A Swan's Sweet Song

by J. Arlene Culiner

  “Bright eyed and bushy tailed? Do people still use expressions like that?” Jason’s moue of disgust was destroying his chic.

  “Where I come from, dear old Dog’s Pass, they sure do.”

  “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. Dog’s Pass?” His disgust increased. “The sordid world of stewed catfish and meat pies, I imagine.”

  Sherry shook her head, her expression dead pan. “That stuff’s for rich folks. The rest of us just go in for tails, ears, and snouts. Nothing like a snout sandwich at six in the morning. Sets you up for the long shift in the opossum cannery.”

  “Sherry, please.”

  “Because you’re feeling too delicate?”

  Jason looked at her suspiciously, and narrowed his eyes. “You won’t start in on that opossum cannery stuff at the party tonight, will you? Because if you do…”

  “Why not?” Sherry chirped innocently. “Is Norton Wilde delicate too?”

  “You know what your problem is?” Jason shook his head wearily. “You don’t fit in. No one can even have a normal conversation with you.”

  “Can’t make a silk purse out of an opossum’s ear,” Sherry quipped. Then sighed. “Actually, I don’t really want to fit in here.”

  “Could have fooled me.”

  “I’d rather fit into somewhere else. A place that has real trees, for example. Trees surrounded by other trees, all of them pushing out of a forest floor.”

  “Trees here in California just aren’t real enough for you?”

  “They’re very nice, of course. Always green and luxuriant. But they seem so domesticated, so much like stage scenery. I miss real fields too. Fields that smell like earth and growing things. I want barns, and straw, and fallen leaves, and spiders, and walks, and beautiful silence.”

  That wasn’t all, either. Of course she wanted those things, but she also wanted to share them with a rangy, gray-eyed man. The one she’d fallen in love with all those long months ago. The one with whom she’d first experienced the beauty of mountains, fresh air, and forest floors. She wanted to feel the pressure of his arm around her shoulders. She wanted to be able to touch him, feel his lips on hers. How many times had she wished she could be projected back to that warm, Indian summer day when she and Carston had been together in the forest?

  For the rest of her life, she knew she’d associate a love of nature with his memory. Some people have a way of coming into your life, even briefly, and changing it forever, she mused. But what was the point of even thinking about Carston Hewlett and other impossible things. She had to live without him and accept that. No one in the world got everything they wanted no matter how hard they tried.

  Besides, if she’d mattered to him at all, he’d have contacted her by now. It would have been easy enough to get her address or her phone number through Charlie. But he hadn’t done it. He probably didn’t like her very much. Or had decided there was no place for her in his world. Or had totally forgotten her. Or was with someone else. No point in dreaming.

  Jason stood. “Well you’re in luck, kid. Wait to you see Wilde’s place. He has trees, grass, flowers—everything set out all pretty, just the way you want it. And there’s a big black heart-shaped swimming pool and glassed-in jogging track with footlights. Everything you fitness freaks need.”

  Sherry laughed. “A fitness freak? Me? Because I like trees?” But why bother with explanations? Norton Wilde’s glassed in jogging track had to be a sight better than the décor at the Green Machine.

  ****

  “Sherry-baby, darling.” Norton Wilde pressed his nose into her neck for the fortieth time this evening. “You are gorgeous. Gorgeous. Anyone ever tell you that?” He slid his hand onto her hip.

  In another minute, he’d be kneading her like a lump of fresh dough. She knew Wilde’s technique, knew he’d perfected it to a fine art—if you could call it that. His particular specialty was an uncanny way of creeping up on women, unnoticed. Until it was too late to avoid being mauled. For the fortieth time, Sherry swirled out of grasping distance.

  Wilde looked at her speculatively. Smiled. Not warmly either. “Come on, sweetheart. Life’s for fun.”

  “Exactly the way I feel.” Sherry’s smile was as frosty as his. Her idea of fun didn’t include being manhandled. Did he think she should be feeling grateful for his attentions because there were so many younger glamorous and ambitious starlets to be had for the asking?

