by Tracy Kiely
I laughed. “Someone before us must have removed the mermaid statue,” I said.
“Thank God,” she said. “Damn thing was hideous.”
Frank protested loudly at this. “CeCe, you’re the one who gave it to me!” he argued.
She rolled her eyes. “As a joke! I never expected you to actually put the damn thing up.” Leaning toward me, she added in a low voice, “My brother has a perverse sense of taste.”
Barry raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Right. Just your brother.”
Cecelia pretended to ignore him and turned to Danielle. “And how are you holding up, Danny?” she asked as she inspected her face closely. “Still having fun?”
Danielle smiled happily and snuggled in a little closer to her father’s shoulder. “Oh, Aunt CeCe, I am having so much fun. I used to dream of coming to the Oscars with you all. And now that it’s finally happening, I don’t want it to end.”
Cecelia sighed. “Well, that’s youth for you. All I want to do is go home and get into bed. Speaking of which …” she turned questioning eyes toward Barry.
Barry nodded. “Okay. Just let me say good-bye to some people first,” he said, just as Nigel’s phone went off.
“Excuse me,” Nigel said, pulling the phone from his coat pocket. “It’s DeDee,” he muttered, frowning at the readout. He shoved the phone to his ear. “Hello?” he said. His brows pulled together. “DeDee?” he asked. “What? I can barely hear you.” Sticking his finger in the opposite ear, he said, “Is everything all right?” Nigel paused; his face pulled into a frown of concentration “She used to be peppy? Who used to be peppy? Sorry, DeDee but you’ll have to talk louder, it’s really noisy in here.” He paused and closed his eyes. “Not peppy. Giuseppe? Who’s Giuseppe? Wait; is he that guy down the street that keeps complaining about Skippy? Listen, I don’t care what he says. Skippy is not the father. I don’t care how big they are. She’s not Skippy’s type,” Nigel’s frown deepened. He bent forward in his chair in an attempt to better hear. “Slow down, DeDee. I can’t understand you. Not Giuseppe. Okay. Sorry. Try again.” Nigel’s face was now squeezed shut in concentration.
“Nigel,” I said, tapping him on his shoulder. “Why don’t you take it outside?”
Nigel looked at me and nodded. “Hang on, DeDee. I’m moving to where it’s quieter. He walked away, one finger still stuck in his left ear. “Are you saying ‘used a pen’?” he shouted into the phone. “Who, Skippy? DeDee, then he’s just messing with you. He only thinks he can write.”
Nigel disappeared into the crowd still shouting into the phone. I turned back to the table, surprised to find them staring in silence back at me. “Is everything, all right?” asked Mandy. “Who’s DeDee?”
I reached for my glass of champagne and took a sip. “She works for Nigel’s company,” I explained. “She’s at our place tonight converting some of the videos we found. But it sounds like Skippy is being a nuisance.”
“Oh, is Skippy your son?” Christina asked me.
I choked on my drink. “God no!” I said. “He’s our dog. Although don’t tell him that. He’d be terribly offended. As it is, I’m pretty sure he thinks Nigel and I are the pets.”
Nigel returned just then and sat back down. “Everything okay?” I asked.
Nigel shrugged and reached for his glass. “I think so. I could barely hear her. She said she’d tell us when we got home.” He took a sip of his drink.
“Is Skippy attempting to write his memoirs?” I asked.
Nigel smiled. “Something like that, I guess. DeDee kept yelling about someone named Giuseppe using a pen.”
“Do we know anyone named Giuseppe?” I asked.
Nigel shook his head. “Not as far as I know.”
“Well, in that case,” I said taking another sip. “I hope he returns our pen.”
Footage from the set of
A Winter’s Night
5/9/96
The scene is the living room of a modest house set in 1949 Germany. Christina Franklin enters the room in character as Freda. She is wearing a simple gingham dress. Her long auburn hair falls loose around her shoulders. John Cummings, in character as Donny, stands before her wearing a suit. He holds a bouquet of flowers in his hands. Christina nods to him.
