“That’s unbelievable, Ethan!” exclaimed Jerry, the producer sitting beside Steve. Jerry’s words were enough to shock Ethan back to the conversation at the table. “It’s funny how you know when you know.”
Ethan pinched a smile and nodded his head. Words came out of his mouth that allowed him to drop anchor back in the present. “It’s a strange thing,” he said, feeling somewhat like a marionette as he pushed the words out of his mouth. “I came to California to act—to become a motion picture actor. I knew what I wanted to do. I just had to figure out how. Nobody was giving it away—I found that out really quick. But others had succeeded before me. There had to be a way.”
“Well, you’re here now,” said Robert, the other producer for Blood Signs who was sitting between Jerry and Katharine. He winked at Ethan. “Looks like you figured it out.” Robert laughed, which prompted the rest of the table to join in. Unbeknownst to Ethan, Robert had handpicked him for the lead. “Ethan, I can’t tell you how pleased we are to have you on board for this picture. I enjoyed your work in Browning Station. You really hit your stride on that one. I love your subtleties—they make all the difference in an actor. Insanity is often subtle in its existence in society. Some—apparently very few—actually can peel off the skin and reveal the pulpy mess inside.”
Ethan listened to Robert’s words but was uncomfortable discussing his work in an open forum. He preferred to let his work speak for itself. If people were inspired by his performance, he was pleased. If they enjoyed the film, he considered it a success.
Ethan then saw her broken hands held behind her head in what looked like an attempt at protecting herself. Her long, beautiful brunette hair was a gory mess of coagulating blood. He prayed. …
Katharine touched Ethan gently on the forearm, but it was enough to bring him back into the conversation at the table. “I want to capture the subtleties in this character,” Katharine added, with her fingers spread across his forearm. “The story is magnificent, but what will make the picture is the strength of Jordan Crossing’s character. He is likeable, but likeable and evil are not mutually exclusive.”
Ethan smiled, nodding his head. He spoke very little during the rest of the meal. It was all he was capable of in order to hold the darkness at bay while the others discussed the film. He focused on Katharine—looking at her helped prevent his nightmares from overwhelming him. Her ideas were different, but they were intriguing and distracted him. The more he heard, the more excited he got about the picture and working with her. It was almost as if the role had been written around him—a natural extension to his work in Browning Station.
He felt a connection to Katharine he’d not anticipated. Whether this was because their initial meeting had preceded the tragic events or something else, he didn’t know, but he enjoyed her company. Between courses of fresh Pacific salmon, scallops, and capers, Katharine’s knee brushed against Ethan’s thigh. An electricity seemed to pass between them that he couldn’t ignore. She smiled whenever their eyes met.
“Take it wherever you think he can go,” Katharine stated, as Ethan scooped up his last piece of espresso cheesecake. “It’s going to be fun. I can hardly wait to get started.”
As she finished speaking, she looked at Ethan, and he felt something move him—a realization, although it would take months to admit it to himself, that he could love again. The woman who spoke to him and would direct him over an energy-depleting two months of filming could be his friend. The more she talked, the more he wanted to get to know who she was. There was a depth to her that caught him off guard.
Ethan ordered a second Spanish coffee to finish off his meal. In his effort to relax, he’d consumed several drinks over dinner, more than he usually would have—their server replaced each half-empty glass with a full one. He rarely drank enough to feel the liquor anymore, but tonight he’d had a lot. No doubt he would feel it in the morning. He tried to focus on keeping balanced and alert, but the alcohol had flattened him. Fortunately, Cushman, always on the alert, noticed his client’s wavering and explained they had another appointment yet to keep.
Cushman had become more than an agent to Ethan. Good at what he did, he also was a good friend. They were in the process of writing a new contract that would be beneficial to them both. There was no doubt in Ethan’s mind that Steve was instrumental in getting him where he was and in directing where he was going.
Paying close attention to his words, Ethan excused himself from the table and headed to the restroom. Upon his return, Katharine met him in the lobby.
