He hadn’t even noticed that his wife was cheating on him until he’d come home to find her lying spread-eagled on the kitchen table as Lieutenant Colonel Dan Saunders slammed into her. It was a setup, of course. Even Magnus understood that, dim as he was about such things. She’d wanted to forcibly demonstrate her unhappiness, because he’d been too blind to notice that she’d been cheating on him for two years.
And yet he’d stood there, not saying anything for a moment, just watching as his superior officer screwed his wife. The twist in his belly, strangely enough, hadn’t just been pain, or even disgust. It had been mixed with desire, at the rawness of it, his delicate wife making harsh little grunting sounds as Saunders thrust in and out of her.
That was the part he still couldn’t understand. He didn’t even like porn, for God’s sake. He’d loved his wife. He’d been betrayed. The memory was still painful. So why?
He knew what Guthrun thought, because she’d said it. So that’s what it takes to wake you up.
That memory had pretty much put his libido into cold storage. Until he’d met Katherine. Magnus took a sip of orange juice from the carton. Maybe all he’d needed was to get away from Guthrun and that whole sick situation. Besides, it wasn’t as if he needed to do anything other than charm Katherine a little. He knew how to do that. He just didn’t know how to handle all the stuff that came after.
Shit, he’d spilled some juice on his shirt, and because the damn thing had been tailored to his body, the stain showed clearly across the front. Irritated with his clumsiness, Magnus began undoing buttons. Why the hell couldn’t he have gotten a disguise that hid things rather than revealed them?
chapter six
k at, oh, my God, I didn’t know you were coming in today! I was just going to call you to see if you were free for lunch this week.” Suzette Morris, an ebullient, gym-toned redhead who played South of Heaven’s most-married woman, gave Kat a hug and then pulled back, still holding Kat’s hands. “Get a load of you. You look amazing, as usual.” Kat had considered Suzette a friend, until she’d left the show and Suzette had stopped calling her back.
“So do you,” said Kat, taking in Suzette’s careful makeup, off-the-shoulder blouse, and plaid mini-skirt. Suzette was putting a bit too much effort into looking casual, a sure sign of age. Kat, who had barely had time to apply undereye concealer and lipstick in the cab, was glad that she’d at least managed to find her good brown leather jacket, which was as thin and soft as fabric and cut like an English riding coat. The jacket made her feel as if she’d had all the time she needed to get ready and decided to dress with deliberate casualness.
“Oh, and you wore that leather jacket of yours! I always loved that piece,” said Suzette. “I wish I could just wear my old favorites the way you do, without worrying about what’s in fashion.”
Ouch. “Oh, I always figure it’s better to follow your own sense of style. By the way, I like your new haircut. Very flattering.” Of course, Kat was very much aware that Suzette’s new shaggy red bob just happened to hide all the places a surgeon’s knife might leave a scar. Kat suddenly felt much better about her own messy ponytail, which revealed that she hadn’t had any work done on her face.
“Yeah,” said Suzette, ruffling her bangs, “I thought it was time for a change. Hey, have you seen everyone yet?” Suzette took Kat’s hand and threaded it through her arm. “Come on and let’s see who we can surprise.”
Kat allowed herself be led along, hoping that the fact that her jacket wasn’t this year’s cut didn’t really matter. She figured that the main reason she was here was to reassure some newbie executive that a nearly forty-year-old could still play a major vixen. She didn’t want to appear out of date.
“So,” Suzette said, “what have you been up to these days?”
“Working on a screenplay,” Kat lied. “An independent filmmaker approached me about adapting something for him.” Actually, a Columbia filmmaking student had suggested this to her, and she’d told him she had no time.
“Oh, really?” Suzette looked intrigued. “Anyone I know?”
“Probably not yet, but you will.” Kat turned the subject back on Suzette, pleased to hear that she’d given her cover story the right note of authority. You know how to do this, Kat.
As Suzette led Kat down the hallway, she reminded herself that this just another role, playing herself in the theater of the real. All right, so she’d discovered her first gray pubic hair this morning and her right foot was developing a bunion. Kat knew that projecting self-assurance and an air of relaxed sensuality was the best beauty trick of all.