  “You got intimacy issues, sweetheart? Hope not.” His fingers had found her hip again, his nose was moving in the direction of her neck.

  Again, Sherry stepped aside. What the hell was she doing here? She certainly wasn’t enjoying herself. At all. Almost desperately, her eyes swept the crowded and very sterile designer garden, searching for Jason. Where was he? Why had he abandoned her like this? Probably because he was comfortably ensconced in some dark corner confiding to someone else that he was feeling delicate.

  Wilde’s voice took on a lower, more seductive tone. “We have to get together, just the two of us, sweetheart. Talk business.”

  Would they? Sherry’s eyes met Wilde’s and suddenly she wanted to tell him that the very last thing that interested her was a role in one of his films. In any film. She opened her mouth to say just that, when a new voice cut into the air.

  “Hey, chicken. How’s tricks?”

  It was a voice so familiar, so welcome, she thought she was dreaming. She spun around.

  “Charlie. Oh Charlie.” She was incapable of saying more.

  “In the flesh.”

  Could this be really happening? Charlie Bacon right here in Hollywood? Really? Yes, really. That big lug was standing right here, in front of her. She threw her arms around his neck.

  “Calm down, chicken.” He wrapped his arms around her too, his face apoplectic red. But he also looked very chuffed at the reception he’d just received.

  “Charlie?” Sherry drew back, looked at him with wonder. “When did you get into town? How did you know I’d be here tonight?” She hadn’t felt this happy in months.

  “Because I make it my business to know everything where you’re concerned. Besides, Norton’s been negotiating about a role for you in his new film, right, Norton?”

  “Sherry and I were just getting around to details, Charlie, my boy.”

  “Pleased to hear that, Norton. So I guess I’ll just stick around for a while.”

  Which was almost all she could have asked for, Sherry thought. Incredible how much she loved her Charlie, interfering, bossy, infuriating, and nosy old Charlie Bacon.

  Even though she knew he wouldn’t make things easy for her when she told him she wanted to go back to music. He might even consider her a hopelessly fickle person and a quitter to boot. But that didn’t matter. She knew she could win him over. He must miss that old life too. He must.

  ****

  “Well, are you an actress or aren’t you?” Charlie roared. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you. You softening up or something? Hollywood ruined the fighter in you? You disappoint me, chicken. I thought you had guts. I thought you were tough and determined. And look at you. You’re nothing but a wimp.”

  “Stop it! I’m sick and tired of your bullying. I’ve warned you time and time again: you can’t push me around all the time. I have rights too. You might have been my agent for the last eighteen years—and a great agent too, and my best friend in the whole entire world—but there are limits. Got that?”

  “Yeah, I got it, all right. You’ve become wishy-washy and scared.” Charlie Bacon stopped shouting. Suddenly he looked deflated. And defeated. He shook his head sadly. “Well, that’s it. I’m finished. Everything has an end, and this is it.”

  “Except a sausage,” Sherry conceded. She’d also stopped screaming.

  “A sausage?

  “Which has two.”

  “Two what?”

  “Ends. It’s a German saying. Everything has an end except…oh, forget it.” Sherry sighed.

  “Just goes to show our contra
ct isn’t a sausage. I’m resigning as your agent. I mean it, too. Get yourself somebody else. I’m finished. I’m walking out.”

  “Just because I refuse to go along with everything you say? Just because of that, you’re walking out? Are you crazy? Don’t forget yourself, Charlie-boy. You’re not talking agent talk now. You’re talking slave driver lingo. As my agent you have the right to propose things to me, and I have the right to say yes or no.”

  “You don’t have the right to say no to this proposition.”

  “I do. I just did, and I’ll do it again just to prove I have the right. No! Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  “Good!”

  “Good-bye.” He headed for the door.

  “Go to Dog’s Pass and rot.”

  He stopped, turned slightly. “I’m not the one from Dog’s Pass. You are.”

  “So they say.” She desperately tried to hide a mad desire to smile. If he knew she was about to burst into wild laughter, he’d really never forgive her.

  “You aren’t?”

  “You walk out of here, you quit being my agent, and I’ll never tell you the truth.”