CHRISTINA/FREDA
Hanna should be down in a minute. Please sit down.
JOHN/DONNY (sitting)
Thank you.
Christina takes a magazine from the coffee table and begins to flip through it. John watches her.
JOHN/DONNY
Aren’t you going to the dance, Freda?
CHRISTINA/FREDA
I am not.
JOHN/DONNY
Why?
CHRISTINA/FREDA (her attention on the magazine)
Because no one asked me.
JOHN/DONNY
Really? I thought that you were seeing Fredrick.
CHRISTINA/FREDA (still looking at the magazine)
You thought wrong.
JOHN/DONNY (frowning)
Did something happen?
CHRISTINA/FREDA (angrily flipping the page)
Apparently.
JOHN/DONNY
Do you want to talk about it?
CHRISTINA/FREDA
Do I look like I want to talk about it?
JOHN/DONNY
No, I guess not. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.
CHRISTINA/FREDA (angrily throwing the magazine aside)
Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault.
John stares at the flowers and then looks over to the stairs as if wishing Hanna would arrive.
CHRISTINA/FREDA
He’s getting married.
JOHN/DONNY (startled)
Who? Frederick?
CHRISTINA/FREDA (her eyes well with tears)
Yes. He told me last night. He’s marrying Greta Hoch.
JOHN/DONNY
But, why? I thought you and he …
CHRISTINA/FREDA (standing)
Were in love? Yes. I thought so, too. However, Greta is having his child.
JOHN/DONNY (sincerely)
I’m sorry, Freda.
CHRISTINA/FREDA
Don’t be. Love is for fools. And I despise fools. Enjoy your dance.
Christina leaves the room. The camera swings to show the director, Barry Meagher.
BARRY
Cut! Perfect! That was great, you two. Now, let’s get Melanie out here and we can finish the scene.
Sara, Melanie’s personal assistant, steps forward.
SARA (timidly)
Um, Mr. Meagher? Melanie isn’t feeling very well. And …
BARRY
What? Again? What the hell is wrong with her THIS time? Another headache? The stomach flu? Is she as high as a kite, or is she just hung over?
SARA
I promise you that she’s not using, Mr. Meagher. But she was sick earlier. She couldn’t seem to keep anything down. I think she may have had some of that lobster mac and cheese at lunch today. I gave her her medicine, and she’s resting in her trailer now. If we could maybe give her an hour or so, I’m sure she’ll feel better by then.
BARRY (glances at his watch)
An hour or so? (sighing) It’s four o’clock now. You know what? I’m done. I haven’t been home before midnight this whole week. (yelling to crew) Okay, everyone, that’s a wrap for today. Go home, go to a bar, go wherever the hell you want. I’ll see you all here tomorrow at the usual ungodly hour and we’ll pick up where we left off.
The actors and crew stand mutely for a moment as if unsure that Barry is serious.
BARRY
Go! Before I change my mind!
Everyone departs. John grabs Christina’s hand and whispers something in her ear. She smiles and nods
. They quickly walk off the set. The camera swings left. It lands on Janice Franklin. She stands off to the side, watching them go. She starts to follow them, but then appears to change her mind. She walks slowly toward the trailers.
twelve
Seeing that Barry was about to leave, Jules moved toward him and smiled up at him from under sooty lashes. “Barry,” she said sweetly, “I wanted to talk to you real quick. I’ve heard a rumor that you’re getting ready to cast The Deposition. If that’s true, I hope you’ll give me an audition. I really think I could nail the role of the prosecutor.”
Barry looked down at Jules, his expression unreadable. Cecelia was less circumspect. She regarded Jules as if she had just sprouted a second head. “Tonight is for celebrating,” Barry said simply. “Not business talk.”
“I know, but …” Jules began with a pretty pout.
Cecelia interrupted her by turning to Christina. “You look absolutely beautiful, Christina,” she said loudly. “Life certainly seems to be agreeing with you.”
