“The horrible thing is, I guess I still love him,” Cynthia continued. The tears spilled over finally and she wiped them away impatiently with the back of her hand.
Linda pulled a Kleenex from the dispenser and gave it to her. “My mother used to say that love was man’s gain and woman’s bane,” she said.
Cynthia blotted her eyes and blew her nose. “She sounds like a natural-born sage to me,” she said.
“She was, I guess,” Linda said, with a rush of pride and longing. “She had lots of sayings, anyway” After a reflective pause, she asked, “Do you have a mother, Cynthia?”
“Well, she’s still alive, if that’s what you mean. But she’s more of a natural-born …” For the first time since Linda had met her, Cynthia seemed at a loss for words. Then she said, “Let’s just say we haven’t spoken in years.”
“But that’s awful!” Linda exclaimed.
Cynthia shrugged. “You get used to it,” she said. Linda didn’t think she ever would, but she kept that thought to herself, and Cynthia sprang up, saying, “I almost forgot! Bebe and I have something for you.” She hurried out, and Linda hardly had time to shift her position in the chair before Cynthia was back again, carrying a large manila envelope. “Here,” she said, holding it out. “Wait till you see this.”
Linda hesitated and then took the envelope. How had this happened so quickly? One minute she was getting ready to call out the troops, and the next minute she was accepting a gift from the enemy. She opened the envelope flap and withdrew a photograph of Phoebe, a black-and-white close-up. She was looking into the camera the way she sometimes looked into Linda’s eyes. It was an amazing picture, so clearly focused you could count the hairs on her head, all standing on end in a staticky white halo. The photographer had captured nothing less than Phoebe’s babyness—the silvery shimmer of drool on her lip, that expression of innocent knowingness, the perfectly poreless texture of her skin.
Cynthia waited while Linda took the image in, and then she said, “We were going to give it to you together at breakfast. But I really don’t think she’d mind if you have it tonight. We’ll have to buy a frame for it tomorrow. Antique pewter, I think, or maybe we’ll just float it in Lucite.”
“It’s wonderful,” Linda said. “Who took it?”
“My cameraman, Tommy Chin. He’ll be very happy to hear that you like it. And, Linda? I want to make it up to Robin, too, for today, for not having the baby here in time. Do you think she’d like a private studio tour, maybe the chance to be an extra on Love in the Afternoon?”
“She’d kill for it,” Linda said.
“Well, she won’t have to, I’ll set it up. Now, are you as exhausted as I am? Shall I send Lupe down to help you into bed?”
“Cynthia?” Linda said.
“Yes?”
“Don’t let the baby cry herself to sleep anymore, okay?”
“Sure,” Cynthia said. “Whatever you say. Mother knows best.” She bent down and kissed Linda’s forehead. Linda recalled Nathan doing the same thing the very first time he drove her here. Then she remembered that he’d crossed himself.
22
Fifteen Minutes of Fame
A SILVER STRETCH LIMO PULLED up to the Thompson house at six o’clock in the morning, causing a mad commotion of last-minute activity inside. Carmel danced and wiggled her way into a pair of sparkly gold leggings, while Lucy and Robin elbowed each other for space in front of the bathroom mirror. “God, I’m so ugly!” Robin cried. “No, I am!” Lucy insisted. “Both ugly, you ax me,” Garvey observed from the doorway.
Mrs. Thompson said to Carmel, “It’s going to be a hundred degrees out there today. Why are you wearing those heavy things?”
Ga came to the bathroom door carrying a plate. “You going to eat these eggs?” she asked Robin. “You can’t go on no TV without breakfast.”
Neighbors across the street looked openly through their windows at the purring limo, and Carmel and Aunt Ez looked back at them. “I bet they think we’re famous now,” Carmel said, rapturously.
“Or that somebody died in here,” Mr. Thompson said.
Robin was hardly ever up this early. When she stepped out into the pink and promising air, she yawned with blissful abandon, while Lucy and Carmel turned to wave at the less fortunate Thompsons seeing them off. The inside of the limo was deliriously cool and dim, like a movie theater before the lights go all the way down. Robin sat between her friends in the plush backseat, hoping that people in passing cars were speculating about the celebrities hidden behind the tinted glass of the limo, the way she used to when she was an ordinary person riding in an ordinary car.
