The Actor and the Housewife

  “Why don’t we go see a movie?” Mike offered.

  That sounded pretty heavenly to Becky. It wasn’t often they were able to just go see a film, at least one in which the characters were neither cartoons nor talking animals.

  The driver clicked his tongue. “A movie,” he muttered. “Cultural center west of the Mississippi . . .”

  They went to an action flick, and while the lights were low, Becky snuggled up to Mike and enjoyed herself tremendously. But as soon as they were leaving, the nervous elation of Felix entered her again, and she found herself walking on her toes.

  The limo driver had heard from Felix and took them to a restaurant where he was waiting anxiously, still in film makeup. Becky and Felix hugged and hugged, standing by the table while Mike read the menu and ordered beverages.

  “I’m sorry about these two,” Mike told the waitress. “Just so you know, I’ll be embarrassed with you.”

  “It’s just that we haven’t seen each other since summer camp,” Becky said.

  “And we’d formed such a bond playing wily tricks on our camp counselors,” Felix said.

  “Remember how you replaced Miss Pepper’s shampoo with liquid Jell-O and turned her hair green?”

  “It was sheer genius when you stretched cling film over all the toilet seats.”

  “Oh.” The waitress turned back to Mike, as if to address the only sane member of the group. “So, are ya’ll ready to eat now, or are you waiting for your date to arrive?”

  Mike played with the menu. “Actually, she’s my date.”

  “These are my two husbands,” Becky said. “We’re from Utah. You know, Mormon.”

  The waitress stuck out one hip and gave a half smile. “You’re teasing me. It’s the men that have multiple wives.”

  Becky snorted. “You must believe everything you see on TV.”

  Mike rolled his eyes as the waitress left. “She’s going to believe you.”

  “I know, but it’s useless to argue.”

  At this point, Becky expected Felix to say something cheeky, but he was still beaming. He relinquished his hold to allow her to sit. When people slowed by their table to gape at Felix or paused to say “I love your work,” Felix made an effort to smile or even thank them, but his attention never swayed from Becky and Mike. He seemed not to notice or care that in public he was constantly observed.

  It must be like living in a fishbowl, Becky thought.

  Throughout dinner, he kept picking up Becky’s hand to kiss it, then he’d try to pick up Mike’s hand to kiss it, and everything he said was completely serious if incredibly silly, like, “You two are the most stunning people in the world,” and “Do you need anything? I have my checkbook. I could write you a check right now.”

  Becky wondered how long this giddy Felix would last and was relieved when he only made it through dessert. He had stepped out to answer a phone call from Celeste when the waitress returned with the bill. She set it down, then leaned over, resting her hand on the table, and asked conspiratorially, “You’ve got to tell me straight up—are they really both your husbands?”

  “No,” Becky said with a sigh. “This superior specimen here is the husband, the other is my best friend.”

  “But was that . . . was that Felix Callahan?”

  “Possibly.”

  “You’re saying Felix Callahan is your best friend? Holy—” And the waitress said a word that Becky wouldn’t want repeated.

  Becky did her best not to tsk like an old lady, but she couldn’t help a pointed sniff . “Well, I wouldn’t go that far.”

  Felix came up from behind. “I would.”

  The waitress turned red and scurried away. Becky glared at him.

  “What,” he said, “you don’t think our friendship merits a few expletives?”

  “That kind of language shows a baseness of mind and lack of creativity.”

  “Or a lust for life. You can feel your pulse beat in the harder words. Sometimes you just have to dig in and curse until you are blue.” His voice was rising, audible to the tables nearby, and he raised his hand in a fist. “Go on, cut your teeth on them. Say it with me now. Holy sh——”

  She put her hand over his mouth. “Enough,” she whispered loudly.

  She removed her hand.

  He picked up the bill, glancing over it casually, then whispered, “——it.”

  “You really are asking for it. We’ve talked about this—only Melissa is allowed to swear because her voice is so cute and because her life has been such that in my opinion she reserves the right. But from you it’s just crass and unoriginal. And if you use that language with me again, I’m going to announce to this entire restaurant that Felix Callahan is present and eager to give away free autographs.”

