Even fi fteen pounds lighter with noticeable biceps and a diminished belly-pouch, no one could mistake Becky Jack for a movie star. She’d lie awake imagining being on set, trying to speak lines, the director and the crew laughing at her, or worse, looking away in uncomfortable horror. Some nights she nearly panicked herself into a fetal position.
She called Felix. “Ack. Ack. Argh. Ick, help, no.”
“Deep breaths,” he said. “That’s it. Now find your happy place and . . . well, would you look at that? Your happy place is with me! Ten weeks of uninterrupted best-mate time.”
“Help,” she said, drifting off into incoherent mumblings.
“Come now, you’re the kind of woman who walks into a room and knows that she’s the most capable person present.”
“But this is . . . this is . . . for Pete’s sake, what am I doing? I can’t act.”
In truth, she could, a little, enough to know how much she didn’t know. At least that boded well for her. She watched films, practicing her favorite scenes with the television. Actors rarely blink, she noticed. Don’t blink, she told herself. Hold the audience’s attention with the mesmerizing power of your gaze! But just thinking about it made her eyes sting and she’d need to blink all the more.
This movie would be made or broken not by her acting ability or unblinking stare, but by her chemistry with Felix. It was all she could bank on. So she watched her favorite romantic comedies and studied the lead couples.
Becky’s top ten:
Notting Hill
Baby Boom
When Harry Met Sally (edited for television, of course, since it had been rated R)
Rattled Cages
While You Were Sleeping
Groundhog Day
Much Ado About Nothing
Philadelphia Story
Bringing Up Baby
Moonstruck
She couldn’t approve of the sexual content in many of these movies, of course. But she tried to look past it and just enjoy the story. She wasn’t so discriminating as her sister, Diana (who wouldn’t watch an R-rated movie even if it was edited for television), but that Cher in Moonstruck did make her a little uncomfortable. Going to bed with her fiancé’s brother, and the first time she met him even? No, she could not approve. But she still watched it.
And she signed up for a local film acting class taught by a former soap opera actor.
“You’re always aware of the camera,” the instructor said, holding a lens in her hand and circling the acting students, coming within inches of their faces. “You’re aware of it, you turn yourself to it, you perform for it, but you never acknowledge it. This is your audience, this little glass disc is your entire audience. Don’t look. Close your eyes and sense them.”
Becky closed her eyes. She tried to feel the presence of the camera, to know where it was, to turn herself to her tiny audience.
“But I can’t see anything with the blast shield down,” she muttered.
A fter three sessions, Becky gave up on the class and showed up at her mom’s door.
“Would you take on a private drama student?” Becky asked, looking as bedraggled and pathetic as possible.
Alice squealed and pulled Becky into one of her bone-cruncher hugs. “Ooo, I would love, love, love to. You’re naturally brilliant anyway, Becky. Let’s just polish you off . My own girl, Hollywood-bound. I’m so stinkin’ proud!”
Becky met with her mother once a week. They sat in the basement, going over her lines in the script, doing character exercises, and just laughing. Alice glowed, and for the first time, she began to refer to Felix by his first name.
And Felix spoke to Becky daily, talked her through all the movie-making lingo, describing a typical day on set, the functions of all the different crew members, how best to work with Wally Lamotte, the director, and detailing the kinds of treats that would be offered by craft services (that last bit was particularly inspiring). Once she could imagine her life as an actor, she found she could rein in some of the terror.
In all honesty, the best thing she did in preparation was the dental whitening. She began to fl ash her brilliant smile at the least provocation. Sam thought it was hysterical. Mike began to call her Mother Shark.
“Check out these choppers,” she announced to the whole Hyde family one Sunday dinner at her parents’ house. “Come on, feel my biceps,” she invited her brothers one by one. “Huh?” she’d say proudly. “Huh? How about that? Pretty toned, right? And I lost fifteen pounds. Not too shabby.”
