by C. S. Lakin
“She’s got sneakers on,” Dick said.
“So, little harm done.”
Peter retrieved another steaming bowl of pasta and spooned out a helping on Jonathan’s plate. As Davis reached for the bottle of wine, Cynthia intercepted with her hand. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough? We’ve all had enough. Everyone’s in a bad mood.” Davis yanked the bottle out of her hand, and she sucked in her breath.
Davis patted her hand. “Lighten up, Cyn.” He topped her barely touched glass. “Tell us another joke, Dick. I don’t care if it isn’t funny.”
Dick turned toward Davis, away from eye contact with Millie. “Okay. This guy has a perpetual headache. Goes to lots of doctors and no one can help him. Finally, he finds a therapist who tells him it’s all in the mind. He says, whenever you get a headache, go in the bathroom, look in the mirror and say ‘I don’t have a headache . . . I don’t have a headache . . .’ So, the guy does it and, by God, it works. Later, his wife wants to have sex. They do. She wants it again. So, he goes into the bathroom. He comes out, they make love again. The wife wants more, so he goes back into the bathroom again. This goes on all night. His wife can’t believe it because he never performed like that before. Finally, she’s dying to know what’s going on in the bathroom. So, when he goes back in after their fourth time around, she peeks through the crack in the door and sees her husband standing in front of the mirror, saying, ‘She’s not my wife, she’s not my wife.’ ”
Jonathan groaned. Davis muffled a laugh. Cynthia scowled. Peter caught her eye and gave her a sympathetic look.
Cynthia motioned at Della’s untouched plate. “Della, eat.”
Della picked up her fork and played with her noodles, lifting a few strands up onto her fork and raising them to her mouth. Peter watched in fascination. Della repeated the motion over and over but never ate a bite.
Dick popped a Rolaids into his mouth in between bites of food. Peter doubted the noodles were to blame for his upset stomach. He glanced at Millie. She gripped her fork and piled food into her mouth as if stoking her anger. He cringed imagining a life with Dick as a husband. No wonder Millie insulated herself with fat.
Jonathan poured another glass of wine and caught Peter’s eye. He quickly turned his head.
“Hey, troops, I’ve got a show biz joke for you, since we’re all here as guests of the queen of Hollywood. Where is our generous hostess, anyway?”
Peter pointed to the staircase. “Upstairs. She said she wasn’t hungry.”
“Well, that’s bad manners,” Jonathan said. “In that case, I’ll tell the joke in her honor. This one’s been going around Hollywood: Lila and the Devil meet at Morton’s restaurant to hammer out a deal. And Lila says: Let me get this straight. I sign with you—you’ll make me the richest woman in town?
“The Devil says: Yes.
“Lila says: I’ll even get to buy one of the networks one day?
“The Devil says: Yes. if you want to.
“Lila says: I’ll be the biggest and most famous star in the world?
“The Devil says: Yes. Anything your heart desires.
“Lila says: But in exchange for all these goodies, I have to give you my soul?
“The Devil says: Oh, yes . . .
“And Lila says: And the soul of my husband, when I marry?
“The Devil says: Yes.
“Lila says: And if I have children? You get their souls too? And my grandchildren? And all who come after?
“The Devil says: Yes. Yes. Yes.
“Then Lila says: Okay, Mephisto, baby. You can level with me. So, what’s the catch?”
Davis and Dick joined Jonathan in a wave of laughter, unaware that Lila stood in the doorway. Peter caught sight of her and stiffened. She held onto the door handle, looking tired and ragged. Mascara was smeared over one eye and Peter could tell she had been drinking—heavily. Another one, she mouthed to Peter, pointing to her empty glass. Peter walked to the liquor cabinet and found the Absolut.
“Hey, Levin—‘baby’—you’ve got the punch line wrong.”
The guests startled at the sound of Lila’s voice. Peter noticed Jonathan cringe.
Lila continued. “So, Lila asks the devil, what’s the catch, and the devil says, well, you have to star in a TV movie-of-the-week directed by and costarring all your old college buddies.” She burst into a squeaky laugh and waved her arms in the air. “No, no! Anything but that. That . . . would be hell!”
