Turning her back to them, so they couldn't see her damp eyes, she took the tray of sandwiches she'd made out of the refrigerator. There was ham, bologna, turkey, several combinations, and half a dozen BLTs, and carrying handfuls of them and three six-packs of Coke, they all disappeared again, as she sat down at the kitchen table with a sigh. It was over. All over for her. Jack had won in the end, and he didn't even know it. And then, as though just thinking of him had made him materialize, she heard a car in the drive, and glanced out the window to see his familiar silver Mercedes grind to a halt as he bounded out. He still looked like a very young man, and his blond hair hid the gray she knew was there. He was athletic and in good shape, and looked far less than his forty-three years, but there was something unkind about his eyes, and a hardness to his mouth, that hadn't been there years before. He had good looks, but he lacked warmth, and even now, as he came through the kitchen door, he didn't smile at her, didn't see the grief so obvious in her eyes. In fact, he never really even looked at her.
Hi, honey, what brings you home? She smiled, as he turned his back and reached into the refrigerator for a beer.
I had a meeting nearby and thought I'd come home for lunch. He turned and seemed to eye her from the neck down, his eyes never meeting hers. He loosened his tie, and took a sip of the beer right from the can. He had tossed his jacket on a chair, and she could see the muscles ripple beneath his shirt. He played tennis almost every day when he got home. He and Jason were lethal on the courts. Jane had never learned to play well, and they hated playing with her. You're not working at the hospital today?
I'm off for the summer. Remember? She smiled again, and this time he smiled back.
Yeah. That's right. I always forget. He eyed the ripe luscious body, and seemed to lose interest in all else. Been out by the pool? He provided well for them. He provided everything. Pool, cars, clothes for her and the kids, rented house in La Jolla every year, vacation in Hawaii over the Christmas holiday, yet it always seemed to her that there was so much he didn't share, so much he couldn't give. Like himself. He was always so distant, and he never talked to her.
I was keeping an eye on the kids. They always exchanged banalities, and little more. He never told her about his work, never had, and he seldom talked about his friends at work.
Did you get the stuff I wanted for La Jolla next week? He had given her a precise list of fishing gear he wanted replaced.
I haven't had time. I'll do it this afternoon.
But suddenly it felt as though the world had come to an end. Hadn't it, she wondered, as he approached, and stuck two fingers down the front of her tiny black elastic pants. He found what he was looking for and plunged in, hurting her, but she said nothing to him.
Got time for something else? It was a rhetorical question. She had never said no to him. He had already set down his beer and grabbed her breast with his other hand. His mouth crushed down on hers and he bit her lips. Wanna fuck? She was used to the way he said it by now. After twenty years, the brutality of the way he made love to her no longer shocked or surprised. It was simply the way Jack was these days. It had been different when they first met. He was gentler then, but once they were married, things had gradually changed, and it was as though he were crazed to possess her sometimes and couldn't go deep enough or hard enough. He'd been that way even when she was pregnant, and it had scared her sometimes, but no harm had ever come of it. She'd been embarrassed to tell her doctor what they did. And he pulled her toward him now and ground against her, chewing on her lower lip, and then he pulled away and smiled. I'm glad I came home after all. This beats lunch downtown.
She laughed, but her eyes weren't smiling today, and he grabbed her by the arm and hurried down the long hall with her, around the L shape that surrounded the sunken living room. Their bedroom was at the farthest end, he had planned it that way, and she often wondered if he had done that so the children wouldn't hear the noises he made. He slammed the door behind them, and locked the door. He never bothered pulling the window shades but the kids couldn't see them from the pool anyway, and she liked seeing the trees as he pulled her roughly to the floor and yanked off her bathing suit. He unzipped only his fly and forced himself inside her with no prelude, no gentleness, his hands milking her breasts as roughly as they always had, until he bent down and bit her nipples too. Sometimes he bit them till they bled, but not this time, this time he worked them until she was aroused too, and began to moan softly beneath his hands, and then he startled her by pulling away, and fondling her with his lips, pulling her wide with both hands and then plunging inside her again and this time for the last time as he gave a loud shout and then a long soft moan, as he lay on her, satisfied, pleased with himself, smiling to himself as he touched her breasts for a last time, never seeing the tears that ran slowly from her eyes as she looked at him.
