Sex & Genius

by Conrad Williams

  He asked for the bill and resumed his seat by the rail. While he waited he tapped the bullet on the table. The metal was smooth, pleasant to weigh between fingers, the point nicely tactile, like an executive toy. He squinted at the white light of the sky. It was good to put oneself through these moments. Daring gave one edge, renewed daring. Men were designed to do battle and exert nervous energy. That's whom Hollywood was for: acrobats of chance, men of rapacity and wrath, scurrying overlords of the animal kingdom. The rage of it might be addictive, a person's way of clambering above the froth of anonymously competing lives and trouncing one's rivals.

  He drew fingertips over his eyesockets, rubbed the stubble on his jaw, and grimaced all-achingly at the blanched band of the beach and the inexorable press of the sea. The form of the mountain, treading into the water from on high, occupied vision so completely that, when he stopped thinking about everything and looked at what lay before him, it sent through him a surge of joy which raked his tear ducts.

  He knew he could do it now. He had the passion of his own identity. He would push that all the way against Adela and Shane Hammond and whatever problems came to him next. All this, tightly seized, would get him a life back.

  He paid up and made his way as fast as he could across the lurch and crunch of the pebble beach. Exhilaration powered him up the zigzag of steps so that soon, without pain, he found his throat throbbing and skin moist. The metal tube rail vibrated with the force of his grasp. He came on to the alley near his hotel and did not think of the place where he and Adela had kissed for the first time.

  The banked levels of the town were like a citadel of villas, linen white against the grey sky. The houses rose in shuttered somnolence above the street on which he walked, so electrically full of his future. Positano moved around him as he strode down the road past the stores and bars and the tourists taking their seats outside the caffè, adjusting sunglasses and looking up at the afternoon sky.

  According to the waiter a storm was coming in.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Her room looked different. The shutters were wide open. The bed was neatly made. The carnival of her dressing-table possessions, her shoes and clothes and clutter, had been swept clean off the table and floor and everywhere was kempt and bare, and on the luggage-support two shoulder bags were stacked, and Adela, as he entered, was kneeling on a suitcase and tugging around its edges a reluctant zipper.

  'Perfect timing,' she said rather breathlessly.

  The room was full of her energy and efficiency. Michael had no idea what was going on and stood there openly surprised by this woman who rose to her feet, dusting hands on jeans and flicking hair over her ear.

  'Are you leaving?'

  'I've been upgraded.'

  She sashayed around the suitcase and came up to him. She looked into his eyes with her usual directness, preparing him for the next revelation.

  'Shane wants me to join him at the Sirenuse.'

  'Join him?'

  She smiled. 'He's booked me a room.'

  'Why?'

  She heard the dismay in his voice. 'Oh.' She shrugged. 'Because he probably thinks an actress of my standing shouldn't be obliged to stay in fleapit hotels.'

  She heaved the suitcase on to its wheels, took lipstick from her pocket, presented her mouth to the wall mirror. 'Would you pass up two nights of five-star?'

  He walked quickly towards her. She turned and looked at him before he kissed her, a quick, possessive kiss.

  'I like it here,' he said.

  'Michael.' She touched his chest, intimate but restraining. 'I don't have the choice.'

  He hesitated, struck by the tone.

  'Shane wants me there because he can't move around freely.'

  'He can wear shades! He can wear a baseball cap!'

  'He's a very private man.'

  'Why should that affect your sleeping arrangements!'

  She pouted, topped up the colour of her lips. 'He's a night owl.'

  Michael walked across to the window, drawn to daylight. He knew that he was being jumpy and assuming things; and that he distrusted the invigorating effect of Shane's visit on Adela, as if it were more than she could do to conceal her own nerves and was annoyed with him for forcing her to do so.

  He had liked it here: the Bohemian quarters above the noisy square.