  “You have my most humble apologies.”

  “Good boy.”

  “So, did I hear you tell our waitress that we’re best friends?”

  Becky looked sheepish.

  Mike raised his hand. “I’m a witness. She said ‘best’ before ‘friends.’ ”

  “Hmm . . .” Felix rubbed his chin. “Is this upgrade going to cost me another pinky pledge?”

  She sighed in exasperation. “I wish there was a better word for it!” If only she could label it, then she could treat it accordingly, and Mike and her family would understand. There were so many levels of love in this life, many more than the much-lauded Greeks had named. This instantaneously intense and evolving love she had for Felix was minuscule compared with that for her husband and children, but it was also significant and enchanting and mysterious. And she needed to give it a name.

  “ ‘Metabuddies’ not working for you?” Felix said. “I suppose ‘best friends’ is a digestible term.”

  “Though it’s still not right. I have other best friends, and this is different. Besides, Mike is my absolute best friend.”

  “Yeah, I was going to say . . .” Mike nodded with mock gravity, clearly taking this as seriously as a Saturday-morning cartoon.

  “That’s right, honey. Felix, you’re . . . something different.”

  “Amen,” Mike said.

  “You’re not like a good neighbor or a companion for Saturday shopping, and certainly not like my husband. But you are something more than what the word ‘friend’ can contain. Mike has my heart, completely, eternally, no second thoughts.” She grabbed Mike’s hand. “But you have my . . . say, my liver.”

  Felix frowned, pondering that. “Livers are good. Positively essential, from what I remember of biology. And good eating, if the need arises. Very well. I will be your liver, and you will be my spleen.”

  “No, no, no! We have to both be livers, or one of us will have two livers and no spleen.”

  “That’s positively barbaric!” Felix exclaimed. “To think I almost sentenced us both to a horrifying death from organ scrambling.”

  “Yeah, I’m liking this. See, your liver isn’t your heart, but you still need it. I’ve had appendix friends and gallbladder friends—but you’re a liver friend.”

  Felix placed a hand over his heart. “And you said you weren’t a poet.”

  Mike was laughing. She wasn’t sure at whose expense, but it didn’t matter. She loved his laugh. She patted his thigh under the table.

  “You are so cool.”

  “I know,” Mike said. “One day they’re going to build statues in my honor.”

  Becky raised her water glass. “Here’s to Mike, the Understanding Husband.”

  Felix raised his. “To Mike, the Nice Guy Who Finished First.”

  Mike followed suit. “Mike, Who Chose to Laugh.”

  Becky and Mike stayed in Los Angeles for two more days, sleeping in at their hotel (luxury!), walking the beach holding hands (romance!), even succumbing to the chauffeur-induced guilt by visiting an art museum (culture!). And of course, spending Felix’s free time sitting somewhere, basking and laughing. Celeste was back in town their last day, and while Felix took Mike golfing, the ladies went shopping. Really
, it was more of an educational field trip.

  “Now explain to me why this blouse costs three hundred dollars?”

  “Feel the fabric,” Celeste said. “Sense how it moves through your hands like water. And the cut makes it drape just so. It will cling to you and yet hang so innocently it’s almost as if you are wearing nothing at all.”

  “Nothing at all. Yeah, but my shirt is the same color and it cost two hundred and eighty-five dollars less.”

  “Rebecca, I adore you, but sometimes I think you need a friendly hit on the head.”

  Celeste didn’t click with Becky’s soul the way Felix did, finding an empty groove and fitting it perfectly. But it was the best kind of fun just to watch her move, the confidence that beauty brought to every part of her—the bat of her eyelashes, the lift of her fingers. She was a work of art in motion, a wonder of the world. Becky thought she’d rather pluck out her own eyelashes one by one than live in Celeste’s world, but for an afternoon it was fascinating. And the whole time there was the knowledge that somewhere, her heart and her liver were playing golf. She kept her fingers crossed that they were having a really, really great time.

  The two couples met later in front of a restaurant, and Becky did a hop of happiness to see the glow in Mike’s face. He’d been golfing with Felix, and he looked happy. Progress was made!

