What Movies Made Me Do (21 page)

She pushed it into her pants pocket. I kissed her goodbye on the cheek. “Don’t settle for the little dream, latch on to the big one,” I said, quoting James Mason to Judy Garland.
Rosemary mumbled her thanks, and wandered out.

I was in a state. I had Jack here.
The New York Times
might print a story anytime about the movie mess. I could be fired in the next five minutes. I had to duck Michael. I pulled my pale blue Electrolux out of my closet and uncurled the hose. The salesman called it the Cadillac of vacuum cleaners. My mind whirled. The Pope had granted Anita an audience about the movie, approving it. It was great public relations. He told her privately that Jack was a big favorite. I had to remember why. I’m sure Anita never told Jack about it. I’d tell him. That would be the start of my pitch to get him back to Israel.

I bought this vacuum cleaner on time after my husband moved out of our old apartment. I rubbed the nozzle at the harlequin black-and-white marble foyer. It sucks up dirt like crazy. I never vacuum. I turned off the vacuum cleaner and the noise died down. A worry snapped my brain. Suppose Barry dropped by. Sure, we broke up, but he’d go nuts if he found Jack Hanscomb here.

I paced in front of the sweep of windows across the park. They looked streaky from snow. I was worried about Rosemary. She was too open to people and they always hurt her. She was going to get bitter like me, right before my eyes. I felt sad. It was part of growing up here. But I didn’t feel bitter anymore toward Jack. I ran my finger across the windowpane and made a sooty smear.

I got out the Windex cleaner and the stick with the sponge on it, and sprayed and rubbed and wiped. What a beautiful view of white lawn under bare tree branches. My eyes traveled up the stone spires that stretched along both sides of the park. I smiled like an idiot. I wasn’t defeated. I had one big card to play. Rosemary was right, I had bagged Jack Hanscomb. Michael’s eyes would bug out. It would confirm his horniest thoughts about my single life.

I dialed a young copy desk editor I knew at the
Times.
He was just beginning work. “They run their movie feature this week?” I asked him.

“I know just what you want, and I’ll tell you, but you owe me for this,” he said in his high voice.

“What do I owe you?”

“I got this idea for a domestic comedy about a graduate student detective, and if I ever get around to writing it, it’ll be perfect for Goldie Hawn.”

“I’ll be happy to read it.”

He put me on hold and came back. “I hear we got our tip on you from a reporter who’s doing a piece in one of the trades.” I held my breath. “You’re in luck,” he added, “we’re not filing any more film pieces until Monday. We’re up to our ears in Broadway openings this week.”

I was twisting the telephone cord. The story in the trades meant I was in trouble. But nobody trusts the trades. They’d print a rumor that the Pope was starring in a spaghetti Western. I could deny anything.

“What’s Jack really like?” The copy editor failed to make his voice ironic.

“He’s sleeping but—” I gulped and shut my mouth. “He’s sleeping off a virus in Israel.”

I closed my eyes, giggling hysterically. I needed help. A second later I was dialing sunny flat Burbank again. Vicky hit the phone with a purr of energy.

“Hi, I hear you’re washed up,” she burbled. “But I understand they’re looking for a creative vice-president at one of those small outfits—what’s that guy’s name with all the shopping-center money?”

I scratched Rocky’s furry chest and pictured Vicky sitting in her chrome chair in one of her angora sweaters. I knew she hated Michael Finley. He bullied her mercilessly because his boss had hired her.

“Hey, no problem, I got my movie back on the track. Listen, I’ll tell you all about it, if you keep your mouth shut.”

“Hold on a minute,” she whispered, “let me close my door.”

I had arrived in big-time conspiracy. She was closing her door to talk to me.

“But I hear Jack’s disappeared.” She was speaking softly into the phone.

“That’s old news,” I sang out. “He’s back practicing his Hebrew.”

“You did that?” she asked enviously. Since she was new at the studio she had no movies to supervise. But she recovered and twisted the knife. “It’ll happen again.”

“I rescued this movie twice.”

“I know about the first time. I was in Michael’s office day before yesterday. Jack called Michael and said you talked him into working with Anita. Michael really cursed you out.”

I snapped my fingers. Why hadn’t Jack pretended it was his idea? “Well, Jack kept his word,” I said coolly. “Did Michael spray his breath freshener?”

“Yeah, and then he called legal. He wanted to back out of his contract with Sam Falco.”

