“This is almost as bad as Shakespeare,” the actor muttered, as he glanced through the scene. “But at least this is in English.”
Lisette Mars overheard Rick’s comment and leaned precariously over the side of her chair to whisper something to Tandy Newman.
“Well, here we have two people in this scene who are mad to marry each other, but because of various conventions, some of them social, some of them fanciful, don’t move their courtship along,” Kathryn said.
“There are an awful lot of words here,” Rick said, as though he’d just discovered penicillin. “I mean in films, you just get right down to it. Cut the hearts and flowers. It’s ‘baby, are we doing this or what?’ ”
Kathryn tried hard not to pass judgment on Rick’s lack of appreciation of the classics. “What you said might be true of movie dialogue, Rick, but Oscar Wilde’s characters prize language. The more they can dazzle people with their wit, especially the object of their affection, the more desirable and attractive they are. Think about the time period in which Earnest is set. It’s 1895. The Victorian era. These men and women are wearing layers upon layers of constrictive clothing. Corsets. Crinolines. Cravats. They’re not exactly gyrating their buffed bodies at Moomba as a way of attracting each other. So the sexiest stuff is happening from the neck up. This,” Kathryn said, as she tapped her temple, “is the most erotic organ. Okay kids, you didn’t hear this word in this classroom, so I don’t want any irate notes from your parents, but . . . Rick . . . think of the wordplay in this scene as foreplay.”
The celeb’s subsequent epiphany was palpable. “Now I get it!” The class echoed his sentiment in a collective “Oooooooo,” interspersed with a few giggles.
“So, shall we go for it?” Rick nodded his head and they dived into the scene.
“ ‘Gwendolen, I must get christened at once—I mean we must get married at once. There is no time to be lost.’ Why does this guy say ‘christened’ when he means ‘married?’ ” Rick muttered to himself, shaking his head.
Kathryn ignored the remark and stayed in character, feigning surprise. “ ‘Married, Mr. Worthing?’ ”
“ ‘Well . . . surely. You know that I love you, and you led me to believe, Miss Fairfax, that you were not absolutely indifferent to me.’ ”
“ ‘I adore you. But you haven’t proposed to me yet. Nothing has been said at all about marriage. The subject has not even been touched on.’ ”
“ ‘Well . . . may I propose to you now?’ ”
“ ‘I think it would be an admirable opportunity. And to spare you any possible disappointment, Mr. Worthing, I think it only fair to tell you quite frankly beforehand that I am fully determined to accept you.’ ” Kathryn thought she was looking at a drowning man. Was it the better part of valor to rescue him now? She could just imagine what her students were thinking.
“ ‘Gwendolen!’ ”
“ ‘Yes, Mr. Worthing, what have you got to say to me?’ ”
“ ‘You know what I have got to say to you.’ ” Rick shoved his left hand in the pocket of his tight jeans.
“ ‘Yes, but you don’t say it.’ ”
The actor followed the stage direction in the script and got down on his knees.
“ ‘Gwendolen, will you marry me?’ ”
Kathryn leaned over to follow the words on the script they had to share. “ ‘Of course I will, darling. How long you have been about it! I am afraid you have had very little experience in how to propose.’ ”
“I’m afraid he’s had very little experience in how to cold read,” Tandy whispered across her desk to Lisette, loud enough for Kathryn to hear her. When Kathryn shot her student a dirty look, Tandy shrugged her shoulders as if to say “you know I’m right, Miss Lamb.”
“ ‘My own one,’ ” Rick said, stumbling over the sentence construction. “ ‘I have never loved any one in the world but you.’ ”
“ ‘Yes, but men often propose for practice . . . What wonderfully blue eyes you have, Ernest! They are quite, quite blue. I hope you will always look at me just like that, especially when there are other people present.’ ”
Actually, the movie star’s eyes were that blue, except that Kathryn had to pretend she was gazing at her scene partner. Rick’s face was buried in the script.
The celebrity was clearly uncomfortable. The natural charisma that had made him a film star and a household name from Saratoga to Seattle was nonexistent. He was stumbling over his lines and couldn’t take his eyes off the page to make contact with Kathryn, even in the part of the scene where he was supposed to propose to her.
