Ethan spoke briefly on becoming an engineer and growing up in Toronto. “My father wanted me to play hockey,” he said. “He encouraged me quietly without the pressure a lot of kids get. I later learned how he struggled with this. He is an intense competitor himself—hates to lose. He still says I could have made it if I’d stayed with the game, but at seventeen, I quit and started a band. Dad traveled all the time as a sales VP for a software company. And my mom died of a brain tumor.”
“I’m sorry, Ethan,” Christa interjected, her hand moving across the table to touch his.
“It was years ago,” he replied, squeezing her fingers. He missed his mother but his feelings were now well below the surface. “Her illness was long and drawn out—an awful thing to watch a once-strong woman wither away. No kid should have to see a parent go through that. God rest her soul.” He stopped. He didn’t want to go any further talking about his mother. “My father didn’t care so much what I did after that. He just wanted me to chase something.”
He hesitated and offered a weak smile, his eyes glassy. His mother was still there. “I loved Mom,” he said, surprising himself with his candor. “She gave me the belief that I could do anything I chose. She was sick long before she let us know she was ill. I stay in touch with Dad; he gave me my work ethic and still works eighty hours a week, running his own company.” Ethan took a sip from his wineglass. He hadn’t touched his cookie. “I just want to make my father proud. He is already, but I want to do something special—something great. It’s like giving that special gift to somebody because of how it makes you feel.” Ethan stopped. How did this woman get him talking about his life? There was only one other who could. “Are you in touch with your folks at all?” he asked.
“No, not so much,” Christa replied uneasily. “You probably guessed I didn’t leave under good terms. It’s kind of a long story. I haven’t talked to Ma since I left. And my father …” Her voice trailed off, and then she said, “My younger brother writes once in a while.”
Ethan put his hand on hers as a tear rolled down her cheek. “It’s okay. Forget it. It doesn’t matter.”
Her long, slender fingers tightened in his hand. She cocked her head sideways, to see the time on his watch. “Ethan, it’s eleven thirty,” she said, surprised. “Don’t you have lines to rehearse?”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” he replied, surprised at the time himself. “Tell me something: did you ever read the book The Catcher in the Rye?”
“The title sounds familiar,” she said after a moment, “but I don’t think so. Why?”
“The part I’m reading for tomorrow is based on that book,” he replied. “I think it has something to do with teenagers coming of age. I’m to play a character named Stradlater.”
“I’d like to be more helpful,” Christa stated, giving him a kiss and turning toward the bedroom, “but I haven’t a clue.”
Ethan grabbed his script.
“You know,” Christa added, standing at the bedroom door, “I think I saw a used bookstore around the corner.”
Ethan smiled, already focused on Stradlater’s lines in the script. “I’ll check it out,” he answered. “Thanks.”
“Good night,” she said, smiling, and closed the bedroom door.
It took Ethan all of his resolve not to join her right then, but the word he’d written on the wall earlier reinforced his strength of will. Going to bed with Christa was the wrong thing to do. He sat on the couch, noticing the apartment still was warm from the day’s heat. He’d started to read when Christa opened the bedroom door again.
“Thanks, Ethan,” she whispered. “I’m not sure I’m worthy of someone like you, but thanks.”
“Right back at you, kid,” he replied in a poor Bogart impression, not knowing quite what to say. “Thanks. Sleep well.”
Quietly, she closed the door. He picked up the script and flipped through several of the pages he’d looked at earlier in the day. Stradlater didn’t have as many lines as he first thought, and as he read it more closely, the story seemed to lead up to a larger event left out of the section he’d been given. There was a relationship developing between two characters that confused him. Maybe he was tired. He read and reread the lines, shaping how he wanted to approach the audition. By whispering his memorized lines aloud, he began to sense a certain protected toughness in the character. Stradlater crystallized in his head. Another half hour passed before he’d finished learning all his lines. First thing in the morning, he would buy a copy of the book.