  Her coolness was ambiguous. Perhaps she meant to show that this sort of thing happened in her line of work. She was resolute because she wanted to get a job done. And while it might be presumptuous of a film star to summon her to his own luxury hotel, Adela was too determined to let presumptuousness inhibit her. Michael knew that she had many resources and many imperatives and would handle each new development with tact and charm, and little could be concluded, if he would just stay cool, from the nervousness that a movie star's imminent arrival created; though, looking at the room's newfound order, he saw how powerfully Hammond's stellar magnetism affected other heavenly bodies. Hammond's presence was a lot more irksome than the use of his bankable name. His fame and power gave him rights over people, an edge in personal matters that could not be resisted by those he privileged with his company.

  He turned back from the window. She was attaching a slide to her hair, lifting it away from temple and ear so that one saw the soft curve of her jaw. The lipstick anointed her mouth, gave a concentrated stab to the pleasingness of her looks. Even in a sweater and jeans she was fluffily feminine; competent, too. She was very aware of the architecture of her face as it might now be presented to the desk clerk of the Sirenuse, or to the hotel's rich patrons, or to Shane Hammond himself.

  He remained by the window as she attached earrings to the picture of her face. He was unused to the hazards of submitting to feeling. He had allowed passion to escape from some inner hiding place and was now vulnerable to anything that might thwart it.

  'What were you going to tell me?'

  She glanced at him acutely. 'Do I look OK?'

  'Of course.'

  'How was your meeting?'

  'I cut a deal.'

  'I'm sure there won't be any problems.'

  'There were loads of bloody problems!'

  'But with Shane behind you . . .'

  'I've never met Shane!' She was trying to take his achievement away. 'He doesn't give a shit about me.'

  'You got the deal, Michael!'

  'Not on a plate! Those hyenas want my blood.'

  She stood up, cradling her arms. 'They're powerless.'

  'I had to fight.'

  'OK!'

  He stared at her. He had endured an ordeal by fire for her benefit.

  She returned the look, duly corrected. She had got the message. She raised her eyebrows to move the subject on. 'So it's in the bag unless you blow it with Shane.'

  'Blow it?'

  She nodded knowingly.

  'Am I auditioning?'

  Adela was rock-like. 'We are all auditioning.'

  He swallowed. He did not like this. He could not endure the idea of being a supplicant, especially to a movie star, however bankable.

  'What were you going to tell me?'

  She came towards him, bringing herself to the window. She was composing herself; formulating various points, which she would need to state carefully. She had information and wanted to share it for the sake of completeness.

  'I've told you my suspicions.'

  He watched her closely. Anything she might say about Shane would be an indirect way of saying things about himself.

  'When I was understudying at Chichester, Shane was aloof. Pleasant but aloof. He was like that with everybody. There were several fine women in that production, and he was spoilt for choice, but he seemed . . . uninterested.' She raised her eyebrows. 'I thought he was gay or on sabbatical. But then somebody told me he was dating the daughter of a Labour peer, Carlotta so-and-so. End of story. The next time I saw him was in New York, with Jack, at a party. Jack was embarrassingly thrilled to meet him and did everything possible to get in the way until
an American casting agent yanked him off for a dance, and I had Shane to myself, and Shane was asking questions about the BBC and all things British, and running a big spiel about the horrors of Hollywood and laughing at what a cliché he must seem. He told me actors were a fucked-up bunch and that he loathed Hollywood and would be glad to return to the RSC if he could only break the habit of earning multi-million-dollar fees. He really rolled back the frontiers of self-indulgence. I did my incredulous ''Haven't you got everything?'' bit. And then Jack made his way over, and Shane took my hand and said, ''You're very beautiful, but don't marry that man.'' Which I thought was extremely rude and very perceptive.' She glanced frankly at Michael. 'To tell the truth I liked the idea that he could read my mind, because I knew at that party Jack was history.'

  He was half puzzled to learn Jack was history then. That had not been his understanding.

  'Next time I heard his voice it was 4 a.m. He was very cocky. But of course he made up for it nicely by offering me a part. The implication being that from just one meeting Shane knows I'm right. And he's marvellously low-key, as if the film he always wanted to make would happen as soon as he chanced on the right actress, and now he's found me and, bingo, we're off.'

