Postcards From the Edge (26 page)

“Do i look nervous?” Lucy said. “I shouldn’t be doing this.” “Here’s a Katie scene,” Suzanne said, flipping through the script. “She’s sitting on a big floral sofa, and she’s yelling at somebody … She’s yelling at her father. ‘I’m afraid to tell you how I feel! Feelings are weak, and weakness isn’t allowed, is it?’ I’ve seen this! This was in that antidrug training film they kept showing us, Hooked on a Line. ‘You patronize me for having feelings. You’re so superior to your own feelings.’ He must have taken a tape recorder in with him. Is this legal?”

“Let’s not talk about this yet, okay?” Lucy said. “Let’s talk about Larry Walker and do I look okay? Is this lipstick too dark for television?”

“Let me see,” said Suzanne. “No, it’s not, but blot it down.

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That’s way too much gloss. The light will hit it and no one will be able to see your face.”

“I always see people with lip gloss on television, and I never like how it looks,” Lucy said. “But they’re always wearing it, so I figure maybe I should. Maybe it’s lucky”

“The famous lucky lip gloss,” said Suzanne. “That’s brilliant.”

“I’m really glad you’re coming with me,” Lucy said. “This is real buddy work. Maybe you’ll like Larry Walker.”

“He’s an artist, and artists … This is going to sound like a generalization, but artists suffer for their craft,” said Suzanne. “That makes me very tense.”

“You might think he’s cute,” Lucy said. “Keep your mind open, unless I like him. If I like Larry Walker, then don’t keep your mind open. Close it like a clam. But there are some other people on the show, maybe somebody else’ll be cute.”

“My dream is not to meet someone on a talk show,” Suzanne said.

“What are you, above the talk show?” Lucy said. “I think talk shows are the singles bars for celebrities. Where do you think I met Andrew Keyes? I met him on a talk show in Chicago when I was promoting Hot Countries.”

“Really? I didn’t know that. I thought you met him at a party, and here I’ve been going to all these parties looking for my Andrew Keyes.”

“You’re funny, though,” Lucy said. “You’d be good on talk shows.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. I’m afraid I’d be good, and I’d end up the Joanne Worley of my generation.”

“I think you should forget all these ideas you have that stop you from doing things,” Lucy said. “That’s why you’re in bed all the time, because unfortunately you made that one movie where they paid you a little bit too much, and now you can afford to stay in bed.”

“I don’t see why we’re having an argument.”

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“We’re not. All I’m saying is you should go on a talk show every so often. Because you’re funny.”

“What, everyone has to know I’m funny?” said Suzanne. “Or I’m not funny anymore?”

“No, you should keep it a big bad secret,” Lucy said, “so that only you and your bedclothes know. And your clicker.”

“My clicker,” said Suzanne, “thinks I’m incredibly amusing. It asked me out the other day. I didn’t want to tell you.” “Okay,” said Lucy, lighting yet another cigarette. “So what should I talk about? Help me.”

“Well, don’t get pretentious. You know how when you get nervous you get pretentious to protect yourself?”

“Is that true?” said Lucy. “That’s weird. You’re kidding. You’ve always thought that? I feel bad now.”

“No, I don’t mean it bad,” said Suzanne. “I think it’s good pretentious. Everybody’s got their quirks. You just quote William Somerset Maugham when you’re nervous. Some people sweat.”

“Should I talk about No Survivors? I mean, it’s not coming out until November, but I can say what it was like to work with Rolf Eduard, and that it isn’t a remake of Freedom Train like everyone thinks. What else?”

“Why don’t you say the thing about singles bars for celebrities?” Suzanne suggested. “Say that’s why you’re on.”

“But can I do that without sounding slutty?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Suzanne said. “I mean, don’t flirt with the guy on the air, okay?”

“What do you think I am, a putz or something?” Lucy said. “I’m not going to flirt with him on the air. I don’t even flirt with them, I let them flirt with me.”

“Why do I feel like I’m the practical one of the two of us?” Suzanne said. “I’m like a ditz in my own life, but as soon as I’m in yours, I have something to do. Cleaning up the mess as you go.”

“I don’t know, I think I’m good for you that way,” Lucy said. “I make you feel like you’re stable, when you’re completely not.”

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“This is really revealing about our relationship,” said Suzanne. “Who knew we would find out all this stuff on the way to Burbank to do a talk show? Does this thing have an audience?”