He was about to join Christa when he heard a commotion outside the apartment in the hallway. His body tensed and broke out in a sweat; his heart pounded loudly in his ears. Without a second thought, he sought a weapon … and then the door swung wide and Robbie burst into the apartment. David was right behind him.
“Eth, yerrup,” Robbie said in a loud, drunk voice. “Whas goin’ on?”
“Rehearsing,” Ethan replied, raising his index finger to his lips. “Shh. Christa’s sleeping.”
Ethan relaxed and his heart rate slowed. On hearing the movement in the hall, he’d started to think Christa’s ex had found them again. It would be a while before he reacted otherwise.
“Little distracted tonight, eh, buddy?” Robbie chided him with a stupid drunk grin on his face. “Dinit wanna in’errupt.”
“Thanks,” Ethan replied. “I was just heading to bed myself.”
“Don’t let us hold ya up. Sleep well.”
“Nice to meet you, David,” Ethan said, extending his hand. “Sorry about standing you up. Another time.”
“You’re on,” David answered, his handshake firm.
“Thanks again, Robbie, for helping us out,” Ethan added. “I don’t know where I’d be if not for you.”
Ethan went in the bedroom and lay down beside Christa. He was asleep before his head settled into the pillow.
Chapter 25
Ethan’s Timeline
April 1991
Ethan awoke the next morning to find Christa’s place in the bed unoccupied. She must have left for work, he reasoned. He didn’t feel much like getting up but as usual when he awoke, the day’s activities filled his head. Today was no different: he had to practice his lines for his audition with Sven and find a copy of The Catcher in the Rye.
He rested for a few more minutes with his forearm on his brow, shading the brightness. His eyes were closed when the door opened and Christa walked in, wearing only her bra and panties.
“Good morning,” she said, her voice cheery.
“Hi,” Ethan mumbled, wondering how someone could even suggest the word “good.” Mornings were not his high point.
“Did you sleep well?” she asked, pulling a bright yellow dress with an array of printed flowers from the closet. “Ready for your audition?”
“I think so,” he replied in a rough voice, coughing to clear this throat.
“You know what I think?” she asked, smiling as she slipped the dress over her head and down over her hips.
“No. What do you think?” he asked with a hint of sarcasm.
“I think you’re going to do great,” she announced. “The world is waiting for Ethan Jones to step forward.”
In one sentence, Christa made him feel like he could do anything. It was the impetus he needed to get up. He gave her a quick kiss and headed to the shower.
Christa was gone by the time he’d finished; Robbie too. Still early, he spent an hour practicing with the script but needed the book to better understand Salinger’s intent with the character. He followed Christa’s suggestion to a small shop that sold used books. They had a copy displayed in the front window. In four hours, he’d read through three-quarters of the book and was headed to his four o’clock appointment with Sven.
Again, he arrived five minutes early, only to find the reception desk empty. The whole place seemed deserted. Have I screwed up
another audition? he wondered. He took a seat and tried to be patient, certain he had the time correct. He read more of the book.
Shortly after four, the large wood door beside the front desk opened, and Jacqueline stepped out. She was dressed more casually than the day before, in a wrap-around blue-silk gown and fishnet stockings.
“Hi, Ethan!” she greeted him enthusiastically as she slid behind her desk. “I was sure I’d put it here. Sorry, Ethan, we’re running a little behind. Hope you haven’t been waiting long. We should be done in another couple of minutes.”
“That’s okay. Lots of auditions, I’m sure,” Ethan replied.
“Ah, yeah, lots,” Jacqueline responded somewhat absently as she rustled through something in a drawer. “Ah, here it is!” she cried, holding up a manila file folder. “I knew I’d put it here.” She was all smiles as she rose to her feet, adjusting the front of her wrap. “Make yourself comfortable. Can I get you a coffee or something?”