“Let me check out those pearly whites,” her mother said, holding Becky’s face still while she examined her like a horse. “Aah, I’m blinded! They’re glorious!” And she began to sing something from Starlight Express while dancing Becky around the kitchen.
Her sister, Diana, was the most encouraging, reaching across the patio table to feel Becky’s bicep and exclaim, “Wow! That’s amazing. And you look great too.”
“Well, hopefully I look ordinary,” Becky said. “But maybe ordinary-great rather than ordinary-frumpy. I had to lose fifteen pounds since the camera adds ten, so I’m left five pounds skinnier.”
“You’re all muscle, sister. You’re going to wow them.”
Dinner was mostly over, the kids already scampering off to attack their grandparents’ playset or sneak into the basement to watch television. Becky’s mother and a few other adults, including Mike, disappeared, most likely to use the bathroom, check on the kids, or eyeball dessert. But Becky and her five siblings remained, along with some of their spouses, creating the ideal environment for the Hyde family’s staple game, Fun for Some. It was a simple concept: pick the victim and roast ’em.
“Maybe they’ll let it slide today,” Laurie whispered to Becky. Laurie was John’s wife, and about as cool a person as Becky had ever known. She’d been thirty-five and a highly regarded speech pathologist when she married a much younger John. Unable to have children, they decided to adopt older children with special needs, and Laurie quit work to take care of their three kids. She had a huge toothy smile, a short sassy hairdo, and a sense of humor that never turned ugly. Fun for Some was so not her cup of tea.
Growing up, Fun for Some had been a brothers’ game. As a girl (and a nice person besides), Diana was immune. But Becky’s gender could not protect her after she began to participate in the attacks. How could she help it when she thought of just the right zingers? And in turn, she paid her dues. As a teenager, her times being “It” left her convinced she was as attractive as a bloated frog. In truth, she was prettier than she thought, but what girl isn’t who has four brothers?
Her brother John leaned across his wife to tell Becky, “Mike sure left in a hurry. Isn’t he up for a little Fun for Some?”
“Johnny, I don’t think any of us are today,” Laurie said, serious despite her huge grin.
“Is someone worried?” John raised his voice so everyone at the table could hear. “Maybe Becky’s worried someone might point out that her newly whitened teeth make her eyes look yellow.”
“Ooh!” Ryan said, offering a high five.
“Fun for Some has begun,” Greg said. “And it looks like Becky’s It.”
Laurie sighed and left the table, patting her husband’s shoulder in passing. Becky wrinkled her nose. She’d pinned her hopes on Greg being It. He was wearing a purple shirt with a shimmery sheen to it that was just begging for a good trouncing. Now she’d have to save her lines for another day—“What do you call the color of that shirt, Greg? Nightclub grape? Glitter bruise? Please insult my manhood, steal my wallet, and leave me curled up and crying on the pavement?” Hm . . . maybe it was good she’d have time to work on that last one before he wore the shirt again. Regardless, she wouldn’t be gibing him today. She was in the hot seat, and her job was to sit there and take it. That she could do. She’d had over two de cades of practice.
Her youn gest brother, Ryan, started them off . “ ‘I’m so strong, everybody! Let me show you my impressive biceps—just look through t
his magnifying glass . . .’ ”
Laughter. Becky nodded. It was a fair hit.
Jerry, the eldest brother, piped up. “ ‘I’m Becky, and I smell as sweet as rose—as long as I stay downwind.’ ”
Laughter. Becky shrugged. Accusing a sibling of smelling wasn’t terribly original, but it was a classic.
Next was Greg. “ ‘Be nice, guys, your insults are suffercating me! I’m suffercating to death!’ ”
Laughter. Becky pointed at Greg and winked. She’d mispronounced “suffocate” into her early teens and wouldn’t be surprised if on her hundredth birthday at least one of her brothers would be there to remind her of it.
Then Carolyn piped up.
