The Actress: A Novel (24 page)

“I saw you on those shows last year,” Kira said. “Defending your marriage. I felt sorry for you.”

“He retracted it! The guy was a grifter.”

Maddy didn’t like the way Kira was looking at her, with horrified pity. “Just listen to me for a second,” Kira said. “What if it’s possible? What if all these rumors and blogs and blind items add up to something? And he cheats on you with men?”

“He doesn’t.” Maddy collapsed next to her on the couch. “You’re not the world authority on homosexuality.”

She could feel herself weakening. She hadn’t been able to talk to Irina, and she couldn’t talk to Bridget, and Ananda was Terry’s wife. There was the loneliness of fearing you weren’t loved and the loneliness of not being
able to speak to anyone about it. She had tried to tell Dan, but he’d ruined everything.

“I know I’m not,” Kira said. “But if you found out that he was cheating on you—with a woman or with a man—would you still want to be with him?”

Maddy couldn’t take it anymore. She put her face in her hands and said, “He
has
been with a man.” Kira sat still, saying nothing, as though she knew a single word might cause Maddy to shut her mouth. Then she told Kira about Alex from the playhouse, and the inscription, and her talk with Steven by the pool. She made her swear never to tell anyone. After Maddy finished, Kira shook her head. Her eyes were wide and knowing.

“It was just one night,” Maddy said. “It doesn’t mean he’s gay now.”

“He was so young then,” Kira said, “and it was a different era. The mid-eighties? Do you know the stigma against gay men then? With AIDS, and the homophobia, and people thinking you could get it from touching . . .”

“So?”

“For a man to sleep with another man in the ’eighties . . . it means he had to really want it. Whether he cheats on you or not, whether he’s closeted even to himself I don’t know, but Steven is gay.”

“You and I made out, and you never thought
I
was gay!”

“It’s different for men.”

“Come on.”

“I’m sure he cares deeply for you, and I’m sure he wants to be straight, but what you just told me—I don’t think he can be.” Kira sighed and took both of Maddy’s hands in hers. “Do you want to be married to a man who can never love you, no matter how hard he tries?”

“That isn’t Steven.”

“Things aren’t perfect with Reggie and me, she thinks I’m hyper-social, she has a drinking problem and also a bit of a bread addiction, but I know she loves me. And I know she loves women. And it’s a relief because I have this thing where I fall in love with women who aren’t gay.” Kira bent her head and then lifted it. “I’ve been exactly where you are right now. Which is why I know you’re setting yourself up for a lot
of pain. Don’t you want to be with someone who loves you the way you want to be loved?”

“How do you know how I want to be loved?”

“Because I saw you with Dan when we were shooting the movie. I saw the way you looked at each other. Dan loved you completely.”

Maddy thought of Dan’s hands on her body at his house. He had asked for money, just moments later, and she’d gone home feeling miserable. “Steven loves me completely,” she said.

“I know how much you want to be an actress. But you don’t have to do it this way.”

“What way?”

“You don’t have to turn your work into your life. You made your life a movie.”

“How many times do I have to tell you,
there is no contract?
”

“I know there isn’t,” Kira said. “If you had a contract, you’d be much less unhappy.”

“I married Steven because I love him. Now would you please get out of my trailer?”

Kira went to the door, and when she got there she said, “I only want the best for you.”

“That’s not true at all,” Maddy told her. “You don’t even know me.”

4

When Maddy returned from New York, Alan drove her straight to the new house. Steven had moved them without telling her. The house still had the beams she had loved on their first visit, the mural on the fireplace, and the loggia (a word Steven had taught her), but beyond that nothing was the same. He had stripped it of much of the very detail that had charmed her. There were severe angles, and everything was in gray, and it had a coldness that hadn’t been there when they first saw it. It was covered with drop cloths. Drapes and dust. She had been in a rush to move in, but when she saw the plaster everywhere, she regretted that she had complained about the mansion. She needed a home that was peaceful.

