“Hi,” the man greeted Ethan, who stood in front of a nondescript office door opposite Ben’s.
Ethan was trying his best to look relaxed. “Hi,” Ethan replied. “You wouldn’t happen to be Mr. Lui?”
“As a matter of fact, I am,” the little man answered, turning to face Ethan while balancing the two coffees in one hand and holding the key to his office door in the other.
“Ethan Jones,” Ethan said, stepping forward to extend his hand and then retracting it on seeing Ben’s full hands. “Let me help you with that,” he added and retrieved the paper tray.
“Thanks,” Ben replied, opening the door and gesturing Ethan inside. “We must have just missed each other,” Ben added, closing the door. “I realized after we talked that you might have difficulty getting past security, so I went down to meet you. I stepped out for a second to get coffee. When I got back, our security guard was cursing. Said a—” He stopped, his expression saying it all. “It was you, wasn’t it!” he exclaimed, laughing out loud. “Ha! Now that’s funny. You got the big fucker pretty upset.”
Ethan didn’t know what else to do but smile.
“I can see I’ll have some explaining to do on this one,” Ben said, directing Ethan into a white office, “but it’ll be worth it. I shouldn’t laugh. We’ve some of the best security around. It’s hard to find.”
Ethan nodded. He’d keep his comments to himself.
“So what can I do you for?” Ben asked, sitting down in a seat at the end of a small conference room table. The room was bare except for a few paintings on the walls. It looked to be a room that wasn’t used very much.
Ethan smiled again. “Well, Mr. Lui …”
“Ben, please.”
“Ben.” Ethan began again. “From our conversation earlier, I was given your number by Randy Baseman, who said you were looking for unknown talent.”
“Yes, yes, sorry, Ethan, of course.” He stopped talking for a moment and looked around the room. “This room needs some windows. I find it hard to think without windows.” He paused and stood up. “Like right here. There should be a window right here.” He traced the outline of a window with his index finger. “What do you think?”
Ethan, not knowing where Ben Lui was moving the conversation, agreed.
“Ethan, I’ve already selected the actors for my project,” he said directly.
Ethan nodded, indicating he understood, but Ben had said he still wanted to meet him. Something was there. Ethan had to find out what it was and, for once in his life, be patient. He would let things unfold. With a mild kind of amusement, he thought of Sven and acknowledged to himself that he would leave if Ben’s project had anything to do with removing his clothes.
Unexpectedly, as if a fire bell had sounded, Ben rose to his feet. “Excuse me for a minute,” he said and walked out of the room. He came back in as much haste as he’d left, placing a thin purple folder in front of Ethan. Contained in the folder were a number of untitled pages.
“I would like to you read for me,” Ben said, handing the open folder to Ethan. “Take a few minutes and prepare yourself. Interpret the character however you like. Call me back when you’re ready.”
Ethan looked over the material and knew at once what he wanted to do. The folder contained the story of a man, in dialogue with himself, attempting to overcome the loss of his wife.
After one read he was ready, and from the doorway of the conference room called Ben back in.
Over the next several minutes, Ben Lui’s demeanor changed from a reluctant, do-a-friend-a-favor attitude to an interested, here’s-what-we-do-next mode. Ethan remained in his chair. He’d roughed up his hair a bit and leaned back on the rear two legs. He spoke with candor like there was no tomorrow with subtle hints of fear and sadness, but his look of crazed insanity—his hazel eyes lighting up—was what grabbed Ben Lui’s attention.
“God, I wish I had the camera!” Ben Lui exclaimed, beaming like a new father holding his firstborn. “Ethan, I’ll get back to you tomorrow. What a look.” At that, he rose abruptly, as if to leave.
“Do you have something for me?” Ethan asked, amazed by Ben’s enthusiasm but more than a little confused.
Ben Lui stopped and turned just as hastily as he’d initially left the room. “Yes, Ethan, but I need a day or two to figure it out.” Then he murmured, as if to himself, “I should know better than to question Randy’s instincts.”