On the freeway Lucy turned on the built-in TV, but there was nothing but news and aerobics at this hour, so she shut it off again. Robin took three cans of Pepsi from the little refrigerated bar and passed them out. The girls popped the cans and clinked them together in a wordless toast. As they sipped the Pepsi they peered through the glass partition at the back of the distant driver’s head, which struck them as hilarious, with its jutting ears and stupid monkey cap.
After a while, Robin withdrew into a reverie. She had been torn between going to the studio alone and bringing her friends, which Cynthia had reluctantly agreed to let her do. On the one hand, Robin would have the satisfaction of riding off in glory while they watched enviously from the curb, and she could always tell them about it later—tell them forever and ever. On the other hand, they could be witnesses to her triumph, and help her tell everyone else about it afterward, like the Supremes backing up Diana Ross. The witnessing won out in the end, probably because Carmel had such a flair for storytelling. Now Robin allowed herself to imagine what it would be like at the studio. Cynthia had said she’d have a good time, but to remember that it wasn’t Schwab’s Drugstore, whatever that meant. Robin didn’t know why Cynthia was doing this for her, but she was so excited she didn’t really care.
Last year, when she’d told some girls back in Newark that she was moving to L.A., one of them said, sarcastically, “Yeah, maybe you’ll get on TV,” and they all laughed. Well, this would show them. Love in the Afternoon was on all over the country, in New Jersey, in Ohio … in Arizona! Robin was slightly worried, though, that they might ask her to do something she didn’t know how to do, like cry on command or sing or something. After all, she had no acting experience. Still, the director or somebody might say, “Who’s that blond kid? She’s kind of cute, isn’t she? She’s the image of Lucinda Blake, isn’t she?” And then they could work it out that Lady Audrey had this baby girl fifteen years ago, back in England, and that she had to leave her there because her first husband died …
Lucy said, “Earth to Robin! Come in, please!”
When they got off the freeway and began traveling through local streets, the girls gave up the thrill of being mysterious for the thrill of being seen, and the potential thrill of star-gazing. They slid the back windows down and hung out of them, hoping, in vain, to see someone they knew or someone well known. They waved and yelled at everybody they passed, anyway, just for the fun of it.
At the studio gate, their driver told the guard who they were and where they were going, and after making a brief phone call he motioned them inside. As they were pulling into a parking space, Robin spotted a great-looking guy in tight jeans, walking across the lot, carrying a paper bag. “Oh, my God, look!” she shrieked. “It’s Christian Slater!”
“Where? Where?” the other girls chorused.
The driver’s voice came to them loudly through a speaker in the rear of the limo. “Nah, that’s not him,” he said. “That’s only some lousy gofer.” Had he heard every word they’d said? And who asked him, anyway?
He escorted them to a reception desk in a large white building, where they were given visitors’ badges and told to wait until someone came for them. The driver tipped his hat in a mock salute and left, saying he’d see them later. Robin gave Lucy and Carmel some final instructions. “Don’t stare at anybody,” she said. “It’s n
ot cool. And don’t go to the bathroom.”
Carmel said, “What do you mean? Why not?”
“Because that’s not cool, either,” Robin told her.
“But what if I have to?” Carmel asked. “I think I have to already!”
After a while, a woman who looked like she might be somebody took them down a long corridor lined with celebrity photos, to Cynthia’s office. The girls pinched and socked one another all the way there. The office wasn’t as fancy as Robin had envisioned, and Cynthia herself, who Robin had described to her friends on another occasion as “this Hollywood bitch goddess,” looked disappointingly plain. She was wearing jeans and a white T-shirt, just like Robin, and hardly any makeup at all. “Hi, there,” she said, when Robin peeked into the office. “Are you ready for your fifteen minutes of fame?”
She walked them further along the corridor, and then down a ramp to a cavernous, windowless area of the building. “These are the studios,” Cynthia said, and then, in a hammy voice, “The place where dreams are born and hopes are shattered.” Wasn’t that the way The Windswept World opened every day? Or was it from Destiny’s Children?
