Arts & Entertainments: A Novel

by Christopher Beha

  FIFTEEN

  THAT MORNING, MARIAN BLAIR hosted the Entertainment Daily news hour from the emergency room. There didn’t seem to be anything to report about Justine’s condition, but there was no possibility of reporting anything else. Every fifteen minutes, Marian listed all the drugs that had been found in Justine’s system after she collapsed at the top of a staircase in her father’s house. In the absence of other information, she put a microphone into the faces of waiting patients, asking what had brought them in. Eddie and Melissa were mentioned only in the ticker running at the bottom of the screen, which every few minutes read “Lower East Side Lolita Steps Out with Handsome Eddie, More @ EntertainmentDaily.com.”

  “I read that book for class,” Melissa said as she sat down at the computer to look them up. “Lolita was twelve. I’m not even a minor. And I don’t live on the Lower East Side. I’m in student housing on Mercer Street.”

  Nonetheless she seemed pleased.

  “This girl is in a coma,” Eddie said.

  “We can wait it out. Her condition will stabilize in the next day or two. She’ll get better.”

  “What if she doesn’t?”

  “Either way, there won’t be much else to report after a while.”

  Melissa clearly admired the daring of the dark story line. She acted as though Justine were offstage somewhere, drinking a Diet Coke and watching the coverage, waiting to be called back into a scene. The bruises on her face on the cover of the Post were the work of an expert makeup artist. The tube parting her lips into that oddly alluring oval didn’t continue down her throat and into her lungs. She could spit it out at any moment to ask a friend how her performance had gone.

  For the first time since she’d come over to the hotel, it struck Eddie how young Melissa was.

  “Do your parents know you’re here?” he asked.

  “My parents, qua parents, aren’t superinvolved,” Melissa said. “But I’m sure they’re happy for me.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  He’d never seen her look uncomfortable before.

  “My mother was this beautiful model,” she said, “and all she ever wanted was to be a big star. But it didn’t work out for her. She says getting pregnant kind of fucked that up. My dad’s some big deal out in Hollywood, but they didn’t really stick, and I don’t know him. Anyway, my mother didn’t make it, but she married my stepdad, who’s superrich and actually a pretty good guy. They split up, but he’s raised me on and off. He’s the one who paid for me to go to Melwood, and he’s paying for college and all that. My mother is still kind of back and forth to the West Coast trying to do shit, so I don’t see a ton of her. But she’ll be thrilled to hear my name on Entertainment Daily.”

  “Speaking of college, don’t you need to go to class today?”

  “I’m dropping out.”

  “Don’t do that,” Eddie told her. “Even I made it through a year.”

  “Kidding, Dad. Today is Saturday.”

  “I kind of lost track,” Eddie said.

  By the end of the day Justine’s condition was stable, but she was still comatose. The doctors had lowered her body temperature to counteract the lack of oxygen going to her organs, and medical experts on every channel explained the significance of this process. Respiration and pulse were at safe levels, but the fall had damaged her cerebral cortex, and these same medical experts couldn’t come to any consensus about her brain functioning or her chances of recovery.

  “Don’t you think this will tire people out on the whole celebrity thing?” Eddie asked Melissa. They were seated together at the desk in the corner, looking at the open laptop as they browsed through gossip sites.

  Melissa laughed.

  “You mean like Princess Di did? Or Anna Nicole Smith? The Herald will get a good op-ed out of it. There will be a full day of hand wringing about what’s ‘really’ responsible. Then we’ll all move on. You know what people will be asking next week?”

  “What?”

  “Who’s fucking Handsome Eddie?”

  “You think we’ll get picked up?”

  “This Justine stuff is fascinating, but it’s depressing as hell. People don’t want to go overboard with the sad stuff. Mostly, they want to be able to judge people, and they can’t judge a girl in a coma. If she was older and had some kids, they could judge her for being selfish and irresponsible. But she’s too young for that. Maybe they can judge her father for a little while, but that’s his daughter in the coma, so that will only last so long. They can judge, like, the culture at large, but that means judging themselves, so that gets tiresome, too. And there’s another episode of Desperately Expecting Susan to watch on Tuesday. Everyone will want an excuse to return their attention to the usual entertainment. We give them a nice opportunity.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “I need to run some errands. Get some stuff from my dorm. I’ll come back tonight. Tomorrow during the day we’ll go out—brunch at Balthazar or something. Then you take me shopping. Buy me a nice piece of jewelry. Don’t worry, you can take it out of my pay. We come back here, we hang out for the night. I’ve got a media studies class Monday morning. You can drop me off at school. That image is going to drive people crazy.”