“He went into contract too fast,” I mused. “Gee, I wish you’d made a videotape.”

“Michael could be fired.” She laughed harshly. “Arnie and Sam are sticking it to him with that pay-or-play clause. He’s going to have to eat that deal.”

I gasped. “Michael really moved too fast.” Arnie had gone in for the kill. Pay or play meant Michael had agreed in advance to pay out Sam’s full half-million-dollar salary whether or not he actually went to work.

I looked up at my ceiling. Michael must be in a tizzy. If Michael didn’t get rid of Anita, he’d be fired for shelling out all that money to Sam for nothing. My mind clicked. Michael
was probably looking high and low for Jack. He must be dying to get Jack to dump Anita and me.

“Arnie says he’s going to make Michael pay immediately,” I lied smoothly.

“Arnie told you that? He never takes my calls.”

“Arnie’s a New York agent, and I run the New York office.” I relished my triumph even though it was based on a tissue of lies. I stuck my tongue out at Rocky, who wagged his tail uncertainly.

“Next time I come to town, let’s you, me, and Arnie have lunch?” she asked quickly. She still wanted New York.

“Sure,” I said, resolving to do no such thing. I pressed the phone to my ear. “I wonder what Michael will try next.”

“He’s hiding out, he doesn’t want to have to tell his boss he screwed up to the tune of a half million bucks.”

Time to float the final lie. “I know what he’s going to do. He’ll try and discredit me and Anita.”

“Ho, ho,” she laughed. “What a mess.”

I took a deep breath. “He’ll try and plant a rumor in the trades that something terrible happened to the production.”

“Who’d be dumb enough to fall for that?” She had a mean inflection.

“Not me. I saw Anita and the whole cast making music together. You know, Vicky, the set looked magical, with the three crosses high on a hill and him on his knees in the sand.”

“Tell me the real story?” she asked enviously. “I won’t say a word. You dated him before, right?”

I knew my entire conversation would be reported to Michael’s boss as soon as she could sprint down the Art Deco hallway past huge framed stills of movie stars smooching.

“No way, that’s suicide with him, he loses all respect,” I improvised. “But I can’t go into it now. It took hours, and I had to win his confidence. I did take him to a doctor for his virus. He was completely rattled.”

I heard the faint sound of the bedroom door, then the bathroom after we hung up. I spooned soup into a bowl and tiptoed into the bedroom, sliding the pale pink velvet curtains shut. The room smelled faintly of yeast and clean laundry soap.

He raised his head at the sound of rustling drapes and took the bowl. “I feel like a kid,” he said, drinking the soup. I had a funny pang. Nursing him was a wonderful secret. I remembered my mother bringing me clear soup. It was part of the tumult of growing up surrounded by people. It had always seemed like I was waiting to become part of a family again.

I was dabbing away at a small spot on the sheet. “I don’t do this much.”

“Me neither. We’re two renegades.”

I choked with a rush of feelings. “I wish I had life around me, people’s smells, sounds, reading newspapers, watching television, slamming doors.” I couldn’t believe I’d said it.

He was yawning and smiling at me. “I told you, you’ll always get what you want.”

I smiled despite myself. “I guess you’ll be well enough to travel soon, then.”

“Okay, okay, Ms. Mogul,” he cut me off cheerfully. “Good night, I’m in no mood to negotiate.” Disappointed, I watched his eyes close.

Back in the living room I dug my old flannel nightgown out of my suitcase. It felt like a security blanket. Jack needed aspirin and antibiotic in an hour. I would wake him for it.

I lay down in my spare room. It was confusing. In his romantic movies Jack always sweeps the girl off her feet and takes care of
her.
But I wasn’t playing the girl’s role. I smiled in the dim light and beckoned to Rocky, a dark shape in the doorway. He moved reluctantly toward me, his head swiveled back at my bedroom. Star-fucker, I mouthed silently at him.

Rosemary had left scribbled notes about my flight to Israel
on the guest-room night table. I touched her broken comb threaded with glistening hairs.

Then I fell asleep lying in the wrong direction in the wrong place in my house. I dreamed I was shouting for peace and quiet and my apartment had become a movie set where Michael was a traffic cop, directing cars and trucks through the guest room.

When I woke, somebody was clearing his throat. I panicked, but I knew I was in my apartment because I heard Rocky shaking his collar.