“Do any of you ever watch Tilt?” Cynthia asked. It was Robin’s favorite game show, the one where contestants had to work their way, by answering trick questions, through the maze of a giant pinball machine. “They’re taping in there right now,” Cynthia said. She indicated a door with a lit red light overhead. The door opened briefly as they passed it, to let a man carrying a tangle of wires out, and a burst of audience applause hit them like machine-gun fire.
The Love in the Afternoon set was brightly lit when they arrived, and there were several people sitting around a table looking at scripts. A woman standing behind one of the seated men—Duke!—was unrolling toilet paper and winding it around his neck, while another woman put blusher on his cleft chin with a big brush. Robin didn’t recognize Lady Audrey right away. She was draped with a plastic cape, the kind that women at cosmetics counters wear during makeovers. Her platinum hair was in fat rollers and she was wearing glasses. Like a disguise, like Robin’s mother.
Cynthia took the girls over to a short man with earphones on and a T-shirt that said: Don’t Talk to Me Unless I Cue You.
“Frank, this is Robin, the kid I told you about,” Cynthia said, sharply nudging Robin, whose gaze was fixed on Lady Audrey. “Her friends are just along for the ride,” Cynthia explained. “Robin, this is Frank Golden, my floor manager. Do what he tells you. I’ll be back for you later.” And she sauntered off.
“How’re you doing?” Frank Golden asked, not really wanting to know. He ushered them to some folding chairs on the shadowy sidelines, where a well-dressed elderly couple were already seated, and he told Robin to sit tight until he called her. “Want anything in the meantime?” he asked. “Coke? Perrier? A banana daquiri?” The girls were all struck dumb, able only to shake their heads.
There were a few small cafe tables and some chairs in the center of the big room. The tables were set with tablecloths, flowers, and wineglasses. A couple of men wheeled in a wood-paneled wall, complete with paintings and light fixtures, and placed it behind the tables. Lucy poked Robin, who poked Carmel, who squeaked with delight. They all gaped as Lady Audrey’s hair was combed out, as her glasses were removed, and extra touches of makeup were applied. When her plastic cape was yanked off, a tight black dress cut to display about a mile of cleavage was revealed. Duke leered at her. “Forsooth, my lady,” he said, “is that what you’re wearing to lunch?” The guy sitting next to him in a fancy cowboy outfit said, “I think she is lunch,” and she reached over to slap him with her script. Robin realized that he was the actor who played Jake, Duke’s evil stepbrother.
Frank Golden strode to the middle of the floor and clapped his hands. “Okay, everybody, take your places,” he said.
Jake and Lady Audrey sat down at one of the little tables, and the elderly couple settled themselves at a table close by. Frank Golden beckoned to Robin, who stood up and, after a shove from Lucy, stepped into the hot splendor of the lights.
“Who’s the blond kid?” demanded a booming voice from above, like God’s, or that voice at the Planetarium that named all the stars in the Milky Way. Robin looked up, but all she could see was a small window, high on the wall, with a grid of lights behind it.
“She’s a friend of Cyn’s,” Frank said, in conversational tones. “We’re gonna use her in the scene.”
“Is she AFTRA?” the voice asked.
After what? Robin wondered.
“Nah,” Frank said, “but she’s only gonna be atmosphere.”
Atmosphere—what did that mean, that she was like air or something?
“Shouldn’t she see wardrobe? It’s supposed to be an upscale bistro.”
“She’s just a kid, Sy,” Frank said, “and it’s the nineties, remember? Anything goes.”
“Well, give her some color, for Chrissakes, she looks like a corpse. No offense, kid,” the voice thundered.
Frank led Robin to the table where the old couple sat. He pulled a chair from another table and put it at theirs. “Say hello to your grandparents,” Frank told Robin, sitting her down. The old lady gave her a dirty look. “You’re their little honey, and they’re treating you to this boss lunch. You’ll sit here, sip some water, nibble something, and chat with them during the scene.”
“What do I say?” Robin said.
“Doesn’t matter,” Frank told her. “You’re not on mike. Just look natural.” But she had never been able to figure out exactly what that meant.
