The Actor and the Housewife

  “Wait a minute. What do you mean you bet it was Diana? How many people have you talked to about this?”

  Jerry and Greg exchanged looks again. They were getting really good at it.

  “So, what, the whole family has been talking about this behind my back, taking bets on my infidelity and—”

  “No, we—”

  “—no one had the decency to talk to my face except Diana?”

  Jerry shrugged. “We knew you wouldn’t decapitate Diana.”

  “So . . .” Becky was afraid to ask. “Mom and Dad were part of the discussion too?”

  “No, not Mom and Dad.”

  Becky tried to hide her enormous relief by putting her hands in her pockets. “But you thought I would leave Mike for Felix.”

  “No.” Jerry looked defeated, his head bowed over his chest as he glumly picked cake crumbs off his sweater. “I just thought you might be caught up in the . . . I don’t know, the glamour of it, and were being careless in a way that could lead to trouble. Growing up, my friends’ sisters were always gooey about the popular guys and cute guys, but you and Diana were never that way. So with this movie-star business, I haven’t known what to think.”

  “And like he was saying,” Greg said, nudging Jerry and nodding with an I’m-on-your-team expression. “It’s not you we’re worried about. It’s Felix, because he’s a guy, and we know how guys can get. He may say he’s just a friend, but there’s no way he’d even be your friend if he wasn’t a little attracted to you.”

  Becky put her hands on her hips. “You think a man has to be physically attracted to a woman in order to be friends with her?”

  “No, no . . .” Greg said.

  Becky reflected on Greg’s former “just friends” girl friends—pretty, pretty, gorgeous, not bad, pretty . . . “What about Diana’s friend Hannah?”

  “What?” His look got cagey.

  “You know, Hairy Hannah. She’s a nice lady, smart, not terribly self-aware, but nice. Could you be friends with someone who looked like her, mustache and all?”

  “Uh . . .” Greg glanced over his shoulder in the general direction of his wife, who was too far away to hear, head-down doing yoga poses on the lawn. “Uh . . . I don’t know.”

  Becky gasped. “Admit it! You couldn’t be friends with a woman you found unattractive!”

  He leaned over, whispering. “Yes, okay? Yes, fine. That’s true. Which is why Felix makes me suspicious.”

  “Well, not every man is as shallow as you, Gregory Ulrich Hyde. But even if Felix isn’t completely grossed out by my appearance, which would be a nice thing ultimately, that doesn’t mean he’s having impure thoughts about me.”

  Greg shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “I don’t believe that men secretly want to sleep with every woman they meet. It’s a load of hooey, and that kind of thinking practically gives permission to some men to be lewd and morally lazy. Felix has been happily and faithfully married for eight years.”

  Greg shrugged again. “Okay, maybe I’m wrong, but maybe I’m not.”

  Becky shuddered in her bones. She was not having a good time. “What about you, Jerry?”

  Jerry startled, as if hoping she’d forgotten about his presence. “I . . . uh, I’m not attracted to anyone but my wife.”

  “Would you have to be attracted to a woman in order to be friends?”

  “Absolutely not,” he said staunchly.

  That didn’t answer much. Jerry never even approached any non-related human females. Becky had often wondered how his wife had managed to get close enough to score a date, let alone an engagement ring.

  “But regardless,” Jerry said, “you shouldn’t take this all so lightly, not when your marriage is at stake.”

  Becky waited for the rising growl in her throat to calm before responding. “Jerry, know that I haven’t taken my friendship with Felix lightly. I’ve thought about it a lot, Mike and I talk often, we’ve been very cautious, and I really believe that Felix should be a part of our lives.”

  Jerry nodded, and had the grace to look shamed. “You’re right, we should all just trust you. But you be careful too, okay? Mike’s my favorite brother-in-law.”

  “You only have two.”

  “Yeah . . . don’t tell Diana, but Steve’s boring.”

  She laughed a little because it was true—good as gold, that Steve, but as exciting to talk to as a bowl of oatmeal.

  “Are we good then? A little hug?” Jerry held out his long, skinny arms.

  She brushed the gingerbread crumbs off his sweater before submitting to his bony squeeze.