“What do you think?” Steven asked after he embraced her in the loggia.

“It doesn’t feel ready.”

“Most of it is. The bedrooms are. I thought you’d be happy. We’ll get it finished. I just want everything to be right. I wanted you to feel like this was a place we would have together.” He came to her and held her face in both hands. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Why?”

“For doing an Elkan Hocky. He’s never cast me in a movie. Aren’t you proud of yourself?”

“I guess so.”

“The shoot was good for you. You seem much better. I think it was helpful for us to get some time apart.”

She didn’t feel healthy, but if he was saying it, she wasn’t going to argue. He was being kind to her. She felt guilty that she had betrayed his trust by telling Kira about Alex. Maddy was anxious that Kira might
unload it on the kind of person, some gay-rights activist, who would spill it to a tabloid. That was the last thing Steven needed after what they had gone through with
The Weekly Report
.

Annette was calling from the kitchen and Steven left the room. Maddy collapsed onto a couch and the plastic tarp crinkled beneath her. No matter which way she moved, it went on with its wretched sound.

M
addy had a two-week break before her next film,
The Cocktail Hour,
was to begin, so she was spending a lot of time doing yoga and reading. One morning she decided to jog to the Wilshire library. She was browsing in the literature stacks, which had a good selection of hardcovers from the ’70s and ’80s, when she heard a voice behind her. “Have you read Anita Brookner?”

It was Julia Hanson, dressed down in a gauzy top and dark jeans that showed off her fit figure. “No,” Maddy said carefully, backing up a few inches.

Julia pulled out a slim paperback called
Hotel du Lac
. “You’ll like this one.”

“What’s it about?”

“A romance writer who tries being alone.” She pulled a few other Brookners off the shelf and handed them to Maddy.

Maddy didn’t know what to say besides “Thank you.” This Julia Hanson seemed completely different from the one she had met at the ball. Normal and nice.

“I’ve seen a few of your movies,” Julia said. “You’re very natural. That independent one about the two girls, that was a strong script. It’s hard to find roles like that for women.”

“I cowrote it,” Maddy said. “I mean, I wrote the story.”

“That explains it,” Julia said. “You have to generate your own material if you want it to be any good. If I had done it, I wouldn’t have been unemployed all that time. Now that I’m working, I’m grateful every day.”

Maddy nodded at her. Not knowing what to say, afraid to go and afraid to stay.

“I watched that
Harry
appearance you did when the man came for
ward. You pulled off something nearly impossible. You were likable and genuine.”

“I did what needed to be done.”

“Steven must be grateful to have his wife go out there and defend him in a way he couldn’t defend himself. People think he put you up to it, but I could see that it came from you. He never would have asked you to do that.”

“It was my idea,” Maddy said in a whisper. Then she pulled Julia deeper down the aisle, farther from the other people. “Julia,” she said, “why did the marriage end?”

Julia smiled. A young woman came through, looking for a book, and took a momentary glance at them before landing farther up the aisle. Maddy knew Steven would be furious to know she was talking to Julia in a public place about him, but she felt she had run into her for a reason.

“It was all the fighting and the drinking,” Julia said. “I didn’t want to admit it was over, I wanted it to work. I loved him. He was my life. But in the end, he gave me no choice.”

“So
you
ended it?”

“Of course I did. Did he say he did?”

“Not exactly.”

“I’d never met anyone who got angry like Steven did. Before that, before it got ugly, there were many good nights. His humor and his love of life, his sensuality, the way he turned dinner and a movie into an adventure. The fact that he had his problems, problems that wouldn’t go away . . . it doesn’t erase the good moments. There’s no one like him, when he’s at his best.”

Maddy wanted to ask Julia what had happened with Alex Pattison, whether Steven had cheated. Had she found them in bed together? Had he told her he was gay back then? Was that why they’d split up? What if Julia said he had come out to her? What then? Would Maddy go back to Steven and accept whatever explanation he gave, that Julia was crazy or still pining after him? Why ask a question if you didn’t want to know the answer?