  And then Celeste approached Mike. Becky squeaked a laugh as she remembered Celeste’s promised kiss.

  “Hello, Michael. I am overjoyed to see you.”

  Mike twitched. He kept his eyes on Becky, pleading for help. But Becky was no match for a Frenchwoman with a promise. Celeste placed both her hands on his cheeks and pulled his face to her. Her eyelids fluttered closed (Mike’s didn’t) and she placed one very soft kiss on his lips.

  “Hey!” Felix held up his hands as if to say, Am I not right here? Does no one see me standing right here watching my wife kiss another man?

  Celeste still had her hands on Mike’s face. “Thank you. You are the best man. The very best man.”

  “Hey!” Felix said again.

  Celeste smiled at her husband over her bare, smooth, tanned shoulder. “Just because I am as sweet as the bee’s mouth doesn’t mean I don’t mind that my husband has a woman friend. I mind just enough to kiss her husband.” She laced her arm through Felix’s. “Now I am done. Now we are all even.”

  Mike blinked several times. “Um . . .”

  “If all it took was one kiss,” Felix said, leading her inside, “I call it a bargain.”

  The restaurant served barbecue, but as Mike observed, it was weirdly swanky, and Felix seized the only menu and ordered for all. While Felix and Becky teased, Mike and Celeste kept their own conversation, commiserating pleasantly about having crazy spouses and even laughing a fair amount. Becky was so smug with happiness her cheeks hurt from grinning.

  It was amazing to have Felix back, though it wasn’t quite the same. For months after, whenever they spoke on the phone, the first thing Felix said would be, “I missed you.”

  He refused to forget the time they’d been apart and how his heart “was doing a fine imitation of an empty coffin.” And Becky didn’t forget either. Every night before falling asleep, she gave Mike six kisses—one for being her husband, one for each of their four beautiful children, and one for offering her back her best friend.

  In which Becky experiences a scare of horror movie proportions

  Something had changed. It wasn’t that “best” in front of “friend,” or the word “liver.” It wasn’t anything said. But things were a little bit richer. Felix’s presence didn’t buoy her up only after their random and fragmented phone calls—the cheering idea of his existence was constant. It was like switching from white bread to whole grain—the difference was subtle but real and kept her from feeling hungry. Hearing Felix talk about moviemaking got her excited about her screenplays again, and she started working on them from time to time.

  Schedule changes made mornings better than the predinner hour for chats, and for months they never missed a weekday.

  Often the calls were brief:

  “Hey, it’s me. What’s your favorite color?”

  “Am I supposed to have a favorite color? No one informed me.”

  “Oh, is that something adults grow out of ? It’s just assumed in a house hold of children that every sentient creature must have a favorite color, and I realized I don’t know yours. I’m going to guess . . . gray. Or black.”

  “In that case, it’s pink. Bright pink.”

  “Polly will be thrilled! That’s her favorite color this decade. Gotta go, it’s family dentist-visit day.”

  “Good-bye, you crazy dervish.”

  Sometimes they spent twenty minutes chatting about nothing, while Becky balanced the cordless phone on her shoulder (she got a cordless for Christmas!) and folded laundry or mopped the linoleum, and Felix did who-knows-what on the other end.

  “Did I hear ice cubes clinking?” she said. “You’d better not be imbibing while talking to me. The mix of purity and indulgence might explode your brain.”

  “Ice water, I assure you.”

  “Good boy! I worry you’ll get dehydrated with all that alcohol sucking the moisture from your cells. Are you taking those vitamins I sent?”

  “They have replaced all other nourishment in my life.”

  “Hmph. If you’re steward of my liver, I don’t want it returned to me gasping its last breath.”

  “Simply solved—I’ll never return it to you. Speaking of, I’ve been playing with the letters—Lovers In a Very Enlightened Regard.”

  “LIVER. Good one.”

  “Also, how about Life Invasion Via Exceptional Respect?”

  “Life invasion. Like it.”

  “Or Lovelike Intensity Via Emotional Rapport.”

  “Doesn’t that spell OLIVER?”

  “What? Oh. Right. Well, I don’t know who this Oliver fellow is, but he lays a finger on my lady friend and it’s fisticuff s, mate, Queens-bury rules.”

