by Shannon Hale
“Are you okay?” Mike asked.
“Oh yeah. I’d be a lot more uncomfortable if they pretended to be interested in me.”
“Really?”
She watched Felix working the crowd, shaking hands, signing autographs, posing with Celeste. “Yes, really.” She felt no desire to sign her name or (of all ridiculous things) hear it chanted. And she felt proud of him, so gallant and adored. Although she had been just a little surprised by how easily he’d let go of her arm once the cameras started fl ashing.
As if in answer to her thought, Felix rushed over. “Don’t leave me again! I’m drowning out here. I need you on my arm. Do you mind, Mike?”
ike stepped aside, taking hold of his two boys. “It’s your night. You camp girls go crazy.”
Soon the production coordinators were shooing everyone inside the theater. Felix and Becky entered last, her hand on his arm. The auditorium was filled with cast and crew, their family members, friends of the producers, big shots and their kids. And they applauded for Becky and Felix as they walked down the aisle.
“Wow,” she said. Her feet had an airy feeling, as if she were floating on the applause.
“You get used to it,” he said.
“Stop it. You can’t possibly.”
He looked around and grinned. “No, I suppose not. Not if you don’t want to.”
“I know it’s not for me, but it’s still pretty amazing.”
She waved at everyone, felt her skin shiver under the gaze of hundreds, and prayed silently, Please like the film. Please, please, please.
She’d seen the movie before at a private viewing with Wally. She thought it was funny. But would they? And was her performance wince-worthy? Did she shame Felix? Would she look bloated and unhealthy on a really big screen, like the corpse of a sea lion washed ashore? Or even a seal or otter or a smaller animal, but still bloated with the pallor of death about her? And flies too . . . flies buzzing about, angry buzzing flies laying eggs in her bloated—“What are you thinking about?” Felix whispered as the opening credits rolled.
“Flies,” she said.
“You’re imagining the whole you-as-whale-corpse thing again, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely not.” The title lit up the screen. “Sea otter.”
“Hmph.”
At the movie’s first funny incident, the audience chuckled. At the second, more chuckling, though on the laughter continuum, it was much closer to “polite” than “uncontrollable.” She gripped the arm rest to resist hiding her face in her hands.
“It’s funny,” Mike whispered from her left side. “It really is.”
She leaned over to catch sight of her kids’ faces. All four were turned up to the screen, eyes wide and serious, lips slightly parted, or in Sam’s case, mouth completely gaping. No smiling, no laughing.
Mike whispered, “But what do kids know, huh?”
“True,” she said, taking a small comfort. “Sam thinks Japan is a company that makes computer games.”
Then Felix’s character started in on the blind charade, and the chuckling turned up to a real laugh. And then they roared.
“You hear that?” she whispered to Felix. “You hear? They love you! You’re brilliant.”
Felix kept his eyes on the screen, but a small smile curled his lips. “That was really fun. Those weeks with you. Thank you.”
“Tell me I don’t look like dead beached whale. Please, just one more time and I promise I’ll never ask you again.”
“You don’t look remotely like a dead beached whale.”
“You don’t look remotely “Or sea otter?”
He studied the screen, evaluating. She elbowed him in the ribs.
In which a tabloid attacks the home front
After starring in a major Hollywood movie that opened at number three at the box office, after appearing on national talk shows and seeing her face in People magazine, and after spending so much time in dry-clean-only clothing and wearing enough makeup to kill a warren of rabbits, returning permanently to normal life was surreal for Becky. And also absolutely necessary.
Felix’s agent, Larry, phoned, saying he’d had inquiries about her for future projects. She declined.
“I may write more screenplays, but my acting days are done.”
She’d had a couple of funny moments in the show and otherwise played a respectable straight character to Felix’s comic genius. The kissing scene had turned out surprisingly un-wince-worthy and maybe even a little bit lovely. But if she tried any other role, acted opposite any other man, she was certain she’d fall fl at on her face. Besides, she didn’t want the actor’s life.