“I should go,” Maddy said quickly, and darted out. She wanted to get out of sight before Julia could catch up, though she wasn’t sure she was following. She was in such a rush that she cast the novels on a table on her way out.

D
ecember and January were filled with awards shows in both New York and L.A. Maddy felt honored by all the nominations she received for
Husbandry
: the National Society of Film Critics, the New York Film Critics Circle, the IFC, and the Golden Globes. Billy and Walter also netted a few, though Walter refused to travel to the States for the ceremonies.

Given Steven’s poor reviews and lack of any nominations for his own work, he was surprisingly supportive of Maddy’s accolades. He accompanied her to all the ceremonies and called himself her “arm candy.” It was as though their terrible fighting after his trip to Cabo was a thing of the past. Every time she felt an instinct to question him about a late dinner or a long phone call, she forced herself not to. A discussion of fidelity could soon become an interrogation. The problem wasn’t his behavior but her reaction to it. If he happened to be out late at night or away in D.C. on political business, she would just take pills to go to sleep, so she didn’t have to lie awake and worry.

When the Oscar nominations were announced, she woke up at the crack of dawn to watch them on the TV in the screening room. Her heart fell when she didn’t hear her name. When reporters called, she was gracious, talking up the other actresses, even though she was hurt to have had all that buildup without the most important nomination of all. Bridget said, “It was too sexual. The Academy is made up of ninety-year-olds. The women were offended, and the men had erection-induced heart attacks in front of their DVD players and died before they could vote.”

Lael Gordinier had been nominated for
Freda Jansons,
which Maddy tried not to think about. Maddy and Steven were asked to be presenters for a costume award. For Steven, it was advance publicity for
The Hall Fixation
’s release. Though the ceremony was long and less exciting than she had imagined it would be, and their intro was clunky, she liked presenting with Steven. When she stepped onto the stage and saw all the people, she hoped the next time she stood here it would be to receive an Oscar, not give one.

The Hall Fixation
came out on March 15. All the entertainment journalists were on the red carpet, and most of A- and B-list Hollywood. Everyone wanted to see the movie. Maddy and Steven walked the red carpet together. The entertainment journalists didn’t treat her like arm candy. They asked about her projects and their plans for a family. She had become adept at dodging such questions with lines like “It’ll happen when
it happens.” She was conscious that she was making no move to get pregnant. Steven had not mentioned it since the day he hid her pills, and she was coasting on his silence.

As Maddy stood just beside him, Steven discussed his Brazilian jiujitsu training, his pranking of Corinna Mestre, and his love of the Tommy Hall books. “I did not have the easiest childhood,” he said, “and the books were an escape for me. That’s what we were trying to do in the movie, just bring Jerome Roundhouse’s vision to life.”

Maddy had never seen the movie from beginning to end and enjoyed it about as much as she’d expected to. The action sequences elicited applause, and the scenes between Tommy and his boss, Richard Breyer, had real pathos (Billy Peck’s father, Martin Peck, a 1960s screen star, had been cast as Breyer in a career-reviving turn).

The worst part of the film was the undercurrent of misogyny. Corinna had excessive frontal nudity and no funny lines. In one scene, her nipples were showing through her shirt. Her character’s name was Cherry Rodriguez, with a long-running joke about whether it was actually Chevy or Cherry because she spoke with such a thick Spanish accent. Maddy hated that the sex was shot in fake blue light. In one of the scenes, Corinna’s character came only after Tommy fucked her really hard.

The post-premiere party was held at the Hard Rock Cafe. After circulating briefly with Steven, Maddy found a perch by one of the bars, not too close to the DJ, so it would be quieter. She had learned from attending enough of these parties that sometimes it was easier to split up than be on each other’s arm for hours on end. Steven was in his element, shaking hands, accepting congratulations, the prince of the night.

A photographer was making his way around the floor, and Maddy watched as Steven and Bridget posed together, both with blinding smiles. They looked like they were on top of the world.