“No,” said Lucy, “which is why I’m doing it. Otherwise I’d really be sick now. But I can always do these. For Hot Countries they had me doing early-morning shows and there was no audience and I was brilliant.”

“I saw you on some of those, remember?” Suzanne said. “You were very good, very relaxed. It was like watching Hal the computer.”

“That’s when I talked about tunneling out of show business.” “That was very funny,” said Suzanne. “Why don’t you say that?”

“I can’t do it again. That was two years ago.”

“Who saw it?” said Suzanne. “It was a morning show.”

“I can’t do it again,” Lucy repeated. “Maybe if I get stressed out I’ll make fun of my weight.”

“I know,” said Suzanne. “Tell them you’re retaining water for Whitney Houston.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Suzanne explained, “Whitney Houston is clearly not retaining water. She’s obviously getting somebody to do it for her, so let’s-“

“God, that’s perfect!” Lucy said. “Can I do that?”

“Yes, do that. Do that,” Suzanne said. “I can help you on something self-deprecatory.”

“Oh, God, oh, God,” Lucy said. “There’s the studio. I wish you could come out with me. You could just walk out with me like I’m your dummy or something, and we’ll never explain it.”

“Could you drop us at dressing room B up there on the left?” Suzaruze said to the driver.

“All right, I’m just going to let you take over now,” Lucy said. “I have a heartbeat as big as the hills.”

Suzanne got a Diet Coke from a vending machine while Lucy

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got her hair and makeup done. It turned out Larry Walker was not going to be on the show-he was the canceled guest that Lucy was subbing for-but by the time she got out of makeup she was so self-absorbed she related this news to Suzanne with no sense of irony. Down the hall, the theme music for The Richard Collins Show began playing.

“I look okay?” Lucy said.

“You look fine,” said Suzanne. “You look great.”

“You won’t lie to me, right?” Lucy said. “You’re going to watch me and tell me how I am, and you’re not going to lie?” “I won’t lie to you,” Suzanne said. “Look, there’s a cute guy over there, the one with the gray shirt. Why don’t you go talk to him?”

“I can’t,” Lucy said. “I’m too nervous about the show, and to add a guy on top of that … I can’t.”

“Oh,” said Suzanne, smiling. “Your priorities are sort of juggled around at this point, aren’t they?”

“Don’t make fun of me,” Lucy said. “You can make fun of me all night long, but don’t make fun of me now. It erodes my real sense of who I am.”

“All right, all right,” Suzanne said. “So, who’s out first?” “I’m out first, and then the author, and then I think Emily Frye, that actress who got the movie neither of us did.”

“Top Priority?” Suzanne said.

“Yes, the girl who got Top Priority.”

“You’re kidding,” said Suzanne. “Well, try to be as great as possible.”

“Oh, good,” Lucy said. “The pressure isn’t on. That’s good. My buddy”

A tall man came up to them and said, “Lucy, you’re on.” “I’ll wait for you in the green room,” Suzanne said. “You better,” Lucy said. “You better wait for me.”

Suzanne walked around the corner and went into the green room. There were several other people in there, among them an

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attractive-looking man who looked like he was from New York. He was wearing a green corduroy jacket with patches on the elbows, a multiplaid shirt and a tie, and jeans and Hush Puppies. He had brown hair and wore glasses. Suzanne thought he had an air of studiousness about him, of not stability but something near stability. Of calm, almost. She nodded at him slightly and walked past him to another tiny couch, where she watched the television monitor in the corner.

It was quite an unattractive room. There was a big lamp in one corner, three couches, and a shag carpet. A woman wearing a dress with pearls on was drinking coffee on the third couch. She was wearing patent leather shoes with peach bows on them. A young girl who must have been her daughter was holding her purse for her. The girl was wearing a pink sweater and had blond hair down her back. Suzanne glanced briefly at the man in green corduroy. He was probably the author, she thought. He looked like he was wearing a writing uniform.

Suzanne looked back at the monitor, where Richard Collins was still doing his opening monologue. The probable author got up to get some coffee, then came over and sat next to her. “Aren’t you the girl who was in Seventh Tea House?” he asked. “Suzanne Vale?”

Suzanne was startled and embarrassed, and said, “Yes,” as if the question had been an accusation.

“That was very good,” he said.

“Really?” she said. “Well, thank you. You liked it? You like that kind of movie?”

“Well, no, I don’t really, but yes, I did,” he said. “I thought it was a well-made film and I certainly appreciated how difficult it must have been for all of you to be in it. Are you on the show tonight?”