Chapter 5
Jane walked onto the familiar set with a knot in her stomach the size of Boulder Dam. She saw the faces of the carpenters she knew so well, the sound men, the gaffers she had known for years. And all of them were dear to her. She baked cookies for them, brought cakes, knitted for their babies when they came. She cared about everyone, and she needed all of them. Needed them for her well-being. They were her family, as much as her children were. These people were her only friends. And now she was losing them.
The atmosphere was somber, no one said hello to her that day. Everyone knew what was coming. Word had gotten out. The victims had been warned. And Jane had to fight back tears when the director spoke to her. He described the scene, the carnage afterwards, and made no mention of what he was doing to her, in real life. That he was taking a role from her that she had cherished for ten years. In fact, this was the first day of her eleventh season on the show. Her first day and her last. She didn't even want to think back to when it all began. She couldn't bear the thought of it.
She went to her dressing room upstairs, and packed her things into the suitcase she'd brought. Four more black wigs, a sweater, a sweat suit and a pair of shorts to wear between scenes sometimes. She had left a pair of slippers there, and dozens of little jars of makeup, a dozen bottles of nail polish. She packed it all while praying she could do the last scene without getting hysterical. She knew what a shock the scene was going to be to the audience, and like Lou, she thought the director was making a big mistake. And word was out, by Christmas, all the old faces would be gone.
The stand-ins were in place while the light men worked when she got downstairs. They were being used so the lights could be adjusted properly, and suddenly Jane envied them. She would have loved to stay on as one of them, as anything ' she felt as though she were leaving home for the first time. It had been easier leaving Buffalo than it would be leaving this show.
There were twenty-five or thirty people around, and the walls of the set were being slid into place, and it seemed an eternity before the warning bells sounded for the last time, the air conditioning was turned off to eliminate the noise, and the sign flashed on to tell them they were on the air.
The scene was even more devastating than Jane had feared, and as they shot her face in the fatal car crash that would end her career, her tears and sobs were genuine, as was her last ghastly scream. Jane fainted as they went off the air.
The director had disappeared when the rest of the cast helped her to her dressing room. And there was no cast party for them. There were tearful good-byes, last hugs and final promises to stay in touch, as Jane drove the Mercedes wagon slowly off the lot for the last time, crying all the way home, and trying to concoct a suitably awful hospital story for her family to justify the way she looked when she got home. Lou's flowers were waiting for her there, and mercifully all the kids came home late from school. Jason was living at UC Santa Barbara, and the girls had hockey practice that day. Even Jack gave her a break. He called to say he had an unexpected meeting to attend and he wouldn't be home till nine.
She lay on her bed and cried for hours, and never even answered the
phone that night. There was no one she wanted to talk to. Her life on Our Secret Sorrows was a thing of the past, her career was over at last, just as Jack had wanted so long ago, and life looked bleak to her as it stretched ahead. Bleaker than it ever had before. And mercifully, she was asleep, still wearing her clothes, when Jack came home that night. And having had too much to drink, he passed out before he had a chance to begin the nightly sex ritual with his wife. He left her alone, dressed, heartbroken, and exhausted by the rigors of the day. He had no idea what she'd been through, what she'd done for the last ten years, or even who she was.
Chapter 6
Bill Warwick was tired by four o'clock in the afternoon, after waiting on table all day at Mike's. There was a lull, with the only customers sitting at the bar, or playing pool, and he was chatting with Adam when the phone rang on the bar.
It's for you. Bill looked surprised as Adam handed him the phone, and suddenly wondered if it was Sandy. He couldn't remember whether or not he had told her he'd be working there. And he'd been worried about her all day. He wondered where she was, and how stoned she was. But it wasn't Sandy. It was Harry, his agent.
