The Final Act

by Joy Fielding

  “Cindy,” she corrected.

  “Cindy,” Michael Kinsolving repeated slyly, and Cindy understood in that moment that no mistake had been made, that this was a man who knew what he was doing at all times, that he’d said what he did to throw her off-guard, a subtly sadistic way of controlling the situation and putting her in her place. Clearly this was a man who was used to directing his reality. He motioned toward the TV screen. “Fucking her aside, what do you think of her?”

  Cindy struggled to maintain her composure. “I’m not sure what you want me to say.”

  “Do you think she’s beautiful?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sexy?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Her eyes aren’t too small?”

  “I don’t think. . .”

  “Her lips aren’t too thin?”

  Cindy straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath. “Mr. Kinsolving. . .”

  “I’m going for a very specific look here. I want women to look at this girl and think ‘lost soul.’ I want men to look at her and think ‘blow-job.’ That’s why I think her lips might be too thin,” he said, as if they were discussing the weather.

  Cindy tried not to give him the satisfaction of looking shocked. Was this how all directors talked about the young women who auditioned for them? Young women who bared their souls, and often a good deal more, for a chance to make their dreams come true? Women examined and dissected and ultimately reduced to a series of body parts that never quite measured up? Eyes that were too small; lips that were too thin. Souls that were lost. “What about talent?”

  “Talent?” Michael Kinsolving looked amused.

  “Is she a good actress?”

  Michael Kinsolving laughed out loud. “Who cares? They’re all good. That’s the least of it.”

  “The least of it?”

  “You have to want to fuck them,” the gnomish director declared, leaning back in his chair. “That’s what makes a star. They’re bankable if they’re fuckable.”

  “Mr. Kinsolving . . .”

  “Who are you?” he asked, studying his manicured fingernails. “I know you’re not who you say you are. You’re certainly not from the film festival.”

  Cindy released a deep breath of air, eyes flitting across the bare white walls. “My name is Cindy Carver.”

  “Carver,” Michael repeated, still not looking at her. “Why is that name familiar?”

  “My husband, my ex-husband, is Tom Carver.” A smile forced its way onto her lips.

  Still no sign the Hollywood director had any idea who she was.

  “My daughter is Julia Carver. She had an audition with you last Thursday morning at eleven o’clock.”

  Michael Kinsolving glanced questioningly at the skinny, spiky-haired young man hovering in the doorway.

  “Yes,” the young man replied, drawing out the word into several syllables. “I believe someone from Mr. Carver’s office called to ask whether she’d kept that appointment.”

  “And had she?” Michael Kinsolving’s voice was strong and clear, the voice of a man used to giving orders.

  “Yes.”

  “So, what’s the problem?” the director asked.

  “She’s missing,” Cindy told him, watching his brow crease, his green eyes narrow. The same color eyes as Julia, she thought.

  “Missing?”

  “Nobody has seen or heard from her since she left this office.”

  “What are you saying? That she walked out of here and vanished into thin air?”

  “We don’t know what’s happened to her,” Cindy admitted, her voice filling with tears. “I guess I was hoping you might be able to shed some light on the situation. If you know anything at all that might help us find her. . .”

  Michael Kinsolving stood up slowly and walked to Cindy’s side, the top of his head in line with the tip of her nose. “And what would I know exactly?”

  “I guess I was hoping that she might have said something to you about her plans.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “I don’t know.” Already Cindy regretted her decision to come here. Had she really thought Michael Kinsolving might be able to help her?

  “She probably took off with some guy she knew you wouldn’t approve of,” he offered with a smirk. “Trust me, I know whereof I speak. I have three daughters myself.”

  Cindy vaguely recalled having read that Michael Kinsolving had five children from four different marriages.

  “Of course they live with their mothers.”

  Of course, Cindy acknowledged with a nod. Didn’t all daughters choose to live with their mothers after their parents divorced?