  JUSTINE WAS STILL ON all the front pages the next week, but on Tuesday Stanley Peerbaum’s column included a photo of Eddie dropping Melissa off for class. Peerbaum had interviewed some of her Intro to Media Studies classmates, as well as the professor, who said he was writing a scholarly article about the Martin-Hartley tape.

  “She was real stuck up from the first day of class,” a girl named Edwina Gart was quoted as saying. “Like because she grew up on Fifth Avenue and goes to hot parties she’s better than everyone.”

  “I don’t even know who that girl is,” Melissa said. “This is so amazing.”

  The weeklies—not just the tabloids but the newsmagazines— were devoted almost entirely to Justine. “Have We Finally Gone Too Far?” Time asked on its cover. “We Did This,” Newsweek announced. Both showed Justine inert in her hospital bed.

  “I bet these are their biggest sellers in years,” Melissa said. “They must be thrilled.”

  Speaking after a round of chemotherapy, Sandra Scopes from Scavenger: Urban Adventure Edition told Marian Blair that Justine was a fighter and her inspiration. Burt Wyman admitted that the collapse had set off “larm bells” for him.

  “I thought, Jesus, this ain’t a joke,” he said. “I’m walking the straight and narrow here on in.”

  Tom Bliss gave a press conference to address rumors— Eddie had not heard these rumors himself, and he was following the story as closely as one possibly could—that he planned to take Justine off life support.

  “I love my girl,” he said. “And she’s going to be back better than ever.”

  That night the new episode of Desperately Expecting Susan began with a brief tribute to Justine, in which Susan, Carl, and Tomaka stood arm in arm to wish her a speedy recovery. The rest of the show went on as usual. Near the end, Susan went in for another ultrasound. This time Rex came with her.

  “We’re just friends,” Susan insisted to the camera. “But he’s so sweet to come support me. It makes everything a little bit easier.”

  Susan and Rex waited alone in the examining room. The doctor appeared, and Eddie learned that his wife was expecting three girls.

  SIXTEEN

  MELISSA WAS RIGHT: PEOPLE could only take so much of Justine. So long as she was unconscious, the story had nowhere to go. Everyone seemed ready to move on to other matters. But those matters didn’t include Eddie. CelebNation dedicated its next cover to Martha and Turner, whose wedding would take place on New Year’s Eve. Martha was likable again, and her marriage to another Hollywood star was just the kind of story to displace Justine for a few days. There were even whispers that she missed Rex, that she felt betrayed by Susan, as if they were old friends. This was all to the good as far as Eddie was concerned. Once people were talking about Susan,
it was just a small step to start talking about him. Eddie didn’t expect to compete with Martha, but he didn’t need to be that big. He only wanted enough press to get Moody’s attention. So it felt like an act of God when the egg came.

  It sailed from nowhere one morning as he stepped out of the hotel alone. The day was beautiful, cold but dry and bright, a day that demanded you look up to the sky with some measure of gratitude, whatever your troubles were. This Eddie did. He squinted at the naked sun, and the egg seemed to sneak in behind it. It might have been a trick of the light, a dust mote, or something dropping from the sun itself. By the time its true nature was apparent to Eddie, the thing was already upon him, breaking on his chin and splattering on his shirt. The impact of the shell carried more force than he would have expected, and he bit his lip as he recoiled.

  The scrum of photographers who’d been waiting outside separated, as if by common decision, allowing his accuser to face him. She was a woman of early middle age, dressed in torn clothes, her face darkened by dirt. He thought she might have been a random attacker until he heard her call, “You monster. You pervert. You predator.” The photographers turned, and Eddie expected her to keep screaming. But she seemed only to want their attention. Now that she had it, she went quiet. She had more eggs in her hand, and she fired one straight at Eddie’s chest. A third broke on the ground in front of him, splattering on his shoes. The fourth flew over his shoulder, and Eddie went into full retreat.