“Okay,” Kathryn sighed, relieved that the ordeal, which turned out to be just as painful for her, had finally ended. “Comments. Questions?”
Tandy Newman’s hand was the first one up. “Ms. Lamb, you were using an English accent when you played Gwendolen, but . . . um . . . Rick . . . wasn’t. Aren’t you supposed to use an English accent when you play an English part?”
“Well,” Kathryn began diplomatically. “Certainly the rhythms of this particular play lend themselves to being spoken in British cadences. And the characters are clearly English. It’s within the text of the play. But in terms of preparation for an acting role, there is nothing wrong if a performer wants to use his own speech patterns until he, uh, gets a handle on the part; and then he can add the accent once he is—er, comfortable about who his character is . . .”
Rick waved his hand from side to side. “Nah, it’s not about that. You see, kids, I’m a movie star, not an actor. My agent says I don’t have to use an accent.”
Lisette snickered.
Kathryn checked her watch against the clock above the classroom door.
Rick leaned in to Kathryn and whispered something to her. She nodded.
“Okay, kids, I’m going to let you go for the day. You’ve got a ten-minute gift of time. Don’t blow it by acting like noisy jerks in the hallways. And next time, Shrew is going on its feet. No weaseling out of it again!”
The class spent the next seven and a half minutes getting Rick’s autograph. “Look . . . I wasn’t exactly Olivier just now,” the actor said, after the students had dispersed. Kathryn waited silently to see where he was going. “Ian and I have been talking, and . . .” He caught Kathryn’s quizzical look.
“Ian? I’m supposed to know who you mean when you just say ‘Ian’?”
“Oh, you know Ian. Ian Sorenson,” Rick clarified.
“So, if you said to me, ‘oh, you know Steven,’ I should automatically know you meant Spielberg.”
“Well, yeah, actually. So, I learned from my agent— and my manager—that I wasn’t exactly Ian’s first choice for What’s Your Sign? In fact, I wasn’t even his second, fourth, or forty-seventh. But my BORQ—my Box-Office Recognition Quotient—is higher than any of the guys he wanted to use, so Miramax insisted that I was ‘dah man.’ And . . .” Rick lowered his voice to a whisper, despite the empty classroom. “What it all boils down to is that Ian lacks faith in my talent. I mean, What’s Your Sign? isn’t exactly Citizen Kane, but he thinks I’m, well, a bit . . . shallow. And I was watching you in action this afternoon and I thought you really have a handle on it. You really have your finger on the pulse of, like, how to break down a scene and get to the meat of what’s going on without everything coming out boring. So, I wondered if you’d be interested in helping me out.”
“How?”
Rick ran his hand through his hair, tousling it. “Be my acting coach on this movie.”
Kathryn looked at him incredulously.
“Another thing is that I really don’t want anyone to know about this. All on the ‘q.t.,’ if you get my drift. Well, my manager will know, because he’ll be in charge of paying you. What do acting coaches usually get?”
Kathryn was on the verge of responding that she had no idea of the going rate, when something told her to hold her tongue.
“Let’s say five hundred dollars an hour. We can work in my suite at the Plaza, or maybe I can com
e to your place sometime, if it isn’t too inconvenient for you. We’ll be shooting a lot in the bars all along Second Avenue up in the seventies and eighties. It shouldn’t take too long to have my driver zip me downtown to you in the village. Shake?” He held out his hand to Kathryn.
“You’ve got yourself a deal!” Kathryn was amazed at what had just transpired, especially after their aborted date. And she had been so humiliated when she learned that they had gone out solely because he had been researching a role and not because he was really interested in dating her. What a fool she had nearly been. Yet, who had really gotten the upper hand here? Did it matter? She wouldn’t even have to take a leave of absence from her teaching job because this little part-time gig would be arranged at their mutual convenience, hers and Rick’s.
“Just one more thing,” Kathryn said, leveling her gaze at the movie star. “Will I get program credit on the film?”
