Arts & Entertainments: A Novel

by Christopher Beha

  The next week’s show began at the gallery, where Susan prepared for Richard Oh’s opening. His work had been safely shipped to the gallery, and the assistants helped Susan install it. Most of it had the appearance of melted wax in various vomitous shades.

  “Susan has really been Richard’s champion,” Carl told the camera. “She’s the one who turned me on to him, and she’s the one who brought him in to the gallery.”

  It was an atypical bit of selflessness on Carl’s part, but it also seemed to suggest that the blame would be on Susan if the show didn’t succeed. After a few more shots of Richard’s work, they cut to her.

  “The medium is melted-down G.I. Joe figurines,” Susan explained. “It’s such a haunting evocation of the horrors of war. This one is called Fallujah.” She pointed to a hardened brown blob fixed to the wall. “It’s amazing how something so seemingly abstract can have such an emotional impact.”

  Now they cut to Richard, who had let the pigtail down from the unshaved side of his head.

  “It’s incredibly exciting to have someone like Susan Hartley embrace your art,” he said. “Everyone thinks so highly of her taste.”

  In Eddie’s memory, these openings had always been casual affairs, with garbage cans full of PBR and a few bottles of white wine on a table near the door. People came in for a free drink and took a lap around the show before moving on to the next gallery. But now they were setting up something rather more elaborate. There was a brief bit of phony drama when the caterers called to say they were stuck in traffic.

  “I’m launching a career here,” Susan said dramatically. “Everything has to be on time.”

  Later they showed her back at the apartment, picking out a dress that would elegantly handle her growing bump.

  “It’s times like these when I really wish I had someone going through all this with me,” she said. “I’ve got a lot riding on this. Not just for my own career. I really believe in Richard, and I want this night to be perfect for him.”

  So much of their life in the past two years had been wrapped up in their failure to conceive that a failure at work hardly seemed to register. But now he could see how badly Susan wanted this show to succeed. She had a whole emotional life attached to her work that Eddie had never known. Eddie felt himself rooting for Susan, as he imagined most viewers would, and he was relieved to see people waiting around the block to get inside the gallery. A velvet rope kept them in a line more in keeping with a movie premiere than the first exhibition of an unknown artist. Inside, Susan eloquently explained the importance of Richard’s work to various well-dressed people who were labeled by way of subtitles as prominent collectors or socialites or art critics. The only name familiar to Eddie was that of the lead art critic at the Herald. Susan had mentioned her in the past mostly to complain that she never came to their shows. As the evening wound on, all of the works were sold, checks for thirty or forty thousand dollars were written on the spot.

  The cameras cut back outside, where a black car pulled up to the curb. A driver emerged to open the passenger door. Eddie could tell from the response of the people still waiting in line that whoever came out of the car was famous, but it took a moment for him to recognize Rex Gilbert. As Rex walked up to the gallery door, the screen cut to Tomaka.

  “I’m like, oh my God, Rex is in our gallery,” she said. “We’re all trying to keep ourselves together.”

  She was replaced by Susan, who looked at the camera more calmly.

  “Rex is famous in the art world as more than just a dilettante with some money to throw around,” she said. “He’s a great collector. So it’s a real honor for him to come to this show. Mostly, I’m just happy for Richard.”

  Susan was waiting at the door when Rex came inside. She introduced herself and showed him around.

  “Unfortunately, our major pieces have already sold,” she told him. “But Richard is working on a very exciting new series. I could arrange a private showing if you’re interested.”

  “I would love a private showing,” Rex said.

  Susan handed him a business card, and the camera turned to capture Tomaka and another assistant looking on.

  “Rex Gilbert is flirting with Susan,” Tomaka said. “I’m totally going to die.”

  Susan walked Rex back to the door.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t get here while there was still more work available, but I certainly like what I saw.”

  He passed his eyes over Susan and smiled.

  “Some of it is still available,” Susan said. She kissed him on both cheeks and stood watching in the doorway while he walked back to his waiting car.

  Eddie turned off the TV as the credits ran. They might have picked Rex, of all people, just to torture him. But really there was nothing to worry about, he assured himself. It was a cameo, like Martha’s appearance the week before. A star of Rex’s caliber wouldn’t get himself stuck in this story. He just wanted to look like he was serious about art. His last three movies had been disappointments, and his popularity had been declining since he’d split with Martha. Establishing some high culture credibility would be good for him. It was easier than getting involved in politics or directing an indie script.

  Every site Eddie checked had Rex and Susan on its home page. CelebretainmentSpot ran a story that had obviously been waiting to post the moment the episode ended. “Hollywood’s worst-kept secret is out. Rumors have been swirling for weeks about Rex and Susan spending time together. Our spies say the two have been privately inseparable since the visit to her popular Chelsea gallery depicted on tonight’s show. Rex’s friends are hoping that the prospect of a family might be enough to finally tie down Hollywood’s most notorious bachelor.”

  Eddie closed the computer and called Talent Management.

  “What the fuck is this?” he asked Alex. “Rex Gilbert wants to start a family with my pregnant wife?”

  “It’s quite a story, isn’t it?”