  Becky updated Mike that night. “ ‘Liver’ is an acronym now—stands for ‘Lovers In a Very Enlightened Regard.’ Hey, no wincing at the word ‘lover.’ It’s in the original sense—you know, people who love each other. Platonically.”

  Mike stared.

  “Isn’t that kind of cute?” she asked hopefully.

  “ ‘Cute’ isn’t the word I would use.”

  But Mike got some of mileage out of the nickname, mostly by creating new and awkward acronyms (often the “L” stood for “lunatics”).

  Becky still thought it was a darling idea and tried it out on her friend Melissa.

  “Felix is my liver. That’s—”

  “Did you just say he’s your lover with a bad Irish accent? I didn’t think that word was part of your lexicon. Besides, Ryan’s the only one in your family who plays with bad accents—and look at him, living in your parents’ basement at age thirty-one. The whole accent-as-humor thing clearly isn’t working out for him, and I highly recommend you don’t go down that road. I know that—”

  “No, I said Felix is my liver, as in that large, glandish organ. ‘Liver’ is an acronym, it stands for . . . um . . .” Becky was losing her nerve under Melissa’s aghast stare. “Never mind.”

  In her ward, Melissa had been asked to be a counselor in the Relief Society presidency, the organization for women, and had decided her purple hair wasn’t appropriate for the position. So she’d buzzed it all off . Becky didn’t have the heart to tell her that while the purple hair had been a little dramatic, the buzz cut was downright fierce, and offered an unfettered view to the devil girl tattoo on the back of her neck. When Sam had seen it, he’d asked, “What’s that devil?” and Melissa looked back and forth, saying, “What devil? I don’t see any devil.” All this made Becky love Melissa even more. Especially when she spoke. Adorable.

  “You’re telling me that you call Felix Callahan ‘liver’ and that’s supposed to mean something besides what my dad eats with on
ions?”

  Becky winced. “ ’K, this conversation has helped me decide to never tell anyone about the liver part again.”

  She and Felix still kept the name for each other. For her birthday in May, she received a gold locket in a blobby shape. Felix had a matching one, though he let her know that his wasn’t on a gold chain—“I wear it on a leather cord, and round my neck it looks shockingly masculine.”

  When acquaintances asked about the unusual charm, Becky alternately claimed it was West Virginia, the profile of Betsy Ross, or a turnip.

  “Wow,” her nephew Jayden said. “You must really love turnips.”

  So Mike wouldn’t feel left out, for Father’s Day Becky got him a heart pendant on a leather cord.

  “It’s shockingly masculine, hon. It really is.”

  He had the good grace to wear it that day before tucking it away “where it’ll be nice and safe” in the back of a drawer.

  And life was good. Sometimes in those rare pockets of calm, Becky would scratch at a creeping feeling that things were way too good and something would have to break. She ignored it. She loved her husband, she had her best friend back, and her days were filled to brimming with happily normal mommy dilemmas.

  1. Do I put the Play-Doh back into the containers to save it or let it all dry out to teach the kids a lesson about responsibility?

  2. Do I dare start reading that novel? If it’s a good one, I’ll be up late, I’ll be tired, I’ll be neglecting the house work until it’s finished. Dang, it really looks like a good one . . .

  3. Why bother to wash the sheets today? Mike won’t notice until they’re dirty enough to stand up and shuffle to the laundry room on their own.

  4. Can I get away with unstitching the flowery border on Polly’s old jeans and putting them on Hyrum?

  5. I know it’s Sam’s favorite book, but if I have to read Two Tired Tadpoles one more time, I’m going to scratch out my own eyeballs. What if I just happen to misplace it?

  6. How many meals can I wrangle out of a ten-pound pot roast?

  These were good problems, homemade and hearty problems. And if the week was rough, she always had her nonnegotiable Friday-night date with Mike to look forward to. No matter how much Mike annoyed her (I asked him three times yesterday to patch that hole in the wall and he was always too busy, but now he apparently can make time for the important things, like watching a golf tournament on TV), she was very careful never to wield the power of her best friend against him.