by Norma Klein
“I’m not sure what you mean,” I said. He was staring at me in a funny way.
“Let’s see . . . what I mean is, they might think of you sexually, whereas without that scene, maybe not.”
I never thought of that. “You mean because they saw me without anything on?”
“Right.”
“I don’t think so,” I said. I thought a minute. “Some boys in my class tease me sometimes. That’s about all.”
“What do they tease you about?”
I blushed. I didn’t know if this was something Daddy wouldn’t want me to talk about. “The thing is, I had this diaphragm. Maybe you saw that show where I talked about it?”
He nodded. “It was a present?”
“Yeah, well, actually I don’t have it anymore.”
“What happened to it?”
“I threw it out . . . but could you not put that in? Because it cost thirty-five dollars and my parents might get mad that I wasted all that money, especially after I made a big fuss about wanting to get it and all.”
“Why did you throw it out?” Trudy said, curious.
“Deel says I should’ve just kept it. It’s just I had this fight with my boyfriend and I just . . . well, this sounds dumb but I cut a big hole in it with a nail scissors. I just . . . I don’t know.”
There was a silence, then Mike said, “Well, sex is a complicated thing . . . at any age.”
“Yeah . . . that’s what Daddy says.”
“Rusty?” Trudy said. “I wonder if I could get some shots of you out on the terrace while the light’s still good? Would you mind?”
“Uh uh.” I put on my fox jacket and went outside. I showed them Daddy’s tomato plants.
“I love your jacket,” Trudy said. “Is it new?”
“Yeah. Could you say it’s fake fur? Because I don’t really believe in fur coats.”
“Well if it’s not an endangered species . . . Move just a little to the right. Could you look over your shoulder a sec? Great . . .”
I saw Deel in the living room. “That’s my sister,” I said. “Cordelia.”
“Oh yes . . . the future politician,” Mike said. He opened the terrace door. “Hi,” he said. “You’re Cordelia?”
“None other.” Deel looked at them warily.
“Would you like to join us, Cordelia?” Trudy said. “I’d love a few shots of you.”
“I hate being photographed,” Deel said.
“I know how you feel,” she said. “Well, suit yourself.”
“Those are real foxes,” Deel said.
“We know,” Mike said. “How does all this strike you, Cordelia?”
“All what?”
“All this attention your sister is getting as a result of her performance in Domestic Arrangements? What reaction do you have to it?”
Deel looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Well, the thing is, Rusty’s more like Mom. She just wants to entertain people. I’m like Daddy. I want to make the world a better place to live.
“That’s not true,” I said. “I want to make the world a better place to live in.”
“You do?” Deel looked amazed.
“Yeah, by delivering babies and stuff like that.”
Mike said, “I’ll tell you what . . . why don’t we step back into the living room? It’s getting a little chilly out here. Trud, do you have enough?”
“Sure.”
We all went back into the living room. Deel sat down on the sofa. I sat in the leather chair.
“Rusty says you have political ambitions?” Mike said, turning a leaf of his notebook.
“My problem,” Deel said, “is, I’m an idealist. I don’t want to just be a slimy politician, the kind that makes deals. I want to help poor people and blacks and do things for women’s rights. Like, I think marijuana laws ought to be changed.”
“In what way?”
“Well.” Deel was acting very poised; I was surprised. She usually isn’t with strangers. “The point is, everyone smokes pot, everyone! So what’s the point in having laws that everybody is going to break?”
Just then the door opened and Daddy came rushing in. He looked sweaty and nervous. “Oh, hi!” he said.
“Mr. Engelberg? I’m Mike Nadler and this is my wife, Trudy.”
Daddy took off his coat. “I see things are . . . under way.”
“Yes. You have two very lovely and sophisticated daughters, if I may be permitted to say so,” Mike said.
“Thank you,” Daddy said, sitting down. “I think so.”
“Did your movie go okay, Daddy?” I asked.
“Well, the shooting won’t actually start until tomorrow,” Daddy said. “It’s a film for the American Cancer Society,” he told them. “About smoking.”
