Glamour Puss

by R. J. Kaiser

  He stood in the middle of the entry hall, looked toward the big sweeping staircase that could have come off a film set of, say, 1936. Stella had always adored the look. The place, he noted, had hardly changed since he’d been gone. Stella’s color scheme was so muted that being in the house was practically like being in a black-and-white movie— elegance in shades of gray, silver, pearl, ivory, ebony, onyx, ad infinitum.

  “Anybody else here?” he asked.

  “No, monsieur. You are the first.”

  “Hmm.”

  Mac hadn’t given a lot of thought to Stella’s reason for having him over, so obsessed was he by the note. But he would have to contend with whatever she had planned, regardless. Stella could remain remarkably oblivious, even in the midst of a crisis, if she’d fastened onto something she considered important.

  If he had to guess what was in the wind, Stella was planning a last-ditch effort to save Troy’s career. She probably wanted Mac to pay for private lessons with an acting coach or maybe fork over the money for a package deal for aspiring talent—an agent, a publicist, an elocutionist, an image consultant and a personal trainer, all for a cool twenty-five grand, including a field trip to Hawaii for R&R. And, knowing his wife, she’d have her pitch carefully rehearsed and prepared. She’d never given up acting, she’d just given up expecting to get paid for it.

  “Oh, Mac, you’re here! Wonderful!”

  It was Stella, descending the stairs, making her entrance. She was in one of her Richard Tyler pantsuits, cool and elegant as always. She looked good, fresh. What was it? Her hair was lighter, he noted. More platinum streaks. But there was something else…her skin. Then it hit him, she’d had a face-lift…at least a partial one. Some eye work. And her brow was smooth.

  She came directly to him, smiling, upbeat, her eyes sparkling. A gracefully aging star. The woman was fifty, after all. She pulled his face down and kissed him on the cheek.

  “You look great, Stella.”

  “I feel good,” she said, beaming. “And I’ve had a little work done, in case you’re wondering. My hairdresser said it would do wonders for my morale and he was right.”

  Stella led him into the sitting room, sitting next to him on one of the facing twin pale gray silk love seats. Her eyes continued to sparkle. She seemed so happy. The thought of having to tell her about the note put a sour knot in his gut. But there was no point in deflating her until he knew what this was about. He’d let her have her few minutes of joy.

  “So, what’s up?”

  Stella continued to smile, her eyes shimmering with emotion as she gathered herself. It was at moments like this that Mac remembered the Stella of old, the battered starlet he’d rescued, the beautiful woman who’d lured him to the pool house and given him her body, asking only for his protection. This was the Stella who, even at age fifty, could still put a wrench in him.

  “Mac, you won’t believe this, but I’ve been given a second chance,” she said, sounding almost giddy.

  “A second chance at what?”

  “Stardom.” She gave his hands a heartfelt squeeze. “I am so excited.”

  Her obfuscation had him bewildered. He didn’t know whether she was going to tell him she’d fallen in love with a studio exec and wanted her freedom, or that Troy had been offered a leading role in the next Steven Spielberg film.

  “Stella, spit it out. What’s going on?”

  His wife again drew a deep breath, beaming, looking as though she wasn’t quite sure whether to laugh or sob. “I’ve been given an opportunity to make a film, to play an important role!”

  “You have?”

  “Yes, isn’t it incredible? For a week now, I’ve just been beside myself with glee. Every morning I wake up and pinch myself, asking if it can possibly be true.”

  “I thought this was about Troy, the most important development in his career.”

  “It is, but it’s about me, too. We’ve both been given a golden—truly golden—opportunity, Mac.”

  “You’d better explain.”

  Stella drew a long, slow breath like an actress having been handed an Oscar, preparing to launch into her acceptance speech. “Troy met some people through his roommate, a film director by the name of Amal Kory and an actress named Venita Kumar.”

  “Never heard of them.”

  “No, of course you haven’t. They’re Indian, Mac. Very few Indian film personalities are known in this country.”

