Alexandra Waring (37 page)

In a minute she was back, looking at herself in the full-length mirror (wearing a new blue-green dress and brand-new cowgirl boots, dyed to match) and then ran over to the dressing table to pick out pieces from the box of costume jewelry. Her hands were shaking so badly she finally just opened her bag, dumped everything in and took off.

“You’re to go straight into makeup,” Alicia said, waiting for her in the West End carport, evidently alerted to her arrival by the guard at the gate. “Langley’s wife, Belinda Darenbrook Peterson, wants to meet you and Cassy says she’s a very important board member—but Denny’s got to see you first. He’s in makeup with the guests and has your notes.”

“And hello to you too,” Jessica said, walking quickly toward the cement staircase that led to the level above. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Where are you going?” Alicia wailed.

“I’ll be right down,” Jessica said, going up the stairs.

“Jessica,” Alicia pleaded, following her, “please. Denny and Cassy said you have to—”

“Hey!” Jessica yelled, whirling around to point a finger at her. “I’ve been doing this show for seven years and I know exactly what I have to do and what I don’t have to do and I’m telling you right now, I sure as hell don’t have to take any shit from you. Got it?” She wheeled back around, dress and hair whirling after her, and marched up the stairs. And then, a moment later, she called, “Where the hell are you, Alicia? Come on!”

Alicia followed her up the stairs.

“Okay, okay,” Jessica said, seeing her expression, “I’m sorry.”

“You’re not the least bit sorry,” Alicia told her, “so don’t even bother.”

“Alicia,” Jessica groaned, going down a stair, grabbing her hand and pulling Alicia up the stairs with her, “I
am
sorry. I’m sorry I was ever born, I’m sorry I ever got married, I’m sorry you can’t understand that my only problem in life is that I can’t deal with the human race and that that has nothing to do with you because I think you’re an angel.” She glanced back at her, still pulling her up the stairs. “I’d die without you—how’s that?”

“Better,” Alicia told her.

When they reached the top of the stairs Jessica led Alicia outside and then through the little gate between Darenbrook I and III into the square. “See, this is all I wanted to do,” Jessica said, looking up at the cafeteria window and waving. Someone waved back and within seconds, it seemed, there was a crowd of people pressing against the glass, waving down at her. “Hi!” Jessica called, laughing in delight, waving. “Hi!” And then she said, “Okay, let’s beat it before anyone gets down here,” and they made for the door into Darenbrook III.

“There you are!” a production assistant cried as they got off the elevator on Sub Level 2. “Hey—hey, everybody,” he yelled, running ahead, “she’s here. Jessica’s here!”

“If everyone was so worried I wouldn’t show,” Jessica said, breezing down the hall past several people, “why the hell didn’t anyone call me.)”

“Because Denny said you would be here,” Alicia said from behind her.

She went into makeup, got her notes from Denny, went with him down to the greenroom to say hello to the guests, and then came back to her dressing room to throw her bag down. There were several beautiful bouquets of flowers around the room and on her dressing table (just left by Alicia no doubt) was a tall glass of Coca-Cola over ice and several kinds of granola bars. Jessica ripped a bar open and ate it while reading the cards on the flowers, wondering why she never had a secret admirer, but only ones she knew and wished would go away.

Then she took the Coke and her bag into the bathroom, closed the door and locked it, sat the Coke on the sink and dug into her bag to come up with the little vodka bottle. She drank some of the Coke, set it back down and then opened the vodka. She brought it over the Coke to pour in, but caught sight of herself in the mirror and froze, staring at herself. Her expression was of someone who had been caught in the act. Caught by herself?

She sighed, closing her eyes. Then she opened them, quickly screwed the cap back on the vodka bottle, looked around, opened the linen closet, hesitated, and then stuck it inside a roll of toilet paper. Then she walked out, sipping her Coke, opening her dressing-room door to go to makeup, and found Cassy there, just about to knock.

“Hi,” Cassy said softly, touching her arm. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a great show,” Jessica said.

“Good, good,” Cassy said, not looking very sure that she believed this. “Listen, Jessica,” she whispered, looking back over her shoulder, “Belinda Darenbrook Peterson, Langley’s wife, appeared out of the blue and she wants to meet you.”