“Cordelia was just telling us that she feels marijuana laws should be changed,” Mike said. “How do you feel about that?”
“Well.” Daddy licked his lips. “Before we go into that, could I offer the two of you a drink? Some sherry? Scotch?” He got them drinks. “Cordelia and I don’t see eye to eye totally on this issue,” he said. “I think there’s a lot of potential harm in irresponsible use of drugs, especially among teenagers.”
“Oh, Daddy!” Deel said.
“Around here I’m considered an old fogey,” Daddy said. “In the world at large I’m considered fairly liberal.”
“Then how, if I might ask, did you feel about Domestic Arrangements? Particularly some of the scenes in which Tatiana, Rusty . . .”
Daddy looked at me. “Well, I felt . . . I felt they were handled with a great deal of taste. I don’t know if I would have directed the movie quite that way if it had been my movie, but—”
“And the much-discussed hair-dryer scene? Did that disturb you in any way?”
Daddy took a sip of his drink. “My feeling is that nudity, when it’s an intrinsic part of the story, is perfectly acceptable. It can even enhance a story.”
“And you felt that scene was intrinsic?”
“Yes, I did,” Daddy said after a moment. “I would say that.”
“I thought you didn’t think it was, Daddy,” I said. “I thought you didn’t like it.”
Daddy smiled. “Well . . . it’s true at first. If it’s your own daughter, of course . . . but I’ve come to see it differently. I think I see it more in perspective now.”
“How about the future?” Mlike said. “Rusty’s future in films, that is? I assume she’s getting a good many offers. Someone at Fox told us they’re very excited about the possibility of her being in a musical version of Lolita.”
“We’re being extremely careful,” Daddy said. “It’s important that Tatiana finish high school and go to an excellent college. I don’t want her to throw away these formative years doing nothing but act in movies. But if an occasional part comes along that seems intelligent and tasteful, well, then we’ll think about it.”
“How do you feel about Lolita?” Mike said, turning to me. “Have you read the book, Rusty?”
I shook my head. “But Daddy says it’s good.”
“We’re waiting for the script,” Daddy said.
“I can’t sing,” I said. “But they said they don’t care.”
“Of course we don’t want Tatiana to be exploited in any way,” Daddy said. “That’s of the utmost importance to all of us.”
“Sure,” Deel muttered.
Mike laughed. “Are you worried about any possible exploitation of your sister, Cordelia?”
Deel shrugged. “Well, if she goes around playing teeny boppers and nymphets with their boobs hanging out all over the place, she won’t exactly . . .”
“As a matter of fact,” Daddy intervened swiftly, “I may be directing a performance of The Tempest over the summer and I’ve been thinking of using Tatiana as Ariel.”
He never told me that! “Isn’t Shakespeare hard?” Trudy asked.
“She can do it,” Daddy said. “She has a remarkable natural talent, absolutely staggering. Just picks things up l
ike that!” He snapped his fingers.
I was getting nervous that Deel would feel jealous the way she usually does when Daddy talks about me that way.
Trudy said, “How about a shot of you with Rusty, Mr. Engelberg.”
“Where would you like us to be?”
“Well, Rusty, why don’t you go over and sit right on the edge of your father’s chair?”
Daddy looked up at me. Then I slipped and fell into his lap. I jumped up again. “She’s getting to be quite an armful,” Daddy said, embarrassed.
“Yes, she certainly is,” Mike said, looking at my breasts. I never like it when men do that. Maybe he was getting drunk because Daddy gave him so much Scotch.
While Daddy was talking, Mom came home. She waved from the front hall. “Hello, everybody!” She came in. She was wearing bright yellow jeans and a purple silk shirt knotted at the waist. “I’m delighted to meet you,” she said, shaking Mike’s hand. “I’m Amanda.”
“You’re her mother?” he said. “Unbelievable. Were you a child bride?”
“Thanks.” She smiled at him in that way Deel can’t stand. “So? How’s it going?”
“Very, very nicely,” Mike said. “Your husband has just been telling us about how he met you.”