“I can’t sleep,” Jack said in a quavery voice.

I could just make out his tall shape against the door. It was a miracle he was walking around. I wet my lips, groggy. “How’s your fever?”

“My temperature’s normal, but I can’t sleep.”

I sat up, trying to be understanding. “Take some Valium.”

“I am having a bad night,” he said, sighing. In the dark his voice reminded me of movies again. “I keep waking up terrified I’m smothering. I dream over and over I can’t breathe anymore. I start choking because if I don’t remember to inhale every four seconds, I’ll smother and die.” I heard his shuddering breath.

I felt a wave of sympathy, and switched on the little white bedside lamp. “Sit down a minute.” I squinted at him in the sudden light. He rubbed one eye like a sleep-tousled kid in my droopy gray sweatpants and tee shirt.

“I need a favor.” He laughed and shook his head with embarrassment. “I don’t want to sleep alone.”

“I’m not an escort service.”

“For health reasons—”

“No.” Thank God I wasn’t dumb enough to buy this gambit from the king of seduction.

“I’m too sick,” he said, swaying a little.

“Maybe I won’t be able to trust myself.” I spoke sarcastically.

“I believe in your willpower,” he said. “Look, I can’t help it, I feel crazy from fever and those fucking dreams.”

I felt sorry for him. I knew about night terrors. “I don’t like to remember the last time I got in bed with you.” I hoped he’d say something reassuring.

Instead he leaned against the wall and looked at me. “That’s your final decision?”

“Yeah. I mean, no, I’m not getting into bed with you ever again.”

He closed my door softly. I listened to Rocky padding after him. Then I put a pillow over my head and snuggled on my side and drew my knees up into my favorite sleeping position. I wasn’t going to sacrifice a night’s sleep because of him.

But the traffic was roaring down at Columbus Circle. I lay rigid on my back, staring at my guest-room ceiling. Sometimes I think I almost see microscopic bits in the dark. It’s another piece of mystery that upsets me, like dying. If molecules exist, why can’t I see them? What other things can’t I see? Travel had rattled me. I couldn’t remember how I filled each day up. I didn’t like sleeping in this cramped room. I had been mean to Jack. I sat up and planted my bare feet on the sheepskin rug.

I trailed the feather comforter into the kitchen, depressed. The refrigerator was vibrating. It seemed like fighting Michael was all I had in my life. It didn’t seem worth rushing back into suddenly. Maybe I should have danced away to Italy with Jack when he asked. At least that would’ve been fun. In the refrigerator I found the remnants of a dark chocolate mousse Rosemary had left. I wolfed it down with some hard French bread and sweet butter. Something was making me more ravenous than usual. I tiptoed to my own bedroom, tripping over the end of the comforter I was still carrying.

Inside my bedroom was pitch dark, still smelling of yeast. I had nothing to be afraid of. Rocky was right behind me. I
knelt by the side of the bed to stare at Jack. I almost poked him with my nose, touching his roughened cheek. He turned over. He seemed awake, his breath warm and steady, but he didn’t speak.

I circled to the far side of the king-sized bed, purchased for distance at the end of the marriage. I lay down silently on my back.

Rocky jumped up and huddled against my calf. I didn’t get under the sheets with Jack. It was like we were both camping out on the same huge raft. I was on the dangerous side, drifting in the middle of nowhere. I was breathing too hard, pretending I was sleeping alone. But this was too amazing. I got up on my hands and knees and crawled a few feet across the bed, peering at his face again, my eyes adjusted to the dark. Asleep, it was the first time I’d ever seen his forehead smooth. It made me want to cry. Then I got very frightened. I didn’t like feeling so crazy. I wondered how he’d look when he was really in love with somebody. I sighed. He was a good actor, I’d seen that look on his face on the screen. I wondered how he’d look old and sick. He’d always have such a warming smile. But his skin would wrinkle and fall away from his cheekbones. No more dimples. I saw his hands crossed loosely on his chest; they’d be placed like that in death.

I rubbed my forehead. My brain hurt like a sore muscle behind my eyes. I rolled away under the comforter and slept like I was buried under a hundred feet of water.

Sound track pounds terrifying snare drums—loud. Drums quicken, crash. Then silence.

I hung my coat behind my office door, trying not to stare at Rosemary, who was tearing a paper covered with handwriting to shreds. She hadn’t combed or washed her hair. “Don’t forget today’s trades,” I said.