  “Who was that?” he said out loud in the lobby.

  Eddie had heard stories from old friends with parts in soap operas, about being accosted on the street by women asking why they hit their wives or neglected their parents. They had to explain that they were actors reading lines off pages. It was just a television show. Standing in the elevator, Eddie wanted to say the same to the egg-throwing woman. Eddie Hartley was a character, not a real person.

  Back in the room, Melissa sat in front of the TV.

  “You’re going to want to see this,” she said.

  “I need to shower first,” Eddie told her. “I got attacked out there.”

  “I know.”

  “You know?”

  “I read about it.”

  “That was fast.”

  “There’s a great photo on Teeser. But I think you should watch this first.”

  Melissa took the TV off mute.

  “Does Susan want Eddie back?” Marian Blair asked. She turned to another camera before continuing. “As Eddie Hartley parades around town with teen tart Melissa Westlake, his pregnant wife fumes at home. Sources tell Entertainment Daily that Desperately Expecting Susan star Susan Hartley is scared to go it alone as she prepares for the birth of the couple’s three daughters. Rex is ready to step in, but Susan wants Eddie back. It may be too late, as the infamous other in the Dr. Drake sex tape is enjoying his new role as boy toy to the teacher’s pet. We’ll have more on this developing story later in the show. But now, here are Justine Bliss’s daily vitals. Body temperature ninety-one point three degrees. Her pulse is holding steady.”

  “Teen tart,” Melissa said after putting the show on mute. “It’s kind of clunky, but I like it.”

  As Eddie washed the egg off his face and neck, he wondered what would happen to Melissa when Susan took him back. Would she find some way to drain every drop of this notoriety? He imagined watching her in a year on a new season of Scavenger: Urban Adventure Edition or Celebrity Sex Addict. Eddie was grateful to her, but he was already tired of playing this part. He didn’t want people throwing eggs at him.

  The call came from Talent Management the next day.

  “Jesus,” Alex said. “I’m looking at the front page of the Post, and there you are with egg on your face. Literally, egg on your face. I love it.”

  “I’m just trying to get myself back into the story.”

  “Well, it worked. I talked with Moody’s people, and they want you in. They’re drawing up the contracts now. Boilerplate stuff. I’ll be in town tomorrow, and you can come to our New York office to sign. I’m setting up a meeting with Moody himself. You’re going to be in very good hands.”

  “That’s great,” Eddie said.

  “You should know that there’s going to be some serious nondisclosure language in this contract, so I wouldn’t say too much to anyone.”

  “That’s all fine,” Eddie said. “So long as I get to see my wife.”

  “Still working on that.”

  “I thought you were getting me on the show.”

  “They don’t want you with Susan. They want you with the girl. Same show, but a separate story line. On one hand, we’ve got the single mom struggling through pregnancy, trying to decide what to do about these overtures from Rex. Will she or won’t she, that sort of thing. On the other, we’ve got the cad and the nymphet.”

  “The only reason I’m even with Melissa is so I can get Susan back.”

  “You’re in danger of making me very disillusioned,” Alex said. “It looked so real from where I was standing. In any case, you’re going to have to keep it up if you want on the show, because that’s what they’re looking for. And once you sign this contract, you can’t go around telling people this thing with Melissa isn’t on the level.”

  “Does Susan know about this?”

  “She doesn’t have much choice, if it’s what Moody wants. It’s going to be great for the ratings. They’re talking about a special when the babies are born. Live from the delivery room.”

  “Will I be there for that?”

  “Let’s worry about keeping people interested for a few more months. Right now, they want to see you with Melissa.”

  “I’m going to have to ask her if she’s all right with it,” Eddie said, though he knew Melissa would be thrilled.

  “She’s already on board,” Alex told him. “She’s represented by the agency now.”

  “You spoke with her before you spoke with me?”