  “Indian? You mean like in India?”

  Stella laughed. “Yes, of course. Did you know that more films are made there than practically the whole rest of the world combined? Not many are seen outside India, of course, but over there it’s an incredibly important industry.”

  “And you’re going to India to make a film?”

  “No, silly. Amal and Venita are here to make a film for the American market. Amal is terribly talented. I’ve seen two or three of his films and they were fabulous. And Venita, well, in India, Venita is Julia Roberts, Michelle Pfeiffer and Gwyneth Paltrow all rolled into one. Mac, she’s made literally hundreds of films! There are people who worship the ground she walks on. Men have killed themselves over her.”

  “And they want you and Troy in their film.”

  “Yes, that’s not so startling, is it? I do have talent, you know. And now that I’m older, it’s seasoned talent.”

  Mac didn’t know what to think. He hated to say it, but his wife truly sounded delusional. She hadn’t been in front of a camera in twenty years or more. And what credits she did have were less notable than their son’s. He hoped to God she hadn’t flipped her lid.

  “Explain why they picked you,” he said.

  “Amal said he took one look at me and saw Hilda Grimsley—you know the mother in John Warden’s nineteenth-century novel, On Distant Shores.”

  Mac didn’t know the book she was referring to, but gathered it was famous.

  “Anyway,” Stella went on, “when he heard I’d previously done work in films, he asked me to read for him from the script, informally. Mac, the man was enraptured. And so was Venita. She couldn’t believe I hadn’t had more credits. A woman who’s made all those films was positively enthralled by my little reading, Mac!”

  He didn’t know thing one about Hollywood, but he was a businessman, he knew how the world worked, especially when money was involved. He smelled a rat. “What’s the catch?”

  “Oh, there’s no catch. Troy’s been all but cast in the role of Llewellyn, the best friend of the hero. It’s a supporting role, as is mine. The starring roles have to go to name actors or the film won’t get made, of course. They’d like Tom Cruise or Brad Pitt, and Gwyneth, she’s magnificent in period pieces, but no decisions have been made yet.” She beamed, tilting her head in that coquettish way he’d always found so endearing.

  It had been almost twenty years since their brouhaha over Ordinary People, but Mac sensed they were about to do a remake. “Well, I don’t know what to say, Stella. Congratulations, I guess.”

  “It’s a dream come true.”

  “When do you begin shooting?”

  “Oh, it’s not a done deal yet. There’s much to do before a movie can be made. Getting the right people on board is key. And it’s an independent film, which means we’ll want the backing of a studio, and there’s always the distribution issue. But when things are still up in the air that means there are still opportunities for the right people.”

  Mac saw that he was right. His wife was about to hit him up for investment money, just as she had all those years ago.

  “Which brings me to my next point,” Stella said. “Mac, there’s an opportunity waiting here for you, too.”

  Out of respect he didn’t laugh, though his foresight entitled him self-congratulations. “How so?”

  “Amal and Venita are in the process of putting together their financing. There’s no shortage of money around for the right projects, as I’m sure you know. To be blunt about it, I’ve asked them to give you a chance to get in on this
on the ground floor.”

  “Stella,” he said, trying to hide his annoyance, “I think we’ve been down this road before. I wasn’t interested in getting involved in Ordinary People and I’m not about to get involved in a film deal now. Surely you know that.”

  Ignoring her crestfallen look, he got up and went to the French windows that overlooked the garden. The back lawn was green and lush. Mac recalled playing out there with Troy when he was just a little guy. Stella would bring him home from a day of auditions, and Mac would try to get him to kick a soccer ball. Troy always had the size and coordination for sports, but not the desire. He much preferred watching movies with Mommy.

  Stella was soon at Mac’s side. She took his arm, making him look at her. “This is different,” she said, her voice plaintive, though not quite desperate. “We’re talking about a project that might make Troy’s career. These sorts of opportunities put young actors on the map. They only come along once in a lifetime. And it could fulfill a lifelong dream of mine, too. But that’s not important. What’s important is that you have an opportunity to invest in your son’s career. You have an opportunity to validate him, to do something with Troy, instead of always fighting him.”

