose, but when they got to the lobby, she said, “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wasn’t going to let you stand there,” Maddy said.

“They’re not interested in me,” Irina said. “They’re interested in you. It was embarrassing.”

In their seats, Maddy could feel the tension between them and was unable to enjoy the play. Afterward, they went to a small wine bar on Lafayette where she used to go with Dan. At the table, they dissected the production. She felt like they were reconnecting.

They began to laugh as they split a bottle of Valpolicella, and as they waited for their entrées to come, Irina said, “In August you and Steven
will be married a year, right?”

“Yep.”

“How old is he again?”

“Forty-seven.”

“Does he want kids?”

“He does, but I’m not ready. He’s older, so he wants to get started sooner.”

“You should wait,” Irina said. “You have time. Don’t let him rush you into it.”

The waiter brought their food. Maddy had ordered a large salad and a few sides, so it would appear she wasn’t dieting, while Irina got pasta in a duck ragout. “He’s not rushing me into it,” Maddy said while Irina dug in. “I told him I really want to be there for a baby, take time off, and I’m not ready to do that yet.”

“But you’ll have nannies.”

“Sitters, maybe. I don’t know if we’d have a live-in.”

“You’ll definitely have live-ins. You guys are rich as shit.”

“That’s not very nice.”

“Are you saying you’re not?”

“No, but—”

“Why are you trying to pretend you’re the same person you used to be? Nothing about you is the same. You dress differently. That dress cost, like, five thousand dollars.”

“I got this dress for my career. If you were photographed all the time, you’d have to be careful what you wore, too.”

“Why don’t you admit that you like being famous? Standing on press lines and hiring private cars.”

“I thought you would like the car, so we wouldn’t have to take the train. I wanted us to have fun tonight.”

“You had to impress me. Show off. I didn’t have to go to an opening-night thing at BAM. I would have been happy to go to a bar. Just catch up with you. Or hang out at my loft.”

Maddy realized she had botched it. She had brought Irina to her turf instead of the other way around. “I promise you, I wasn’t trying to show off,” she said, “but I can see how you would think that. I’m sorry.”

Irina chugged her wine and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. It left a mark by her lower lip, like a half-smile, except she wasn’t
smiling. “I don’t know why you wanted to see me.”

“I miss you. I thought we could talk. Maybe not pick up exactly where we left off—but—talk about things. You think my life in L.A. is so perfect, but it’s not.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s hard making new friends, and the women are sort of dumb, and I don’t have anyone I can really talk to about my personal life, so—”

“What about your personal life?” Irina said, setting down her glass. “What do you want to talk about?”

Maddy wanted to tell Irina everything, about how hard the
Weekly Report
story had been on the marriage, and the boat trip with Terry, and the neck mark, and even her night with Dan a month ago. She wanted to ask if Irina thought she had made a mistake in marrying Steven. But she was used to having to keep everything close to the bone, for fear of the paparazzi and the Internet bloggers. She realized she wasn’t sure she’d be able to open up to Irina even if she wanted to.

“I don’t know, everyone’s watching us so closely all the time. It can be stressful. The first year of marriage is hard enough, but then there’s all this other stuff.” The car with shaded windows. Private dinners in the mansion, so there would be no worries about the paps. She didn’t want to be the kind of person who used the word “paps.”

“Are you happy with him?”

“Of course I am. I’m very happy.”

Irina scooted back in her chair, which made a loud noise as it scraped against the floor. “See? You don’t really want to be friends.”

“But I do!”

“You won’t even talk to me. What’s the point? I’m just some symbol of your authenticity. I’m your arm candy. You’re different. The way you preened for the cameras, you were so into it.”

“I wasn’t preening. I was posing. You would understand if you . . . if you . . .”

“You’ve bought in to the bullshit. You pretend you haven’t—‘Oh, BAM, it’s in Brooklyn, it’s so edgy, so
authentic
’—but we might as well be in Manhattan. This neighborhood isn’t even black anymore. You
have
changed. Even if you think you haven’t.”

Irina plopped some money on the table and dashed out, leaving
Maddy alone. A woman at the next table did a double take when she saw her. Maddy got the bill and left. The car was waiting outside.

Back in the loft, she wrote a check for $25,000 made out to Dan Ellenberg and arranged for FedEx to pick it up.

She took her laptop into bed and got Steven on Skype. They’d been trying to Skype once a day. He had started a cop comedy, set in Boston but shooting in L.A., called
Booked
.

When he answered, she could see that he was in his study. “Hey,” he said, but his eyes were flicking to the side.

“I had a fight with Irina,” she said.

“Who?”

“My friend. From The New School. I’ve told you about her. We went to see this play at BAM and—” She heard voices in the background, followed by laughter. It sounded like women and men. “Who is that?”

“I’m having a little get-together. Some people from the movie.” There were at least three or four voices. She was surprised he would let guests into the study, since nowadays he kept it locked.

“Oh. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you what ha—”

“It’s not a good time. I’ll try you tomorrow, okay?” The image froze. He had closed his laptop without saying goodbye.

M
addy was shooting a dinner-party sequence in a midtown restaurant known for its zebra-pattern wallpaper. Kira was in the scene, and two handsome comers playing their boyfriends. Maddy’s was played by Jared Wilkinson, a bumbling comedic actor who specialized in Ralph Bellamy types.

It was a long talky scene that they had to shoot repeatedly so Elkan could get all the reaction shots. There were continuity problems, and the over-the-shoulders grew frustrating and tedious. There were parts of acting that were transcendent and others that made you feel like a prop.

When they broke for lunch, Maddy was relieved. Craft Services had taken over a church basement a few blocks away, and she went down the buffet line and then headed toward Jared and Kira’s table. She saw Jared whisk something away and hide it on his lap. “What is that?” Maddy asked, sitting down.

“Nothing,” Kira said quickly.

“Come on,” she said lightly. “What is it? What were you guys looking at?”

“It’s really nothing,” Jared said, and the expression on his face was so mysterious that she lunged for the thing on his lap. The
New York Post
. She scanned the front page and then Page Six, which was on page twelve, till she got to the blind items. “Which A-list leading man holds all-male stag parties with his handsome ‘bro-friends’ at his home in L.A. whenever his wife is away on location?”

She left her food on the table and ran down the street into her trailer. It was humiliating to have her cast mates read this, mocking her marriage, when after this, she would have to go work with them.

Kira was pounding on the trailer door, calling her name. Maddy let her in, more to stop the commotion outside than to hear what she had to say. She shut the door but stayed standing so Kira wouldn’t linger. “Maddy, I’m sorry,” Kira said. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“You guys could not have made it more obvious.”

“I wasn’t even reading it. You think I would ever read that fascist rag? It was Jared’s.”

“You were acting like teenagers. Please just go.”

But Kira walked to the couch and made herself comfortable. She occupied every space she was in as if she owned it. “Just listen to me for a second,” she said.

“I don’t want to.” If only she hadn’t grabbed the paper. You didn’t learn who you were in a newspaper that left stains on your hands.