by Leslie Pike
“Come on. Let’s have some lunch,” I say.
We sit outside, enjoying our clear California day. I’ve prepared an Italian feast, with an antipasto tray and warm baker breads made this morning. There’s a beautiful salad and some homemade pasta from the specialty store in Laguna. I pour us each a glass of wine.
“When’s the baby coming, Jack?” Melanie asks.
“April fourth. Just in time to be a write off.” Jack jokes.
Ben takes a sip from his glass. “Wonderful. You’re going to be amazed. You look at that little face, and Boom! You’re in love. Magic.”
Jack points to Steven. “Is that what happened with this one?”
“Absolutely. There’s nothing like it. You hear people say that but it’s just words before it happens to you. And then from that moment on you’re hooked. There’s nothing you wouldn’t do for their happiness or health or safety. And the feeling never goes away. I always think God made babies to be so adorable and perfect we couldn’t help but want to care for them. It’s a great plan, really.”
Jack looks like he’s really listening, and for once not thinking of a witty or funny comeback. If I didn’t know better I’d say there were tears in his eyes. Ben must have noticed too, because he looks as if he said something wrong.
“Did I upset you, Jack? I’m sorry if I did.”
Jack denies the charge. “No, no. You were just so descriptive it moved me.”
“I’m like you,” says Melanie. “I never had children, so we’re both strangers in this world. That was a deliberate choice on my part, but I’d say it looks like you’re cut out for the job. I think the baby’s very lucky to have you as his or her dad.”
Jack looks as if he’s going to get emotional.
“Oh God, I don’t know what’s happening to me,” he says wiping away a tear. “I think I may be hormonal like my wife. I know my belly’s getting bigger like hers.”
We all understand his reaction, as only friends are capable of doing.
Jack continues. “I just came from my friend’s house. You know John. You’ve heard me talk about him,” he says looking at Steven.
Steven acknowledges him with a nod.
“Anyway, he has cerebral palsy and it just kills me to see what he’s had to go through.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Melanie says.
“He’s in his thirties now and I’ve watched the progression. He seems to be getting worse. It’s bothering me. I think the baby’s brought up some of these fears.”
“That sounds perfectly normal to me,” I say nodding my head in agreement.
He wipes his eyes. “Okay, let’s get on another subject.”
Ben gets up from the table. “What you need is a cigar. I’ve brought some Havana’s.”
So for the next few hours we sit outside under the veranda and shoot the breeze. The men enjoy their stogies, and we all relish catching up with each other’s lives. It’s a blast watching and listening to the men’s stories. Their shared histories on movie sets make for a laughable afternoon. In the early years of Jack’s career Ben was the Stunt Coordinator. And then later when Steven was old enough he joined them. Ben was always the respected boss. And he groomed these two on the ways of the set. I guess that’s how Steven grew to be so cool and collected and proficient at his job. He followed the leader.
Listening to the stories I can’t help but think there’s a great story there. My writer’s mind can’t help but see things that obviously tell a good tale. Maybe the earlier days of stunt work, or the life of stuntman like Ben. He worked from the sixties through the nineties and didn’t retire till 2001. He worked with some of the greats. Elvis Presley, Bette Davis, Burt Lancaster, Shelley Winters. The list goes on and on. If I wrote the story though, I’d have to leave out all the juiciest parts. They would definitely reveal too much, and the studio and I would be sued. It’s good to see Jack laughing hearing the retelling of some of his early escapades. He’s telling a few I haven’t heard before too.
“Ben, remember when we were filming The Second Invasion when the whole crew got paranoid because we thought the First A. D. was really an undercover narc?
The men laugh hysterically, which makes Melanie and I laugh too. The idea sounds absurd.
“What?” I say, looking dubious.
“He’s telling the truth. We were all snorting cocaine. Every day,” Ben says.
“That’s awful,” I say dropping my jaw.