“No, I’m okay, thanks,” he replied and returned to his book. Jacqueline popped back through the door and moments later returned without the folder. In her haste to sit down, she pushed a folder of papers off the edge of her desk. Ethan was quick to pick them up and noticed that her feet were bare. “Jacqueline, if this is a bad time, I can come back,” he proposed, his enthusiasm for the audition beginning to wane. Things weren’t happening as he had anticipated. His confidence was slipping away, edging toward the crack under the front door.
“No, no,” Jacqueline was quick to answer. “Everything’s cool. We’re just trying to get a few things arranged. Sven doesn’t like to hurry his work. Give it another couple of minutes.”
“What’s he arranging?” Ethan asked without thinking.
“Your audition, of course,” replied Jacqueline. “He likes things to be exact. He’s very detailed.”
Ethan’s discomfort increased. He was more than a little confused. Most auditions were bare-bones, shoestring-budget affairs with little more than a few stackable wooden chairs to sit on. Why this should be any different made him question what he was getting himself into.
Jacqueline disappeared behind the doors again but this time was back in less than a minute. “Okay, Ethan,” she announced, opening the door wide enough to allow him to pass.
Entering Sven’s office this time—the same one he’d visited the day before—was a whole new experience. Sven’s desk had been replaced by a large bed. Before Ethan could say a word, Sven came into the room through another door. Sven’s hand was extended as he approached Ethan.
“Good to zee you again, Ezan,” Sven announced in a loud voice. “I’m zo glad you vere able to make it. How’d you make out viz zee zcript laz night?”
“Just great,” Ethan answered, holding up his copy of Salinger’s book. “I even got a copy of the book—you know, to get a feel for the story again. How is it you came to the conclusion I would make a good Stradlater?”
“Hunch, really. Zere iz zumzing about you,” Sven replied. “I veel it in my gut.” Sven proceeded to walk across the room and grab a couple of chairs. He placed one chair directly in front of Ethan and sat down in the other. “Okay, lez zee vat you’ve got!”
Ethan sat down in the chair opposite Sven. His reluctance had grown to the point of near muteness.
“Begin on page four,” Sven stated, “and I’ll do zee ozer part.”
Ethan turned to page four and coughed to clear his throat. His anxiety had grown beyond anything he’d experienced previously. He was about to speak when he heard someone say “Action” from behind the door where Sven had entered the room. Sven made no indication that he’d heard anything. Ethan again cleared his throat, closed his eyes, lifted his head, and began.
In seconds, he transformed himself into character and for the next three pages became Stradlater. At that point, Ethan had moved to a position beside a car—a car that wasn’t there, but he and Sven both believed it was. There was no doubt in his abilities, and Sven smiled, seeming to recognize this at once. Like the night at the church, Ethan thought he nailed Stradlater’s character right from the start.
Ethan sat back down. The silence was deafening until he heard women’s voices coming from behind the door.
“Ezan,” Sven said, “you are a gifted actor. Zee parz yourz if you vant it.”
Ethan couldn’t believe his ears. The moment he’d dreamed of was happening. He was getting a chance. Excited, he stood up and grabbed Sven’s hand, shaking it vigorously. His reservations had vanished like water vapor into the air. “Thank you,” he said, finding it difficult to contain his emotions. “You can’t imagine how long I’ve waited to hear those words.”
“Lizen, vile you’re here, vy don’t you take a look next door. Ve’re shooting a zene for the film right now. It might give you a veel for vat ve’re doing. Oh, and by zee vay, you’ll be paid a flat rate of two hundred dollarz a day.”
“Great,” Ethan replied—he hadn’t thought about compensation.
Sven put an arm around Ethan’s shoulder, welcoming him aboard as he pulled open the door. “Lookz like zey vinished zee zene,” he said, allowing Ethan to pass ahead of him. “I’ll introduz you to zum of zee caz.”
Upon entering the next room, Ethan was overwhelmed by the goings-on of a film in production. Bright white lights and umbrellas were positioned around a large set that was otherwise flat black. A dozen people were milling around, adjusting stands, moving lights, or talking. Two long-haired, stubble-faced men in T-shirts and jeans were moving two big black-bulb microphones on extensions around a rather large Victorian bed with a fancy lace bedspread and pillow slips. Ethan counted three cameras but saw only one person behind one.
