by R. J. Kaiser
“Oh, I’m so glad you say that,” she enthused. “I’ve been thinking the very same thing!”
“There you are then,” he’d said. “We both can’t be wrong about this.”
For a while they discussed the different possibilities. Amal said he felt something more had to be done in Hilda’s relationship with Llewellyn. “It’s not enough she suffer a mother’s fate,” he said. “I need to see more vulnerability in her, an unfulfilled passion or longing.”
“Yes,” she said. “I couldn’t agree more!”
They talked for another half hour and, though it was still early, Stella convinced him to have a light supper with her. They sat side by side at one end of the long dining-room table, a candle flickering between them, and ate and talked of film.
Amal refilled her wineglass as her cheeks burned with excitement. For once, someone who mattered actually cared what she thought. Amal had such wonderful stories. It almost made her wish she could make films in India, where the entire industry was at his beck and call. But taking on the American market was the challenge he’d chosen. And with friends like her, as he’d put it, he’d “subdue the tiger.”
Stella knew she’d gotten herself into a thrilling and dangerous adventure. But she’d always been a risk-taker. She believed that if a person was to do anything meaningful in life it was necessary to take chances, be daring, go the extra mile. She did not want to grow old thinking of what might have been.
Amal leaned back in his chair and sighed contentedly, turning the stem of his crystal wineglass between his fingers. “You have a lovely home, Stella,” he said. “And you are a delightful hostess. This has been a most pleasant evening.”
“I can’t remember when I’ve had such a fascinating conversation,” she told him.
“Considering we’ll be working together, it’s terribly important that our artistic vision is congruent. I’m encouraged by the fact we see Hilda in much the same way. I believe in letting my actors discover their character with minimal input from me. My role is to make the parts fit. That is the secret of directing a film, in my view.”
Amal looked at her with those black, penetrating eyes. The passion in the man, the artistic verve, were incredible. Stella hadn’t felt this much in tune with her destiny since Aubrey St. George had asked to marry her. And though that experiment had ended tragically, she’d refused to let it ruin her life. How sad Amal Kory hadn’t come along sooner to justify her faith. He was not only a genius but, because he was somewhat of an outsider himself, he had needs, as well—needs she could help him with.
Stella demurely sipped her wine. She and Amal were making artistic love in the sense that they shared a great passion. But her instincts told her she shouldn’t let the evening pass without addressing his other concerns.
“Amal,” she said, “it’s no secret how much I admire you and your body of work. I’ll frankly say I’ve learned a tremendous amount just talking to you.”
“Please, Stella, the admiration is mutual. There’s no need to—”
“No, hear me out. I know your plans will all go for naught if you can’t get the financing. And I want you to know that as a participant in the enterprise, I recognize I have responsibilities. I’m an actor, true, but I want to do more, to contribute in any way I can to make sure On Distant Shores makes it to the screen. You’ve been very polite not to bring up the subject, but I think we should discuss finances.”
“Sadly, art has become the indentured servant of capital.”
“That’s the world we live in, all right.”
Amal’s expression was the picture of lament. “If my film is meant to be made, then it will be made, my dear. I must cling to the belief.”
Stella lowered her eyes. “I wish I could tell you that I’ve convinced my husband to invest the seed money, but I haven’t. At least, not yet. I can’t make you any promises, but I still have hope. Mac moves very slowly when it comes to financial matters and I do have a dialogue going with him. I’d like to say I’m optimistic, but the truth is I’m only hopeful.”
“I appreciate your candor, Stella. I would be delighted if Mac decides to invest in our little enterprise, but I can certainly understand if he does not choose to do so.”
She could tell he was being kind, when it would have been so easy to pressure her. After all, her own desires had been on the table from the very beginning. He knew how badly she wanted this. Amal Kory was a gentleman.
“Do you have other prospects?” she asked.
“I’m talking to people but, as you know, there’s a very long courtship involved. I have one individual who’s all but committed five to ten million once we raise the initial two. He wants to see things moving ahead before he jumps on board.”
“Understandable.”
Amal smiled at her somewhat sadly before sipping his wine. His eyes glistened. Stella’s heart went out to him.
She said, “This aspect of the business must be so unpleasant for a creative person such as yourself.”
“The whole world must worry about money, Stella…except for a privileged few, of course. But I must confess I get very unhappy when people don’t honor their commitments. Tedious, that.”
“Has something dreadful happened?”
“I’m sure you don’t care to hear about it.”
“Oh, but I do…if it’s not confidential.”
“I wouldn’t want it bandied about Hollywood, but I know I can trust you,” he said. “The Indian government is very particular about the export of capital. I worked out an elaborate agreement whereby I could get my own funds released and wired to me to meet my personal needs—this quite apart from the funds of the enterprise. But there’s been a hitch, and now I’ve been told it could be several weeks before I can get my money out of the country.”
“Has it caused a serious problem?”
“Some embarrassment. I suppose I shall have to find a bank that will advance me some money until the funds arrive from India.”
“What about the fifty thousand?”