“It’s good to see you again,” she said. She wasn’t drunk—she had sipped Perrier with lime for most of the evening. “I was really looking forward to this dinner. I remember that elevator ride like it was yesterday.”
Ethan smiled. “Me too,” he replied as he bumped into a restaurant patron who was leaving. The man turned and gave Ethan a disgusted look. “Sorry about that,” Ethan apologized.
The man seemed ready to give Ethan a piece of his mind, and then his face took on a more affable expression. He hesitated for a moment and then said, “You’re Ethan Jones.”
The woman beside him stared at Ethan as if he was a prized work of art and she was admiring each stroke of the artist’s brush.
“Browning Station was amazing!” the man exclaimed. “If you don’t win the Oscar, the Academy’s full of shit. Honey, do you have a pen?”
A piece of paper and a pen was thrust into Ethan’s hands, and he scribbled out his name and best wishes on the paper.
“I can’t believe it!” cried the woman. “You don’t look so scary. You were so real in that movie.”
Ethan smiled. It was exciting yet discomfiting that people recognized him on the street. It was strange living the life he’d dreamed of for so long. “Glad you liked it,” he replied, not knowing what else to say and a little embarrassed over his alcohol consumption—he was sure the couple could tell he’d been drinking. “Nice to meet you,” he added as they alternated their stares between him and the piece of paper he’d signed.
“You too, Ethan Jones,” the two of them said, almost in unison. “Thanks again.”
The rest of the group joined them in the lobby.
“We get started in a week,” Jerry stated, adjusting his blazer. “Get rested. We’ll see you then.” With that, he moved toward Ethan, his hand extended. “It’s great to finally meet you, Mr. Jones. I truly look forward to seeing what you do with this picture. We have big expectations.”
Ethan smiled, trying to stay on an even keel. “I appreciate the confidence. I don’t intend to let anyone down.”
They shook hands. Robert was behind Jerry, and he shook Ethan’s hand as well. “Good to have you aboard,” Robert said.
“I can’t stick around any longer, Eth,” Steve interjected, shaking Katharine’s hand. “It was great meeting you, Miss Davenport. Don’t keep our star up too late.” He patted Ethan on the shoulder. “I’ll call you in the morning.”
Cushman followed Jerry and Robert out the door.
Ethan and Katharine stayed for another hour, going over different parts of the script that she carried with her. Ethan had never worked this way before. He had heard about her unorthodox practices but hadn’t anticipated experiencing them so soon.
She pointed out three specific lines as the turning point in the story and indicated how his character’s dementia was to come across on the screen. She further explained why she wanted him for the role.
“There’s something about your eyes, Ethan,” she said, staring at him. “As soon as I saw you in Browning Station, I remembered your eyes from our chance meeting that day. I want to take Crossing on a different ride but keep the edge—the edge, that narrow band, that line just before you lose your balance and go over.”
Ethan was surprised and inspired by what Katharine explained. She captured exactly what he had tried to attain with William Avery in Browning
Station. It was the line between there and not there. He’d heard the edge described in car racing when negotiating the apex of a curve. The best lap times were found on the edge, but God help those who went beyond it. Touching this existence and then leaving it; the seconds that pass as one falls from the forty-fifth story, knowing the end is an instant away yet still alive. It was his goal to take that moment that bridges life and death—that insanity—and pull it into his character. It was nerve endings; it was severed limbs; it was connecting the real and unreal but not separating them. Ethan had captured that sense on the screen. Katharine wanted to transform it into Crossing’s character.
“He can’t just touch it either,” Katharine said, her soft face alive with expression. The film was in her heart. Her belief spoke volumes and provided her the confidence of where she wanted to go. “He has to be it. This subtle, zero, infinite ‘it’, yet he can’t get there. You’re one of the very few actors I’ve seen display it. It’s in you. It comes through your eyes.”