  “I’ve offered to educate the boy, bring him into my business, I’ve even offered to set him up in a business of his own. He’s the one who won’t listen, Stella.”

  “But this is what he wants. Isn’t this a business?”

  “No, it’s egomania.”

  “I promise you, Mac, you’ll be kicking yourself from now to kingdom come if you let it get away like you did Ordinary People. But, okay, you don’t see this as a business opportunity. Forget making money. But don’t you see it’s something you can do for us?”

  She put her hands on his chest, kitten-like, the way she always did when she was trying to soften him up. Mac really hated it when she did that because it reminded him of his weakness, his mistakes of the past. Even now, after all these years, he remembered the hold Stella had on him—the shared misery. It had taken years, but he’d finally learned that about their relationship, and it was one of the toughest lessons of his life.

  Her eyes began to fill—he might have predicted that. He wanted to tell her not to bother. The tears started running down her cheeks. She angrily wiped them away. Mac started looking for a quick exit from the conversation.

  “How much money are we talking?”

  “One or two million.”

  “One or two million! Jesus and Mary, I thought you were going to say twenty or thirty thousand.”

  “Hollywood is big business, Mac.”

  “Stella, I think you’ve popped your cork. I’m serious. You don’t know how crazy this is.”

  His wife looked hurt, positively, mortally wounded.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said that. But I don’t think you appreciate how bizarre this conversation is. At least to me.”

  “A million dollars is nothing to you,” she said. “You have ten times that much in T-bills alone, and don’t tell me you don’t. My lawyer has all your financial data, as you well know.”

  “The U.S. government and some movie people from India are very different kinds of investments,” he replied. “I would have to be insane to give people like that my hard-earned money.”

  “Investors will be lined up once the project gets rolling. Don’t you see, it’s the seed money, the first money in, that gets the biggest cut of the profit. The first million or two can get as much as twenty percent of a forty- or fifty-million-dollar film that makes seventy-five or a hundred. That’s a tremendous return.”

  “I’m no expert, God knows, but this I know about Hollywood—for every three movies that get made, one might make a profit for their investors. If I want to play those odds, I’ll go to Las Vegas.”

  Her expression turned stone cold. She stared at him, wiping away the last of her tears as she did. Mac Mc-Gowan knew that look well. He was about to get the climactic closing speech.

  “You’re a very smart man, Mac,” she said, her voice modulated now. “You’ve been successful and you’ve been generous. I can’t complain. But there’s more to life than money. When you leave this world, what comfort will those T-bills bring you? None. But I can tell you what will give you satisfaction. Knowing your son has realized his dream. And believe me, I know all about dreams.

  “You have the power to make Troy’s and my dreams come true. And you don’t have to risk your business, your home, your cars, your retirement to do it. Or would you rather spend your nights counting your T-bills? What’s really in your heart, Mac?”

  They stared at each other for a long time. Then he said, “One question. Did these Indian film folks make it a condition that before you and Troy get parts in the movie, I’ve got to put up a couple of million bucks?”

  “No, but it wouldn’t hurt.”

  “You want me to put up that kind of money in hopes they’ll pick you and Troy for the parts?”

  “No, you could make it a condition,” she said evenly.

  Mac, who was never the quickest kid on the block, but had always been persistent enough to get to the finish line eventually, started getting the picture. “All right, say, hypothetically, that I put some money into the deal. Are there any guarantees the movie will be made?”

  “They would have to get enough to cover the cost of making the film, but once the seed money is there, the rest comes easily.”

  “But what if it doesn’t come and they’ve got to fold the project. Do I get my money back?”

  “Whatever wasn’t spent, I suppose.”