“Oh, I keep business and personal funds completely separate. That money your husband gave us will be used to make On Distant Shores and nothing else. I’m very insistent on that. But this is not a major catastrophe, just an inconvenience. I do hate going to a bank, though, and asking for money to pay the rent and buy groceries. I’m ashamed even to tell you about it, Stella. I suppose I feel free to do so because we’ve become so close and have spoken our hearts to one another, a rare thing between people these days.”
“You’re so right. And I do treasure our relationship.”
“Then, let’s focus on that, the good part of this business, shall we?”
“But I feel badly,” she said, her heart swelling with compassion. “Are we talking about a great deal of money?”
“No, actually not. That’s what’s so bloody annoying. You’d think those bureaucrats in Delhi could see their way to let me have ten or fifteen thousand of my own money, wouldn’t you?”
“They won’t give you that little bit?”
“Oh, they shall in due course, but because of their intransigence, I’ll be forced to go to a bank with hat in hand. I’d wanted to avoid that if at all possible. People do talk, you know.”
“Amal, if it’s a matter of just a few weeks, I could loan you the money.”
“No, Stella, you’re a dear to offer, but I wouldn’t think of it. Absolutely not.”
“But why not? We’re friends. And, if you’re really uncomfortable, we could make it a business deal. Once your funds arrive from India, you can invest the money in the project in my name, give me some tiny percentage for my trouble. Would you feel better if we did it that way?”
Amal stroked his chin, not looking too happy.
“To be perfectly frank,” she said, “I was going to suggest that I put a little money in the pot to ensure this film gets made. I wasn’t sure how to approach you, but now I have a good excuse. I’m only talking a modest amount, but it may help you over this
hump. Would you agree to accept twenty thousand?”
“Stella, Stella, my dear. I need nowhere near that much. We’re only talking a few weeks.”
“But I do want to be an investor, one of the people who were there at the beginning when your need was greatest.”
Amal Kory shook his head, his eyes shimmering so that she nearly cried herself. “How is it that fate has given me such a wonderful friend?” he said.
“Let me get my checkbook,” Stella said. “You’ll have to give me a day to transfer funds so the check will be good.”
“I can’t tell you how deeply moved I am by this. Truly.”
Stella went off, feeling a deep glow of happiness. For the first time in her life, she felt genuinely part of something big. Both her husbands had kept her, each in his own way. She was never truly a partner with either of them. Amal, for all his modesty, knew how to receive as well as give, knew how to make her feel wanted and important.
When she returned, she found him standing at the fireplace, his hand resting on the mantel, the gold chain that spanned his vest gleaming. His expression was troubled.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“I realize now I shouldn’t have agreed to take your money.”
“Why?”
“Because of Venita. She would see this as breach of the director-actor relationship. She’s very rigid about that sort of thing. Venita and I have known each other for many years, and have worked together on countless projects, but we have never developed the kind of rapport you and I have in the short time we’ve known one another.”
“All the more reason to accept my money, Amal. Our relationship is unique.”
He shook his head with amazement. “I knew I would encounter astute businesspeople here in America, but I had no idea I’d find anyone who also had such heart.”
“Please,” she said. “I’m going to give you my check and I don’t want to hear another word. And I won’t be saying anything to Venita. This is personal business, and it’s just between you and me.”
Stella sat down and wrote out the check. Then she took it to him. “Friends and partners,” she said.
Amal, tears running down his face, held her by the shoulders and, going up on his toes, kissed her on the cheek. “Stella, I am blessed.”
West Hollywood
The radiator hose blew in Jade’s car on her way home from South Central. Fortunately she was only eight or nine blocks from home when it happened. She’d phoned Mac at his office to say that she wouldn’t be able to come by his place because of car trouble.
“I can drop by there on my way home,” he said, “if that would be all right with you. It wouldn’t be for at least an hour.”
She’d agreed, even though she was bushed, emotionally wrung out. As soon as she got home she took the time for a nice long soak in the tub. Her meeting with Ricky had been emotionally charged—not so much because of the stalking business, as because of the past. But she was glad now that she’d seen him, even if it had proved embarrassing. Confronting him face-to-face had neutralized the last bits of his mystique. She saw him for the flawed and selfish human being he truly was.
“You okay?” Ruthie had asked her before she’d left.
“I’m fine.”
“Really fine?”
“Absolutely.”
“Seeing him with his wife was okay, then?”
“Ruthie, I saw the real Ricky Santos this afternoon. The guy I lived with was an impostor, a fraud. It still hurts a little when I think about it, but I’m in touch with reality now. I not only hate the bastard for what he did to me, but I don’t care about him anymore. A guy like Mac McGowan, even with all his problems, is ten times more honorable.”
“And nice.”
“Oh, shut up!”
Freshly bathed, Jade put on a clean pair of jeans and started going through her closet, looking for her favorite white cotton shirt. The possibility of dressing up a little had gone through her mind, but she put it aside. This was her uniform, it was the way she dressed. Why not be herself?