A woman with bright red hair, wearing track pants and a Van Halen T-shirt, was sitting in a black cloth chair, writing something on a marker board. “Let’s run the second scene again,” she said, holding up the board to the camera beside her. “Jacqueline, Carla, we’re ready.”
On hearing Jacqueline’s name, Ethan scanned the room, curious to find her. The signs of what was going on were all there. If he’d really wanted to know about Sven, he could have asked Steve. But curiosity ruled here, taking Ethan further and further into this unconventional world and its underbelly. He remained still, watching the action and looking for something that would confirm his suspicions on the type of films they were making.
Three paneled screens displaying Oriental artwork were to the right of where Ethan stood, adjacent to the bed. His mouth dropped as a big-breasted woman with long dark hair walked out from behind the blind, wearing only black patent-leather stilettos and giant gold hoop earrings. She strutted out, displaying her magnificent body—chest out, stomach flat, and back arched—like she owned not only the studio but the entire world. Her demeanor was one of calm silence, without any qualms about her brazenness. Ethan’s feelings were simultaneously excitement, concern, and disbelief; he could only stand and gawk. Without any noticeable inhibition, the woman approached the bed as if she were wearing a costume instead of nothing at all. A moment later, Jacqueline stepped out from behind the blind with no less aplomb. Smiling, she winked as she passed Ethan. Carla, the first woman, lay on the bed with her long golden legs spread wide in an ostentatious display of genitalia from which Ethan could not turn away. A moment later, a technician approached Carla and sprayed a solution on her open thighs, making her vagina glisten in the bright lights. Ethan could barely contain himself, turned on beyond control. The tiny hairs on the backs of his legs and neck stood on end. His testicles tingled. Another woman, whom Ethan hadn’t seen, held a tiny black brush and brushed a dark powder across Jacqueline’s nipples. He couldn’t help himself; the eroticism blew his mind.
“You’re in zene zree,” Sven whispered, grabbing Ethan by the arm and pulling him back toward the door. “Vot do you zink?”
As they stepped back into Sven’s office, Ethan’s first reaction was All r
ight! Let’s fucking get started! But at the same time, he became desperately uncomfortable. The action between his legs pained him. What came out of his mouth next surprised him. “Sven,” he said directly, “what is this? I thought you were making a movie based on The Catcher in the Rye.”
“Vell, it iz,” Sven replied, smiling and signaling Ethan to sit in a chair.
Ethan saw a sly, dirty-old-man look in Sven’s eyes that he hadn’t noticed before. He didn’t like it. “Oh, come on, you’re making fucking porn,” Ethan stated. He didn’t like being misled, even if all the signs were there. “Let’s call a spade a spade.”
“It’z zee ztory of a young man coming of age,” Sven continued, unperturbed by Ethan’s comments, “in todaze vorld.”
“Sure it is,” Ethan said, realizing their discussion was going nowhere. He should have known better. “Well, Sven, you’ve got the wrong guy,” he stated emphatically. “I’m not interested. This isn’t what I came to California for. I can’t do this.”
“Oh, come,” Sven countered, not ready to settle for Ethan’s rejection. “You vant to fuck zose bitchez. I know. I zaw it in your faze. Jacqueline vants you. She told me zo. You’ll be rich beyond your vildest dreamz. Vuck whoever you like.”
“Maybe, but I wouldn’t be able to look at myself in the mirror,” Ethan replied.
“Come on, boy zcout,” Sven continued as if Ethan had never spoken. “You vant to zuck Jacqueline’s big nipplez, no?”
Sven’s words flowed around inside Ethan’s head. Is it right? Is it wrong? Who knows? The frustration and temptation fueled his disappointment and burned in his gut like a bad stomach ulcer. He rose to his feet to leave before anger took him too far and he said things he’d regret.
The Actor Page 15