Hi, kid.
How'd you find me here?
Your answering service gave me this number. Where are you? He'd forgotten he'd left the number with the service after all.
I'm working, for a change. I'm waiting table at my favorite bar.
Tell them you just quit.
Any particular reason? A starring role in a movie perhaps? He was kidding as he sat down at the bar.
Would you settle for Mel Wechsler's new series? There was a pause as he gloated silently at his end, and Bill stared into space, wondering if it was only leading up to another disappointment. He's casting for it now, and it's going to be a biggie. A real hot one. I heard about it last week, and heard he was looking for a guy about your age. We sent him your reel, and he wants to see you.
Bill whistled and looked at Adam with a grin.
Think I have a chance? He didn't dare hope, he had built so many castles in the air, and they had all fallen at his feet like so much sand. But maybe this time ' that was the beauty of the business. There was always hope, always another chance, always tomorrow.
I think you have a good chance. He wants to see you at ten tomorrow morning, and I have a copy of the script. I want you to read it tonight. And, baby, you're going to love it. He would have loved a dog food commercial at that precise moment, but a Mel Wechsler series was too much to hope for. Can you come by the office and pick it up?
I'm working till ten. Can I pick it up at the house?
I'll drop it off at your place on my way home. And I want you to promise me you'll read it. I don't give a damn what Sandy pulls on you tonight, or if she OD's. Lock yourself in the bathroom and read it.
I'll read it, I'll read it. Believe me, you don't have to beg.
Good. And call me after you see him.
You got it. He hung up with a boyish grin, and looked pleased with himself as Adam smiled.
Something new?
That was my agent.
I figured.
He didn't even dare tell his friend about the Wechsler series they were casting. He didn't want to do anything to jeopardize his chance. Hell, maybe one of the guys at the bar would overhear and want to try out for it too, and he didn't want to lose the part. He felt as though he were walking on air for the next six hours, and he wasn't even tired when he got home at eleven that night. There was a moment of dread as he opened the door, fearing that Sandy might be in bad shape, and would cause a scene. He just wanted to be left alone to read the script Harry had left in the mailbox for him. It was there, just as he'd promised it would be. And the cottage was empty when Bill walked in, except for Bernie, the Saint Bernard, waiting for him and the scraps he had brought home from Mike's. He let him out in the garden, put the scraps in his bowl, and helped himself to a beer from the fridge before sitting down with the script. He was still worried about Sandy, but it was a relief not to find her at home. He just didn't want to have to deal with her problems. Not tonight. He wanted to read the script, and prepare for his meeting with Mel Wechsler the next day.
It was one o'clock when he finished the script, and his heart was racing he was so excited. It was the best part he'd ever read, and it was tailor made for him. He knew he could do a hell of a job, if he could just convince Wechsler of that. He couldn't sleep when he got to bed. He just lay there thinking of the script, and the kind of series it would be. Just thinking about it made him want it so badly he could taste it. It was four o'clock when he rolled over in bed, still half awake, and he thought he heard a noise outside, and figured it was Sandy. But it wasn't. It was probably a raccoon, foraging for something to eat in the garbage cans. Sandy never came home that night, and he was half relieved and half worried about her as he shaved the next morning. Life was a hell of a lot simpler without her, but that was sad too. He remembered what they had once shared, and thought of what it could have been like, if they had ever had a chance at a real marriage. He wondered if they ever had, or if the relationship had been doomed from the beginning. He hadn't wanted to believe it then. He still remembered their honeymoon at the Mauna Kea in Hawaii, and how sweet she had been to him. She was always sweet to him, but that wasn't enough anymore. It didn't compensate for the agony she caused him, worrying about her day and night. But he couldn't afford to think about that now, neither the good times, nor the bad. He had to concentrate his whole being on his meeting with Mel Wechsler. That was all he could think of now.
