Just when she thought she had a grip on the rest of her day, the whole schedule blew apart at two p.m. when the production company’s personal assistant pulled her out of a cast meet-and-greet to grab a taxi to NBC for a cameo in a music video that would air late night Saturday. The female cast members sang a parody dressed as Barbie dolls. At the chorus they spliced in a clip of Jennifer in a borrowed leather jacket, coiling her hair around her finger. In her best Jersey Girl voice she delivered the punch line: “My vagina can’t do math.”
She took a selfie on the legendary sound stage, thinking about Robin Williams and Gilda Radner. There were some things that fame and travel didn’t prepare you for, she thought. She looked down at a stage mark and heard Lauren Bacall saying in her head, “Acting is a profession. Stardom is an accident.”
Rope began early public showings at midnight. By the time Jennifer finished a special guest appearance on NPR’s daily entertainment review, film tracking sites were showing a steady positive buzz. She and her co-stars crossed paths several times during the day, appearing together or in sequence on the same programs. It was a crazy whirl culminating in not enough time with two stylists in her hotel room working on her hair and makeup before helping her into the Michael Kors little black-and-white dress she’d brought with her.
She was exhausted. Her feet were not loving her Manolos today. Her public persona had never felt more like a needed mask. She loved it, every bit of it, and yet under it all she continued to replay the moment she’d realized that all the furor was about a review and not her sexuality.
There had been relief that the movie and everyone who had worked on it weren’t having their contribution overshadowed by Jennifer’s private life. But that paled next to the relief she’d felt that the decision had been taken out of her hands. For just those few moments she’d thought she would be free of choosing career over life, over love.
Some role model she was. She didn’t want to be the one who pulled the trigger on her own fate. A pathetic coward. Suzanne had been right.
The crowd gathered at the barriers screamed continuously. She didn’t remember walking the red carpet on the arm of the director. She paused for selfies with fans, spoke into microphones, smiled at cameras, let herself be led to her reserved seat in the theater.
She’d learned from premieres in the past that it took a certain kind of disassociation to watch herself in a role. Objectivity over her own work was impossible. If she focused on herself all she would see was the flaws. Instead she kept her gaze on the other actors and her ear tuned to the score. Its minimalist tension was perfect for a psychological thriller and the film editor’s respect for the long, continuous takes was obvious in that none of the editor’s work showed. It just made everyone in front of the camera look better.
Air kisses and handshakes, another walk on the red carpet to cross the street to the hotel ballroom where a fundraising gala was scheduled—it was all a blur.
The evening didn’t become something like reality to her until she finished an impromptu interview with Monique DuMar, who wanted to write a feature on movies, fashion and leading ladies. She owed Monique a lot for positive press over the years and was happy to give her the time.
The moment Monique moved away, a husky masculine voice drawled in her ear, “You are still the most beautiful woman in the room.”
She spun around and threw herself into Hyde Butler’s arms for a hug. They were both too schooled to get any of her makeup on his pristine shirt front but the contact was more than just show.
“I didn’t even know you were here,” Jennifer said. She re-straightened his tasteful black silk tie. “No matter what you wear you look like James Bond.”
His chiseled, all-American face was sincere when he said, “You were a smash in that movie, Jennifer. That moment when you realized where the body had to be blew me away.”
“Thank you for saying so.” She beamed at him, grateful for his praise. The two movies they’d made since that first one with Ryan Productions had been highlights for her, and his generosity was a big reason. If only some of it had rubbed off on her.
“I am not just blowing smoke, Jenny dear.” He stopped in mock horror. “Jennifer, sorry.”
“Okay, I’ll call your bluff. What did you see in that moment?”
A couple of media people who had drifted toward them looked eager to hear the answer to her question too.
“First there was this excitement and exultation about having solved the puzzle. Then self-disgust for being excited about something so horrible. Then everything in your eyes changed and there was that little queasy swallow. Right at the end of the shot, the eruption of anger. I want to watch that fifty more times.”
Touched, Jennifer blinked back tears. “That’s what I was trying to do.”
Hyde turned to the listening crowd and pulled her close. Camera flashes escalated into a wall of popping white. “This is what talent and smart looks like.”
The producer was hustling two backers in their direction.
“I’m not going to crash your moment,” Hyde murmured, but Jennifer latched onto his forearm with a steely grip.
“Please stay. If you can.”
He might have felt her hand shaking because he covered it with his own. A receiving line was all but forming. Handshakes and air kisses were shared all around, and it was another hour before she got the chance to ask him if Emma and the kids were with him.
“Emma’s home, cussing me out.”
“What did you do?”
“Well, my part in it was brief.”
“She’s pregnant?” He winked. “Number three?”
“Third and last she says.”
They had paused near the buffet table. Hyde piled a little plate high with cheddar cheese cubes and tiny meatballs. He caught Jennifer rolling her eyes. “What? I missed dinner.”
“You’re eight inches taller than I am, and have a man’s metabolism. I should hate you for that alone.” In heels the top of her head met his jaw, which had always made them a photogenic pairing.