“She’s not packing a gun, is she?” Jessica said, smirking over the rim of her glass. This was rich. After he asked her out for dinner, now Langley expected her to charm his wife?

“She’s on the board, did you know that?” Cassy said. “Which doesn’t mean anything, really, one way or the other—but it could be that she’s here to make some kind of report to the rest of the board. And so
…
”

“Langley doesn’t know why his wife’s here?” Jessica asked her.

“I think he thinks she really is a fan of yours—she says she watches you in Aspen every year.”

Jessica shrugged, signaling that this sounded plausible to her.

“You don’t have to do it, Jessica,” Cassy said, “not if you don’t want to. It’s just that it might be a good thing for all of us if
…
”

Jessica smiled, moving across the hall toward makeup. “Just tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.”

“Could you make her feel like DBS is the most wonderful investment in all the world?” Cassy asked her.

“Sure,” Jessica said, hand on the door to makeup. “Bring her in.”

“Oh, no,” Cassy said, “not now. After the show.”

“No, bring her in now,” Jessica insisted, pulling the door open. “I don’t want to think about the show until the warm-up, else I’ll be bored with it. Besides, it’ll make the show a lot more exciting for her if she talks to me first.”

“Are you sure?” Cassy asked.

“Sure.”

“Okay,” Cassy said.

“Hi, Cleo,” Jessica said, putting her Coke down on the counter and climbing into one of the chairs.

“Hi, sugar,” Cleo said, turning around. Her mouth pressed into a line as she looked Jessica’s face over.

“No editorials today, please,” Jessica said.

“I won’t say a word,” Cleo promised, plugging the hot rollers in and then putting a bib on Jessica. “But other people might say they should be paid time and a half for working on circles like these.”

“We’re having company in here in a minute,” Jessica said.

“I told you, I won’t say a word.” Then Cleo clucked her tongue, eyes on Jessica’s neck. “People in television should know better,” she sighed then, reaching for the jar of cosmetic she used to neutralize a number of sins before applying foundation.

Jessica quickly turned her head to the side, craning her neck to see in the mirror …
But where…? Oh, God
—
not Curt the Vampire. I couldn’t have.

Denny came in twice to tell her something, and Alicia and Bozzy Gould both came in once before Cassy brought Belinda Darenbrook Peterson in. Jessica saw the resemblance to Jackson immediately, particularly in the eyes, though her eyes didn’t twinkle like his did, nor did she appear to have his energy, his sense of humor. On the other hand, she was much younger than Jackson. And she was pretty, but there was something holding her looks back that Jessica couldn’t put her finger on, and then she realized that what was holding back her looks was the fact that she
looked
as though she was being held back. “Batten down the hatches,” was the expression that came to mind, because there was definitely a strapped-down feeling about her, of something tight, not clenched, just tight, holding things together.

Jessica smiled at her in the mirror. “Hello, Mrs. Peterson. I’m deeply flattered that you’ve come to see my show.”
Watch out, gang, here comes the snowball express.

“Oh, please—call me Belinda,” she said, looking a little shy.

After Cassy finished the introductions, Jessica asked Belinda some questions to get her talking and found that Belinda got better-looking and more likable as she did. (Animation,
that’s
what had been missing in her face.) And even if her husband was a jerk for putting her in this position, Jessica actually found Belinda rather sweet, charming even particularly when she told Jessica how much she loved watching her show every winter in Aspen, and how thrilled she was that she could watch her all the time now.

At this point Cassy left them and Jessica had Belinda draw up a chair. So while Cleo worked away on transforming her, Jessica and Belinda—in between Denny’s various updates (how much time Jessica had, how long the warm-up would be, the state of the guests, what the audience was like)—chatted about Jessica’s show, about clothes, cowgirl boots, riding, skiing, Colorado, DBS and how wonderful her brother, Jackie, was.

When Cleo was finished Jessica took Belinda with her across the hall to her dressing room, where she heaped all of the jewelry from her bag on the dressing table, handful after handful, telling Belinda how it had taken her three years to find out that junk jewelry looked fifty times better on TV than real jewelry did. Then she sat down at the dresser, opened a drawer of earrings and asked Belinda to pick what she liked best with this dress. Belinda made her selections, opting for silver.