Christina smiled as if she were holding back a laugh. “It is,” she said. “Of course, it’s been a great night.”
“The first of many, I’m sure,” predicted Cecelia. Her glance skimmed over John before she added pointedly, “God knows you’ve earned all that and more.”
Barry let out a gruff laugh. “On that note, I think we’ll say our good-byes. Nicole, Nigel,” he said to us, “it was nice meeting you.” Taking Cecelia by the hand, he said, “Come on, my little diplomat, let’s go before you start something.” As he passed Christina, he kissed her cheek. “Enjoy your night, sweetheart,” he said. “I’ll be in touch soon.”
Frank’s brow wrinkled at this exchange. “Barry,” he said, “before you go, I need to talk to you about something.”
Cecelia let out a groan of protest. “Frank! No, I want to go home.”
Frank waved away her concern. “It’ll only take a few minutes, CeCe,” he said.
Cecelia sighed and looked from Barry to Frank. With a resigned shake of her head, she linked her arm through Danielle’s. “Come on, Danny,” she said as she led her away from the table, “Let’s go make ourselves comfortable at the bar. Your father’s idea of a few minutes is an eternity.”
The two women said their good-byes and wandered off to the bar while Barry and Frank headed outside. “If you haven’t come back in half an hour,” Cecelia called over her shoulder to Barry, “I’m leaving without you!”
Barry nodded absently, his head already bent low to hear what his brother-in-law was telling him.
With their departure, the mood shifted. John and Jules now faced a table that was largely Team Christina. Sebastian regarded John with a derisive smirk. Janice pursed her lips and examined Jules as if she were something nasty on the bottom of her shoe. Mandy neatly communicated her own disapproval by simply sitting back in her chair and folding her arms across her chest. As for Christina, she stared at the bottom of her champagne glass as if it held tea leaves.
If John noticed the change in atmosphere, he didn’t react. With his eyes fixed on Christina’s bent head, he said, “Well, congratulations, again, Christina. Good to see Oscar will have another friend to talk to.”
Christina raised her head and held his gaze. Some unspoken memory seemed to pass between them. John’s mouth curved into a faint smile.
The absence of Barry and Frank made Jules bolder. She pressed her body close to John’s, her full lips curved in an over-bright smile as she regarded Christina. “Yes, congratulations, Christina,” she said. “That should certainly shut up the critics who say that Hollywood ignores older women.”
“So, how do you explain why you’re ignored?” Sebastian asked. Jules glared at him. Sebastian leaned back in his chair and smiled. “You seem tense, Jules,” he said, as he appeared to exam her face. “You’re starting to get stress lines. I think you need to find something that will help you relax. What’s that thing called with the needles?” he asked, turning to Christina.
“Acupuncture?” she offered.
“No, that’s not it,” Sebastian said with a thoughtful shake of his head. Suddenly, he snapped his fingers in remembrance. “Heroine!” he cried. “That’s it. You should try heroine, Jules.”
Jules flushed. “You’re a bastard!” she hissed.
Sebastian shook his head as if disappointed. “Now that is tacky, Jules. Have a little decency, will you? After all, my mother is sitting right here.”
What little was left of Jules’s control snapped. “I’ve had about enough of this,” she hissed at Christina. Placing her hands on the linen tablecloth, she leaned forward, shaking off John’s attempts to remove her. With her mouth pinched in anger, her lips brought to mind a mutilated cherry tomato. “No,” she said, her teeth clenched, “this ends now. I swear to God, Christina, if you ever pull another stunt like that pathetic speech you gave tonight, I will personally rip that rotten, black heart of yours right out of your pathetic excuse for a chest.”
Several of us tried—without much success—to suppress smiles. Jules’s voice had once been described as having “the breathy quality of a helium-inhaling porn star.” It was perfectly suited to deliver lines of sultry seduction. Angry threats, however, came off as absurdly comical.
“You’ve painted me to be some home-wreaking whore, and I’m not!” she continued. “It’s not my fault Johnny got sick of you and preferred someone younger, someone prettier, someone …”
“… whose IQ rises to 75 on a warm summer’s day?” offered Christina.