  All except Julia.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t see how I can help you.” The director pulled a tissue from his jeans pocket and offered it to Cindy.

  Cindy noted how muscular his arms were despite his diminutive size. “Did she give a good audition?” Talent is the least of it. “Did you say anything to her that might have upset her?” Your eyes are too small; your lips are too thin. “Did she seem depressed to you when she left?” Did women look at her and think ‘lost soul’? Did men look at her and think . . . Dear God.

  “I wish there was something I could tell you to put your mind at ease,” Michael Kinsolving was saying. “But to be perfectly frank, I don’t even remember the girl.”

  “Oh, you’d remember Julia. She’s twenty-one, very beautiful, slim, blond . . .” Cindy stopped, looked at the television screen, understanding that for the past week, Michael Kinsolving’s office had been inundated with slim, blond, beautiful women.

  The director looked to his assistant for help. “Do we have a tape on her?”

  The assistant nodded. “I’ll get it.” He backed out of the room.

  Michael Kinsolving guided Cindy around his desk to his chair. “Would you like some bottled water or maybe an espresso?”

  “Water would be great.”

  “With gas or without?”

  Cindy shook her head, unable to choose.

  “Philip,” Michael Kinsolving called toward the next room, “some Perrier for Mrs. Carver. Can I call you Cindy?”

  “Of course.”

  “Cindy.” The director smiled, extended his hand. “Michael.”

  She took his hand, felt the strength in his fingers, suddenly understood why women found him so attractive. “My hands are cold,” she apologized.

  “Cold hands, warm heart,” he said with a smile.

  Was he flirting with her? Cindy wondered, quickly returning her hand to her lap, disconcerted by the thought. Was it possible he’d come on to Julia?

  Philip re-entered the room carrying a glass of sparkling water and a tape cassette. He handed the glass to Cindy, then crossed to the television against the far wall. “I believe she’s on this tape. Shall I put it on?”

  “Please,” Michael directed as his assistant removed the existing tape and replaced it with another.

  Cindy took a small sip of water, felt the bubbles bursting against her nose, like smelling salts. She watched the tape flicker on, held her breath as a young woman’s face filled the screen. Like the woman before her, this woman was blond and beautiful. Cindy found herself focusing on her lips. Were they too thin? she wondered.

  “I believe she’s number eight.” Philip fast-forwarded the tape.

  A parade of lovely young women flew across the large-screen TV, their arms jerking up and down like marionettes, their heads turning this way and that, as if controlled by invisible strings, their blond hair shaking from one shoulder to the other, as the tape raced to find her daughter.

  “So many women, so little time,” Michael mused out loud. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to sound glib.”

  Cindy shook her head. In truth, she’d barely heard him, and it was only his apology that gave the words weight, allowed them to sink in. She winced as the tape came to an abrupt halt, Julia’s face filling the screen. Philip pressed another button and the
image froze. Julia sat across the room, staring at her mother from inside a large, rectangular box, her bright smile frozen on her face.

  “Oh yes,” Michael said. “I remember her now. Her father’s a lawyer. He does some work for our company.”

  “That’s the one,” Philip confirmed, once more receding into the background.

  “Yes, she gave a very nice reading,” Michael continued absently, leaning back against the front of his desk. “Are you sure you want to see this?”

  “Please.”

  He signalled to his assistant, who pressed the appropriate button, unfreezing the frame and bringing Julia to life.

  (Julia’s Audition: A beautiful young woman sits on a small wooden chair, crosses one spectacular leg over the other. She is wearing red leather pants and a white blouse, which glares slightly under the harsh light. The camera slowly moves in on her face as she states her name. “Julia Carver,” she pronounces clearly, then gives the name of her agent. She lowers her head, her hair falling across her face. Several seconds pass before she raises her head again, and when she does, it is almost as if Julia has disappeared and another girl has taken her place. This girl is tougher, angrier, sexier. And there is something else, something her defiant posture tries to hide. Behind the anger, the toughness, the undeniable sexuality, there is a sadness, a hunger, a raw need. Julia leans back, throws one elbow over the back of her chair, her eyes moving up and down an invisible visitor. The eyes of a lost soul. “Well, well, look who’s here,” she says. “What happened? Forget your cigarettes?”