Then the smile disappeared from her face. “Just kidding.” She wet a finger with her tongue and chalked up an imaginary score in the air. “One point, Lila.”
Lila grabbed the back of the chairs for balance as she wended her way around the table. “Well, how are my special guests? Enjoying yourselves? I sure hope so. We have gobs of entertainment planned for you this evening, so eat and drink. Jonny, how ’bout another joke? I sooo . . . enjoyed the last one.”
Jonathan pinched his lips together.
“Okay, keeping to our religious motif—a writer dies and ends up in Limbo. He meets God and God asks whether the guy wants to go to heaven or hell. The writer isn’t sure. God hands him two tapes and sends him into the screening room to make his selection. The writer puts on the tape that says ‘Heaven.’ He sees cute kitties and lambs and children laughing. He puts on the other tape and it’s like a Michael Jackson video world of hot sex, expensive cars, drugs, wild times. So he comes out and God asks his choice. He says, well hell, of course. So, God opens a door and shoves him in. And it’s awful. He falls and falls into a bottomless pit. Fire and brimstone and ugly monsters eat away at his flesh. He screams up to God, burning in flames, and says, ‘God! You lied to me!’ And God shouts back, ‘No I didn’t. I just showed you the pilot.’ ”
A few laughs rippled across the room, but Lila scrunched her eyebrows together. Jonathan looked over at her, sweat gathering on his forehead. An oppressive silence followed. Peter stood at the doorway to the kitchen and trembled.
Finally Lila spoke. “Heaven and hell. An apt choice, Levin. Very revealing. Perhaps we’ll all have those choices to make before we’re through here.”
She pulled out the vacant chair next to Cynthia and stuffed herself into it. “Guess who’s coming to dinner? Oh, I almost forgot.” Lila abruptly stood, knocking over Cynthia’s water glass. “Millie, come with me.”
Millie looked stricken as Lila pulled on her hand. She let Lila drag her out of the dining room.
Peter gathered up the plates to make room for dessert, watching the door. Lila’s tone implied more than drunkenness. What did she have up her sleeve?
Della lit a cigarette.
“Do you have to smoke at the table?” Jonathan said. “Show a little consideration, or do you even know the meaning of the word?”
Della took a long drag and blew a cloud of smoke across the table in Jonathan’s direction. “Who do you think you are, ordering me around? No one’s hired you to direct this inane movie.”
“This would make a great movie,” Dick said. “Famous star invites old school buddies to a weekend of thrills and intrigue. A variation of ‘The Big Chill.’ ”
Davis shook his head. “More like the Big Chill faces the Big Chilly San Juans.”
“No, I think this movie is ‘Lord of the Flies,’ ” Della said. “Children tearing one another to pieces.”
Cynthia’s voice came out a whisper. “It’s more like ‘Misery.’ ”
Peter couldn’t resist their game. “I vote for ‘Eating Raoul.’ ”
“No, darlings, you’re all wrong,” Lila said, entering the room and dragging an embarrassed Millie on her arm. “We’re doing, ‘Who’s afraid of Virginia Woolf.’ ”
All eyes locked on Millie, who stood dressed in a tight, lime green, sequined evening gown. Matching lace gloves adorned her pale arms and around her neck hung the heavy diamond and gold necklace Lila had worn at her guests’ arrival. Dick muffled a laugh; then his eyes lit on the necklace. Lila showed a curious interest in Dick’s expres
sion. Peter frowned. Just what did this little game of dress-up signify?
“Now, don’t you think this is more becoming of your lovely wife?” She pushed Millie into her chair. Millie’s face reddened. “See, Mil? Sixty pounds makes little difference when you have a pretty face, isn’t that right, Ferrol?”
Dick forced a smile. Peter knew Dick wasn’t going to insult his fat wife when he knew it would mean insulting Lila, too.
Lila leaned into Millie. “I know every fat joke there is, and I can get away with telling them, too. I’ll teach you a few. Then you’ll be properly armed when Dick throws his little jabs. You need to remind him: the fatter you are, the more weight you have to throw him around.”