And after her third viewing of the movie, she was also quite happy that her real life was not a romantic comedy, a story where the first kiss reigns supreme. It had taken a year of marriage to realize marital felicity had little to do with the heart-shaking, cloud-walking craziness of falling in love. She’d had a friend, Heather, who after five years decided her marriage was belly-up, mostly because she didn’t feel that head-over-heels sensation anymore. She divorced and moved, and Becky had lost touch, but at last report, Heather was divorcing for a second time, perhaps still on her quixotic quest for permanent infatuation. Becky understood the need for a little romance reminder from time to time, to experience the thrill of it through a character on a screen or in a book. But after leaving the movie theater or putting down the novel, she always felt oh-so-glad to be Mike’s wife, even when all they did before bed was talk about how to exterminate their ant infestation.
Marriage was good. Home was best. Becky snuggled into the couch next to Sam to read another book while the tangy, garlicky scent of cooking lasagna filled the house, and felt quite certain that this was her place.
Mostly she tried to pretend the movie had never happened. That wasn’t always easy—she had been on Oprah after all. Some news was welcome: she had worried that the story line might off end sight-impaired communities, but Felix’s acting had pulled it through. He found the humor in the situation and pointed it at himself.
Felix warned her, “Do not read reviews. Ignore them. Avoid them. Abstain with every gram of that indomitable Mormon willpower you possess.”
For two weeks after the release Becky walked around in a brilliantly blind haze of ignorance. Then she got an e-mail from Darci, a high school acquaintance now living in Virginia:
Becky! I saw a review of your movie in our local paper and I couldn’t believe it! You’re starring in a movie with Felix Callahan!!! I told Craig it was you, but he said it couldn’t be, but there was a photograph too and even though your hair is different and you look older I just knew it was you!! LOL! You always were so talented!
[Actually, in tenth grade Darci had called her an “alien-faced kill-joy.”]
Next time we’re in Utah, we should totally go out to Nielsen’s Frozen Custard like old times!
[For the record, there had never been even one “old time” when Darci and Becky had gone together to Nielsen’s Frozen Custard. Also for the record, Nielsen’s Frozen Custard is delicious.]
I’m so proud of you! I’m telling everyone I know that I’m friends with a famous movie star!!! Give Felix a big smooch from me! LOL!!!
Darci :$
Becky spent some time staring at the “emoticon” after Darci’s name and trying to make sense of it before deciding it must be a typo and letting her eyes continue on down the e-mail to the next block of text. Becky had read half of it by the time her brain caught up and warned her that Darci had pasted in the review. But it was too late. Far too late.
In Blind Love, Felix Callahan returns to frothier fare as Lionel, a handsome lawyer who is so desperate to prove his love to an ordinary woman, he’ll fake blindness. Even with this painful premise, Callahan proves once again there’s no part he cannot play, no joke he cannot deliver, no female movie-goer he cannot make swoon. The object of his affection is played by newcomer (and Callahan’s real-life best friend) Becky Jack, who has as much screen t
ime as Lionel’s German shepherd. While Jack is occasionally convincing as the unattractive baker who eschews love, she is clearly out-sparkled by a deep supporting cast including Stockard Channing, Jim Broadbent, Missi Pyle, Jennifer Garner, and Ryan Reynolds. Romance is tepid at best in this pleasant little movie, but the friendly chemistry between Callahan and Jack is often playful. It purports to be a romantic comedy, but forget the date and take a pal to this flick.
She sat very, very still, as if a bee had landed on her nose and all she could do was stare at it encouragingly (“You don’t really want to sting me, do ya, little fella? Feel that inviting wind? Go take a fl utter. You deserve it.”) Then she read the review again—why not? The damage was done, might as well roll around in the muck. She read it a third time. Then she began to reread the adjectives—ordinary, newcomer, occasionally convincing, unattractive, clearly outsparkled, tepid at best, pleasant little . . .
She became aware of Polly, reading over her shoulder.
