The Actress: A Novel (16 page)

“What do you mean?”

“I said ‘Cut’ a few minutes ago.”

“No!” Maddy spun to Billy. “Did you hear it?”

“Yeah,” he said. “But when you didn’t, I figured Walter would proba
bly want us to keep going.”

“Bridget, did you hear?” she called.

Bridget nodded. “It’s okay,” she said. “That was the best one.” Maddy couldn’t believe she’d been so wrapped up in the scene that she’d lost her hearing, lost her sense of space.

“Please do not be embarrassed,” Juhasz said. “It’s good that you continued. You two were electric.”

Alone in her dressing room, she sat in a daze. She was not the kind of actress to lose her senses in performance. During plays she would hear sneezes, candy wrappers. She was always aware of her surroundings even in the moment. It was as though they had played a monstrous trick on her, wanting to embarrass her.

Steven worked late at Woodmere that night, a production meeting involving Bridget, Walter, and other key staff members. She crossed paths with him a few times, but he said he didn’t have time to talk.

When he arrived in the town house bedroom past midnight, he undressed silently, turning his back to Maddy. She put her hand on his shoulder and he jumped. “What is it?” she asked.

“I saw the dailies,” he said.

“Yes?”

“I could hear Walter saying ‘Cut,’ and you kept going. You were overheated to the point of deafness.”

“I was acting. It’s what I do.”

“You looked unprofessional.”

“I was just in the scene. You have to get past it, Steven. There’s a week more of sex scenes to go.”

“And I’m sure you’re looking forward to them.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Are you attracted to him?”

“He’s a good-looking guy. But I’m in love with you.”

“Maybe you should be with Billy instead of me.”

“I don’t know what you’re saying.” Out of all people, he had to understand what it was like to do a sex scene. “Come on, Steven. I shouldn’t have to explain this.”

“You disrespected me.” His lips were thin and old and she could see
the shine on the lower one as she had at the Entertainer, when Kira postulated about his sexuality.

“Why are you being like this?”

“Because I care! You should know that jealousy is a sign of that. You said it on Torcello.”

“I know, but there’s nothing to be jealous of here—”

“Why did you do this to me?” His jealousy was so insecure and boyish. It wasn’t befitting of a powerful man. It seemed almost like an act. “Your only job was to get through the day professionally. And you failed.”

She dashed into one of the guest rooms and she sobbed into a pillow. She had imagined him leaving her many times, but not because she had performed too well in a role. Now he was going to end it, and when people asked what had happened, she would have to answer, “I didn’t hear Walter Juhasz call, ‘Cut.’ ” And they would laugh.

The irony was that she had no desire to be unfaithful. Their sex life was great, attentive, and playful. For a middle-aged man, his appetite was big; he was always hard and ready to go a second time. He said no other woman had turned him on this much. Whatever attraction she had to Billy, she didn’t want to act on it. The arousal had been chemical.

After she had finally stopped crying, she went downstairs, got her cell phone, and took it back into the guest room, closing the door. She held the phone in her hand as though not sure whom to call, but she knew she was tricking herself.

“Hi,” she said when Dan answered, and her voice must have been sniffly, because he said, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. It was just a hard shooting day. I’m under too much stress, I think.”

“What happened?”

“Steven got jealous after a sex scene.”

“That’s moronic,” Dan said.

“It was maybe too much for him. It wouldn’t have been as bad if he weren’t producing.”

She fluffed up some pillows behind her head, remembering the long phone calls she and Dan used to have at the beginning, when he was courting her, when she fell asleep with the phone in her hand, or he did.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he said.

“I guess it’s a lot at once. First movie, starring opposite Steven, tons of sex. If it were one of the three, it would be enough.”

“I’m sure he’ll get over his jealousy,” he said. “He’s a professional.”

“Anyway,” she said, “tell me what’s going on with you. Are you in Savannah?” She had read in the trades that he’d signed on for another romantic weepie,
The Inscription
,
also produced by Worldwide Films.

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s actually crazy that you caught me. I’m on a break right now.”

“I should let you go,” she said.