  Greg rubbed the top of her head. He wasn’t a hugger.

  “Come to me next time,” she said against Jerry’s chest. “If you’ve got a worry, tell me, not Diana, okay?”

  “Sure thing, little sister.”

  “You got it, puny arms,” Greg said. “Careful there, Jer, don’t suffercate her.”

  “Hmph.”

  Mike watched her warily on the drive home.

  “You okay? You haven’t fl ashed your choppers for a couple of hours.”

  “Later,” she said, because she could see the glints of Fiona’s all-seeing eyes from the rearview mirror. That girl was way too observant for her own good.

  After the kids were all tucked in, Becky and Mike sat on their bedroom floor with two forks and half a mixed-berry pie.

  “You’re sure it’s okay?”

  “I’m sure Carolyn needs professional help. And I’m sure I’d like to have a talk with Jerry and Greg,” Mike said, taking an extra-large forkful of pie in emphasis. “They both crossed a huge line.”

  Becky took a very tiny, berry-sized bite. Losing the fifteen pounds had been way too hard to gain it back in one sitting. “Yeah, they did. But Greg isn’t so . . .” She tapped her head. “Sweet and fun, but not so . . . And Jerry’s my big brother. He was great at monitoring bullies for us on the playground—a horribly nerdy kid, but tall, and that blinking confused the enemy. I don’t think he grew out of wanting to protect me, in his own bizarre way.”

  “Mumph,” Mike said, his mouth full of pie.

  “Yeah, I agree.” Becky skewered a blueberry with one fork tine. “But you just think for a minute, just close your eyes and explore that aerodynamic brain of yours, and see if there’s any lingering doubt, any concern, any left-out feelings. And if there is, I’ll pull the plug right now and never point a finger of blame.”

  “And you just prod around inside that huge heart of yours and down into your liver—”

  “Cutie,” Becky couldn’t help saying—he usually couldn’t speak that word without wrinkling his nose as if smelling skunk three-days-dead.

  “—and see if you have any complications when it comes to how you feel about Felix.”

  Becky thought. She aimed to take it seriously and use that time to make sure she was being brutally honest with herself, verify that her liver wasn’t taking over her heart. She felt perfectly healthy in all organs. And there was Mike, so darling with berry pie smeared on his chin, making little liver jokes, his not-so-little hand resting on her leg, and . . . okay, she pounced him, right there on the floor of their bedroom. They did move the pie out of the way first. We don’t need to go into details, but the pie filling on Mike’s chin was soon all over Becky’s.

  No further discussion was needed. It was as good an exercise as any to make sure all collective organs were feeling fine.

  The next morning they packed for California.

  In which Becky plays the role of karma

  Eight months and two days after the lunch with Karen, Becky found herself at the cinematographer’s house in Beverly Hills with the cast and crew of Blind Love. Wally, the director, said, “For the next few months, we’re all a family,” and insisted on a family party so everyone could meet their cousins. Becky adored Wally—his huge round midsection, his huge round glasses, the squeak in his voice when he got really excited, which was often. “An ensemble film,” he kept repeating. Ensemble wa
s a lovely idea, though who was anyone kidding? This show was all about Felix.

  Mike decided to stay at the rental house with the kids, some sporting event on television more enticing than finger food and hobnobbing with strangers. Becky and Felix went separately, which she now regretted because he hadn’t arrived yet, and here she was alone, shuffling around the edges of the mostly glass room in a khaki skirt and teal blouse, while most everyone else was wearing highly fashionable jeans. Who knew jeans could look so fl ashy, so expensive, so skinny? She was feeling backwoods and bogus and tempted to hide behind a planter, so she scolded herself and got to work learning names and faces. Nine times out of ten, she was able to guess cast from crew purely by the whiteness of their teeth.

  She felt a lot more cozy around the crew members, who dressed down and leaned back. She tried to make friendly with the cast too, but . . . well, here was one conversation:

  Becky: “Have you worked with Wally before?”

  Supporting Actor 1: “Wally? No, no, no . . . he’s a little too gamey.”

  Becky: “Gamey? Uh . . .”