“I like this one too,” Jessica said, reaching for the necklace Belinda had chosen. She tried to put it on, but the clasp on it was delicate and her hands were shaking so badly she could barely hold the damn thing, much less get it open.

“Aren’t these just the worst?” Belinda said, taking the necklace from Jessica and moving behind her. She undid the clasp, parted the necklace and then draped it around Jessica’s neck. “You get nervous,” she said, not unkindly.

“Sure,” Jessica said, wishing it were true. (“No, Belinda,” she imagined herself saying, “it’s more like being shell-shocked.”) She held her hair up as Belinda attached the necklace in the back.

“There now,” Belinda said, stepping to the side.

Jessica dropped her hair and nodded, looking in the mirror. “Very good,” she said. Then she reached for the earrings Belinda had chosen, put one in, and then, while she was putting in the other, heard a clicking noise and turned to see what it was.

Belinda was looking inside something that resembled a gold cigarette case. Only there weren’t any cigarettes in it; there were pills in it. “I have something that will help you,” Belinda said.

“Oh,” Jessica said, not doubting it in the least, since she recognized some of the pills in the case—the triangular yellow one—as Valium, which not only did wonders for hangovers but which Jessica had always found heaven in general. No smell, no mess, no telltale anything—only that blissful sensation in the head, back of the neck, shoulders
…
a kind of extra-dry martini with a twist in space travel form. The only problem was, ever since her cocaine days, something told Jessica to be scared of it. It was too easy, too good to be true. And there was no sociability attached to Valium either, and no rules like “Not until five.”

“This is a very mild tranquilizer,” Belinda said, picking out another kind of pill.

“What is it?” Jessica said, putting on a ring because she didn’t want to take the pill from her, but knowing she wouldn’t say no to it either.

“Librium,” Belinda said. “I’ll put it here.” She placed it on the dresser, closed the pill case and returned it to her purse.

“Thank you,” Jessica said, wondering what those other pills had been and if it was too late to get some of those, even though she didn’t want any of them. “I appreciate it.”

“You’re very welcome,” Belinda said. “I’m just glad a silly housewife like me can be of some use.”

Jessica looked at her, surprised by the statement, but before she could think of what to say there was a soft knock on the door and Denny poked his head in to tell Jessica that the warm-up would start in ten minutes, and to tell Belinda that Langley was waiting for her. So Belinda went on to the studio with Denny, and Jessica quietly sang some scales while putting on her jewelry—eyeing the Librium all the while.

There was another knock on the door and Jessica sang, “Come i-ennn.”

“Hi,” Alexandra said, coming in, “I came to walk you to work. Wow, Jessica—” she said, stopping next to the dresser, “do you ever look wonderful. That dress is fabulous.”

“Thank you,” Jessica said, standing up so she could see it. “I call this my Mrs.-Zorro-at-Home dress. Suitable for a discussion about great moments in sexual intimacy, don’t you think?”

Alexandra laughed. “But wait,” she said, reaching for something on the dresser, “I think you should wear—”

“I’ve got to wear exactly what I’ve got on, because Langley’s wife
…
“ Jessica let her voice trail off, aware that Alexandra was staring at the Librium. Jessica picked it up. “Throw it out, will you?” she said, handing it to her.

Alexandra looked down at it in her hand and then back up at Jessica.

“Oh, come on, Alexandra Eyes,” Jessica said, stamping her foot, “it’s not even mine. Langley’s wife gave it to me because she thought I needed to calm down.”

Alexandra was still looking at her.

“I asked you to throw it out, didn’t I?” Jessica said.

Alexandra walked to the bathroom.

“Great, just great,” Jessica muttered, throwing her hands up. She looked up at the ceiling. “Now she thinks I’m a drug addict. This is all I need.”

The john flushed in the bathroom and Alexandra came back out. She was smiling. “I do not,” she said.

“Then why didn’t you just throw it in the trash?” Jessica asked her.

“Because you’re not the only one who gets tempted,” Alexandra said.

Jessica’s mouth fell open. “You?” she finally said.

“Sure. When you’re in a line of work that demands all-nighters, pills can’t help but cross your mind,” Alexandra said. “And lately, with the problems I’ve had sleeping, anything starts looking pretty good to me around dawn.” She shrugged. “So I don’t keep anything around.”