  “Tough. Not knowing won’t kill me.” He turned, began moving in the direction of the door again.

  “Charlie—do you have any idea what you’re asking me to do?”

  “Of course I do. What kind of dumb question is that? This is your big chance. You wanna stay here in Hollywood and play in science fiction porn? That’s what you want in life? Bull. So here I come, offering you the chance of a lifetime, and you tell me, no. You won’t do it.”

  “Charlie, just listen…”

  “I have been listening. I’ve been listening hard. And I still haven’t heard one good reason for your turning the offer down. Aside from being scared, that is. But that, you won’t admit.”

  “The hell I won’t. Of course I’m scared. I’ll admit it. I’ll even repeat it. I’m scared. I’m scared of failure, I’m scared of going in over my head, I’m scared of making a fool of myself—”

  He cut her off. “The role of a lifetime. And you turn it down. I can’t tell you how disappointed I am.”

  “Look, Charlie. This is a one-act play you’re proposing. A one-act, one-character play. One person, one leading role. On stage, solo. What if I’m no good? Actually, I already know I won’t be any good. I’m not a real actress, and this isn’t just any old cheap role you’re pushing me to take. This is heavy stuff. Carston Hewlett is a brilliant playwright. He’s always had the best performers in the country working for him. What will happen when he finds out I’m a dud—especially since I really am one? And since there’ll be nobody else on stage but me, I’ll fluff it and it’ll be a disaster.”

  “Big deal. If you fluff it, if you’re a dud, then Carston will admit he made a mistake. And I’ll admit I made a mistake. You’ll be a flop, the critics will slaughter you, and you won’t act in another Carston Hewlett play. So what? It’ll all blow over in a month or two. You’ll survive, I’ll survive, and Carston will hire someone like Lila Patterson as a leading lady in his next play. Everybody’s allowed to fail some of the time, you know. But that doesn’t mean you are a dud or that you will fail. Unless you decide to, of course. Unless you talk yourself into failure.”

  “Oh, Charlie,” Sherry moaned, and clasped her hands in front of her as if in supplication. “I don’t know what to do. Carston actually agreed to let me do this? You really spoke to him? He really wants me to play the part of Melissa?”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

  “You bullied him into doing this, right?”

  “No way, I did. This was all his idea.”

  “Oh, sure. I’m supposed to believe this? Knowing you? Knowing him?”

  “Listen, chicken, cut this out. You’re not going on Broadway, okay? There’s no plan for that yet. Unless this play is a brilliant success and you’re great in the role, then—and only then—we’ll talk big time. For now, this is a play Carston’s written for a theater festival in Brandt. If it doesn’t work, it’ll stop right there.”

  “I bet it will,” she mumbled bitterly.

  “But it should work. Just think. Carston’s the one who’s directing it. You’ll go to his house, you’ll stay there with him, and while you’re there, you’ll be working through the script with him. Together, you’ll define the character, the moves. With him, you’ll learn the techniques you need. You’ll be working in tandem. You see? It can’t fail. He won’t let it fail. And you’ll learn all about what being an actress means.”

  “Oh help,” Sherry squeaked. Took a deep shuddering breath. “I’ll be going to stay in his house? His own home?”

  “That’s right. I’m sure he has very nice guest accommodations.” Charlie allowed himself to snicker for a few brief seconds. “You’ll stay with him for the duration of the rehearsal time. Something wrong with that? You’re both adults; you can handle being a houseguest for a while, can’t you?”

  She sincerely hoped she could cope with being in such close proximity to Carston day in and day out. And how would she pretend he was nothing more than a friend? A nice-guy playwright who’d agreed to give her a chance in a starring role? Because Carston was the man she cared for, the man who made her heart turn over. She hoped she could control herself. Not throw herself at him and come out with wild declarations of love as soon as she’d finished one glass of wine. “Exactly where is this house of his?”

  “Some place called Cutter’s Edge.”

  “Where on earth is that?”

  Charlie sneered evilly. “Down the road apiece from Dog’s Pass, I reckon.”

  “How am I supposed to get there?”