Lila plopped into her chair. “You know, Dick, you really don’t appreciate what a gem you have in Millie. How she faithfully stands by you, while you unfaithfully don’t stand by her.” Dick’s face revealed a fight with panic. He clearly dreaded what she was about to say. Somehow, Lila knew more than she should. Or maybe she was just searching.
Dick shut his mouth, carefully concealing every twitch.
Lila seemed pleased with the silence. “Peter—where’s the dessert?”
“Coming.” Peter had purposely stayed in the kitchen. He knew Lila wanted to “repay” her guests for some past hurt, but what unfolded before his eyes comprised more than her usual comic jabbing. She toyed with these people like a cat with its prey before devouring it. Maybe these people deserved some ego bashing, but how much?
He served the brandied apple tart warm from the oven.
Lila wiggled in her tight seat. “Ah, my favorite. Be a dear, Peter, and bring some coffee, too.”
Peter hurried to fulfill her wish. Would this long, worrisome day never end? All he wanted was to get the evening over with and go to bed.
Della tried to melt into the background. Through the haze of the alcohol, an overwhelming sense of discomfort settled in. A memory tugged at the back of her mind--something Daniel, her shrink, had said to her. She recalled one evening when she and Daniel had shared a few drinks on the couch in his office, with their clothes strewn about the floor. She had been complaining, tearfully, about a friend of hers at college who enjoyed a successful career while she, the one with the real talent, got nowhere. Daniel comforted her. He told her when she got her act together, she’d make it, too. Forget about Lila, he said.
Daniel’s words replayed in her head. She asked him how he knew she meant Lila, when she never mentioned her by name. He flushed and denied saying it. She stormed out of his office that evening when he refused to explain his faux pas.
“Della, dear, you’re drifting.” Lila’s voice brought her focus back to the dinner table. “Drink some coffee. I don’t want you to go mentally AWOL on us tonight. We have a suspenseful and thrilling game planned and I expect one-hundred-percent participation.” Lila’s tone was succinct. “The winner will be rewarded with a very expensive prize.”
Della looked at the faces around her. That caught their attention. And hers, too.
Dick bolted upright in his chair. “What’s the game?”
“Let’s just say it’ll be like being on stage. And you can all give a performance of a lifetime. A chance to really act—on the big, scary stage of life.”
Jonathan spoke. “You know, Li, I want you to know how proud we all are of you. Especially me. I feel—how should I put it—particularly responsible in some way for your success.”
“Oh, and why is that, Levin?”
Jonathan looked surprised. “Well, Lila, love. I recognized your talent. I know your friend Millie here suggested you to the group, but I’m the one who insisted on you playing the lead in ‘Picnic.’ I knew if you got a taste of the stage you’d make it your home.”
“Oh, no doubt,” Lila said. “Here was your great senior project, your baby. And it all revolved around fat, homely Lila. You really must have seen something in me no one else did.”
Jonathan bristled at her sarcasm.
“And all those private rehearsals you arranged with me and Davis, so we could polish up our parts and give you a stunning performance.”
Jonathan looked puzzled. “Well, yes . . .”
“And I suppose I let you all down. Not showing up on opening night. Everything just went to pieces.”
“Yes. I mean, no. You didn’t let us down.” Jonathan squirmed in his chair. “Hey Lila, that was so long ago. But, we were worried when you didn’t show up for curtain. Weren’t we guys?”
Heads nodded around the table. Davis finished off his glass of wine and attempted to stand. “Why bring all this up again? Fifteen years is ancient history.”
“But, this is a reunion,” Lila said. “You’re supposed to dredge up the past and reminisce and lament. So, sit down, Davis.” Davis promptly dropped back into his seat.
“Now—where were we? Oh yes, everything fell apart on opening night when the star failed to show. Funny, I never did hear the end of that story. I always wondered what happened next.” There was a long silence. “What—no one wants to tell me the ending? Happy or sad?”
Della remembered the clipping in Lila’s scrapbook. Of course Lila knew what happened that night.
“Della was your understudy, remember? She played Madge,” Dick said.
“Of course she would, wouldn’t she?” Lila turned to Jonathan. “Lucky for you, huh Levin? Della must have saved the show.”