Of course, it helped if you’d had sex within the last calendar year.
“Here we are,” said Suzette, stopping in front of the actor’s lounge. “Probably the same stale doughnuts as when you left.”
Dean Marcovici, who had been a minor player ten years earlier but was now an established star, gave a whoop when he saw Kat, lifting her off her feet and whirling her around. “Oh, thank God, Kat, I’ve had no one to scheme with since you left. Boring, boring story lines. Oops, did a writer just walk by the door? Oh, fuck it,” he said, raising his voice. “Boring!” As he put her down, Dean gave her a squeeze with his left hand, which was directly under her breast. “I cannot tell you how much I’ve missed copping a feel of your delicious zeppolis.”
Kat swatted at Dean’s hand. “I thought you were more a connoisseur of cannolis.”
“Oh, Lord, you think I’m gay, don’t you? Why does everyone always assume that? Is that why you never even gave me a chance?”
For a moment, Kat just stared at him, nonplussed. Then Dean punched her in the arm. “Just kidding, I am gay. But I know, when straight guys start waxing their eyebrows, how’s a person supposed to tell?”
“Katherine!” Isabel Lash, the show’s executive producer, walked into the lounge with her arms outstretched. “Welcome back!” She had let her hair go gray, a light, silvery color that matched her linen suit.
“Oh, Isabel, it’s great to be back,” said Kat. “And I love your hair.” The instant the words left her mouth, Kat became conscious of having said the same thing to Suzette, still standing behind her. Never mind, she told herself, keep going, same rules for life as for improv. “So you forgive me for leaving after I had Dash?”
“I was just sorry to see all that talent going to waste,” said Isabel. Behind her back, Dean pulled a simpering face; he knew as well as Kat did that Isabel, miffed at Kat’s departure, had informed the show’s head writer that Kat didn’t have to do much acting to play a bitch.
“Well, initially I thought I’d do some theater when Dash got older, but as it turned out, he was kind of a full-time occupation for a while.”
“I know motherhood hits some women that way—they just feel they can’t leave their kids for a moment.” Isabel smiled. “Others find a balance.”
Was it hostility or was it Botox, Kat wondered, that made Isabel’s expression appear slightly frozen? A bit of both, she decided. “Well, Dash had constant ear infections and then got diagnosed with a speech and language delay, so balance was a little hard to find there for a while.” She smiled back at her former boss. Yes, I still bite back, Isabel.
“Yes, I’m sure. But all that’s over now, isn’t it? Now, why don’t you go on ahead into makeup and we’ll introduce you to Matteo, our new bad boy.”
Dean leaned in and stage-whispered, “But this time you have to promise not to let your hunky co-star knock you up, sweet-ums.”
Kat gave a little snort. “As if.” She waved good-bye to her friends and walked the familiar route to makeup, glancing at the show’s various awards on the wall, pausing at an old still of herself as Helen Jessup in her big wedding scene with Logan.
It felt better than she’d imagined, being back on set. Ten years ago, she’d felt that her role didn’t allow her to stretch as an actor; now, she’d be content to make a living while practicing her craft. And it would be nice to have a whole social network at work aga
in. Teaching English to foreign students might be rewarding, but the other instructors kept to themselves. She needed to get back into the swing of things again, go to the theater, attend parties. Dashiell was old enough now for her to concentrate a bit on her own life.
Kat walked into the makeup room, sat down in front of the lighted mirror, and began removing the concealer she’d applied in the back of the taxi. She heard rather than saw someone enter the room, and turned to see if it were Allie or Josie who was working today.
It was neither.
The young woman who’d just seated herself in the room’s second chair was a long-legged, fresh-faced brunette in a strapless yellow sundress. She appeared to be in her mid- to late twenties, with a graceful lithe bearing that suggested a background in dance.
Kat returned the girl’s smile, taking in the younger woman’s sharply arched eyebrows, the slightly almond cast of her dark eyes. Feature for feature, this twenty-something did not resemble Kat, but Kat knew instantly what she was looking at: a younger version of herself.