Ethan was spellbound and drunk—or maybe just drunk. His mind was jumping with thoughts and ideas, and it helped him form the character of Jordan Crossing. For some reason, he kept picturing Robbie’s face, except it was more than that; it was Robbie’s person or what Robbie’s person wasn’t. And where were those thoughts coming from? Ethan put it down to the liquor doing his thinking and speaking again.
“I think so,” he replied, checking his voice to hold it steady. “I know where you’re going. Crossing … is a compassionate man but struggles with the emotions of love, anger—even hatred. He struggles with life. Whereas Avery struggled with the imbalance of envy and jealousy, the imbalance here is more subtle, in that Crossing fits into the status quo of society but can’t adjust or align to it past a certain point. Then bingo—he crosses it and bad things happen.”
A faint trace of color rose in Katharine’s cheeks. “Precisely!” she exclaimed. “That … that’s what I’m after. That’s what I want.” With that, she pushed out her chair. “Ethan, I’m very excited about this project,” she said, standing up. “We can pull it off.”
They walked together to the front entrance of the restaurant. Ethan held open the heavy front door, allowing Katharine to pass in front of him.
“Would you like to grab a drink somewhere?” he asked as they stepped out into the warm evening. He really didn’t want her to leave.
“I don’t think so,” Katharine replied, squinting as she spoke. “I’ve quite enjoyed the evening, but I’ve a number of things to prepare for the morning.”
“Some other time then,” he answered, trying his best not to reveal his disappointment.
“Can I drive you anywhere?” she offered as they descended the restaurant’s marble steps.
He hesitated but then accepted, much preferring her company to an unknown cabbie. They spoke only about the film on the fifteen-minute ride to his hotel.
“Ethan, thank you,” she said, extending her hand as he opened the passenger door of her Volkswagen Passat. “I couldn’t be more pleased that you’re doing the film.”
The softness of her hand in his was paralyzing. He found himself momentarily locked in her presence. He let go of her hand, not prepared for what was happening. He didn’t want to leave but knew he must.
“See you in a couple of days,” she called through the open car window and rippled her fingers in a wave, as if playing piano keys in the air.
He waved and climbed the steps to the entrance of the Four Seasons.
Chapter 57
Ethan’s Timeline
April 1993
The day of the awards was everything Ethan had dreamed it would be. From his wake-up call in the penthouse suite of the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel to their arrival in a stretch red BMW at the foot of the red carpet in front of the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, it was a dream. The entire day was a mixture of memories, recollections, and celebrations of where he’d come from to where he now found himself.
It was difficult to mark the specific point where things had shifted into hyperdrive, and he’d become a certified actor. His days and nights merged and became another week or even a month before he stopped and took notice. Since January, it seemed that his feet hardly touched the ground, and it was difficult to tell where he was, minute to minute. Being nominated for any award was an honor but recognition from the Academy was the ultimate. He was beside himself—things like this didn’t happen to Canadian boys from the Great White North. He constantly assessed his wakefulness and questioned the reality he was living. Every day was like Christmas morning, with a load of new experiences to unwrap.
In the mornings, he’d go shopping on Rodeo Drive with Katharine. In the afternoons, he’d study lines in a trailer for an early evening shoot on location. Almost everywhere he went, people recognized him, often referring to him as “the Madman.”
When he arose on the day of the awards, he headed into the mammoth en suite where a full-sized Jacuzzi tub awaited his arrival. The en suite was the size of an average living room and was equipped with a fireplace and entertainment center, along with an abundance of exotic sundries on the vanity. He lacked for nothing—except Katharine. It seemed ironic that he could have everything, yet without someone to share it, it somehow lost its luster.
After pouring a cup of coffee from the chrome carafe that room service provided, he walked naked to the Jacuzzi, stepped in, and switched on the jets. The water was warm as he stretched out in the bubbling flow that massaged the ache of alcohol from the night before. It was the smell of brewing java, however, that nudged his growing wakefulness to full bloom. What a way to start the day.