Jade came across the cocktail dress she’d worn to the ball and pulled it out for a good look, holding it up in front of the mirror to recapture the image of herself as she’d looked that night. Sure, she’d considered herself a painted hussy, but a part of her had also been fascinated by what she’d seen, enough to make her wonder what Mac would have thought had he seen her.
Not that she had any desire to be anyone other than herself for him or for anyone else—Jade was not a woman to put on airs. But getting all dolled up had made her wonder if she was more than just a pair of jeans and bicycle shorts. The other was a small part of her, maybe, but she’d discovered it was there.
Digging farther through her closet, Jade found a couple of summer dresses that had to be four or five years old. She’d worn them a couple of times when she and Ricky were together. He wasn’t a party animal, but occasionally they’d gone somewhere where she couldn’t wear super-casual clothes. He’d tell her she looked pretty, but never made a big deal of it. Ricky, supposedly, liked her the way she was.
Having seen Luz, Jade was a bit surprised at Ricky’s indifference to her style of dress. Maybe he got all the women in teased hair and heels that he needed when he was with his wife. Jade, apparently, had been his jock-girl, his scrubbed-nose sexual athlete. There was no denying they did get it on. The bedroom after sex with Ricky often looked like the aftermath of a ten-girl slumber party. Yeah, they could get physical, all right. But sex with Ricky was the last thing she needed to think about, considering she’d unburdened herself of him forever. She resumed looking for the white blouse.
In addition to the summer dresses, Jade found a T-shirt dress on the floor in the back corner of the closet. She’d forgotten about it. During the last summer she was still with Ricky, she and Ruthie had gone to Venice Beach one Saturday, and they each bought a T-shirt dress from one of the boardwalk vendors. It had cost less than thirty bucks. Ruthie had told her the secret was wearing the dress without underwear and then telling your date halfway through the evening.
As Jade recalled, she’d only worn the dress once. She and Ricky had ended up having sex on the kitchen table. She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t worn it again. Maybe it was too powerful an aphrodisiac for everyday living.
Staring at the dress, Jade wondered if she’d ever have a desire to wear something like that again, just as she’d wondered if she’d ever have a desire for sex again. She was still physically healthy as best she could tell, and she still occasionally thought of sex, but only in the most general and abstract terms. Whenever a specific possibility arose—like with Art Conti—she almost got sick at the prospect. But, what about Mac?
She hadn’t exactly thought of him in those terms. Mostly because he hadn’t come on to her, but also because she’d been distracted by liking him. She’d told Ruthie that Mac was cuddly like a teddy bear, but that wasn’t exactly a sexual thing…or was it? The man was aware of her, she knew, but whether he thought of her in that way, she didn’t know. He was needy, besieged, that much was clear, but…
Jade found the shirt and hung the T-shirt dress on the hanger in its place. This was not a productive train of thought. Complications she did not need. And if she’d allowed herself to think of Mac McGowan in those terms, it was only because of what she’d been going through with Ricky. Mac’s decency made him the perfect antidote to the Ricky Santoses of the world. It was just fine to like Mac. And she’d do it in jeans and her favorite white shirt.
She’d gotten on the shirt and had just run a brush through her hair when there was a knock on the front door. That would be Mac.
It wasn’t, though. When she looked out the window, who did she see standing on the porch but Ricky Santos. Alone. No Luz.
More confused than anything, she opened the door. “Ricky, what are you doing here?”
“I was thinking about our meeting, the troubles you’ve been having, Jade. I’m worried about you.”
&
nbsp; “You’re worried about me?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re a married man, Ricky. You’re supposed to worry about your wife.” She eyed him warily. “Does Luz know you’re here?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I didn’t want to upset her for no reason. She couldn’t understand that you and I might still be friends.”
Jade wasn’t sure what he was getting at but she smelled a rat. “We’re not friends, Ricky. We’re not anything.”
“But we were.”
“Were, as in past tense. Let me be blunt. I want to forget I ever knew you. So whatever it is that brought you here, put it out of your mind.”
“Honest, what brought me here is worrying about you. I thought maybe there was something I could do to help.”
He said it with such innocence. But it was obvious the sonovabitch was testing the waters, to see how she’d react to him with his wife absent. The bastard. How could he be so arrogant? Did he think his pretty face entitled him?
There had been moments these past several months when it might have worked, moments when her loneliness and unhappiness were bigger than her pride, bigger than her self-respect. But mostly they were fleeting moments, flashes of weakness when his arms around her, his lips on her skin, would have been enough—if only because she could pretend he cared.
Jade knew all too well that what truly mattered to Ricky Santos was himself. He was still trying to play both ends of the game. Sure he loved his wife, but he also loved getting a little on the side. If he could console a lonely, desperate, heartbroken woman, why not give her a crumb of pleasure and sneak a little for himself?
Well, there were times when something wasn’t better than nothing. There were times when denying yourself was an act of generosity to your own hungry soul. Honor counted. As did pride. Jade knew with certainty she’d rather do without.
“Come to think of it,” she said to him, “there is something you can do.”
“What?”
“Never darken my door again. Never, ever, Ricky. Stay away. Don’t even think about me, because I don’t want to think about you, let alone see you. Is that clear?”