Ethan thought Ben seemed hesitant, distracted in some way and thinking about something else, even though Ethan had amazed him. Ethan concluded he was about to become the casualty of yet another audition.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Ethan said, trying his best to stay positive.
“Do you have an agent down here?” Ben Lui asked. Ethan was surprised by the question but pleased. It was his first insight into how Ben worked. Ben’s mind wasn’t in the room or even with the current conversation but instead about three steps ahead.
“Yes, I do. Why?”
Ben turned his head slightly before answering. “You’re going to need one.”
Ethan’s face lit up. His dry mouth broadened into a smile. It was a tidbit that meant hope.
“Come back tomorrow,” Ben announced, as if talking to someone in another room. He was holding a white piece of paper in his hand. “Have you ever done live theater?”
“It’s been a few years, but I did a lot of live work in college.”
“Good. We’ll see you tomorrow. Same time.”
“Count on it,” Ethan replied, excited about his prospects and changing luck.
“I’ll come down with you,” Ben offered, smiling, “to make sure security doesn’t detain you further. Can’t be too careful these days. I have to go anyway.”
At the entrance, Ben turned to Ethan and shook his hand, bidding him a good evening. “We’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
“Yes, and thank you,” Ethan replied. He headed toward a taxi parked at the curb outside the glass entrance doors. There was an added lightness to his step as he thought, Just keep keeping on.
Chapter 38
Ethan’s Timeline
September 1991
The next few weeks brought a number of changes to Ethan’s world. He returned to Ben Lui’s office the following day without any interference from security. Ben was true to his word and quickly directed him to a low-budget theater production. Ethan auditioned for a part in the morning, went home, learned the lines, and performed live the same evening. The theater group was desperate for an actor on short notice. Ben, through his limitless supply of contacts, made the connection. Ethan came through at the last moment and saved the day. He finally had a stage production for Northum to see—if he could ever reach him.
A week after seeing Ben for the second time, Ethan received an unexpected call from Jamie Scott. Jamie was quiet to the point of apparent disinterest but apologized for not getting back to him sooner. Ethan thanked him for the Northum contact. Jamie wished him well. The conversation was short. As soon as he hung up, Ethan dialed Frederick Northum’s number at Paramount. He’d already left half a dozen messages over the course of several weeks without response.
After the fourth ring—as Ethan was ready to hang up and not about to leave another message—Frederick picked up. His voice was high with energy. He apologized for not returning Ethan’s calls—it was crazy busy—and wondered what Ethan was up to.
“I’m finally in a show!” Ethan said excitedly. “A different one from my messages.”
“Yeah?” Northum replied, sounding surprised. He didn’t say anything else.
“Yeah!” Ethan rejoined loudly. “It’s too long to explain but something came through.”
“That’s great,” Northum chimed back, his voice regaining its earlier energy.
There were too many holes in the conversation for Ethan to believe Northum was sincere. He didn�
�t let that deter his intentions of getting Frederick to his show, though. Northum was another ticket to making movies, and Ethan wasn’t about to squander it.
“It’s amazing!” Ethan all but shouted over the line. “So when are you available to see it?”
“Ah … I don’t know,” Northum answered, his voice slowing.
“Come on,” Ethan persisted, surprising himself. “You said you needed to see me in a show. You won’t be sorry.” He then added, “I will make it worth your while.”
“Let me see …” Northum said, pausing again for reasons Ethan could only guess at. He needed Northum, and Northum knew it—it was all part of the game. “Well, okay.”
It was all Ethan needed. He set it up so that Cushman would pick up Northum at his office and take him to the show.
Then it happened—one thing followed another.