“I don’t suppose you’re here to do makeup, are you?” Kat kept her voice dry and knowing, Bette Davis in All About Eve.
“No, I’m here for a test. Oh, my God,” said the woman, “aren’t you Katherine Miner? But I thought…” there was an awkward silence. “I kind of got the impression that you’d passed on this role.”
“Well,” said Kat, “they gave me a bit of a different impression, too. What’s your name?”
“Bo. Bo Johnson.” She held out her soft young hand, and Kat leaned forward to shake it. “I loved you in that film you did in the early nineties, The Lying Time? We studied it in my acting class and I always thought that you were so underrated.”
“Thanks.” Kat was irritated by the girl’s hesitant tone, but really, what else could this Bo do? If Kat was going to play the cynical fading star, then Bo had to be the breathless ingenue or the scheming chorus girl.
But as Kat looked at their reflections side by side in the mirror, she perceived a certain blandness in this girl’s expression, a lack of spark. So what if this Bo were ten years younger? Kat knew her own abilities. Had the breakup with Logan really made her so unsure of herself that she’d walk away from a challenge?
Bo looked at her watch. “It’s taking a long time, isn’t it? What do you think they’re doing out there?”
“Yelling at each other,” said Kat, “for putting us in makeup at the same time.”
Bo gave a startled bark of laughter. “Oh, my God,” she said. “You are so right. Too funny, really. Well, Katherine, if we’re being honest here, I have to say that I nearly pissed myself when I saw you in here. I really am a fan of your work, you know. I used to watch you as Helen all through senior year of high school! So, I don’t know how to put this, because I can’t see how you wouldn’t get this job if you want it, but good luck.”
Kat smiled without bothering to involve her eyes. “Same to you, Bo.”
Just then Josie came into the makeup room, babbling apologies and telling Kat how perfect her skin looked. “It’s so great seeing you again! It’s kind of like old home week, isn’t it? What with you and Logan both coming by.”
Kat’s initial response was one of confusion. “Logan’s coming here today?”
Josie’s brown eyes went wide. “Oh! Oh, you didn’t know.” Josie’s skin was too dark to reveal a blush, but nervousness made the hint of Alabama in her voice stronger. “Me and my big mouth.”
“Josie, I don’t understand.”
“Just forget I said anything.” Josie smoothed some foundation under Kat’s eyes with a sponge.
“Are you joking? There’s no way I can forget this now.” Conscious of the other actress in the room, Kat kept her voice neutral. “So Logan is here in New York. Is he coming by today? Has he been here already?”
Josie hesitated. “Well,” she said, “he came by earlier today, and he’s going to shoot some scenes sometime next week. I think. I don’t know when, exactly, and you know how schedules change around all the time.”
Kat tried to remember what her agent had told her. “But didn’t Logan’s character just die?”
“Ah, well, you know soaps. Maybe he’s dead, maybe he’s got an evil twin, maybe someone’s had plastic surgery to look like him.”
“I see. And just how long has he been back from the dead?” Kat felt a surge of anger so intense that she understood how people wound up shooting their spouses, chopping up the remains and tossing them into the marshes behind the New Jersey Turnpike.
“As far as I know, he just got in from Europe. I would’ve thought he’d contact you, because of your son.”
“Yes, I would have thought so, too.”
“He’s probably going to call you. In fact, I think he said something to that effect.”
Kat fought a rising sense of humiliation. “Come on, Josie, if this were any other man, you’d be calling him a shiftless bastard.”
“I’ll call Logan a shiftless bastard. Shiftless bastard. That better?”
“Much.” She closed her eyes as Josie applied a touch of eyeshadow, fighting to keep herself calm. It wasn’t easy. Disturbing questions kept bubbling up: How could I have spent so much time with a sociopath? Is there something wrong with me? Do I have any judgment at all? It’s all right, Kat told herself. You can use it for the scene. Kat tried to focus on channeling her hurt and embarrassment into something simpler. Helen Jessup was a goal-oriented narcissist, prone to fits of outrage. When life disappointed her, she didn’t sit around analyzing her defects and second-guessing her choices.