  “I came back to see you,” an off-camera voice replies.

  Julia’s eyebrows arch in a gesture that is achingly familiar. “Is that supposed to make me go all weak in the knees?” she asks. “Is it? Because if it is, it’s not working. See? My knees aren’t weak at all.” She re-crosses her legs with provocative slowness, then leans forward, speaks directly into the camera lens. “What’s the matter, baby? Disappointed? Surprised? Thought you could just waltz back into my life and everything would be the same as it was before you ran off with my best friend? How is Amy, by the way? No, don’t tell me. The fact you’re back is all the answer I need.”

  “Caroline . . .” the off-camera voice interrupts.

  “I could have told you she was a lousy lay.” The words roll off Julia’s tongue like a stray caress. “I could have spared you the time and trouble. I was her roommate for . . . how many years? I saw the men come and go. I heard the phony groans, the fake orgasms she thought were fooling them. But none of them were the fool you turned out to be.” Julia throws her head back, laughs unpleasantly. “What’s the matter, baby? You come back for a real woman? Someone who doesn’t have to fake it when you touch her? Someone who loves the feel of you pounding away inside her? Night and day. Day and night.” Julia begins fidgeting in her seat, moving her hips in time to some distant, obscene rhythm. “Any time. All the time. Is that what you miss, baby? Is that why you’ve come home?”

  “Caroline,” the voice says flatly. “Amy and I got married last night.”

  The hard mask covering Julia’s face melts away as tears overwhelm her eyes. “You got married?”

  “Last night.”

  Julia says nothing. She simply stares into the camera, her tears spilling down her cheeks, washing away all traces of pride, her face an open wound.)

  The push of a button. The scene ended. Julia’s anguished face stared at her mother from inside her fifty-two-inch prison.

  “I had no idea . . .” Cindy began.

  “How good she is?” Michael asked quietly.

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, she’s very good,” Michael agreed. “Would you like to see it again?”

  Cindy shook her head. Another viewing of the tape and they’d have to scrape her off the floor.

  “I could have a copy made, if you’d like.”

  “Thank you.”

  There was the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Philip stepped into the waiting room, returned seconds later, his pale face ashen. “It’s the police.”

  “You called the police?” Michael asked, clearly more amused than annoyed.

  Cindy shook her head as the two detectives strode purposefully into the room.

  “Michael Kinsolving?” Detective Bartolli asked, his partner right behind. Both men stopped abruptly when they saw Julia’s face on the large TV screen. Slowly, they pivoted in Cindy’s direction. “Mrs. Carver?”

  “What are you doing here?” Detective Gill asked accusingly.

  Michael Kinsolving shook the officers’ hands. “Mrs. Carver was hoping I might be able to be of some help in finding her daughter.”

  “And were you?”

  “I’m afraid I have no idea where her daughter might be.”

  “We were just showing Mrs. Carver a tape of Julia’s audition,” Philip volunteered from the doorway. “Can I get anyone some bottled water or an espresso, perhaps?”

  Detective Bartolli shook his head. “Detective Gill will drive you home, Mrs. Carver,” he said, his voice bristling with annoyance at her unexpected presence.

  “That’s all right. I have my car.”

  “I’ll walk you to it,” Detective Gill said, leaving no room for discussion.

  “I’ll get a copy of the audition tape over to you as soon as possible,” Michael said.

  “Thank you.” Cindy rose slowly from the chair, depositing her barely touched glass of Perrier on the director’s desk, then shuffling toward the door, her feet numb, unable to feel the floor. She paused in the doorway. “Good luck at the festival.”

  “Thank you. Good luck finding your daughter.”