He skewered a meatball with a toothpick and offered it to her. “You look peaked, darlin’.”
She glared at the meatball until he popped it into his own mouth. “I won’t see the gym for nearly a week, so stop tempting me.” She remembered, suddenly, Suzanne and It’s-Its and English muffins stale in the morning winds off the ocean. How could something so simple be out of her reach? “I’m just really tired. I tell myself to take breaks in between projects, but BeBe finds me work, and I like work. This is brilliant fun and it’s only the beginning of ten days of nonstop talking. You know how it is.”
“That wasn’t just a tired look. You looked very broken up about having to say no to a meatball.”
So her makeup wasn’t concealing her mood. “I was remembering ice cream.”
“No.” His drawl was out. “That wasn’t an ice cream look either. I know exactly when Emma would rather be looking at a bowl of vanilla ice cream instead of my vanilla face.”
“It has been a year since you were the Sexiest Man Alive. It’s a mystery how she can stand to look at you. Why does she even keep you around?”
“I beg her every day not to leave me. It seems to help.”
She knew they ought to be circulating, but his presence felt like a lifeline though she didn’t know why. “How did you know it would work out? When you proposed?”
He swallowed another meatball while shaking his head at her. “I didn’t know. Who knows about these things? I got down on one knee in an airport because waiting to know would have taken too long.”
She remembered the blurry pictures that had immediately made it to the gossip sphere. Romantic mushball. “Did BeBe try to talk you out of it? She was still your agent then, right?”
“Yes, my bachelorhood was a good commodity. She was sure getting married, and to a dentist, would cost me fans.”
“Was she right?”
“Not so anyone would notice. So, precious. Are you consi
dering changing your status from Hollywood’s most eligible bachelorette? Love you, mean it!”
His impression of BeBe was so spot-on that she laughed in spite of feeling as if she were slowly sinking into a whirlpool. “I haven’t been asked. And likely won’t be.”
“Then he’s a fool.”
“It’s not a him.” Her heart stopped. I said that out loud.
Hyde immediately amended himself. “Then she’s a fool.”
Jennifer stared at him. I can’t cry in public.
He turned her away from the dwindling crowd and began pointing as if asking her if she’d like something to eat. “It can’t be that bad,” he murmured.
Rhythmic sips of air distracted her tear response, but her sinuses filled. Finally she was able to say, “You knew.”
“Actually I didn’t. I mean I knew you and Selena had been an item but I thought that was an exception.”
“It’s what I wanted everyone to think.”
“I think the world has underrated you as an actor all along.”
A strangled laugh escaped her. “Well, technically we do lie for a living. Did you know that Lauren Bacall said her career suffered for putting it second during her marriages? She said you can’t have it all.”
He touched her arm. “But if you’re lucky, if you’re with the right person, maybe you can have most of it.”
“My heart’s not big enough.”
“Well, if you believe that, it never will be.”
“I know I’m a coward.”
“You know nothing, Jennifer Lamont.”
Damn the man, he was making her laugh. The tears already pooled in her eyes threatened to spill over. “I know I’ve wrecked the chances I had with her and I don’t think she’ll even have me now.” She added sarcastically, “But the good news is that if she did, I’d have no trouble juggling time for her and my work, because I wouldn’t have work.”
“I can’t speak for the rest of the world, but I can promise you that if I have a say, you’ll have work.”
“You’re sweet.” Some of her poise returned and she was able to lean away from his sheltering bulk. “Every woman should be lucky to have a champion like you.”
“You make my heart go pitty-pat when you talk like that.”
“Of course it would be better if women didn’t need champions to begin with. If the world were fair and equal and equitable and all those other impossible things.”
“That’s the world I want my girls to grow up in.” He pulled out his phone with a genuine Proud Papa grin. “I have pictures.”
Hours later, utterly exhausted, she stood at the window of her hotel room looking down at the pulsing neon of Times Square. Even from the fortieth floor at two a.m. she could tell the streets weren’t empty. The city never did sleep. She’d be lucky if she managed any herself. She tried closing her eyes to the memories, but then she would smell Suzanne’s cologne. Her sarcastic side had presented an ear worm of the chorus from “Send in the Clowns.”
She’d have loved to have found an old movie on TV, but choices were slim. She resorted to mindlessly thumbing through her newsfeed and messages. There were congratulations from fans about Rope, photos from the reception including one with Hyde that was blowing the roof off the Twitter count, emails from media wanting more quotes, continuing #whatsmartlookslike posts directed at her, and even links to reviews that looked positive, judging by the headlines.
None of it held any interest for her. She had hoped there might be a math word problem. Something. Anything from @MasonGeekGirl.
In a petulant fit she emptied most of her makeup on the bathroom counter to get to the bottom of the kit. She found what she was looking for, an engraved silver bracelet. The least expensive and most precious piece of jewelry she owned.
Turning it to the light she read I am Unforgettable.
Apparently not.