Before we hear what she said, some background: Becky and Greg were the nearest in age and had been close growing up. Then he’d married One-Eyed Carolyn. That’s how Becky thought of her, because Carolyn had this habit of shutting one eye and squinting at you when she thought you were being stupid. Which was often. One-Eyed Carolyn, terror of the seven seas. Arrr!
But it wasn’t the one-eye thing that bothered Becky. When Greg first brought Carolyn home to meet the family, Carolyn put her feet up while others set the table. During the washing up and dessert prep, Carolyn sat on the floor doing yoga poses. Fiona, three at the time, brought over some Go Fish cards and plopped down beside her, asking for a game. Carolyn sighed, but she did play, a move that made Becky (who was spying from the kitchen while pretending she was drying dishes) smile with relief and say a silent prayer asking forgiveness for having judged Greg’s pirate-yogi fiancée too harshly. Until . . .
“No, Fiona, you can’t play that card. I asked for this card. This one. Can’t you see the difference?”
“Fiona, I told you to go fish. That means you draw a card, one card, not start sifting through the deck for what you want.”
“Ha-ha! I got the tortoise! That’s what I asked you for and I drew it! Let go of those cards, Fiona. I get another turn.”
“Count up. You got four pairs, and I got eight. That means I win. No, I win. Just because you’re little doesn’t mean you can cheat.”
Recall that Fiona was three.
Becky had expected marriage would smooth Carolyn’s rough edges. Then she had hoped motherhood would do the trick. Three children later, Carolyn was still the terror of the seven seas. Arr.
“My turn, my turn,” Carolyn said, sitting up in her seat. There was a visible cringe from the listeners. She adopted a high, squeaky voice in mockery and said, “ ‘I’m Becky, and I think I’m better than everyone because I have a movie star as a friend who I’m secretly in love with, and everyone in the family knows it except my husband, because he’s clueless.’ ”
Greg winced, Jerry groaned, Johnny stared at his plate. Becky’s father and two other sisters-in-law stood up and began clearing the table. Carolyn grinned, looking around. “Who’s next? Who’s next?”
Greg patted his wife’s shoulder. “I think we’re done with the game.”
Becky grabbed a stack of plates and made sure she walked at a casual pace to the kitchen. She was hand-washing when Diana joined her.
“Hey,” Diana said quietly.
“Hey.”
“You upset?”
Becky shrugged.
“I think Carolyn means well, but she—”
“I don’t care what Carolyn thinks.” Becky faced Diana, letting slug-sized bubbles slide off her hands and onto the kitchen floor. “I care what you think. Are you worried?”
“Not like she said, but the movie . . . I’ve read the screenplay. I mean, are you going to do it all, even that last scene where Hattie and Lionel kiss?”
“No, no, real actors never do their own kissing. The director hired Uma Thurman as my stunt kisser.”
“Becky . . .”
“It’s just acting. It’s harmless.”
It was true, they would have to kiss, but Becky hadn’t thought much about it. Her first screenplay, Arm Candy, had been more romance than comedy. But Blind Love was more comedy, the romance a device to bring out the laughs, so the prospect of being Felix’s love interest hadn’t troubled her. Truthfully, she’d barely considered that final scene. The screenplay simply said, “They kiss for the first time.”
“Don’t you think this could be dangerous? I know you’re not in love with him now, but don’t you think that pretending to be in love could needle those feelings inside you?”
“I would never risk my marriage and my family if that was the remotest possibility.”
“But how do you know?” Diana asked. “What if you don’t know until that moment? And even if it’s totally innocent, how will it look to your kids to see you in a movie kissing someone other than their father?”
“We’ve seen Mom and Dad kiss other people onstage.”
“Yeah, and it always bothered me. But even so, they were stage kisses, you know? They look more innocent than those love scenes in movies. It seems risky, to pretend you’re in love with Felix, to kiss him like that.”
“Professional actors do that all the time.”
“And look at their divorce rate.”