“Now, why is a girl as beautiful as you all alone?” a voice said. She turned to see Billy Peck, and embraced her old friend warmly.

“Your father was amazing,” she said. “He looked like he was having a great time on the press line.”

“Are you kidding?” Billy asked. “People thought he was dead until Bridget rescued him. He can’t believe he’s making this much money in
his old age.”

A handsome early-thirties blond guy with broad shoulders came up to Billy, and they hugged and clapped each other on the back. “Have you met Maddy Freed?” Billy asked, gesturing to her. The guy shook his head. “Maddy Freed, Ryan Costello. Ryan and I are working on
Stick Shift
.”

All she could remember was that it was a buddy movie. “Right, what’s it about again?”

“I’m an uptight Brit,” Billy said, “stranded in the Midwest because of a plane problem, and I have to hitch a ride with Ryan.”

“That sounds hilarious,” she lied.

“Ryan keeps making me break,” Billy said. “If you haven’t already, you have to watch
Bunk
. It’s set at a summer camp in the 1980s, and Ryan plays the activities director.”

“I hope
Bunk
isn’t what I’m remembered for,” Ryan said. His voice was deep and masculine, like a slowed-down record player.

“I’ve watched that goat-milking scene on YouTube like seventy times,” Billy said, laughing.

“You’re starting to creep me out, man,” Ryan said. He came off as smug, maybe because he was new to Hollywood.

“So are you a Tommy Hall fan, Ryan?” she asked.

“Yeah, but they totally messed with the ending of the novel,” Ryan said. “Where he begins to suspect that Richard is a mole.”

“You read the novel?”

“Of course. It’s all about Richard as the father figure for Tommy. Because he’s always searching for his dead dad. Every guy in America with a shitty dad loves Tommy Hall. That’s why this movie will be a hit.”

A woman was coming toward them in a strappy black dress whose hem began at the knee and then rode up in a dangerous upside-down U before returning to the other knee. Maddy didn’t recognize her at first, but then she saw it was Kira. Her breasts seemed smaller, and her hair had gotten longer and blonder. They hadn’t spoken since they wrapped the Elkan Hocky.

“You must be so proud of Steven,” Kira said, kissing her on both cheeks.

Maddy introduced her to the men. Billy and Ryan ogled her openly. “So what are you doing out here?” Maddy asked.

“I moved.”

“Really? I thought you were going to stay in New York forever.”

“I did, too. But there’s more work here, and this was the right time to make the transition.”

“Ah, you’ve crossed over to the dark side,” Billy said. “For years I tried to live in London, and then I realized I was fooling myself.”

“What about Zack?” Maddy asked Kira. “Is he still in New York?”

“Yeah, but he’s moving out in a couple of weeks. He transferred to Bentley Howard’s L.A. office.”

Maddy was hurt that Zack hadn’t called but didn’t want to say so. “Is Reggie moving out, too?”

“We broke up. It was too stressful, I was never around. And she joined A.A., so she wanted to be with all her A.A. friends. She got super-neurotic about alcohol. I couldn’t kiss her if I’d taken echinacea.”

“There’s alcohol in echinacea?” Maddy asked.

“Oh yeah,” Ryan said. “A drop of echinacea is like a fifth of Maker’s.”

“I can’t believe how different you look, Kira,” Maddy said. “Did you lose weight?”

“Eight pounds. I did this cleanse. Don’t worry, I’m not ano. It’s just that after the shitting I’ve done the past week, there is nada in my lower GI. Later.” She walked off, swaying her hips, and Maddy watched the men watch her go.

“I wouldn’t mind getting a look at her lower GI,” Billy said. Ryan whispered something to him, and Billy bent over laughing.

M
addy and Steven arrived home from the private after-party at three. There was plastic hanging from the bedroom ceiling, but these days she hardly noticed it. The renovations were never-ending. She was living in Roman ruins.

In bed, she said, “I’m proud of you,” and pulled Steven close. “You were so good as Tommy. You’ve found your stride.”