He waited for the bus, thinking of the script again, and the trip to Wechsler's offices in Burbank didn't seem long at all. He was so excited he could barely breathe as he walked onto the lot, and gave the guard his name. He was expected and they told him which building to go to. He walked across the lot, and into a building, down a long hall, and into an anteroom with four secretaries in it and a wall of books and paintings. He gave the nearest secretary his name, and was told to take a seat, and he suddenly wondered why he had come. He would never get the part. It was just too big a break. And he probably wasn't ready for it.
Mr. Warwick. They announced his name just as he was deciding that he should probably never have come, and he stood up, feeling like a small boy waiting to go into the principal's office, but his fears began to dissolve as he was ushered into Mel Wechsler's inner sanctum. He reached across his desk with an outstretched hand and a warm smile, his brilliant blue eyes taking in every inch of Bill Warwick.
Hello, Bill. Thank you for coming. Bill wondered briefly if he was kidding. He would have walked over ground glass and rusty nails to get to this meeting. I like your reel.
Thank you. He felt suddenly tongue-tied and very frightened, and he couldn't think of what to say, but Mel took care of it for him.
Have you read the script?
I have. Bill's eyes came to life, and he smiled a smile that would have melted a million women's hearts. It was precisely the look Mel wanted for Sabina's son on the show. The female lead in Manhattan was going to be the head of a corporation, aided by her son, detested by her daughter, adored by her lover and colleague, an older actor, a role Mel hoped to offer to Zack Taylor. And the other strong woman's role would go to the sister of the lead, a woman who has no interest in the corporation, at first, and then eventually fights her sister for it, her children, and her lover. It was a story of power struggles, and the inner wars of a corporation, led by strong, greedy, glamorous people. And Mel could see Bill perfectly as Sabina's son. The script called for a man in his late twenties, and Bill looked close enough.
I loved it. Bill's eyes shone with sincerity as he said it. There's a lot of meat in all the roles, and particularly the one I liked. He beamed like a little kid, and felt shy in the gaze of Mel Wechsler. It was like seeing the Wizard of Oz, knowing how powerful he was with the networks, and how successful with all his shows.
I'm glad. We love it too. I think it's going to be the biggest show on any
of the networks next fall. We want to start shooting in December. Bill stared at him as though listening to God, and afterwards felt stupid for not having said more, but he couldn't think of a thing to say to him. He just kept thinking of the show and how badly he wanted to be on it. How would that work with your schedule?
Uh ' my schedule?' His mind went blank. What schedule? Working at Mike's, or Dating Game? Or bailing Sandy out of jail? There was that too. I ' uh ' fine ' I don't have any commitments at the moment. It was like being nine years old and he could have kicked himself for being so tongue-tied. I'm fairly free, in fact, at the moment.
Mel Wechsler smiled, the brilliant blue eyes taking all of him in. He was young and nervous but he liked him. He had seen what he was capable of on his reel, and he was pleased. He didn't want any half-baked actors on this show. He wanted only the best for Manhattan. And he thought Bill was. He was handsome, sexy, young, and a damn fine actor. You're good, Bill. Very good. He mentioned the bits that had pleased him most. He had also seen him in a movie made for TV the year before. It had been cheaply made and poorly directed, but Warwick's performance had been flawless.
Thank you. I haven't had as much opportunity to show my stuff as I'd like. I've been doing mostly commercials lately.
Everyone goes through it. Mel smiled. This is a tough business. How long have you been at it?
Ten years. It seemed amazing even to him. Ten long years of auditions and minor successes and failures, summer stock and commercials, and any part he could get as long as it didn't sacrifice his professional integrity. It had been a long hard climb, but even as he sat here, in Mel Wechsler's office, it suddenly didn't seem all that long. And it was worth it.
That's a respectable length of time.
I went to UCLA and majored in drama before that.
And you're ' ? He was fishing for his age, most actors didn't tell the truth, but he was young enough that he might. In any case, he looked the right age for the part, and that was all that really mattered to him.
Secrets (1985) Page 6