Becky set her jaw. Hot words waited on her tongue, but she couldn’t speak them to Diana—the only girl in the world who at age thirteen would turn down an offer for her own room so she could keep sharing with her little sister, who would claim fault for any calamity to keep her siblings out of trouble, who still remembered everyone’s birthday and sent homemade fudge. Curse her, but Becky adored fudge.
But she did say, “Mike and I will never get divorced. Never. There’s no possibility. Come on, Diana, you know me.”
“Yeah, I do. Which is why I’m so surprised by all this. You’re not the kind to get bedazzled by a movie star.”
“Ha! I’m not bedazzled by Felix, I promise.”
“I’m sorry.” Diana took a soapy dish from Becky and began to rinse. “I’m just trying to think of a reason you’d act this way. I’ve made myself sick thinking that I should be speaking to you about this instead of worrying behind your back. It’s not just me who’s concerned. Jerry bet that your friendship with Felix Callahan would lead to a broken marriage, and Greg said—”
Becky was storming out of the kitchen before her mind caught up to what her body was doing. Her brother Jerry was sitting on the couch eating gingerbread cake on a plastic plate. She caught him by the collar and yanked him to his feet, walking him out the door while he protested, the cake squashing against his sweater.
“Yo—what—whoa—wait . . . Bec!”
Greg was on the patio retying his shoe. She grabbed him by his belt and pulled him along with her other hand.
She didn’t let go of collar or belt until they’d reached the tire swing in their parents’ yard. Jerry grabbed the tire and held it before him like a lion tamer’s chair. Greg put both hands up as if to ward her off .
Greg was the cute one in the family. He even had dark, wavy hair like his Brady namesake. As a teenager, he’d been intolerable when his friends were around; but alone, Becky couldn’t have asked for a better brother, funny and fun and even kind most of the time. So his betrayal especially felt like a punch to the gut.
“Carolyn didn’t mean—”
“Forget about Carolyn, Greg. Worry about yourself.” Becky glared at Jerry. “You bet everyone that I would be unfaithful to Mike?”
“What? I didn’t bet anyone! I just said . . .” Jerry blinked.
“Said what?”
Jerry sighed. He was six foot four and wiry, but in the past few years he’d grown a round little potbelly. It rose and fell with his sigh. Becky often had to resist the urge to pat it.
“Okay, let me explain.” He glanced at Greg before folding his hands under his belly and taking a deep breath. “When I was bishop, I saw a couple of marriages torn apart because of infidelity, and no one set out intending to commit adultery. It was heartbreaking to watch, Bec. One of those guys—he was the last guy on earth I’d thought would betray his wife. But h
e let his guard down. He traveled for business and he started to be more friendly with a female co-worker, started to con-fi de in her things he didn’t tell his wife, eventually convincing himself that he’d fallen in love. He sobbed in my office, he was in so much pain, realizing what he’d done. Now he lives with the misery every day, trying to earn back his wife’s and kids’ trust. I’ve come to believe there are lines that married people just can’t cross, and one of them is friendship with members of the opposite sex.”
“I can appreciate that, but my friendship with Felix is different.”
“Maybe, but is it worth the risk?” Jerry blinked some more. This wasn’t surprising. His eyes were always either opened wide or blinking. It made him seem confused, or when he smiled, a little dim. The truth was he’d built a transistor radio from scratch at age eleven. He’d earned an engineering degree in three years while working full time at the local Radio Shack. His brain was a buzz saw—but that darn blinking . . .
“I mean, of course I trust you, Bec. I know you wouldn’t do anything. But I don’t trust Felix.”
“You don’t even know him.”
“Well, you said yourself he’s an atheist and—”
Becky made an outraged expression. She was allowed to mock Felix’s heathen ways, but Jerry certainly wasn’t. “So you think people who believe in God have the inside track on morality?”
“Well . . . I just mean . . .” Jerry sighed again, his little potbelly rising and falling. “Who told you what I said? Diana? I bet it was Diana.”
“No more betting.”
“I never bet—argh! I’m sorry. I really am. You have no idea.”