  “I thought you were supposed to be getting me on the show?”

  “Let’s be honest, Eddie. Between you and Rex there’s a bit of a difference in interest level.”

  “Isn’t that supposed to be my agent’s job?”

  “You’re not exactly doing me any favors.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You don’t do anything. Granted, you spread out naked in the hallway once, which wasn’t bad. But since then you don’t even leave the fucking hotel room.”

  “I was trying to stay out of trouble.”

  “Who told you to do that? If you want to get on this show, you need to get yourself into trouble. No one gives a shit about you right now.”

  After he hung up with Alex, Eddie searched through the messages on his phone and found the number of the reporter from Star Style.

  “This is Geena Tuff,” she said.

  “Hi, Geena, this is Eddie Hartley.”

  “Right, Eddie. How are you doing?”

  “Listen, I’ve been thinking about it, and I’m ready to give you that exclusive interview.”

  “I’m afraid the window has sort of closed on that.”

  “You don’t have to pay ten thousand dollars. I’ll give it to you for free. I’ve got some juicy material.”

  “What kind of juice are we talking about?”

  Eddie paused.

  “I’ll tell you during the interview.”

  “Why don’t we call this the interview, and you can just tell me now?”

  “I just need a little more time to prepare.”

  “If you’ve actually got a story to tell, call me back. Right now I’m on deadline for a piece about Susan and Rex.”

  He’d already missed his chance. If he wanted to get on the show, he couldn’t just wait until their story needed him. He needed to make a story for himself. He continued looking through his phone, as though the answer to his problem could be found there. After two minutes of mindless scrolling he came across the photo from Blakeman’s party, and he called the number th
at had sent it to him.

  “Is this who I think it is?” Melissa asked. “I didn’t expect to hear from you again.”

  “I’ve got a job offer for you,” Eddie said. “It’s an acting job, and it will pay pretty well.”

  “What do I have to do?”

  “For starters, I want you to come to the SoHo Cue and ask for my room. When you get here, I’ll tell you the rest.”

  FOURTEEN

  AN HOUR LATER, EDDIE answered a call from the front desk.

  “Mr. Hartley, there’s a young woman here to see you.”

  “Send her up,” Eddie said. “Have room service bring us a bottle of champagne. Just leave it outside. We don’t want to be disturbed.”

  When he opened the door, Melissa stood in the hall wearing a short, high-waisted skirt and leather boots that came up to her knees. Her hair had been light brown the last time he’d seen her. Now it was dyed black, and her eyes were made up darkly to set off her pale skin. She was perfect for the role, Eddie thought.

  “So you’ve got a job for me?” she asked. “What have you got in mind?”

  “We’re going to have an affair.”

  “You don’t need to pay me for that.”

  “I don’t actually want to sleep with you,” Eddie explained, though it wasn’t precisely true at the moment. “I just want it to look like there’s something going on between us. I need to get my wife back.”

  “You want to get your wife back by pretending to sleep with me?”

  “We’re going to create a scandal. It’s the only way the producers will let me on the show.”

  “You want me to go out with you, hold hands, kiss in public. That kind of thing?”

  “That’s the idea.”

  “I’ll be famous for sleeping with a married man whose wife is pregnant with triplets?”

  “More or less.”

  Melissa smiled.

  “This is amazing.”

  “I can’t offer you much money. But if it works out I’m sure you could turn it into something.”

  “The money isn’t the important thing. Just tell me how you want it to work.”

  “I think we’ll just hang around the hotel at first, until someone tips off the press. Once the cameras get here in a day or two, we’ll start going out together and pretend to be surprised.”

  “I can get cameras here a lot quicker than that,” Melissa said. She handed Eddie her phone, pulled her skirt up half an inch, and undid a button on her shirt. “Take a shot of me.”

  “What are you going to do with it?” Eddie asked as he handed back her phone.

  “I’ve got twenty thousand people in my Teeser circle now. A lot of tabloid people are still following me from when I sent that last photo out.”

  She posted the photo Eddie had taken with a message: “Wearing my best to meet *MrDrake at the Cue on Thompson.”

  “Give it half an hour,” she said.

  “Maybe we should do something with both of us in it?”

  “Not yet. People will want to break the story themselves. We’ve let them know where to find us. The idea is that you’re trying to keep things under wraps, and I’m a little overeager.”

  “You seem to have thought this out already.”

  “I’ve been waiting for a chance like this for years.”

  FOR WEEKS EDDIE HAD been expecting a crowd to appear in the lobby looking for him, and every time he came downstairs he was disappointed, even as he was infuriated to get back to his room and see his latest outing documented online. He seemed to be losing all his privacy without getting any of the attention in return. This time he imagined things would be different, and he was disappointed all over again when he stepped out of the elevator with Melissa into the empty lobby and no one was waiting there. They were in the revolving door before he saw the photographers out on the sidewalk, and the cameras caught a genuine look of surprise on his face.

  “Don’t say anything,” Melissa whispered. “Duck your head and turn for the corner.”

  “Does Susan know what you’re doing?” someone shouted as they stepped outside.

  Eddie did as Melissa said and walked on without responding, but Melissa stopped and yelled back.