  “What kind of a crazy question is that?” Charlie shook his head sadly. “You get into a taxi, go to the airport, get on a plane, and fly to the nearest airport where he’ll pick you up. Carston will give us all the details.”

  “Are you coming along?”

  “Why would I? I’m going home to Memphis and May. You’ll do fine without me. I’m your agent, remember? Not your chaperone.”

  “Yes, I see.” She felt utterly miserable.

  “There’s more to this, isn’t there?” Charlie asked slyly.

  “Yes. I guess so.”

  “What do you feel about the guy? You still like him? You want to see him? Work with him?”

  Not meeting his eye, Sherry stared glumly at the boring beige carpet under her feet that really wasn’t worth such close scrutiny.

  “I guess…I guess…well…” She swallowed. Took the leap. “I fell in love with the guy.”

  Charlie grunted but offered no other comment. If Sherry had looked up, she’d have seen a very definite look of satisfaction smearing itself across his face.

  Chapter Eleven

  Like the perfect zombie in a typical Ned Lantini film, Sherry managed to get herself out to the airport, then sit through the long hours of the flight without being in the least aware of any part of her trip. The gorgeous man with salt and pepper hair sitting beside her sent intense vibrations into her sphere, but her personal wavelength was distorted, and he remained invisible. A baby across the aisle never stopped screeching, but that escaped her notice too.

  All she knew was that, somehow, she had to prove herself. She had to show Carston Hewlett that she was worth his trust in her. But why on earth had Carston let Charlie bully him into giving her this role in his new play, Swan Song? And for a theater festival? It certainly was an unsolved mystery. Then again, Sherry knew how persuasive Charlie could be when he put his mind to something. Now Carston had become his victim too. Was he already regretting the fact? She’d soon find out. And if she sensed the slightest reluctance on his part, she’d back out immediately. Without Charlie around, the escape door would be wide open.

  Clutched in her hand was the manuscript Carston had sent via Charlie. She’d gone over the thing so many times now, the pages were little more than torn and crumpled tissue. Still, she read it again and again, although she pretty well had
the whole thing down by heart. This ordeal in front of her was horrible to contemplate. How would she ever have enough courage to open her mouth, say those first lines in Carston’s presence? She’d feel like a jerk.

  She took a taxi from the airport to Cutter’s Edge, not caring how much it cost. She hadn’t wanted Carston to pick her up, and she hadn’t even let him know when she was arriving. In fact, she hadn’t even spoken to him on the phone. The arrangements had gone through Charlie, and he’d only reluctantly agreed to go along with this crazy whim of hers, arriving unexpectedly.

  The taxi pulled to a halt in the center of a rather picturesque village

  “Here you are. Cutter’s Edge,” said the driver.

  Sherry stared out at the street with amazement. This was where Carston lived? Out here in the boonies? Why, Cutter’s Edge could be Traverton. There was a general store, a gas station, a tiny school, and a long main street of wooden frame houses, so pretty, she found herself wishing she lived in one of them. Life had to be warm and rosy inside. Warmer and rosier than hers looked now.

  “Now where?” asked the taxi driver.

  She stopped dreaming. “Beats me,” said Sherry. “The house I’m looking for is called Owl’s Nest, but I’ve never been here in my life. I’ll go ask for directions.” She opened the car door, strolled across the empty main road, and entered the grocery store.

  Myrtle Ripe gave Sherry a long and penetrating up and down before answering. “Owl’s Nest, eh? You mean Carston Hewlett’s place.” She almost looked as though she were about to refuse the information. “You a friend of his or something?” There was no ignoring the lascivious emphasis she’d layered onto the word “friend.”

  “Sort of.”

  Myrtle Ripe’s eyes flickered knowingly.

  If the other inhabitants of Cutter’s Edge were half as suspicious as she, Sherry mused, Carston would never need a guard dog: Myrtle Ripe made a pit bull with rabies look adorable. Sherry smiled as sweetly and as innocently as she could. She knew from long experience that nosy folk need a certain amount of gossip in order to keep their wheels greased and their tongues wagging. “I’ll be acting in Mr. Hewlett’s next play.”