She got pissed off.
“All right,” said Isabel, striding into the room and filling it with the scent of Ma Griffe and tension. “How are we doing? Ready to meet Matteo Ortiz? He’s playing Ramon, the head of a crime syndicate that’s come to town. He and Helen have a major story line coming up.”
Kat glanced questioningly at Josie, who was still assembling her pots of makeup. “Oh, girl, you’re so beautiful you hardly need touching up.” Yeah, sure, thought Kat, and this is the way you treat all your stars. “Here, just let me do this.” Josie brushed a quick dusting of blush on her cheeks. “There you go.”
“Thanks, Josie.” Kat slid out of her chair. “Okay, Isabel. Lead the way.”
Isabel peered at her. “Did she even do anything? Never mind. Here’s the script.”
Kat gave the competition a friendly wave as she left the room. “Bye, Bo.”
Isabel glanced at Kat sideways as she made her way down the hall. “Just so you know, it wasn’t my idea to audition anyone else. I just wanted you, but you know how the sponsors are.”
“Of course.” What Kat really meant was, Of course the sponsors had nothing to do with it, you mendacious bitch. But the fact that Isabel was covering her ass gave Kat a glimmer of hope. Maybe I will get this job. And on the tail of that thought came the realization of how much she wanted it.
“Okay,” said Isabel, stepping aside so that Kat could enter the room first. “Here we are—Matteo, meet Katherine Miner.”
Matteo, who had been deep in discussion with Hank the cameraman, turned and smiled, his eyes bright with instant friendliness.
“Katherine, so nice to meet you!” He clasped her hand, and Kat couldn’t help but notice that his manicure was better than hers.
“Not all that nice—I think I have to slap you at the end of this scene.” Kat channeled Helen’s bold confidence as she smiled up at the handsome young man, but she couldn’t quite disguise the fact that she had just figured out what everyone else in the room already knew: She wasn’t getting the part.
Matteo Ortiz was all of thirty-two years old. They weren’t going to hire a forty-year-old woman to act opposite him. Wait, Kat thought, maybe I’m jumping to conclusions here. Wasn’t it possible that the producers were open to casting an older woman with a younger man? Or maybe she could still pass for thirty.
“So, Kat,” said Isabel, “have you had a chance to look over your
lines? Ready to start?”
Looking into her producer’s eyes, Kat saw that she’d been right the first time—she didn’t have a chance. It didn’t matter to Isabel how she looked or acted, or whether she and Matteo generated any heat.
Isabel and her team didn’t want an actress who appeared young. They wanted one who was young. And why shouldn’t they? Youth was cheaper, harder-working, and easier to photograph, and had the added bonus of behaving badly on the weekends and reaping the resultant publicity.
All age was good for was giving sage advice that no one wanted to hear, such as, Enjoy it while it lasts, and Figure out what you’re going to do when this career ends.
“Kat? Are you ready to start?”
For a moment, Kat considered leaving. She wasn’t even sure why they were bothering to audition her—maybe one of the sponsors wanted to see her back on the show, and Isabel needed to say she’d done a test.
Should I play along with this farce? Maybe there was more dignity in saying, You know, I wasn’t even sure I wanted this part, and walking out. It was what the character she was playing would have done.
But Kat wasn’t a spoiled heiress. She was a professional, and part of being a professional was performing, even when you’d already fallen flat on your ass, even when you knew without a shadow of a doubt that you’d lost the audience in the previous act, and that everyone was just waiting for you to wrap things up so they could go home.
Kat took a deep breath.
“Okay,” she said, “I’m ready.” Setting the script aside on a low table, she turned to Matteo and offered him her opening line: “I hope you realize that I have no intention of letting you walk all over me.”
Kat had no sense of whether she was doing well or not, but in the end, it didn’t really matter. The real test of her acting ability would be whether she could smile convincingly at everyone before she walked out the door.
chapter seven
Alisa Kwitney Page 5