  “It’s none of her damn business what we’re doing.”

  She took Eddie by the arm and hurried him down the street while the photographers followed, shouting questions. They’d never bothered following Eddie before. Melissa led him on for two blocks before they stopped at a dimly lit Thai restaurant with loud electronic music playing inside. The photographers stopped at the door as Melissa approached the hostess and asked for a table in the back.

  “Shouldn’t we be closer to the window?” Eddie said.

  “If we sit in the window, they’ll take a few more shots before getting tired of us and leaving. If we sit in the back and make out, people at the other tables will e-mail our dinner order to StalkTalk, and the photographers will wait outside to catch us coming out.”

  She didn’t even need to think about it. She just followed her instincts. Eddie had needed a guide like Melissa all along. When she’d said at graduation that she wanted to be an actress, this was what she meant. This was what she aspired to be. She’d never breathed air that hadn’t first been filtered by CelebretainmentSpot and Entertainment Daily. She kissed his neck for a minute while a woman at the next table took out her phone to record them. When Eddie felt a tongue edging into his mouth, he stopped.

  “What are you doing?” he asked Melissa.

  “People are watching us,” she whispered. “Don’t break scene.”

  Throughout the meal, diners approached their table to catch a glimpse of them and take pictures. But no one spoke to them, even to ask for an autograph. They behaved as if Eddie and Melissa weren’t actually present, as though they were being projected on some screen. Eddie imagined Susan being treated this way. Had she learned to like the attention? How long did it take to get used to it?

  For now, Eddie enjoyed his dinner. He’d been alone for weeks, separated not just from Susan but from everything, watching his own life on TV or reading about it online, waiting for the viewing public to decide whether he could see his wife. Eating curry with Melissa, he inhabited a scene again. He was playing a part, and he had an audience.

  Melissa seemed to be enjoying his company, but this could have been good acting. Watching her across the table, Eddie saw her for what she was—a beautiful nineteen-year-old girl. He pictured her in a dorm room as the school year began, telling her roommate, “That guy in the Drake tape was my boyfriend’s high school teacher.” He imagined the odd satisfaction the tenuous connection offered her, and the sense of opportunity to build on that connection she’d felt when she saw him at Blakeman’s apartment. All that talk at the party had been part of her act. She’d never really wanted to sleep with him. She’d wanted exactly what she was getting now—to sit in a restaurant and know that every other table was talking about her. To know that there were people across the country she’d never met and never would meet who would read at some point tonight or tomorrow about what she was now wearing or eating and would take these facts as matters of interest to their own lives. He guessed she would have slept with him to get all that if it had been necessary, but it hadn’t been. Things had gone better than she could possibly have hoped.

  The photographers were still outside when they left, just as Melissa had predicted. If anything, there seemed to be more of them. The night had turned cold, and they were wrapped in scarves and gloves. They followed Eddie and Melissa, getting three minutes of access for the hour they’d spent waiting. Eddie wasn’t sure what to say when they got back to the hotel. It seemed like they’d done enough for one night to get the story under way.

  “Take your shirt off and get in bed,” Melissa told him.

  “What have you got in mind?”

  “Just trust me.”

  With his shirt off and the covers pulled up above his waist, Eddie appeared naked. Melissa lay down next to hi
m. She took off her own shirt and pulled one bra strap down her arm. She leaned toward Eddie until he felt her firmness against his shoulder.

  “Sit back and close your eyes,” she said. “Like you’re sleeping.”

  Eddie heard the click of her phone taking a picture. When he opened his eyes, she was sitting up, typing with her thumbs.

  “How’s this for a start?” she asked, showing Eddie the Teeser post on her phone: “I wore out *MrDrake.”

  HE SLEPT ON THE floor that night and woke to the sound of Melissa snoring lightly in his bed. He stood up and looked around the room. The bottle of champagne he’d ordered sat empty on the bedside table, along with two glasses. Melissa had slept in nothing but a Cue bathrobe, which had come open in the night, leaving her body exposed. Eddie walked over to the bed to cover her up. As he reached for the robe, she opened her eyes.

  “Easy, perv. You didn’t pay for that.”

  “I’m sorry,” Eddie told her. “I wasn’t, I didn’t mean to—”

  Melissa laughed.

  “Just fucking with you. I was awake the whole time.”

  She closed her eyes again, and the soft snore started back up. She still hadn’t covered herself. Eddie couldn’t help looking at her bare body, though he knew she could open her eyes at any moment, so he went to the bathroom, hoping she’d be dressed by the time he got out. His back hurt from sleeping on the floor, and he let the hot water in the shower pour over it.

  If they kept this up, Eddie thought, they would need a better sleeping arrangement. He didn’t want to call down to the lobby for a cot, which would become its own story. Perhaps the leather couch would be more comfortable than the floor, though it looked too short for him. He wondered how people managed to live entire lives built around deceptions of this kind. They probably just shared the same bed.

  When he came out of the bathroom, Melissa was sitting up with the paper open and the TV on.

  “How does it look?” he asked.

  “Not so good,” she told him. “Justine Bliss is in a coma.”