“Oh?” Mom smiled mischievously. “I hope not everything.” She looked at Daddy. “What are you telling them, sweetie?”
Daddy reddened. “No, I was just mentioning the production of The Tempest you were in and how I’d thought of Tat playing Ariel this summer.”
“And what a fall was there,” Mom said. She took a sip of Daddy’s drink. “I mean, now, TV commercials, soaps—Tat’s the only member of the family who’ll even speak to me.”
“Darling,” Daddy said.
“No, that’s a slight exaggeration,” Mom said. “But the fact is, well, you get work where you can . . . and Pinter isn’t exactly crawling to me on bended knees to play the lead in his latest.”
“If he did, would you want to do that kind of acting?”
“Sure!” Mom sat down and crossed her legs. I could tell she was sort of flirting with Mike Nadler. “Listen, I’ll do anything once. So you make a fool of yourself? Big deal. My best experiences in life have been doing things I thought I couldn’t.”
“I’ve found that too,” Mike said.
“Have you?” Mom said. “In what way?”
He looked taken aback. “Well, lots of ways . . . Mrs. Engelberg, how about telling us a little of your own background, how you got started in acting, and so on.”
“First of all, Amanda, okay? I use my maiden name in my work. Mrs. Engelberg is in Florida right now, playing bridge with her friends, something you will never catch me dead doing at any age. Well, gee, you really want to interview me? Have you talked to Tat enough?”
“Yes, I think we’ve gotten quite a lot of material,” Mike said, “and since Rusty clearly gets a lot of her interest and enthusiasm for acting from you, I think our readers would be curious. But if you’d rather not—”
“Oh, no! Listen, I adore talking about myself. I love it. I just didn’t want to hog the stage when it was Tat’s interview. Do you want, like from birth on? How it all began, and so forth?”
“Sure,” Mike said, smiling. I could tell he really liked Mom. Trudy looked like she was falling asleep in her chair. “Would you say Rusty’s talent at this age compares to yours? Were you into acting already at fourteen?”
“There’s no comparison whatever!” Mom said. She turned to Daddy who also had a slightly glazed expression. “Darling, could you get me some white wine? I think there’s some open in the refrigerator? No, well, Rusty is just nine million times more poised and put together and everything than I was. At fourteen I was a scrawny, six-foot-tall freckled kid who couldn’t get a date to save myself. I mean, with falsies I was flat-chested. That kind of thing. Member of the Wedding is the story of my life. Rusty’s grown up with intelligent, cultivated, artistic people. I come from a town in Kentucky with a population of, at best, three hundred people. It’s too small to be called a town! It’s a village . . . so it was absolutely the end of the line culturally. I mean, the end. No movie, no theater. So I was a complete freak, a rebel, a weirdo. They wished they’d strangled me at birth . . . it was all Peyton Place. You know? Three churches in a one-block radius and the deacon making it with the doctor’s wife and poor bedraggled women with umpteen mongoloid children whose biggest kick was stealing candy bars from the local hardware store.”
“I come from a town like that,” Mike Nadler said.
“Do you?” Mom looked like that was the most interesting thing she ever heard. She reached up and took the glass of wine Daddy handed her. “How fascinating! Where?”
“Scipioville.”
“I can’t believe it . . . we were neighbors! Goodness! That is just an amazing coincidence. Lionel, did you hear that? Mike comes from Scipioville, just ten miles from Union. Was it the same for you?”
“Absolutely,” Mike said.
“That’s just amazing . . . but you don’t have much of an accent.”
“When I get mad, I do.”
“Me too.” She smiled and reached down to unzip her boots.
He was watching her, but then glanced, first at his wife, and then at his watch. “You know, I’m afraid we’re going to have to split now . . . but could we come back sometime and finish this?”
“Sure. Anytime!” Mom said gaily.
“I’ll call you . . . sometime next week, perhaps?”
Mom frowned. “Well, next week I’ll be in, of all places, Puerto Rico. We’re filming a Duncan Hines coconut cake commercial, and I have the hideous feeling I’m going to have to climb a tree and sit there for hours, hanging on to some coconuts . . . Still, it’ll be warm.”