On finishing his first coffee, he climbed out of the Jacuzzi and into the shower stall. Six brass showerheads extended from the Italian marble ceiling and walls, splashing water over his head and body. It was like standing in the center of a waterfall. Ethan was lost in his own imaginary world, somewhere between his lines in Blood Signs and the red carpet in front of the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, when he heard the ring of the room’s phone.
He didn’t answer, held blissfully hostage by the steaming water. It might be Katharine, simply telling him to get started without her. He stayed in the shower another fifteen minutes.
Upon exiting, he dried, dressed, and ate breakfast in a small sunlit atrium opposite the bedroom. From his position on the top floor of the hotel, he could see much of downtown LA. It didn’t seem so long ago that he’d arrived with little more than some engineering experience and a dream to be a movie star. He smiled into the sunshine as he brought the second cup of black coffee to his lips.
The phone rang again. He ignored it as he stared out into the blue cloudless sky.
Columbia had hired a chauffeur and the stretch BMW to deliver Ethan and Katharine to the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion. As Ethan got out of the car, he saw Frederick Northum approach him to shake his hand, congratulating him profusely on his nomination. Ethan took another step forward, and Ben Lui was at his side. Ben, his hand on Ethan’s back, gushed over Ethan’s success—“I can’t say enough about your talent”—and hoped to see him on stage.
Blinding camera flashes were nonstop, often creating a strobe effect in front of them. Everywhere Ethan looked was bright lights and showbiz. It was an incredible feeling.
Further on, as they moved closer to the entrance, a man wearing black sunglasses and a black leather blazer ducked under the ornamental gold ropes surrounding the red carpet, seemingly blocking their passage. Ethan checked for security personnel, as images of knives and guns burst into his head, and he grasped for recognition of the unknown figure he’d seen only silhouetted in his dark apartment. But before he could do more than stand stock-still, Randy Baseman lifted his shades and flashed a smile. Without a word, the two men embraced.
“I thought you were living in Japan,” Ethan cried above the din of the crowd.
“I am!” Randy shouted back, “but I
wasn’t about to miss this for the world. I just got off the plane.”
As quickly as he appeared, Randy disappeared, swallowed into the surrounding crowd like a sandcastle swept away by an ocean wave.
Ethan’s stage was set.
Chapter 58
Real Time—April 11, 1984
Ethan’s Timeline—April 1993
The applause was loud—deafening, in fact. Ethan did and didn’t hear it. The sound would fade out as everyone around him stood and clapped as they looked his way. Then the roar of staggering applause would hit him.
Katharine shook his arm. He turned. Her usually clear blue eyes were sparkling with tears. “Ethan!” she cried. “I knew it.” Then she was on her feet, clapping.
“And the winner is …” repeated itself again and again in Ethan’s head. For years, he’d heard those words while watching the Oscars. Only in his wildest dreams could he imagine the words announcing his name.
Katharine was pulling at his arm.
Why are you doing that? he thought. Yet seemingly from another side of his head, he was asking, Who won? Who won? Katharine, who won?
Like trying to tune in a radio station signal, his present suddenly became clear.
“Ethan, you won!” Katharine screamed. She was on her feet, hauling him up, talking crazy. “I can’t believe it! I can believe it! Ethan, it’s incredible!”
It was like being part of an explosion. The noise was overwhelming. Ethan was bewildered.
She kissed him.
In the next thirty seconds, many things flashed in front of his eyes. He saw Mila and Robbie at university. Then Christa and Robbie and something strange—maybe it was Mila. Then he saw Robbie alone.
Katharine was beside him, and for an instant, she looked like someone else, someone familiar.
An instant later, he was shaking and touching as many extended hands as he could. There were smiling faces of celebrities he recognized and admired. Many, he had only dreamed of ever meeting. It was the most incredible hundred yards he’d ever walked. All the hardship he’d endured seemed suddenly worth it—better than his most incredible dreams.
The Actor Page 32