Rick thought about it for a moment or two. “I’m not the one who can guarantee that, either way. But my people will talk to Harvey—”
“You know ‘Harvey,’ ” Kathryn interrupted, laughing.
“And see what can be arranged. It’s not gonna say ‘Rick’s acting coach,’ though. I can promise you that. Over my dead body, if you get my drift.”
“With snowshoes on, Rick.” She thought about their date at Nebuchadnezzar, making out in the restaurant, and their amorous interruptus at the Plaza. “But if you call me a ‘Research Assistant,’ I may have to kill you.”
Chapter 21
For a startling split second, Walker Hart thought he was looking at a mirror image. The man sitting across the desk from him possessed the same sandy blond coloring, the same light eyes—sea green, with occasional shifts to blue, as he spoke passionately on one subject or another. The man’s eyes turned blue when he spoke about flying.
“So, you’re a professional pilot,” Walker said, a bit unnerved, as he glanced at the man’s application.
“Twelve years for British Airways,” the new client replied, in plummy English tones. “I started as a first officer and advanced to pilot for the Concorde.”
Walker thumbed through the new client’s notes, written in a round English public schoolboy hand. “So . . . you collect antique cars and motorcycles, and went hot air ballooning with Richard Branson. Pretty impressive.”
“Right. That. The ballooning was when Dick was trying to woo me away from B.A. I love the guy, but Virgin couldn’t come up with the dosh. I’ve created a bit of a lifestyle for myself, and I have to support it, you know.”
“Dosh?” Walker was confused.
“Ah, yes, two countries divided by a common language. Cash. ‘Dosh’ means cash.”
“So where do you keep all these wheeled vehicles?” Walker asked enviously.
“I can’t live in London anymore—couldn’t find a place to park.” The pilot smiled warmly. “I’ve got a home in Surrey now. It’s not a bad commute to the city, when I have to be there, and I’ve become something of a country squire, although my passion doesn’t run toward the usual horses and hounds. I’ve got some acreage with a seventeenth-century farmhouse, fully restored. Scads of room out back to indulge my enthusiasm for the antique roadsters.”
Walker’s stomach hurt. Not only that; he felt like he wasn’t on top of his game. His eyes were itching like crazy, which had thrown him off-kilter. Ordinarily, he interviewed his new enrollees after their videos were taped; somehow he and Colin had ended up chatting and now Walker was having to go through his customary process in reverse. He took a deep breath. “Well, Colin, shall we make your videotape, now?”
“No time like the present.” Colin nodded and stood up. He was a couple of inches shorter than Walker, which made Walker conscious about his size and bulk for the first time in years. The Englishman was tall and manly, but not overpowering. He seemed to move with surety and grace. Next to him, Walker felt like a middle linebacker suddenly thrown onto a tennis team.
I’m not competing with the guy, Walker reminded himself. He took Colin into the taping room and arranged the stool and the lights.
“Should I take my coat off?” Colin asked, starting to remove his navy blazer.
“No, keep it on,” Walker said from behind the camera, waving his hand at the Englishman. “Your shirt is too bright. The white is wreaking havoc with my lights.” Walker adjusted his lens. “All right, whenever you’re ready, you just give me a nod, and I’ll count to three and then turn on the camera. When you see the red light out of the corner of your eye, it means we’re taping. Look directly into the lens, not at me, when you speak.”
Colin lowered his head and closed his eyes. Then he straightened his posture, and angled his body toward the camera. He nodded his head and Walker began to tape.
“Hello. I’m Colin Fleetwood. I’ve been a transatlantic pilot for British Air for nearly two decades. Perhaps you’ve seen me say ‘buh-bye’ in Bangkok, Zurich, or Heathrow, or on my Concorde route to and from New York. I was born in Wales and got a scholarship to study drama at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts, but being an actor seemed too hard, so I became a pilot,” he added, tongue slightly in cheek. “I enjoy traveling, old black-and-white movies, and . . .”