“No, I’m glad you called,” he said. “I thought we might be communicating through lawyers from now on.”

After her ill-fated coffee with Dan in the spring, she had taken the
Nest
assignment of rights to Edward Rosenman, who had worked out a collaboration agreement with Dan’s lawyer, the one he had hired after he fired the one who drafted the assignment. She would get costory credit on any version of
The Nest
that got made, and a third of any purchase price. She felt that the deal was fair to generous, but worried that Dan felt she had been greedy.

“No need to,” she said. “We came to terms. Did you guys finish the screenplay?”

“We’re getting really close.”

“Do you have a new title?”

“Yes, but it’s not locked, so I’m going to keep it secret.”

“Never say ‘locked,’ ” she said. “You sound like a real operator.”

“Never say ‘operator.’ You sound like you’re in a Rosalind Russell movie.”

“Right now I wish I was in a Rosalind Russell movie.”

“Good luck with the sex,” he said. “And tell Steven he’s not allowed to give you a hard time about fake coitus. The guy’s fake slept with hundreds of women.” After they got off the phone, she cradled it in her hand as if Dan were still there.

“I
told you she was young,” Steven said. He and Bridget were walking
side by side in the gardens of Woodmere.

“You’re making too much of it,” Bridget said, removing a silver cigarette case from her purse. She lit the cigarette and blew the smoke out of her nose.

“How could she do that? ‘Cut,’ ‘cut,’ and ‘cut’ again. Even Billy didn’t break.”

“He was going along with the scene.”

“I can’t have these shenanigans on my film.”

“Are you taking care of her the way you should be?” she asked. They had stopped at a fountain. In the center was a naked girl with no arms, water spitting out of her mouth.

“Everything is fine in that department. Better than fine.”

“I’m taking your word for that,” Bridget said, “but put yourself in her position anyway. She’s without her family, without friends, carrying the movie. This is an incredibly masochistic role. And you’re her support system. When she comes home at night, she needs to be taken care of, like a princess. Bathed, massaged, loved. Rise above this. Remember how old you are and the things you’ve seen.”

He thought about her words, angry at what she was implying. If the sex with Maddy wasn’t nightly, it was often. It was difficult for him at times to satisfy her. She wanted it every day. He was not a young man. And the pills, he didn’t like what they did to his system. He didn’t like taking pills for anything. The congestion, which lasted until the next day and affected his vocal style, his adenoids. He had his own needs, the responsibilities of producing, and his lines and scenes, his body and health. He didn’t have time to take care of her the way Bridget was suggesting.

“Is it possible she’s the wrong girl?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s not too late. There might be other girls who would come with fewer . . . hairs.”

“She is the one,” Bridget said. “Just be a good partner. And keep Billy at arm’s length. No socializing outside of production.”

“We haven’t. He’s never been over.”

“Well, keep it that way. We don’t want life to start imitating art.”

“But it already has,” he said.

F
or the next few days, Steven was on set during Maddy and Billy’s sex scenes, making everyone else miserable. He would have long conferences with Bridget and Walter while Maddy and Billy sat around in their robes. The tension between Steven and Walter rose with each hour. Billy told Maddy privately that she needed to take control of Steven because he was turning
Husbandry
into an unhappy production.

One morning Maddy came downstairs to find Steven at the dining table, a half-eaten omelet beside him, the
Daily Mail
on the table. The headline was “MORE THAN JUST A PECK?” There was a shot of Maddy talking closely with Billy near the gate of Woodmere. Their heads were angled so it looked like they were kissing, though in reality, they had been two feet away from each other.

According to a source close to the production of
Husbandry
, Maddy Freed has been stepping out on Hollywood hunk Steven Weller with her costar Billy Peck. “Billy and Maddy got overheated during one of their scenes and started an affair,” said the source.

Weller is a producer on the film and plays Freed’s husband. According to the source, “Steven wants to fire him, but Walter loves the chemistry between Maddy and Billy.” Ironically,
Husbandry
focuses on a woman who begins cheating on her husband with his brother.

“Oh God,” Maddy said. “How can they print lies like that?”