Ben wanted him to do the first of a series of dramatic commercials on drugs and alcohol addiction. Big-name directors were being hired for the projects. Ethan read for a part but was rejected. Incensed, Ben blew a fuse and went to bat for him. “Some casting people can’t find their assholes without a map! Un-fucking-believable!” Ben had said. Things changed. Ethan was offered another part in a second commercial, playing a young parent with a cocaine addiction. Ben calmed down, and Cushman smiled a lot. The commercial was directed by a new female director named Katharine Davenport. No big-name actors were selected for any of the roles in these pseudo-movie commercial spots. The producers—private investors with government money—wanted unknown people in the roles for the stop-you-in-your-tracks effect, without the influence of celebrity personalities. For Ethan, it was an unbelievable opportunity. The commercial started shooting two weeks after his live show’s last performance. The timing couldn’t have been better.
Ethan phoned Randy Baseman the night after meeting Ben Lui to thank him and invite him to dinner. Randy took a rain check on dinner, as he was deep in preparing storyboards for another trip to Japan. The Japanese company had bought his idea, and he was consulting on production. Excited and exhausted, he spoke so fast that Ethan had difficulty understanding all he said. Randy didn’t mention his financial success, but Ben Lui had alluded to Randy’s becoming one of America’s most recent millionaires.
Christa attended Ethan’s first live performance with the theater troupe and continued to be amazed at his transformation. “It’s like you are someone else,” she said, leaning against his shoulder on the cab ride back to the apartment. Smiling demurely, she then whispered in his ear, “It’s like I can have someone different every night and still get to sleep with my favorite.”
Their schedules were completely opposite during his theater gig. He’d leave for his evening’s performance before she’d get back to the apartment after work, and he’d be sleeping when she was readying herself for the day.
Christa gave him a warm wake-up on the morning before his performance in front of Northum. As his anxiety grew, he’d struggled between sleep and excitement, not handling either well. He’d heard her switch off the alarm at seven o’clock; his head was swimming from his consumption of Jack Daniel’s. Rolling onto his back, he used his arm to shield the morning light penetrating the slits in the window blinds, and sleep returned to his tired eyes. His dreams were unremarkable until he was overcome by a strong desire for sex. Falling through layers of sleep, he thought he was dreaming, only to find Christa moving gently between his legs. With a sweet brown-eyed look, she held all of him in her mouth. Her cheeks puffed, attempting a smile, knowing the pleasure she was providing. Her fingertips crept around his thighs and up his chest, her nails digging, searching, and pricking. Ecstasy moved through him in waves, like tiny electric charges, stimulating his most erogenous senses, sweeping him to near unconscious bliss, and rendering him helpless to her powers. Like warm, wet honey, she covered him completely.
His body climaxed in unison with hers, every pore sensing, every muscle pushing and pulling, trying to absorb and hold on to every moment. Each instant stretched to infinity and then contracted to zero. Christa climbed up his body, searching for more, further extending herself. Her lips melted into his chest, her teeth biting, bringing him back to his senses, only to be swept away with the brush of her breast against his hand or her erect nipple pressed into his lips. His eyes opened for an instant, only to be kissed closed again and again. His fingers touched her wetness and slipped inside without effort, incapable of resisting. Once inside, he moved to another dimension, outside of humanness—they were like animals in the wild. Christa moaned, as if miles away and inside of him simultaneously. For an instant, their souls were one. Once exhausted, Christa lay on her side, satisfied. Her skin was wet against his.
“I love you,” they whispered in near unison, too exhausted to smile. He fell back asleep.
Several hours later, Ethan woke to a warm room and a hangover. Christa had left without stirring him. On his pillow, he found a scented pink envelope. With his eyes barely open, he picked it up and tore open the flap. The scent of Chanel perfumed the air, arousing more than his olfactory senses. Christa had written a note to wish him well in his performance that night.
To my movie star:
May the shining Tinseltown gods look down on you tonight, my dear. You are wonderful. I’m already jealous of the screaming women in your future. I don’t know if Hollywood is ready for Ethan Jones, but they better get ready—because he’s here.