Colin started to laugh, midtaping. He waved his hands at Walker. “Sorry, old chap, I was just thinking how frightfully silly and serious this all is. Pardon me, a moment, I think I am about to hiccup.” He inhaled deeply, held his breath for a few moments, and swallowed hard. “Ah, well, they say Laurence Olivier used to suffer giggle fits as well. Right. Moving along: I want to meet a lovely lady because I get terribly lonely whenever I fly into New York, which is at least twice a week, and I should like to have a charming companion to share my time . . .” Colin laughed again. “And . . . who knows?” This time, he couldn’t stop the laughter.
“I don’t mean to be self-mocking, Hart. This is the first time I’ve ever done anything like this, and I admit, I was a bit anxious about it. I’m afraid I’ve just provided you with some footage for one of those video blooper shows you Yanks are so fond of. Might we give it another go?”
Walker shook his head and stepped out from behind the camera. “Sorry, fella. That’s it. Personally, I think it was terrific. Your tape has good life and energy to it and you show a lot of charm and humor. I’ve been in this business for a while, and trust me, women prefer this kind of introduction to a man, rather than something that seems stiff or over-rehearsed.”
Colin rose from the stool and readjusted the lapels of his blazer. “So, how does this work?”
“Your video will be on file, and my female clients will view it, if your profile interests them. They don’t read your entire file—just the single sheet labeled ‘profile.’ Also, you will have the opportunity to view any female client’s tape, and profile sheet, and then phone whom-ever you think might suit you. And vice versa, of course. Although I’ve found that most ladies still prefer the man to make the first move.”
“Super.” Colin extended a tanned hand. “I’m looking forward to meeting ‘the woman of my dreams.’ ” The pilot started to walk toward the door, when a sudden thought caused him to stop in his tracks. “Hart? Might I be able to view a few profiles and tapes while I’m here? I don’t expect to be back in New York until Thursday, and I should like to get the ball rolling, if I may.”
“It’s Six in the City’s policy to wait until a new client’s credit card payment has been authorized or his check clears, but in your case, I suppose I can make an exception, since you’re not living here now . . .” Walker was thinking it over. More bad business practice. He’d always been very careful to wait until he was assured that the client had the money in the bank before he permitted him or her to continue the matchmaking process.
“Rip up my personal check and I’ll give you my Barclaycard instead,” Colin offered. “Then you should get a thumbs-up as soon as you swipe the card.” He pulled out an immaculate looking, wafer-thin black billfold from the inside pocket of his blazer
and handed Walker the dark blue credit card.
“This will start the process for you that much sooner. Oddly enough, most people do pay me by check,” Walker commented. “The ones who give me credit cards always mention that they’re doing it for the free air miles.”
Colin flashed a bright smile, tapping his captain’s bars that were still affixed to his navy lapel. “I guess you can say that I don’t exactly need the miles. I can fly to Tahiti and back for free as often as I like.” He gave a jovial laugh.
“Well then,” Walker said, after Colin’s credit card had been electronically cleared, “I’ll set you up in the screening room with a couple of profiles and videos. Follow me.” He led Colin into the next room and seated him in a comfortable leather chair in front of a console. “I’ll pull some matches for you and be right back.”
As he left the screening room, Walker recognized a familiar face sitting in his waiting area. The guest looked dreadfully awkward. He gave his visitor a cordial hello, then invited her to step into his private office.
Get back on the horse, kiddo, Kathryn thought, as she pressed the ‘up’ button in the lobby of the building where Six in the City had its offices. She rode to the fourth floor, butterflies in her stomach, and took a breath before trying the handle to the suite. She found the door unlocked, and stepped into the empty foyer. “Bear?” The door to the private office was closed, the vertical blinds shuttering the interior from view. Kathryn noticed that the screening room door was wide open, so she poked her head in, looking for Walker.
“Bear?” She saw a big blond man sitting in one of the comfy leather chairs. He swiveled around. “Oh.” Kathryn did a double take and caught her breath. “Excuse me . . . I thought you were . . . have you seen a guy around here who looks like . . . you?”
The man stood immediately and walked over to her, extending his hand. “Colin Fleetwood. I’m a new registrant. The gentleman whom I believe you are looking for, is in his office with a young lady. I expect him momentarily.”
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