  Supporting Actor 1: “I took the role as a favor for a friend of mine, Matthias, one of the producers. You know Matthias of course?”

  Becky: “I—”

  Supporting Actor 2: “Bonnie’s partner, right? What was all the fuss about last—”

  Supporting Actor 1: “In Variety? Oh that, you didn’t know?”

  Supporting Actor 2: “I heard about Bonnie and the other one . . .”

  Supporting Actor 1: “Well, if you know a doctor who can treat schadenfreude, I could refer at least one potential patient . . .”

  Supporting Actor 2 (laughing): “That’s barbaric! But sure, that’s how it’ll be.”

  Supporting Actor 1: “Mmhm . . . and then it was all over the boards that she only got eight.”

  Supporting Actor 2: “But it’s likely an affected leak, don’t you think?”

  Supporting Actor 1 (stirring his drink and looking coy): “That’s not what Edith said . . .”

  Supporting Actor 2: “No!”

  Supporting Actor 1: “That’s the word. And I don’t doubt Edith. She was part of it all since—”

  Supporting Actor 2: “Since Chinatown, I know, I know . . . Wow, that is news.”

  Supporting Actor 1: “Not that you heard it from me.”

  Supporting Actor 2: “Mum’s the word.”

  Becky: “Sure. I won’t tell a soul either. About . . . it.”

  And four years after the ward potluck, she felt belated sympathy for Felix.

  After half an hour of exhausting chitchat, she took a break to investigate the food table. As she suspected, not one item in the spread would be approved by her personal trainer. So she loaded up her plate (after all, Justin the Jazzed was hundreds of miles away) and turning around, bumped into a young man with an affected hat-hair-do.

  “Oh, hello! I’m Becky.”

  “Yeah, hi.”

  “What’s your name?”

  No answer.

  “Uh . . . I’m sorry, what was your name?”

  His gaze slowly took her in. “Scott. S-C-O-T-T.”

  “Hi Scott. Are you going to be working on this picture?”

  “Mmhmm.”

  “Great.” She was a little put off by his manner but tried again. “I hope this whole experience can be great for everyone. I’m trying learn names, but you know how that can be! There are so many crew members especially, I don’t know how I’ll—”

  “Look, I’m not really interested in chumming it up with the script girl or what ever, okay?”

  Script girl? Couldn’t he see how white her teeth were? She smiled a little more broadly so he would get the hint. But he wasn’t looking at her anymore. Her smile began to wilt.

  “Okay. Scott.”

  “I’m looking for Felix Callahan, if he bothered to come. So kindly bug off for a minute.”

  She gave him a glare that was turning from aghast to blazing. “I don’t make a habit of bugging off, so I think I’ll decline. I’m starved. I’m going to camp my mother-of-four rear end by the snacks table and plan on staying here most the night. Scott.”

  He gave her a smarmy smile. “I know one of the producers of this flick very well, so—”

  “Who, Matthias? Oh, I know all about that, and Bonnie and Variety and only getting eight. Very hush-hush but fascinating too, huh? Really? Isn’t it?”

  She raised her eyebrows and smiled encouragingly. Scott didn’t laugh. Well, it’d been a long shot.

  “Are you crazy or something?” Scott looked around as if for security, his eyes lighting up at the sight of Felix.

  “There you are!” Felix bounded into the glass-walled room, owning the space at once. He was wearing a white button-down shirt with jeans—casual, simple, and yet he seemed to bury everyone around him in the shadow of his brilliance.

  Scott straightened up. “Mr. Callahan! It’s such an honor to meet you. Do you have a free moment? I have a thought I’d like to—”

  Felix waved politely at the young man, but his eyes stayed on Becky. “Look at you! I don’t care if you’re wearing the most absurd costume I’ve ever seen—you’re still gorgeous to behold. Good enough to eat. You belong on a platter.”

  She made noises of protest as he picked her up and set her on an empty platter. He leaned against the table beside her.

  “Do you have any idea how tedious these things can be? Celeste stopped coming to any parties that didn’t include media, and I can’t blame her. But you are the sun in this gloom.”

  “The sun?”

  “Well, at least a planet.”