The makeup woman came over and did some things to Robin’s face, which immediately began to itch, first here and then there. “Don’t touch,” the woman warned when Robin tried to scratch her nose. She wished she could look in a mirror. Over on the sidelines, as far away as the moon, Lucy and Carmel sat primly on their folding chairs. And at the table right in front of Robin’s, almost near enough to touch, sat Lady Audrey and her step-brother-in-law, Jake. Robin couldn’t stop looking at her. Three big video cameras on dollies circled around them, and the set buzzed with conversation.
“Okay!” Frank called. “Let’s settle down now, people!” Like the principal at a noisy assembly, only here everyone actually paid attention. It grew quiet. Frank yelled, “Stand by, kids, we’re gonna do this!” He raised his hand. “Five. Four. Three,” he said, holding up the right number of fingers for each count. For the final two counts he just signaled silently, and then dropped his hand. Instantly, a man dressed as a waiter marched up and began pouring ice water from a pitcher into the glasses at Robin’s table. Someone had already put three plates down, with some gloppy brown-and-yellow food on them. Robin picked up a fork and poked at her plate. “Could I get pizza instead?” she asked the waiter, but he was already walking away.
“Why did they saddle us with her?” the old man at Robin’s table said to the old lady, smiling while he said it.
The old lady sipped some water. “She knows the executive producer,” she said, smiling back. “It’s all who you know in this shitty town.”
“I don’t even know why I’ve come here,” Lady Audrey said to Jake.
Jake gazed into her dark blue eyes, after a quick peek down her dress. “Because I willed you here, my love, that’s why. Didn’t you know you’re under my power?”
“Don’t say things like that, Jake, please,” she murmured, with a sexy little shiver.
The voice from above bellowed, “Cut! Cut!”
“What’s the problem, Sy?” Frank Golden asked.
“That kid, she’s gaping at Lucinda. She looks like she’s catching flies.”
Frank ambled over to Robin’s table. “Sweetheart,” he said, “don’t stare, okay? It’s not polite. Look at Grandpa here, instead, and maybe he’ll buy you a pony. All right,” he announced to the room at large. “Take two!” And he began counting down again.
Three takes later, Robin’s jeans were stuck to the seat of her chair, and her face had to be powde
red for the umpteenth time. She was still trying hard not to look at Lady Audrey, who was still having a heavy conversation with Jake. He kept suggesting they continue talking elsewhere, as if this was all real and Robin’s staring had ruined their privacy. The couple at Robin’s table continued to talk only to each other, mostly bitching about how they never got a break in this rotten business. Robin had no intention of talking to them, but the last time Frank came by, he said, “Move your lips, will you, kid, this isn’t Madame Toussaud’s!” So now she was saying anything that came into her head. “Testing, one two three four,” she said. “Knock knock, who’s there? What’s up, doc? Shazam! Abbadabbadoo!” It made it hard to listen to what Lady Audrey and Jake were saying, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself once she got started.
At last the scene was completed. Frank yelled, “Cut! It’s a buy!” and everybody got up and started moving around. Cynthia had come back onto the set and was talking to Frank. Robin was burning with thirst, even though she’d finished her whole glass of water and sucked all the ice down to nothing. That “waiter” had never returned to refill the glasses or take away those yucky plates of food.
Carmel and Lucy rushed over. “You were great!” Carmel said, hugging Robin.
“I didn’t do anything,” she said modestly.
“I know,” Carmel said, “but still.”
“They look a whole lot different than on TV, don’t they?” Lucy said, ogling the stars, who were getting ready for their next scene, in what looked like a motel room.
“Bigger,” Carmel said.
Cynthia walked over and said, “I heard all about your debut, Robin. I’d hang on to my day job if I were you.” Then she took them to lunch in the basement cafeteria, where they didn’t see anyone they recognized, except for that Christian Slater look-alike, who was leaving with a box of takeout as they came in.
Later that day, the girls watched Love in the Afternoon in the Thompsons’ living room. It was a pretty boring episode that focused mainly on some business dealings at the ranch. But near the very end Jake phoned Lady Audrey and in a harsh, seductive whisper asked her to go out with him. He’d been asking her, in more or less the same way, for weeks.
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