“Oh, you ain’t heard nothin’ yet,” says Melanie. “I’ve heard this one before.”
“It was the eighties. That’s how we rolled then. Everywhere you’d go, someone on set would offer you a snort,” Jack says.
Ben jumps in. “The worst thing about the whole story is that the stuntmen were doing it including myself. Just think about what a ridiculous decision that was on my part. I was older than them all. I should have made a better choice.”
“But wasn’t it fun? You know it was,” Jack remembers.
“Hopefully you left Steven home for that one,” I say.
Ben just waves me off. “Oh yeah. He was still a kid.”
“So was I,” Jack adds.
“Yeah, a big twenty-five-year-old kid. And you haven’t grown up yet,” Steven says with a smile.
“But why did you think there was a narc on set?” I ask.
“Just paranoia. Another film had been shut down for a few days when the director was caught buying some blow from an undercover cop. We got spooked, and it spread like wildfire.”
“And the A.D. would never join us, but he was always hanging around watching what we were up to,” Ben says.
“Well, he was the assistant director and that’s what they do, right?” Melanie says.
Her statement starts us all laughing again.
Ben lifts an eyebrow and asks, “Remember when the on-set masseuse started crying when she thought he’d seen her behind the honey wagon having a toot with the cameraman?”
“She was blowing half the crew,” Jack says. “Nobody would think of firing her.”
Then he looks at Melanie and I. “She was. Literally blowing half the crew.”
“She must have been good at it then. Practice makes perfect,” says Melanie.
“Ben, what say you?” Jack asks with a grin on his face. “I mean, it was years before you met Melanie. And you were a randy dude. Give us a review.”
“I plead the fifth. But for the record, I was single, and most certainly not in need of some dirty random blowjob. I had my own girlfriends.”
“Who said anything about dirty?” Jack asks.
My face hurts, I’m laughing so hard.
“I know it’s you who should be doing the review, you horny fucker. It was you who were always getting a massage, not me.”
“Oh, pardon my mistake. I must be thinking about some other stunt coordinator named Ben who worked on the film and looked exactly like you.”
“Whatever. You’re both guilty as hell,” Steven adds.
“Jack, what are you working on now?” Melanie asks.
“My next film is scheduled for August. I wanted to spend the first months of the baby’s life with Nicki. I don’t want to be on some set wishing I could be home.”
“Good thinking,” Ben says. “I didn’t have that luxury when Steven was born. The Screen Actors Guild was on strike and we were almost out of money. I had to take work when it was offered.”
“Yeah, we’re lucky that way.”
“I know Nicki’s happy you’re going to be home with her and the baby,” I say.
“So what are we thinking about all the Oscar buzz?” Ben asks.
Steven holds up his hands. “It’s all talk until they announce the nominations. We still have a month to wait.”
“Yeah. I’m playing it cool too. I’ve been nominated when I didn’t think I deserved it, and I’ve had friends who deserved it and weren’t nominated. It’s pretty random,” Jack adds.
“You both deserve to be nominated,” Ben says.
�
�It was my first directing job, Dad. It’s not going to happen.”
“I don’t care. You did a fantastic job. You should be proud. I am.”
“You’re my father; you have to feel that way.” Steven smiles.
“I’m in the business too. And I know something about what it takes and what good work looks like. You’re the real deal.”
“Thanks.”
“Whatever happens, you both should be proud of your work,” I say.
“Yeah, yeah, and it’ll be an honor just to be nominated,” jokes Jack.
“I know you. You’re thinking about it and probably writing your acceptance speech,” Steven says.
“Well. It’s only right that the King gets his due. Is that too much to hope for?”
“I don’t think it is,” Melanie says agreeably.
I see the lightbulb going off in Jack’s head. “Oh! But there’s another King about to be honored by his squires.”
“Who’s that?” Ben asks.
“Steven here. His bachelor party’s coming up next Saturday. I’m glad you’ll be joining us, Ben.” Then he goes into his impersonation of his favorite British TV character. “It will be a night of aperitif’s and light refreshments.”