  He nodded. “Stella, there’s this saying that I’m sure you’ve heard—‘A fool and his money are soon parted.’ Well, it sounds to me like this is a prime example. If these people are so good, they don’t need me. In fact, I’m surprised they’d even want to talk to me.”

  “They don’t need you, or me, or Troy. And the only reason they’re talking to you is because I asked them to. But they were impressed by our talent, and I wanted you to have the opportunity to help your son in a way that matters to him.”

  Mac looked out at the garden, telling himself to stand his ground, even as his impulse was to placate her and dry up the tears. He drew a deep breath. “I’ll give you a check for fifty thousand dollars,” he told her. “You can give it to these people to reserve a role for yourself and Troy. I know you’ve got a little money stashed away, as well. If you want to sweeten the pot, that’s up to you. But that’s the best I can do.”

  “Mac, I don’t want your check. I want you to talk to Amal and Venita. I’ll take your fifty thousand and give it right back to you, if you’ll just talk to them. Please.”

  Mac McGowan drew a long breath. He hated this. He hated saying no to Stella, but he knew he was right. She had her head in the clouds, and as long as she chased pipe dreams, she’d never see the world for what it was. And she’d never see him. That was a foregone conclusion.

  As far as Stella was concerned, he’d always been a means to an end. With him in the wings, she’d been able to deal with the pain of a gruesome marriage to an egocentric bully. His loyalty and devotion had enabled her to sweep a horrible, tragic accident under the rug. And now she had her hand out, yet again.

  “All right. I’ll meet with your friends. When are they going to be here?”

  “Soon.”

  “Can we talk about my issue now?”

  “How about after they leave? I promised you my undivided attention. I’m too keyed up now for something dreary. Surely you can sympathize with that, Mac. My future is literally hanging in the balance.”

  If you only knew, he thought to himself.

  They were on Santa Monica Boulevard and had just passed the Los Angeles Country Club. It wouldn’t be long before they arrived.

  Venita Kumar, a dark beauty with large, ebony eyes and smooth latte-colored skin, sat in one corner of the rear seat of the limo. She wore a knit St. Johns suit rather than a sari, and only two of her favo
rite gold bracelets. She knew when to strive for a western look and when her native dress best served her interests. Her supple mind benefited her well, especially with Americans whose openness and naivete´ were as convenient as they were pleasing.

  She glanced over at Arjay Pantel, the con man she’d hired to play the role of Amal Kory. He sat in the other corner, as calm and stately as a maharajah. For a small man, he certainly had an imposing presence. It was his quiet charisma that had drawn her to him—that and his inimitable flair for the game. The man was fearless. He could do it all. Since they’d joined forces, Venita had congratulated herself on the wisdom of her choice. What she didn’t know was the extent to which she could trust him. But that was true of every man. Arjay, though, bore special attention in that regard. He had a reputation for being as slippery as a snake.

  Jugnu Singh, her devoted bodyguard and hand servant, sat in the front seat next to the driver. Jugnu was a Sikh, a huge man, bearded, always wearing the traditional turban, his hawkish face stunningly handsome. Jugnu glanced back at her every once in a while, his eyes never away from her for long. Without the guard’s silent, soothing presence, Venita felt vulnerable. She borrowed his male strength. It gave her backbone when she operated in a man’s world. Eternally silent, Jugnu was the body and she the brain—except in the feminine domain, where Venita was everything. Body, brain and soul. The arrangement worked extremely well.

  The limo moved into the left-turn lane, indicating they didn’t have far to go.

  Venita was a bit nervous. Mac McGowan was the first halfway solid prospect they’d had since they’d begun their search for investors. The irony was the opportunity had come to them purely by chance. Had she not been introduced to Troy at that party, and had he not come on to her the way he had, there never would have been a conversation about money. Nor would they have met Stella. Venita could only hope that they would find a way to cash in on the chance encounter.

  Arjay, who apparently had been thinking along the same lines said, “Tell me, Venita, what special challenges does our Mister McGowan pose?”

  “From what I’m told, the chap knows nothing of the cinema.”