“Mom, you okay?”
“I wondered how I did. I saw myself up there and I wasn’t sure, but now I know.”
“You were really good, Mom. You really were.”
“I was ‘occasionally convincing.’ That’s not bad for a freshman effort, huh? And if I didn’t expect to be outsparkled by the likes of Stockard Channing, then I had another thing coming, indeed I did. Didn’t I? I did. Very much so.”
Polly wrapped her arms around her mother’s shoulders. “I love you, Mom.”
“Thanks, honey,” Becky said with a little laugh. “I shouldn’t need comfort. This is all very expected. At least my novice performance didn’t make Felix look bad. That was my only concern.” She heaved a breath. “It’s good. It is.”
It wasn’t the only hug Polly would be giving her mother in the coming weeks. It must have been a slow celebrity-news week, because a tabloid television show premiered “Exposé: The Blind Love Affair.”
Footage of Felix Callahan and Celeste Bodine holding hands and smiling for photographers at a red carpet event.
NARRATOR
Felix Callahan and Celeste Bodine—one of Hollywood’s most glamorous couples. And one of the happiest?
Bad photo of Becky Jack, squinting in the sun.
NARRATOR
Not if she has anything to do with it. Will one woman’s secret love tear two marriages apart?
Photo of Becky and Felix on The Tonight Show, laughing with Jay Leno.
NARRATOR
Felix Callahan and Becky Jack claim they are nothing more than friends, despite having starred together in a steamy romance. But Hollywood insiders tell a different story.
TONIA JEANU
Writer for Exclusive! magazine
It’s painfully transparent that Becky Jack, a married mother of four, is very much in love with her so-called best friend Felix Callahan. She writes a screenplay about an ordinary-looking woman and a handsome man who falls completely in love with her. Is she fooling herself, or does she just think the rest of us are clueless? Is Callahan clueless too? Watch out, Celeste Bodine, or a nasty little Cinderella just might steal your husband out from under you.
NARRATOR
(mockingly)
Despite overwhelming evidence, friends of Jack refute the claims.
RUSS “THE WIG-MAKER” NIMAR
Blind Love Crew Member
Becky’s family was on set all the time. She and her husband are very close. There was never anything but a friendly relationship between Felix and Becky. Music: dramatic cello. Zoom in and move back on a copy of Blind Love script, vertigo effect.
NARRATOR
(in ominous tones)
But skeptics claim one need look no further for proof than in the screenplay itself, penned by Jack’s own hand.
A script of Arm Candy lying on a desk.
NARRATOR
And insiders report that Jack wrote a second screenplay called Arm Candy, the story of an actor and a model who fake a relationship to increase their celebrity status.
People magazine open to a spread of Felix and Celeste under the title “Hollywood’s Hottest Couples.”
NARRATOR
Through this supposedly fictional story, was Jack actually revealing secret information about one of Hollywood’s most photographed couples? Is Felix Callahan and Celeste Bodine’s marriage a sham?
Felix and Celeste pause to be photographed on a red carpet.
NARRATOR
Is his displayed affection for his wife simply a show for the paparazzi . . .
Felix and Becky laughing together on set of Blind Love.
NARRATOR
. . . while his true love, a married woman, can remain secret?
It got to be a minor Hollywood flurry. Becky was answering awkward questions from neighbors, ducking from glares at the grocery store. So she fought television with television. Nothing like a heart-to-heart with a beloved local news anchor to quell the storm—at home anyway. Mike joined her on the air. The interview was repeated on all the local channels. She talked with newspaper reporters and was a guest on radio programs. Her friends sent letters to the editor scandalized by the bravado of sensationalism among so-called journalists.
But the hassle—the stares and the explaining, and the questions her kids faced at school . . .
Avoid the very appearance of evil, Becky thought grimly.
If she hadn’t gone and found a famous guy friend, none of those accusations would have been possible, and some mornings she believed it wasn’t worth it.