  “I knew we needed her for it to work, since I’ve already tried to pitch you to these people solo. And she’s been really proactive about things. To be honest, you owe her a lot. Moody loves her. You’ve got some kind of gift, Eddie. People don’t want to put you on TV, but when you fuck someone, they want to put her on TV.”

  “I didn’t fuck Melissa.”

  “For our purposes, you did. If you say that out loud two days from now, you’re in the hole five million.”

  “I don’t have five million dollars.”

  “That’s why you’re not going to go telling people you didn’t fuck Melissa.”

  “I’m not sure I want to do this.”

  “What do you mean? Isn’t this the reason you started this bullshit with the girl? So people would get excited about it and put you on TV?”

  “I thought I’d be on TV with Susan.”

  “You’ll probably get there eventually.”

  “Probably?”

  “Do you think people are going to be interested in all this nonsense forever? You should take some advantage of it all while you can. You’ve been living in a luxury hotel. How much money do you have left?”

  THE NEW YORK OFFICES of Talent Management were in midtown, not far from Hope Springs Clinic.

  “Glad we’ve got you involved,” Alex told him in the office’s conference room. “This is a great opportunity for you. Brian Moody is a real pro. I’ve done lots of deals with him. I hardly ever get involved with scripted work anymore. Ninety percent of an actor’s job is maintaining a public image anyway. If you can cut out the acting part, it really simplifies things.”

  “I wish I’d figured that out sooner,” Eddie said. “The acting part was always what gave me trouble.”

  “Well, it was a different time then,” Alex assured him. “You couldn’t have known.”

  Alex had first contacted Eddie after reading a review of Midnight with the Lotos-Eaters, but so far as Eddie knew he’d never actually seen him act. He now handed Eddie a copy of his contract, and they went through it point by point. It all
seemed fine to Eddie until they got to the part about payment, which was a thousand dollars an episode.

  “A grand a week doesn’t seem like that much,” Eddie said. “It’s less than I got for teaching. And it’s not like I’m just on a set for a few hours. They’re asking for complete access to my entire life. Shouldn’t that be worth a bit more?”

  “Moody could charge people a grand a week to follow them around with a camera,” Alex said. “Most of the time giving complete access is the whole point. Plus you’ve got to think long term here. There will be other opportunities. Appearance fees, things like that. This is about exposure. Building your platform. How you monetize it is up to you. In the meantime, you won’t have to pay your hotel bill anymore.”

  The Cue had agreed to put Eddie and Melissa up free of charge for the remainder of the show’s season. They’d be moved to something called the imperial suite, which was large enough to provide the crew their own room, so that their living space would be unobstructed.

  “Does that mean she’s moving in?”

  “Well, it simplifies matters in a lot of ways. They won’t need a separate crew for her dorm room. The university offered full access, but the hotel’s deal seemed better. And Moody says as far as school goes he only needs to show her walking into a classroom once in a while, just enough to remind people that she’s still a child.”

  Once living expenses were covered, the deal didn’t seem so bad to Eddie. In any case, it was the only deal being offered. They moved on to the nondisclosure agreement.

  “This is very important,” Alex said, “so I’m going to read all of it to you. Then we’ll discuss it to make sure we’re on the same page.”

  “Okay.”

  “‘The parties enter into this agreement for the purposes of preventing the unauthorized disclosure of confidential information. For purposes of this agreement, “confidential information” shall include any information about the show’s production process not already publicly acknowledged or described by Moody Productions, as well as information about the show’s characters or story arcs that conflict with the depiction of said characters and story arcs on the show or in other works by Moody Production or with public claims made by Moody Productions. This agreement further bars the receiving party from publicly questioning the veracity of any element of the show in a way that will be detrimental to the show or to Moody Productions. If the receiving party is found to be in breach of this agreement, he shall be liable for a minimum of five million dollars in addition to any damages Moody Productions suffers as a result of the breach. Moody Productions does not need to prove any damages in order to enforce the terms of this agreement. The nondisclosure provisions of this agreement shall survive the termination of this agreement. Receiving party’s duty to hold confidential information in confidence shall remain in effect until Moody Productions sends the receiving party written notice of release from this agreement.’”