  “Hey, I lost fifteen pounds!”

  “And you look smashing.” He turned to Scott. “Doesn’t she look smashing? Let me warn you away from her or you’re likely to fall in love. And it’s a most inconvenient thing to be in love with this woman. She winters and summers in Utah.”

  “I’ll, uh, I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “You better.”

  “When can I get off the table?” Becky asked.

  “Becky,” Felix said with lips nearly closed, as if what he was telling her was too embarrassing for others to hear. “It’s a common custom at Hollywood parties to sit on platters. Don’t protest or you’ll look the novice.”

  Scott was now standing even closer with a hopeful grin plastered to his face.

  “And you’re still here,” Felix said. “Was there something you wanted?”

  Scott straightened his tie. “I just . . . I had an idea for another scene between our two characters. I play Buddy? The busboy? You know? Anyway, I think it could be showstopper funny and I wanted to pitch the idea to you, maybe over lunch this week?”

  Felix stared at him in silence for so long that Scott took a step back. Felix leaned toward Becky and whispered in her ear, “What do you think?”

  “Do I get to be karma today?” she whispered back.

  “Of course.”

  “Then, no.”

  “Was he rude to you?”

  “Don’t blame him. He probably had a miserable childhood.”

  Felix’s eyes narrowed but he still spoke under his breath. “No one belittles you, not in my town. Except me. Those are the rules. Shall I ask him to audition for a stunt role and you can display your right hook?”

  Becky looked over Felix’s shoulder to see the young man glance around as though unsure whether he should leave.

  “Poor kid,” she said quietly. “Maybe you should at least hear his pitch.”

  Felix leaned in closer as if they plotted something illegal. “Not a chance. Maybe he should have treated my best mate better. Karma’s a bitch.”

  “Hey, I thought I was karma.”

  “Bitch in the very best sense of the term.”

  “Like a dog, you mean. A female dog of good breeding and a lovely, glossy coat.”

  “Exactly, a best-in-breed bitch, a real show bitch.”

  “Let him down easy,” Becky begged as Felix be
gan to turn.

  “What was your name? Buddy the busboy? A quick tip. You never know who in this town is important, so it’s best to assume that everyone is important. Do you understand me?”

  Buddy the busboy nodded, looking a little afraid.

  “I want you to repeat it back to me,” Felix said.

  “I want you to repeat it back to “Uh, everyone is important.”

  “Without the ‘uh,’ Buddy the busboy.”

  Scott’s eyes widened in genuine fear. “Everyone Is Important . . . sir,” he said, his voice cracking over the last word as if he just hit puberty.“

  Very good. And since Becky forgives you, I will too, and you may keep your current role. Now do us a favor—run to the kitchen and see if they can’t drum up a hot chocolate for this movie’s star.”

  Buddy skedaddled. Felix turned back to Becky, smiling proudly.

  “See how easy I was on him?”

  She patted his head. “I am so proud. But it’s going a bit far to say I’m the star.”

  Felix blinked innocently. “Oh . . . did you think the hot chocolate was for you?”

  She slugged his shoulder. “Stop that.”

  “At any rate, don’t think you can hide in this movie. Anthony Hopkins was only in Silence of the Lambs for seventeen minutes. You still have enough screen time to steal the show.”

  “Ack! No, I don’t want to steal it, stealing is bad, thou shalt not steal a show and take any focus away from Felix Callahan and promise me you’ll steal it instead so no one will even be watching me when I’m on-screen—promise!”

  Her hands were gripping the front of his shirt in panic, and she realized it wasn’t cotton like she’d thought. She fingered the cloth.

  “Ooh, silky.”

  He removed her fingers from his shirt, smoothing it fl at. “Are you calmed?”

  “Did you promise?”

  He sighed heavily. “Not that I have any choice in the matter. Everywhere I go, I simply dazzle.”

  “You simply dazzle . . . Yeah . . . okay, that did the trick. I’m calmed.”

  “It really is wonderful to see you . . . even though I have no idea what you’re wearing. Is that a . . . skirt? Never mind. Mostly I’m happy because the fact that you’re here means you’re not going to back out.”