At the first Hyde family dinner after the exposé, she winced in anticipation of dark looks and I-told-you-sos, but surprisingly, her siblings took up verbal pitchforks.
“I can’t believe those unscrupulous bottom-feeders!” Jerry slammed his fist into his hand. “It’s all a bunch of lies. Boy, it makes me want to—”
“You’d already written Arm Candy when you met Felix,” her sister, Diana, said. “They don’t even check facts, do they? It’s unethical.”
“And Blind Love too,” said John’s wife, Laurie. “Didn’t you come up with that premise years ago?”
“Yeah, I remember that one from when we used to play Original Movie Plot on road trips,” Greg said.
“They were too caught up in their splash titles and thrumming music to actually investigate,” Ryan said.
“I’m writing a letter to the show, and the network,” said Diana.
“So am I,” her father said. “They owe you an apology, Becky, and a retraction at the very least.”
“How dare they?” Jerry hit his fist against his hand. “It makes me want to—”
“You don’t deserve this, sweetheart.” Becky’s mom wrapped her arm around her daughter’s shoulders. “I’m sorry.”
“They’ll be sorry,” said Jerry, who had never hit anyone in his life and still held the record for the fewest fouls committed in Davis High basketball history. “They attacked you. It’s slander. And it makes me want to—”
“You should sue,” Greg said, who had taken the LSAT before deciding to work in landscaping. “You should sue them to kingdom come.”
Becky wasn’t the litigious type, and suing sounded less a panacea and more like a fine way of protracting the ugliness. Besides, the ickiness that poured from that exposé and stuck to her was abating. Her family was on her side.
“Hey, Jerry.” She sidled up to him in their mother’s bright yellow kitchen as he refilled his ice cream bowl. “So, what changed?”
He looked at her with those wide open eyes, his stare as befuddled as always, then the blinking started, and she knew he understood. “I ran into someone the other day—Augie Beuter.”
“Augie! How is he?”
“Fine, I guess. He’s got three kids; they’re living in Draper. I hadn’t seen him in years, then our families ended up seated next to each other at the BYU game. Anyway, I was remembering you and him in high school. We all thought that you really were secretly . . . you know . . . for each other and would end up married.
But you didn’t. You knew all along. It wasn’t that kind of a thing—you two really were just friends. How come you didn’t stay friends?”
She shrugged. “His girlfriend Jen—now his wife—she was uncomfortable with me. And I was head over heels for Mike and didn’t want any reason to scare him away. And that was it. I missed Augie for a long time and I felt guilty about missing him. But I don’t regret it. At the time, backing away and giving our spouses more space in our lives felt like the right thing to do.”
Jerry’s eyes were blinking rapidly, then they stuttered to a stop. “And Felix?”
“I’m going with my gut. This time I don’t have to lose my Augie.”
Jerry swatted her on the shoulder. “Okay then, Bec. And if you need some muscle to take out those tabloid folk . . .” He brandished an ice-cream-stained fist as he walked away.
“Thanks, Jerry.”
In grade school, all he’d had to do was stand behind her to scare away those meanie kids. She wasn’t sure Jerry’s potbelly and dumbfounded expression would have the same effect on cable channel corporate lawyers, but it was nice to know she had an ally.
“Tom Cruise.” The whisper was sudden in Becky’s ear. Becky startled. It was Diana.
“Tom Cruise. That’s who it would be for me. Not the real Tom Cruise—I mean, I don’t know if I’d actually like him in person or if we’d have anything in common. But that face . . .”
It took a while for Becky to remember to breathe again. Diana had never kissed anyone besides her husband, Steve—after they were married. She was an “altar girl,” as they say, and still averted her eyes when characters kissed on-screen.
“Tom Cruise, huh?”
“Yeah. I just had to admit that to you. So I wasn’t being hypocritical. Tom Cruise.”
“Would you ever kiss him?”
“Of course not.”
“If he fell in love with you and begged you to leave your husband and go away with him to a chalet in Switzerland—”