Your love always,
Christa
P.S. Break a leg.
Tears filled his sleepy, bloodshot eyes after reading her words. He wished she was by his side. The handwriting was that of an angel, each letter perfect, with a flourish at the end of each word. How was it that he’d found this perfect woman? If anyone could actually feel like a million dollars, he did. At that moment, nothing seemed too monumental to overcome. He could conquer the world; another conquest would be on the stage that night.
It wasn’t yet eleven o’clock. He flipped off the remaining bed sheet and hung his legs over the side of the bed. His lines for the evening already were passing through his head, as they usually did when he woke up. Over and over again, the words surfaced. Sometimes he would backtrack and repeat a line until the next appeared.
“You just can’t stand there and expect something to happen” was a line from midway through the second act. His character was explaining how to build a relationship with a woman to another character. “Sometimes you just have to push.” His lines were never far away.
He showered, ate a couple of oranges and a pink grapefruit to offset his early morning bout with Jack Daniel’s, and still found himself with four hours to kill before having to depart for the Limelight Theater. Waiting had become the most frustrating part of his routine. Every day, he had any number of hours before a performance with nothing to do. Never wanting to get too involved in anything that might sway his performance, he found it increasingly difficult to keep occupied. He’d vowed never to drink before a performance but often found himself tempted to do so. Today was especially difficult, with the added pressure of Northum’s attending the performance.
He hadn’t been sitting for more than ten minutes, with the Homes and Cars book spread across his lap and orange peel on the armrest of the only comfortable chair in the apartment, when Robbie walked in.
One looked as surprised as the other as the door closed and Robbie crossed to the kitchen.
“How is Mr. Jones?” Robbie asked, smiling. He looked tired but good. Life was agreeing with him. “You’ve been busy lately. You have the afternoon off?”
“You could say that,” Ethan replied, closing the book. “Big show tonight so just kind of hanging out. My usual routine.” He picked up the orange peel and added, “You’re off early. I haven’t seen you in a few weeks. Maybe since I started at the Limelight.”
“Probably,” Robbie agreed, opening the refrigerator door and pulling out a sli
ce of day-old pizza. “I was out of town last week and had a couple of crazy days at the office.” He came back to the living room and flopped down on the gray couch opposite his friend. “You must be working pretty steady.”
“Didn’t David tell you about the Limelight gig?” Ethan asked, moving the book off his lap.
“No,” Robbie replied, shaking his head, “but that’s not surprising. We broke up a couple of weeks ago.”
Ethan was caught off guard by this news. “Sorry to hear that.”
“Say, man, want a beer?” Robbie asked, heading back to the kitchen.
“Sure,” Ethan replied. It wasn’t often they got guy-to-guy time. “A beer would be good, like old times.”
“To college bros,” Robbie announced on his return, handing a can of Heineken to Ethan. “Drink up, my boy.”
It was an odd moment for Ethan as he sucked back the beer. He didn’t drink before a performance but here he was, laying into a can with his friend. He knew better.
“How’s Christa doing? Haven’t seen her in a while either.” Robbie took a sip of his beer. “You guys still good?”
“You bet.”
“You’re a lucky man.”
“I am. She’s awesome!” Ethan replied, reminded of what had happened earlier.
Ethan set his can on the coffee table and pulled up his book. He wanted to shift the conversation and not get into drinking. “You should see some of the cars in his book, like this blue Duesenberg that Clark Gable is standing beside or this 512 Boxer.”
Robbie gulped down the rest of his Heineken and went back to the refrigerator for another. He opened it and sat on the arm of Ethan’s chair to get a better look. His hand gripped Ethan’s shoulder as he gulped down more of his beer. “Are you gonna have a beer, just like old times, or not?” Robbie asked, noticing Ethan’s can on the table.
“Well, I don’t drink before a performance. Mine comes after the final curtain falls.”
The Actor Page 24