Chapter Forty-Seven
From New York to Chicago for the local morning shows, then on to Atlanta and Dallas, Denver and Seattle. Most of the time Jennifer was with her two young co-stars in a too cold or too stuffy hotel meeting room turned studio, seated in front of a backdrop emblazoned with Rope’s film logo. Every five minutes a new reporter came in, asked the same questions and left. Some represented newspapers, other entertainment recap shows, some were podcasters and still others represented online outlets, news aggregators and highly ranked social media feed sites. It didn’t matter where they were from, they asked the same questions, over and over.
Even before she and her co-stars left New York, all of them had run out of new ways to answer.
Yes, it had been so fun to work with each other.
No, they hadn’t been worried about tackling a Hitchcock film.
Yes, they were excited about the reviews and box office.
No, they hadn’t struggled to do the long takes, they all had stage experience.
It had been truly fun to take questions from a Boys and Girls Club drama program in Denver. That half hour had been a highlight of the trip. Every once in a while an interviewer would ask a question about the furor around #whatsmartlookslike and Jennifer let the guys answer most of the time. The men who didn’t think she had any business tackling a man’s role wouldn’t listen to her justifications, but they might listen to the charming Cliff Raines and Sibo Bonali. Cliff, the avid outdoorsman, was especially fervent, and told the story several times of being lost on a long distance hike as a boy and a woman in the group had figured out where they were using two pencils and line of sight to the horizon.
Finally, late on day ten, they landed in Los Angeles. The boys were escorted to the Four Seasons while Jennifer collapsed into her own bed and rose too few hours later for the last of the press days.
Los Angeles was home, and it was a major market full of casting directors who might someday hire her, so Jennifer took extra care with her outfit. It was a relief to have her full closet to roam. Something to prop up her sagging mood and divert eyes from her weary smile. She decided on a vintage Gucci satin blouse and velvet trousers, both in her signature indigo shade and updated the look by adding steampunk-inspired lace up boots. She was ready for the production company car that ferried her from home to the stylist who’d agreed to be up in the wee hours of the morning to weave wispy milkmaid braids out of Jennifer’s black curls. Then they were off to the hotel.
It was the last day, she kept reminding herself. That it was several weeks before she left for London to do the initial table reads on a feature-length movie was beginning to loom large. She was looking forward to matching wits with a legendary sleuth out to prove her a murderer, and she would spend time on solo work with the script. But until then she had only a few commercials and a small voice part in an animated feature to occupy otherwise empty days.
She had never thought of downtime in her schedule as empty before.
At least her ego felt better for the heads that turned as she walked the hotel lobby. She supposed that made her shallow, but at that moment she didn’t care. She was right in the middle of the expansive marble and gold registration area when a toddler stumbled into her path.
She squatted down to help the child get back on his feet. “I fall down sometimes when I walk too.”
A breathless father caught up to them. “I’m so sorry. He takes off all the time.”
The little boy seized her finger and gave her the look of having decided he had found a new friend. Masses of kinky black hair and a flawless golden tone under brown skin made him absolutely gorgeous.
“No worries at all,” Jennifer said.
“I hate to be that guy, but could I..?” He gestured with his phone.
“Sure.” She put her head next to the little boy’s and made him laugh with a snorted oink.
The father showed her the picture. “Is it okay for me to share it? And it’ll be in Adam’s baby book.”
“Go right ahead.” To the little boy she said, “Don’t run away from Daddy. It makes him hurt in his heart.” She waved
bye-bye and looked up to find the perpetually worried Kelsey waiting for her. She’d been a trouper for the entire trip.
“He’ll be a fan for life,” she said while guiding Jennifer toward the interview room. “I hope the picture is a good one.”
“I’m sure it’s fine.”
Sibo hugged her in his usual effusive way of greeting. He was letting his thick black hair grow out and was sporting a trimmed beard that made him look closer to thirty than twenty. “I can’t believe this is the last day, can you?”
“Normal life won’t seem normal,” she told him, then realized it was certainly the truth for her. Normal didn’t feel normal anymore.
“I’m back to Princeton in four weeks, so I can’t wait to start my backpacking trip.” Cliff was already perched on one of the bar-height director’s chairs. He turned his phone toward them, displaying a gorgeous photo of the Sierra Nevada high country. “This is gonna be my view tomorrow morning.”
“I should have planned a vacation,” Jennifer admitted. “I have a table read about three weeks away. I could have gone to Spain. Or…” She let her voice trail away. She hadn’t been back to Spain in years.
Their personal assistants were clustered in the back of the recording studio, waiting for the first interviewer. Jennifer set down her bag and excused herself briefly from the boys, signaling Kelsey toward her.
“It’s hard to believe it’s all over,” Jennifer said. “Before we get started for the day I just wanted to tell you that you’ve been great to work with and if you need a reference feel free to list me. I don’t tell everyone that.”
“Th-thank you. That really means something, I appreciate it so much.”
“I brought you something.” She pressed a small jeweler’s box into the young woman’s hand. She’d noticed that Kelsey wore a different pair of earrings every day even if her jeans and black production company staff shirt didn’t vary. “Wear them in good health.”
“Miss Lamont! How sweet of you.” She cracked open the box and gasped with delight. “These can’t be real.”
Captain of Industry Page 26