“Oh God, here she comes. Hyacinth Bucket,” says Steven.
Jack make’s a disdainful expression and turns his nose to the air. “It’s pronounced Bouquet,” he says in his finest impression of England’s most famous fictitious snob.
No one can make us laugh like Jack. He’s a master at a hundred voices, and can slip into any character he pleases.
“Is that the kind of night I can expect? Because it would work for me,” Steven says.
Jack continues in character. “Not exactly. There will be entertainment of course. Maybe a harpsichord recital or an exhibition of dance.”
“Oh Lord,” I say picturing the bacchanal.
Jack’s cell sounds and he takes it from his pants pocket. An odd look crosses his face when he sees who’s calling. He gets up from the table, and walks around the side of the house. I don’t think anyone noticed his odd reaction but me, or read as much into it as I am.
“How long has it been since you’ve been to a bachelor party, Ben?” I ask.
“I think it was in the Dark Ages sometime. I’m not much of a stag party guy.” He pats Melanie on her leg. “I’ve got my own party right here.”
“Neither am I,” Steven says. “But it’s happening whether I like it or not.”
I see Jack making his way back.
“I’ve got you go. Thanks for lunch. I’ll talk to you later, Steven.”
Something’s happened to make Jack loose his light mood. Now I see the others at the table pick up on it too.
“Everything okay?”
“We’ll see. Talk to you all later.”
Chapter Twelve
BB
When I walk into the house I run right into the glass and iron bedside table blocking my path. “You son-of-a-bitch,” I say not so much to the table, but to my now absent housekeeper. She went home an hour ago, no doubt laughing as she walked out. Cora accepted the delivery, but instead of having the deliveryman put it where it belongs, she had him sit it here. I bet he was pleasantly surprised about not having to go further than two feet. Of course now it’s at the furthest point from the master bedroom where it belongs. And I have to wait for Paul to get home for us to be able to move it.
It didn’t take much to convince the woman to come work for me again, now that I’m back in Newport Beach. We get off on messing with each other, Like Inspector Clouseau and his faithful houseboy Cato, in the Pink Panther movies. The woman likes to poke the bear, and I like to poke her back. She’s a master at the passive aggressive game where she explains away her transgressions with a “Sorry, I didn’t know, Miss BB.” Like today. She knew. She definitely knew. Bottom line, she knows my devils and I know hers.
It took Paul some time to get used to our dance. But then he watched how much we enjoyed fucking with each other. Now he just ignores us.
Maybe a little swim will ignite my creative juices. I’ll figure out how to retaliate. Paul will be home from the office in a few hours. I love how normal that sounds. Very suburban housewife. It’s so not me to think this way, but it’s strangely satisfying. Maybe we’ll go skinny dipping before dinner. An image of his sledgehammer comes into focus. I do so love watching that man float. If he’s got a hard on, it looks like a traveling tent pole.
I go into our bedroom to search for my suit. It’s here somewhere. Since we moved in I haven’t quite caught up with the organization of things. That’s putting it mildly. It looks like a boutique threw up in my closet. Normally I’d do without the bikini, but Paul has pointed out how horny the gardeners are, and they’re coming sometime today. I got that lecture last week. He thinks the crew takes a little too much time mowing the lawn and pruning the bushes. He says they’d like to prune my bush if I had one. There’s no arguing the point, because the drool’s dripping from their mouths every time I’m out by the pool. There’s at least ten lines that would stop them in their tracks, but who am I the schoolmarm? Note to self. Tell the therapist about the fact that I’m such an attention whore even though the man I love pays me all the attention I should need.
Here it is. I pull the bikini from the pile in the corner of the closet. Poor Paul, he has about one eighth of the space for his clothes. It takes a matter of seconds before my dress is off and the suit is on. I’m about to grab my sunglasses and flip flops when the doorbell sounds.
