Breach of Promise (15 page)

The next day I was in a daze so thick it was like I had a brain disease. This did not help my tips at Josephina’s. I worked lunch and messed up just about every order. I dropped a tray of linguine on the floor; I knocked a lemonade onto the dress of a businesswoman who had the sense of humor of Dr. Kevorkian.

All the while I kept thinking about the time Maddie took care of me.
It was a day I was fighting a horrific cold. I’d been out on an audition, for Pepsi, and just couldn’t give it anything. When I rounded up Maddie from Mrs. Wilson’s, I was pretty much thrashed.
I’d promised Maddie we’d have hamburgers, the way I make them. I put little bits of onion in the meat, and Maddie likes that. But all I could do was plop down on the sofa.
Instead of talking to me, Maddie went into the bathroom and wet a washcloth, came out, and put it on my forehead. Even though I didn’t have a fever, it felt right. And Maddie sat by me and stroked my hair.
She wanted to make me feel better, she said.
If only she could have made me feel better about working the lunch crowd. But my shift was ruined. Afterward I called Alex. We were due back in court tomorrow, and she said there was nothing else I needed to do—except not get arrested.
Funny.
I called Nancy, partly out of a wish to see if this was all just a bad dream. Maybe yesterday never happened. Maybe I was going to wake up like Dorothy, back in Kansas, looking at Barbara DiBova standing there with my contract.
I had this terrible dream, and you were there ...
But I didn’t wake up in Kansas. Nancy was sympathetic, but something cool had drifted into her voice. You learn to pick that up with agents. It was the sort of chill that announces a client is about to become too much trouble.
With nothing to lose, I plowed right through it. “Did you ask DiBova why they dropped me?”
“Best to leave it alone, Mark.”
“Don’t we deserve some sort of answer?”
“It’s their show.”
“I want to know.”
“Leave it alone.”
“I’ll call her myself.”
“Mark,” Nancy warned, “don’t do that. You had a setback, but you don’t need to stir up more trouble.”
“Why not? Maybe that’s just what I need to do.”
“I’m telling you. Don’t.”
“Whose side are you on?”
“Cool off, Mark.”