  Michael had so little of the initiative that he thought it better to retain what little he had by saying nothing.

  'And then' – she smiled with lovely, candid irony – 'I read the novel and discovered about my character. The love of his life. The woman who teaches Shane what real love feels like.'

  'Shane?'

  'Shane's character.'

  There was a pause.

  'Which means, I guess, that he thinks I have a quality which would make me convincing to an audience in that role.' She looked at him flatly. 'And if the audience likes that quality . . . maybe he does, too.'

  'Your quality as an actress?'

  'What I can do,' she said. 'What I can project.'

  'You?'

  She looked at him for a long moment. 'Yes, me.'

  He let out a long breath. 'Is there no difference between you and your acting?'

  She paused a moment, before coming out with proud tranquil assurance. 'I can't put across what I don't feel.'

  He nodded, saw the reflection of her back in the mirror. He wanted her to discriminate between appearance and reality, between personal feeling and histrionic effect. She had not answered his question.

  'He called several times after that. Usually with a pretext. Maybe he was reassuring himself. Or rehearsing. He's very method. And every time I try to be as relaxed as possible. The funny thing is, when we have these conversations it's like I'm the only person in the world he can talk to. When he heard about the problems with the option he was stricken. He's so determined to make this movie. So fixated. The story is a personal thing with him. Love and impossible love and, well, he's going to be very bound up with whoever plays Anna.' She cast her eyes down and then aside. 'That actress has to do it for Shane.'

  He was immersed in the implications. All this uncertainty stemmed from his decision to lie, from his desperate neediness, more desperate than ever.

  'Do what?' he said, softly.

  'Oh.' She shrugged. 'Make sparks. Be his idea of a perfect woman. You see, he's discovered me. He thinks I'm it. No one else in Hollywood is going to offer me a movie like this because nobody else believes in me on the big screen. I have to live up to that.'

  He nodded. That much was intelligible, though he wondered where acting stopped and life began. Perhaps a man like Hammond made no distinction between the emotions of living and performing, but Adela should. She was intelligently self-aware.

  'So you see, there are two angles here.' She looked so furtive, so thorough in her sounding of the matter before them. 'Either he's just intense, the great thespian brewing up vibes for his next star performance, in which case I play my part and keep my job. Or–' She turned towards him, tossed her hair back, parted her lips in high oral coquetry. 'He's using the film as a pretext for something more personal.'

  He looked at her. What gave him most pause, the thing that checked his response, was that Adela had kept this information to herself from the day of their first meeting. And while that meant her depiction of Hammond's interest had been economical, it also meant that his 'encounter' with her had managed to happen despite her little secret, suggesting that she was not entirely consumed by the idea of Hammond's interest.

  He went across to the bed and sat down; allowed a tired sigh to escape from his body. 'You think Shane needs all this pretext to make a pass?'

  Adela was silent for a moment. 'I don't think there's too much difference between how he feels about work and how he feels about life. A romantic, I guess.'

  'He's a star, for heaven's sake. He can have anyone!'

  She was grand. 'Oh, not anyone!'

  'Why doesn't he take you to an expensive restaurant?'

  'Screen gods move in mysterious ways.'

  He was forlorn. 'You mean he's playing some kind of game?'

  'He's rich, famous, probably miserable. How am I supposed to know what's going on in his mind?'

  'It's you that talks to him!'

  'Yes, and I'm telling you my hunch!' She frowned. 'After all, he's coming to Positano!'

  Michael took this in slowly. Things were cast now in a queer light. The information he had received, it was so very unrelaxing.

  'Why are you telling me this, Adela?'

  She raised her eyebrows at his tone. 'Because it's going to have an effect on things.'

  Michael waited, heart beating hard. He never knew quite what it was possible for her to say next.

  She came towards him, rested her delicate hands on the strap of a bag.

  'I'm going to have to be charming, you see. You'll have to let me play my part.' She watched him closely.