  Cindy nodded, aware of Detective Gill’s firm grasp on her elbow.

  “I’d like to have a look at that tape,” she heard Detective Bartolli say as the door to the inner office closed and Detective Gill led her toward the stairs.

  SEVENTEEN

  Dark clouds were gathering overhead as Cindy pulled into her driveway. She recognized Meg’s red Mercedes on the street as she ran up the front stairs to her house, fumbling in her purse for her key.

  The front door opened just as she was reaching for it. “Where have you been?” Trish asked, pulling her inside, Elvis leaping toward her thighs. “Your mother’s been frantic.”

  “Just like old times,” Meg said, joining Trish in the hallway and taking Cindy into her arms. “Are you all right?”

  Cindy nodded against her friend’s shoulder. “I’m okay.”

  “Where have you been?” Trish asked again.

  “Where did you go?” Norma Appleton demanded, joining the women in the front hall.

  “I went to see Michael Kinsolving.”

  “Michael Kinsolving, the director?” Trish asked.

  “Why’d you go see him?” Meg asked.

  “Does he know where Julia is?” Cindy’s mother asked at the same time.

  Cindy shook her head. “He says he doesn’t.”

  “You don’t believe him?”

  “I don’t know.” Would you like to fuck her? she heard the director ask, wondering if he’d posed the same question to others regarding Julia. “He claimed he didn’t even remember her, that he’s seen so many girls . . .” Her voice faded, disappeared. But then he acknowledged how very good she was. And how could anyone forget Julia?

  “Have some lunch,” Norma Appleton urged, ushering the women into the kitchen.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Your mother’s been filling us in,” Meg said. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

  “What do the police think?” Trish asked.

  Cindy shrugged. “That it’s too early to panic.”

  “They’re right.”

  “I know.”

  “Doesn’t help, does it?”

  “No.”

  Trish hugged her, sat down beside her, as Meg pulled up another chair, wrapped her arms around Cindy.

  “Where’s Heather?” Cindy asked.


  “Out. Said she’d be back later.” Norma Appleton swayed from one foot to the other, as if weighing her options. “I think I’ll go upstairs and watch TV,” she announced finally. “Come on, Elvis, you can keep me company. Meg,” she called from the top of the stairs, “make sure she eats something.”

  “Will do,” Meg called back. Then, “Is she driving you nuts?”

  “Only a little.”

  “I remember when my mother came to help out after Jeremy was born,” Trish began. “What a time that was!”

  “Trish,” Meg said, “that was twenty years ago.”

  “Trust me, I’m still reeling.”

  Cindy laughed, a tentative trickle that wobbled through the still air.

  “She flew in from Florida, arrived in the middle of a giant snowstorm, the plane was like three hours late arriving, and she was angry because no one could get to the airport to pick her up, and God forbid, she had to take a limo, and she marched into the apartment complaining about all things Canadian, especially her oldest daughter, who was inconsiderate enough to have given birth in February, of all months. I can still hear her say that—February, of all months! Anyway, she proceeded to wreak havoc for the next several weeks. I couldn’t do anything right. Why had I allowed myself to gain so much weight during my pregnancy? Why was I nursing when I probably didn’t have enough milk? I was going to have one awfully spoiled baby on my hands if I insisted on feeding him each time he cried. I could literally hear her gasp with horror every time I picked him up. His head! Watch his head! Like I was this total moron. Of course, I couldn’t yell at her, so I took it out on Bill. Almost ended the marriage right then and there. No wonder Jeremy’s an only child.”

  “Families.” Meg shook her head. “You gotta love ‘em.”

  “Do you?” Trish asked.

  “In the end, what else is there?”

  “Friends,” Cindy said, reaching for their hands, entwining her fingers with theirs, trying to ignore the echo of Tom’s distant voice in her ear. Friends, he’d said dismissively. Friends come and go. Which probably accounted for Julia’s revolving door approach to friendship.