Jules’s face went white under her spray tan. Angry red dots appeared on her cheeks, and her blue eyes narrowed to slits. She took a deep breath and then mouthed a vulgar, two-word suggestion to Christina.
Christina smiled sweetly up at Jules. “Sweetheart,” she said, her voice sounding genuinely regretful, “how many times must we have this conversation? I’ve already told you—I simply can’t do that until you get that rash looked at.”
Jules moved to toss her drink in Christina’s face, but missed and hit Janice instead. Her ensuing rant of profanity would have made even Quentin Tarantino blush. As John dragged Jules away from the table, Nigel turned to me and playfully shoved my arm. “And you worried that life after the force would be dull,” he said.
I raised my glass and toasted his. “Never with you, Mr. Martini. Never with you.”
Footage from the set of
A Winter’s Night
5/4/96
Barry is sitting in his director’s chair making notes on a script. A tall, good-looking man approaches. It is Frank Samuels. He is about fifty years old, has an athletic build, and is wearing a very expensive-looking tailored suit. He holds a cup of coffee in his hand.
FRANK (in a condescending voice)
Hello, Barry. So, you want to tell me why Melanie called me at four this morning practically hysterical?
BARRY (at the sound of Frank’s voice,
Barry looks up. His expression is annoyed.)
She called you? Why the hell would she call you?
FRANK
I imagine because she thinks of me as someone she can trust.
BARRY
Is that right? Well, how lovely for her.
FRANK
So, back to my original question. Care to tell me what the hell is going on?
BARRY
Gladly. Your leading lady, the ever predictable, Ms. Melanie Summers, threw a magnificent tantrum and then stormed off the set because she didn’t like it when I told her that her acting had the emotional depth of a sock puppet. Her charming display of emotion—which would have been better channeled for the scene and not at me—not only set us back schedule at least a day but also put us over budget.
FRANK
Dammit, Barry! You can’t let things like this happen! You are the director. You are the one who is supposed to be calling
the shots. You need to take control of your damn actors! And if you can’t, then I’ll find someone who can!
BARRY
Are you serious? Have you completely forgotten that I never wanted Melanie Summers in the first place? You’re the one who insisted we needed her for this film. I told you she was a mess, but you overruled me. You said she was “box office magic.” Well, let me tell you something—the only magic I’ve seen her perform is making time, money, and my patience disappear!
FRANK
Don’t give me that crap! Your job as a director is to prevent the blowups! If the actors don’t respect you then they’ll do as they please! They’re like little children, for Christ’s sake! You have to treat them as such. Give them too much leeway, and they’ll walk all over you. You have to take control, and show them who’s boss! Do you think Scorsese got where he is by being a pushover? Do you think Coppola would let his actors run roughshod over him?
BARRY
Well, last I checked, both of them have had the good sense not to work with Melanie Summers! I, on the other hand, wasn’t given that same luxury! How about this, Frank? Since you’re the one who insisted she be cast as the lead, how about you go and see if you can’t calm the little prima donna down?
FRANK
Dammit, Barry! I don’t think you understand how much is riding on this movie!
BARRY
On the contrary, I know exactly how much is riding on this movie—which is why I told you that casting her was a terrible idea!
FRANK
Listen to me, you ungrateful bastard. I don’t care if you are my brother-in-law. I stuck my neck out for you and made sure you were tapped to direct this movie. Do you really think you were the studio’s first choice? They wanted Spielberg. I got you this movie. So, don’t you dare lecture me about my casting choices, because if it weren’t for me, you’d be directing the Love Bug movies.
BARRY (taking a deep breath)
Frank, I do appreciate what you did for me. But you have to understand—the girl is a walking time bomb. She’s moody, irrational, and unprofessional. You can’t pin this on me—this delay sits squarely at her feet. I’m not sure if she’s using again or if this is just how she is, but it’s wreacking havoc with our schedule.