  He laughed nervously. 'What does that mean?'

  'Oh.' She widened her eyes. 'That you make allowances for me.'

  He was transfixed.

  'I must live up to Shane's expectations.'

  The emotion he felt was very unpleasant.

  'It wouldn't do to be indiscreet.'

  'Indiscreet?'

  She was not untroubled. 'We have to keep mum. If what I say is true, we can't let Shane see that his chosen actress is' – she raised her eyebrows – 'you know . . .'

  He made no reaction.

  'We can't risk alienating him.'

  He nodded, beginning to doubt her integrity. Such tact was no more than deception. He spoke gently. 'But nor should you risk alienating the producer.'

  She frowned. 'I'm telling you so you won't be alienated!'

  'Adela!'

  'I know it's awkward!'

  'Awkward!' The word did not go far enough, not by a long way, was completely inadequate.

  He looked at the floor. This conversation was absolutely not to his taste. 'What will you do?'

  Her face lightened and she strolled across the room as if dress-rehearsing the idea. 'The obvious thing is to say I'm still in love with Jack.'

  Michael recognised the excuse. 'Which he knows isn't true.'

  She turned and came back the other way. 'It's a neat way of not rejecting him.'

  'He'll like the challenge.'

  'It buys me time.'

  'A day or so. It won't get you through the shoot.'

  'And it has the advantage of mirroring the story in the novel.'

  'Until the characters elope.'

  She was thoughtful.

  'And have their love affair!'

  She seemed absent-minded, distracted.

  He rose from the bed and moved towards her. He placed a hand on her shoulder, looked feelingly into her eyes.

  'It needn't be complicated. Be up-front with him. Let him know about us casually.'

  'Us?' It was less of a question than the voicing of a vague notion, the sense of which she could not fully feel.

  'You know what I mean,' he said experimentally.

  He saw that she did by t
he sudden steadiness of the look she gave him, offering her honesty, full access to the conundrum as it struck her. She breathed in and squeezed his hand.

  'Inadvisable.'

  'Isn't it better to be honest than to play out a charade?'

  'And risk losing everything?'

  'If Shane has any class he'll respect your feelings.'

  'Shane's class is one thing. It's his ego I'm worried about.'

  He was impatient. 'Either he wants to make the film or he doesn't.'

  She stared at him with sudden, terrible anguish. 'If I reject him, he'll cast someone else!' She bared her teeth and looked away, almost devastated by the thought.

  Michael was shaken. It was as though she had revealed herself.

  'He has absolute power over my career. My only power is over his emotions. That,' she said vehemently, 'is why he wants me. Why he's prepared to make me. Because at some level I've got something he wants, and this film is a route to that!'

  Michael paled. She had spelt it out.

  'Michael!' She grabbed his hand, brought herself tightly into his clasp. 'I have to carry this. Trust me to do it for both of us.'

  He felt something precious slipping away from him.

  'You mean sleep with him?'

  Her breath was hot on his skin. She squeezed his hand between the prayer of her palms, urged it against her breast. Her eyes scan-searched his face, seeking him out, as though his response were the only one that mattered. 'It won't come to that.'

  He gazed into the depths of those eyes, unable to believe his relationship with Adela had reached this point. There was yielding and pleading in the cast of her upturned features, a loveliness in the rounded cheekbones, forgiveness in the lips, conscience in the wide openness of her brow, youth in the natural, abundant hair. The nape of her neck was silky warm to his fingers.

  The silence that surrounded them was void of forward momentum. They had reached a centre-point, a moment that was still. He held her close, felt the fluff of her jersey on his palm, breathed in the exhalation of scent from her skin. He had become too quickly attached to Adela. Circumstance had accelerated their romance beyond the normal speed of development, heightening chemistry and complexity, intensifying emotions before it was possible to resolve the ambiguity about whether the film was an excuse for an affair, or the catalyst for true love. Michael craved for the latter to be true though it was too late to judge and too soon to know.