“They do it all the time.” He was looking at her as though some part of him believed she was having an affair.

“What does Bridget say?” she asked.

“Bridget says we ignore it. That it’ll die. But I think she’s wrong. This is why I wanted you to be professional. You gave them an opening.”

“It’s not my fault! You’re playing a cuckold. Of course they’re going to gossip.”

“I think this was Walter,” he said, frowning over the newspaper. “It wouldn’t be Stu or Jimmy. Walter planted this to draw publicity to the
film.” She didn’t think Walter was capable of it. He wouldn’t play games with the press.

The rest of the week, Steven was even more hostile to Walter. There were long producer meetings and whispered conferences among Steven, Bridget, and Walter, usually after scenes involving Billy and Steven. Crew members stormed off. Jimmy snapped at his guys. Everyone was abusing someone else; it was a classic example of the mood flowing from the top down.

Maddy was anxious about her ability to work with Steven over the next five weeks, much less live with him. They had most of their Ellie-Louis scenes left to shoot.

The paparazzi, already irritants, seemed to get worse. Each morning she found a new story in the tabloids open on the dining table. “Billy and Maddy Planning to Elope,” “Maddy Expects Bundle of Joy—But Who’s the Daddy?,” and “Steven to Maddy: ‘End It Or Else!’ ” Steven took long phone calls from his publicist, Flora, strategizing about how to respond. One piece had “someone close to Mr. Weller” saying Steven was gay and not having sex with Maddy, that she had fallen into Billy’s arms due to sexual frustration. Each piece enraged him further. She was surprised that after all these years, he was paying so much attention to the tabloids.

In bed one night, Maddy was going over her lines while Steven thumbed through a book about the Malaparte house on Capri. “I think you have to be nicer to Walter,” Maddy said.

He shut the book and regarded her, his face tortured and white. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

“I’ve overheard the crew. They think you’re crazy.”

“They can think whatever they want. I can fire all of them.” He had drunk three glasses of whiskey at dinner.

“Is there a reason these stories are getting to you like this?”

“Yes, because they’re insulting.”

“And that’s it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Have you ever experimented with men?”

He licked his lips. She had never seen him look at her so coldly. “This
is some weird obsession with you. Why do you keep asking me? For God’s sake, do you not think I’m attracted to you?”

“No, I mean, I know you are, of course you are, but the article that said I’m having an affair with Billy because you don’t satisfy me—I thought maybe you’ve had gay experiences, and that’s why these articles get under your skin.”

“They get under my skin because they’re not true and people read them and think that they are.”

“I want you to know that if you’ve been with a guy, you can tell me. I told you about Kira. I believe sexuality is a spectrum, and—”

“Why would you think I was with men?”

“You did repertory theater.”

“It’s not my thing. I’m sorry if that makes me less exciting to you.” He lifted his book in front of his face and the red lettering of
MALAPARTE
seemed to blink at her to stay away.

A week after the first item appeared, Billy, Steven, and Maddy were doing a scene where Louis tells Paul he has to move out. They did three takes, and after each one, Walter directed Steven to be calmer. “You are not the powerful person in the scene,” Walter said. “When you tell him to move, it brings you pain.”

Steven did it again, and Walter gave another version of the same direction. On the seventh take, Walter called, “Cut,” then said to Steven, “It appears you are not listening to a word I am saying. I do not know if you are deaf or merely obstinate. Stop trying to prove your masculinity. This is a film set, not your life.”

Before Maddy was fully aware of what was happening, Steven had lunged for Walter, and Walter was on the floor, screaming, “You’re crazy!” and bleeding from his nose. Two crew members restrained Steven, though he was making no attempt to land another punch, while another rushed to take care of Walter.

Walter tried to sit up but couldn’t move. The second AD and a couple of PAs were dabbing at his face. Someone called for medical help. Walter had never looked so frail. Maddy could not believe her boyfriend had slugged a septuagenarian.

The first AD announced a ten-minute break and, at the end of it, knocked on Maddy’s dressing room door to say they were wrapping for
the day. She realized she didn’t need to go home and wait for Steven to return. She decided to see a movie.