“No,” said Suzanne, grateful for his taking control of the conversation. “My friend Lucy is. She’ll be on in a minute.”

“I read an interview with you once and you were very funny,” he said. “I can’t remember what magazine.”

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“Probably in Omni,” Suzanne said. “So, who are you?” “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “Jesse Templeman.”

“The author?”

“Oh,” he said, surprised. “You know my work?”

“No,” said Suzanne. “I knew there was going to be an author on the show. What have you written?”

“Well, actually, I’ve written a novel,” Jesse said. “It’s called The Appetite People.”

“Really?” Suzanne said. “And you’re promoting it, so you must be proud of it.”

“I am proud of it, yeah,” he said. “I worked on it for quite some time. It’s difficult to get a publisher.”

“Do you live in New York?”

“Well, actually I’ve just moved out here,” he said. “I’ve been living in New York, but they bought my book to make a film out of it and I’m writing the screenplay. I didn’t want somebody else to do it. I don’t know that I’ll be staying here after that. Hey,” he said, nodding toward the monitor, “isn’t that your friend?”

“Oh my God,” said Suzanne, realizing Lucy had already been on for a little while. She had promised to watch and tell her how she was. “Can they put the sound on? Can someone put the sound on?”

Jesse leaned forward and turned up the volume. Richard Collins was laughing very hard. Lucy said, “I mean, I’m too old to be in the Brat Pack and too young for my own exercise tape. What am I?” Richard Collins laughed harder.

“She’s very funny,” said Jesse.

“She is funny” Suzanne said. “She was very nervous.”

“I’m nervous myself,” he said. “I feel dumb doing this, but my publishers … you know. Do you live out here? I guess you do.”

“Yes,” said Suzanne.

“Well,” Jesse said, “maybe we could… I don’t want to seem presumptuous, but maybe we could have lunch or something. Or go out sometime. What do you do to relax?”

“I don’t relax,” said Suzanne. “It’s sort of a therapy goal of mine.”

“I see.”

“But what I do that’s the closest I get to relaxing,” said Suzanne, “is I drive around and listen to loud music.”

“Well, maybe we can take a long loud drive sometime,” he said.

Suzanne looked back at the screen and saw that Lucy wasn’t there anymore. “Oh my God, I’ve gotta go find my friend, she’s gonna kill me,” she said. She scribbled her number on the flap of the envelope Rehab! had arrived in, tore it off, and gave it to Jesse. “This is my number,” she said. “Good luck on the show.” “Thanks,” said Jesse. “I’ll call you sometime.”

Suzanne rushed past the tall man who was coming to get Jesse and saw Lucy running down the hall toward her. “Did you hear what I said about my father?” she asked hysterically. “He’s gonna kill me. He’s never gonna speak to me again.”

“No, honey, it was fine,” Suzanne said calmingly. “You were funny about the Brat Pack thing-“

“Did I have lipstick on my teeth?”

“You were fine,” Suzanne said. “But what did you say about your father?”

“I thought you said I was fine,” Lucy said. “Were you watching the wrong channel?”

“You were fine,” Suzanne assured her. “I saw everything but that. I looked away for a second-“

“At what?” Lucy demanded.

“I was talking to a guy,” Suzanne said. “The author guy.” “Did he think I was goodlooking?” Lucy asked. Suzanne nodded. “And you didn’t hear the father thing? Do you know what I said about my father? That he was a giant whale and I wasn’t sure he was actually my father. I called him my alleged father.”

“So?” said Suzanne. “He’s got a sense of humor, doesn’t he?” “My father? The Republican nightmare?”

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“Well, are you counting on his will for anything?”

“Don’t be funny about this,” Lucy said. “Oh, all right, be funny. The show is over, you can make fun of me now. So, you didn’t think it sounded slutty when I said I went on talk shows to meet guys?”

“To meet guys, no,” Suzanne said. “You didn’t say to blow them, did you?”

“You wouldn’t know,” said Lucy. “You were busy cruising the green room.”

“I was not cruising the … I was talking to … You tell me to do this stuff.”

“I don’t tell you to do it while I’m on TV,” Lucy said.

“Oh, it’s scheduled around your career now, my talking to guys?” Suzanne said. “Let me just tell you this one thing. You look great and I gave the guy my number. It’s been a breakthrough night for both of us. Now we can go and have some French fries and doughnuts and really live life.”