And suddenly, here I was again. About to blow up. Not what I needed to do with Maddie’s future on the line.
I remembered it was Wednesday.
Nikki McNamara.
Bible group.
But mostly, Nikki McNamara.
When I got there, she was the first one I saw. She rushed over, welcoming me with a big smile. “You made it!”
“I’m here.” I felt like the new kid in school.
“I’ll introduce you around.”
There were about forty people there, mostly actors. I didn’t know there were that many Christian actors in LA. A couple of them I recognized from auditions. One of them, Tom Starkey, was pretty big now. He had a great ongoing role in an ABC drama. He also led the Bible study.
Which was out of Romans. We sat in a big circle on folding chairs. The room was large but warm. A big portrait of an older woman—looking like anyone’s favorite grandmother—beamed down at us. I found out later it was a woman named Henrietta Mears, a famous Bible teacher from some time back.
Starkey had people open their Bibles (I shared with Nikki). And we read from
chapter 8
.
“Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, because through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit of life set me free from the law of sin and death. For what the law was powerless to do in that it was weakened by the sinful nature, God did by sending his own Son in the likeness of sinful man to be a sin offering. And so he condemned sin in sinful man, in order that the righteous requirements of the law might be fully met in us, who do not live according to the sinful nature but according to the Spirit.”
Whoosh.
That just blew right by me. I had no idea what this all meant. Sin offering? Condemning sin in sinful man? It sounded weird.
Starkey, though, was good at explaining things. His voice was easy and his enthusiasm obvious. He wasn’t acting. He really was into this stuff.
Bottom line, he said, Jesus was indeed a sacrifice in the Old Testament sense, when they used to sacrifice animals all the time. Jesus was different. His sacrifice was for everyone. Once and for all.
I still didn’t get it all, but it sounded better by the time Starkey was finished. It made me want to come back for more.
Afterward, several in the study went for coffee at a little café on Franklin. Nikki asked me if I wanted to tag along.
It was fun. For the first time in a long time, it was actually fun to hang out with some people. They were into movies and theater and music. Topics flew around like birds. I laughed and let the troubles drift to the back of my mind for a while.
When I talked to Nikki, they went away almost completely.
She was from San Diego, had been a theater major at the University of California down there. “Got to LA about three years ago,” she told me. “Been knocking on doors ever since.”
“How’s it going?”
“I’ve been up for a few things, nothing big yet. Doing theater with the co-op has been a godsend.”
“Too bad it doesn’t pay.”
“It does in other ways.” She took a sip of coffee. “Acting for the soul can save your life.”
“How so?”
She smiled. “I’m a preacher’s kid. You know what happens to them?”
I shook my head.
“We usually start rebelling around fourteen, fifteen. Smoking after school. Hanging out with the wrong boys. I put my dad through what must have been a meat grinder for him. One reason I went to UCSD was to party. Actually didn’t talk to Dad for three years.”
She said all this with a certain sadness and took a breath. “Came up here more or less lost. Knew I was running away from God. Also knew I wanted to be an actor. Didn’t care how or what. It was rough for the first six months. I didn’t get a single thing. And then I was looking through
Back Stage West
and saw Actors Cooperative was having auditions for
The Hasty Heart.
“Great play.”
“You know it?”
“Sure. Great movie, too. With Ronald Reagan and Richard Todd.”
“Yes!” Nikki smiled. “I got the Patricia Neal role. And that’s what did it for me.”
“Did what?” I was intensely interested.
“My friend, Cheline, you met her at Jerry’s? She has this saying about great art. It doesn’t preach at you, but it makes you homesick for heaven. There’s that part in all of us that seeks God, even if we choose to ignore it. The play opened up that part of me again. It brought me back to God. And that’s how acting saved me.”
We sat in silence for a moment. Nikki looked momentarily embarrassed that she had opened up so much. Without thinking about it, I put my hand on her arm.
“Thanks,” I said.
She looked at me and I melted into her eyes.
“I needed to hear something like that,” I said. “I got dropped from a new TV show that I was supposed to get.”
“Oh no.”
“Old story, different tune. I just need to regroup, figure out why I’m an actor.” I took a sip of coffee. “I wonder if I could join,” I said. “The theater group and the church.”
“Really?”
“Think I can?”
“Church, of course. There’s a new member class. And we have auditions every quarter for the company. If you want, I can set one up.” “You would do that?”
Nikki smiled again. “All you have to do is prepare a scene.”
My mind clicked like a well-oiled machine. “Would you do one with me?”
“Me?”
“Only if you have time.”
She looked at my left hand. “What would your wife think?”
It was like an ocean wave hitting me square in the face.
“That’s kind of a difficult question right now,” I said.
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re right to ask. She’s living with another man. She wants a divorce.”
Nikki’s face reflected sympathy. She didn’t have to say anything.
“I’m just trying to lead a normal life,” I said, “in the midst of all this. Which means trying to be an actor.”
There was a long silence. “Okay,” Nikki said.
“Okay?”
“I’ll do a scene with you. As a favor to a fellow actor.”
I could not have begun to tell her how good that made me feel. We spent another hour or so chatting it up, laughing with the others, talking movies and theater and the bottomless pit of TV.
I left feeling good. It was a feeling that would last exactly nine hours.

“The court has taken into consideration the report of the evaluator,” Judge Winger said the next morning, an unseasonably cold Thursday. “I have also considered the testimony offered in this matter, and the court rules that the respondent, Ms. Montgomery, shall retain physical custody of the child, pending final resolution.
The court will allow two supervised visits by the father, Mr. Gillen, on the following two Tuesdays, for two hours each, with a third party present . . .”

His words faded in and out of my brain. Paula had custody? But I was going to see Maddie?
“ . . . as appointed by the court. Costs for the monitor to be paid by Mr. Gillen. We’ll set this matter for hearing September 25 if that is acceptable to both parties.”
And just like that it was over. Head swirling, I followed Alex out of the courtroom. (Paula didn’t appear at the session. At least I was spared that.)
“So I get to see Maddie?” I felt like a kid asking about going to Disneyland.
“Yes, supervised,” Alex said.
“Why? The judge thinks I might do something?”
“He went along with the evaluator.”
“That thirteen-year-old? Bonner?”
“This is just temporary. Now we go to work on the formal custody hearing.”
“When do I get to see my daughter?”
“I’ll call you.”
“Alex, please.”
She grabbed my shoulders, looking at me as much like a parent as a lawyer. “Mark, this is the first round. I told you to be prepared for a tough fight. Here is the good news. You will get to see Maddie again. And soon. It’s a matter of setting things up—”
“Supervised visit. He said supervised.”
“That’s not unusual. Focus on this. You will be holding your daughter in your arms soon. Think about that, will you?”
I was more than happy to.