Padding to the front of the house I spot Darius peeking in through the side panel of the door. When I open it, he’s smiling that cute smile and holding a bag in his hand.
“Hi, kid.”
“Hi. I tried to call, but your cell wasn’t accepting any more messages. Your box is full,” he says innocently.
“Oh there’s a lot of good lines there.”
His face turns red when he realizes what he said.
“Oh no, I didn’t mean…”
I shut the door and motion for him to avoid the nightstand. “Just ignore my decorating.”
He doesn’t know what to make of it, so he just follows me into the living room.
“I got your address from the production office. I had this to bring to you.”
He takes a small box from the bag and holds it out to me shyly.
“Oh! A present?”
“Just a little one from Ireland. I thought it looked like something you’d like.”
I open the lid and find an enameled Kelly-green box. “It’s beautiful.”
“There’s something inside.”
When I open it, there’s a delicate four leafed clover hanging from a fine gold chain.
“I love it. This is really beautiful, Darius. Thank you.” I say kissing him on the cheek.
“It’s all eighteen karat,” he says proudly.
“How fine. I’ll wear it right now.”
“Let me help,” he offers, coming around to the back of me.
He struggles a bit with the clasp, just as a young man would. But it’s really touching he thought of me. I turn around and give him a look. He’s happy that his gift is a hit.
“Hey, want to take a swim?” I say.
“Yeah. I guess. I don’t have trunks though.” His eyes widen.
“Don’t worry, you can use a pair of Paul’s.”
It takes only a few minutes before we’re drifting on my wide orange pool floats, music playing. The kid looks relaxed. I don’t think that happens too often. He’s wound tight this one.
“So, tell me about Ireland. Did it go smoothly?”
“It was good. Albie went a little crazy when the weather didn’t cooperate. But other than that the shoot went well. It’s beautiful there. The colors are different. I’ve never seen a hill so green.”
“What about your dad? Did he treat you right?” I ask doubtfully.
I can tell he doesn’t know how to answer that. Most likely no one has e
ver addressed the elephant in the room before. Of course I would because I’ve got a pachyderm in my own house.
“Yeah. I guess. He’s never going to change. That’s what my mom says.” His expression closes up.
I paddle my float over so I can be in front of him.
“That’s what you need to remember. But you can change your response. Believe me, I speak from experience. My dad is worse than yours. He’s more biting in his remarks and he’s definitely stupider.”
He gives me a half-smile. “I don’t really know how much worse he can be.”
“Trust me on this one. As soon as they know you’re not going to just passively let them talk down to you, that’s when things change. They can dish it out but they’re very bad at taking it. Try it. It might work. Might being the operative word. It’s worth a shot anyway.”
“How did you change?” he says.
“Trial and error. At first I yelled a lot, but that wasn’t very affective. You need to be calm in your response. Quiet strength. If he accuses you of something you didn’t do, then speak up. Once my dad figured out I wouldn’t hesitate, he thought twice about blaming me for every fucking thing. I lowered the dick factor by half. He’s still a complete dick, but now he’s facing a woman and not a girl.
“Something to think about,” Darius says looking heavenward.
My cell sounds and I paddle to the edge of the pool where it sits on a towel.
“Hello?”
“BB, it’s Jack. Hey, do me a favor.”
“Hi. What?”
“Tell Paul we’ll be by tomorrow at seven to pick him up. I don’t have his new number,”
“Yeah, I’ll tell him. But don’t you be bringing him home smelling like some strange ‘tang,” I say forcefully.
He laughs, but I don’t; I’m one hundred percent serious.
“What are you talking about woman? We’re going to a few bars and then dinner.”
I roll off my float and climb out of the pool. I start pacing along the edge of the water.
“Who do you think you’re bullshitting? I know men. Don’t you persuade my guy to do anything he wouldn’t do on his own. That man’s pure compared to you assholes.”