“When you get back then?”
“Absolutely.” She glanced over at Trudy. “I think your wife’s asleep.”
He smiled. “She’s had a long day.”
“How marvelous that you work together! I think that’s the best thing for a marriage.”
“It has its good side . . . and its bad,” Mike said, getting up.
Mom sighed. “What doesn’t?” she said.
When they’d left, Mom went into the kitchen where Daddy was mucking around trying to get dinner started. “Now, sweetie, aren’t you ashamed, deeply and horribly ashamed of yourself?”
“What for?” Daddy said.
“Well, after all those dreadful comments about how awful journalists were—can you imagine two sweeter, nicer people?”
“Well, I—”
“Imagine his being from Scipioville. What a small world! And I was so touched, he wants to know all about me, Mother of Star.”
“Mother of Star, what exactly are we having for dinner?”
“Well, Father of Star, if you see fit to light the oven, I think I’ll just chuck in that chicken thing from Monday, unless you have any better suggestions. Oh, I—” She slipped and knocked her head against the cupboard. “Oh, Lord. I’m slushed, sloshed? What’s the word? Hon, how did it go, did you think? Were they nice with you?”
“Very,” I said. “They took a lot of pictures. Daddy, I told them we didn’t go around naked that much so he won’t get the wrong idea.”
“Uh huh?” Daddy looked wary. “What else did you talk about?”
I tried to remember. “Just, regular things . . . school and boys and stuff.”
“Did they take any nude photos?” Deel said, coming in.
“No,” I said. “You saw! They just took them of me in my jacket out on the terrace . . . and some regular ones of me in my room. Oh Daddy, I did tell them you were on the Scarsdale Diet, is that okay? Is that too personal?”
“That’s okay,” Daddy said.
“She took millions of pictures,” I said.
“Well, they never use more than a couple,” said Mom. “I’m glad she fell asleep before she got any of me. I mean, the point is,” she said, turning to Daddy who was getting some
thing out of the freezer, “people have to earn a living.”
“Yes?”
“So, here’s this perfectly bright, charming guy who needs a job and maybe he can’t get one on the New York Times, so he gets one at People. Does that make him someone to sneer at?”
“He kept staring at my breasts,” I said. “But I think that was because he’d had all that Scotch.”
“Yes, I thought he was a little—” Daddy began.
“Darling, all men stare at women’s breasts,” Mom said. “There’d be something wrong with them if they didn’t. Why shouldn’t they, for heaven’s sake? They’re pretty . . . goodness, I don’t even have anything to stare at.”
“Yes, you do,” Daddy said.
“Well, but not compared to Tat.”
“Well, how come he kept staring at you, then?” Deel said.
Mom looked taken aback. “Was he? I guess he was just dazzled by my wit and charm and all that.”
“Sure,” Deel said.
“Cordelia,” Mom said. “I have had a long, hard day. Could we dispense with the Sermon on the Mount for this particular evening?”
“Well, if Daddy doesn’t mind,” Deel said, “why should I?”
“What shouldn’t I mind?” Daddy said.
“That you’re married to someone who salivates from every pore whenever there’s a man in the room.”
Mom burst out laughing. “Salivates from every pore! I love it! What a great image.”
“Amanda is interested in people,” Daddy said diplomatically. “She enjoys drawing them out.”
“Sure,” Deel said.
“Sweetie,” Mom said, slicing the bread. “You know, for a girl with a dazzling IQ like yours, it seems to me the word ‘sure’ is a trifle overused, wouldn’t you say?”
“There’s a big difference in being interested in people, and sucking up to everyone of the opposite sex you happen to meet,” Deel muttered.
“Okay, Delia,” Daddy said firmly. “I think we get the point. There are different ways of looking at this, as there are with most subjects. Shall we agree to disagree?”
Deel just wheeled out of the room.
Mom raised her eyebrows. “I thought she’d be in a bad mood, but this!”