Jonathan shrugged. “Della was fine, but—”
“You know, Levin, you pride yourself in thinking you launched me on my illustrious career, but I hold you all equally responsible. No one more than another. Don’t look so forlorn,” Lila said, meeting their eyes one at a time, the way she worked her live audiences. “It’s a great thing you all did. A great thing. Why if it wasn’t for all of you, I wouldn’t have that mansion in Bel Air and this little hideaway and all my multiple investments and jewelry and my Swiss bank accounts. I wouldn’t have my face on every magazine cover in the world. I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to curtsy to the queen of England or have a street named after me. Why, fellas, if it wasn’t for you, I’d be nothing.”
They exchanged troubled glances. Della shuddered. Why did she feel as if someone had just walked on her grave?
Chapter 17
“Party Time!” Lila pulled on the arm of the sofa but it didn’t budge. Her drink sloshed and ran down onto the cushion, staining the expensive chintz fabric.
“Here.” Jonathan hurried to her side. “Let me help you with that.” He hoisted one end and, with Lila, dragged the sofa along the plush carpeting, scattering glasses in their wake. The room resembled the aftermath of some explosion: cigarettes overflowed from ashtrays, bottles and glasses littered the floors and tables. Lila seemed oblivious to the mess, stepping carelessly, grinding ashes into the delicate white and gray pattern of the short shag carpet.
“Peter.” She snapped her fingers and Peter rushed over. “Get all this stuff off to the side. We need to set up the benches. It’s time to play our little game.”
“Games are for children, Li,” Davis said, holding onto Cynthia’s arm. One look told Jonathan that Cynthia had been complaining to him again.
“Not the kind of games I play, loverboy. Come on—you’re big and strong. Move some of this mess out of the way.”
Davis stayed where he was. “And suppose we don’t want to play? We’re not interested in any prize.”
“No, I imagine you wouldn’t be. But, I’m sure you’ll find it enlightening nonetheless. You’ll see that you’re not such a lucky guy, after all.”
“What the hell’s that suppose to mean?”
“Dear Davis, this is a game of merit. You have to prove your worth. Since you think your life is so flawless, what’ve you got to lose? Or are you afraid of what may leak out?”
“I’m not afraid of anything.”
Cynthia squeezed his arm. “You don’t have to prove anything, Davis.”
“Sure he does,” Lila said. Turning, she clapped h
er hands. “Come on, come on, let’s make some space.”
At her direction, Peter brought in a long, wooden bench from the hallway. “Get one more and place them facing each other.” Lila walked over to the easy chair and shook Millie’s shoulder. “Wake up, Mil. The party’s about to begin. I know it’s past your bedtime, but you’ll have to manage somehow.”
Millie opened her eyes with a start. Her breath came out in spurts. “This dress is too tight. I have to change my clothes . . .”
“Nonsense. You’re perfect. Just the thing to rekindle your marriage.”
Dick stood on the other side of the room, instructing the “movers” where to put the furniture.
Lila watched and nodded. “Good old Dick, organizing as usual. He has such a knack for making it look like he’s doing all the work.” She yanked Millie out of her chair. “Come on over here.” She deposited her on one of the two benches placed in the center of the room.
“Can’t we open a window or turn on a fan? I can’t breathe.” Jonathan paced the floor. Della and her disgusting cigarettes. He ached to know what the prize was, but didn’t dare ask. He certainly didn’t want to appear desperate. The way he figured, if he could win this little game of Lila’s, then maybe she would grant his request. She just had to look at his script. He realized he was terribly anxious. His shirt stuck to his back and his head pounded from the buildup of alcohol.
He walked over to Lila and wove his arm through hers. “From one insider to another, Li, I can tell you have the makings of a fine dramatic actress. I saw it in college. Not to knock Variety. God knows it’s given you great financial rewards. But what about the real meat? Don’t you ever dream of letting the world see what you’re truly capable of doing?”
“Which brings us to this little project of yours.”
“Look, I’ve found this brilliant writer. I optioned his script because it’s tailor-made for you . . .”
“Hold it, Levin.”
Jonathan pushed on. “I’ve got the whole package: the backing, a studio at my disposal. Of course, I’m the man to direct it.”