There are, they say, five stages in an actor’s life. In stage one, the casting director says, “Who is Mark Gillen?” Stage two: “Get me Mark Gillen.”
Stage three: “Get me a young Mark Gillen.”
Stage four: “Get me a Mark Gillen type.”
Stage five: “Who is Mark Gillen?”
The great fear of actors is that they’ll go from stage one to stage

five without those other steps in between. What’s that line from the Dionne Warwick song about San Jose? Years pass so quickly, and the actors who thought they’d be stars are parking cars or pumping gas.

That fear is a little ferret in the belly of actors, and the only way to keep it quiet is to do something.
Well, I did something, all in the grip of this elation over Maddie. That emotion does funny things to your mind, especially after you’ve been hammered. You start to feel that the momentum is changing, like in a basketball game. Not something you can measure, but you have the feeling you’re about to go on a roll, can’t be stopped.
Sure it was only a small victory, getting supervised visits, but it was huge to me. I wanted to see Maddie again, hold her, laugh with her, more than anything in my life. And soon I would get to.
But this sort of mind-set can create a false sense of confidence, too. So I took my giddiness, mixed it with the fear of failing as an actor, and went out and did something really stupid.
I drove from the courthouse over to the Burbank Studios. I told the guard it was Mark Gillen to see Lisa Hobbes. He made a call, then gave me a temporary parking pass.
I was in.
Lisa met me outside the office of DiBova Productions. She did not look happy. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see Barbara.”
Lisa’s nostrils flared in what was her characteristic gesture of disbelief. “Without an appointment?”
“I need an appointment?” I said with mock surprise. “Idiot,” Lisa said. “What do you want?”
“Really. I just want to ask her a question.”
“But you can’t.”
“Why not?”
“She’s in a meeting.”
I folded my arms. “That’s the oldest one in the book.” “She really is in a meeting, Mark.”
“I can wait.”
“I shouldn’t have let you on the lot,” Lisa said. “This is about
Number Seven,
isn’t it?”
“Ding ding ding ”
“You can’t change that, Mark.”
“I just want to know
why.
Is that so unfair? I had the thing and then it’s pulled out from under me. Maybe you can you tell me.”
Lisa shrugged. “Things happen. Decisions get made. You know the drill.”
“But I
killed
the reading.” I tried not to let desperation make my voice all squeaky. “Barbara was hot to get me, my agent says. I want to know what changed.”
“You know how this business is. Sometimes it just doesn’t make sense. I’m really sorry—”
“What happened, Lisa? You know, don’t you?”
She did not answer.
“You do know why.” I almost jumped down her throat.
“Mark, don’t.” She put up her hands and took a step back.
“Why, Lisa?”
“Just let it go, Mark. You’ll have other chances.”
“I want to know about this one.”
“I need to get back—”
She started to turn but I grabbed her arm. She jerked it away. “Don’t.”
“Please,” I said.
“I can’t tell you anything.” But from her look I knew she could. There was more here and she wasn’t letting me in on it. Which only made me crazy.
“You can’t do this!” I shouted.
“I’m not doing anything.”
“I thought you were a friend.”
“Mark, don’t put that on me.”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
Before Lisa could say another word a security guard with a shaved head seemed to appear out of thin air. He looked like he chewed bones.
“Problem?” he said, glaring at me.
“No,” Lisa said. “He was just leaving.”
I told myself it had to be the publicity angle. Barbara DiBova and the powers that be decided my profile in the papers made me too, what, unstable to work with?
But part of me argued that in a world full of Sean Penns and Russell Crowes, having negative publicity didn’t really matter. In fact, it might even raise ratings.
At the same time, I knew that wasn’t really it. There was something else going on, beneath the surface.
Or maybe I was just losing it, becoming another paranoid actor who ends up old and unemployed, muttering lines to himself on the corner of Hollywood and Vine.
The bone-chewing security guard made sure I found my way to my car, and watched me drive off the lot. I sort of lost track of time after that.