Impossibly Tongue-Tied Page 7

  SAM: That’s…truly moving. I would never have suspected that—well, you know—

  O: What, that I’d have heard of John Donne?

  SAM: Well, not that you’d heard of him, per se, but that you’d be quoting him…you know, here…But—but that’s beside the point! Look, O, obviously I haven’t made myself clear. I’m really not calling to talk about me…Or you, for that matter, but Wilbur. Specifically, I need you to…to leave Wilbur alone.

  O: Sam, you’re right. There is certainly something being lost in translation here. Like why you should even care about my relationship with Wilbur in the first place.

  SAM: (Now it is his turn to laugh…derisively) Jeez, I wouldn’t think you could call what the two of you share a “relationship” exactly. He’s just playing out some sick fantasy. Heck, you two could meet face to face, and that might kill it then and there, right? In fact, here’s a quote for you, O: “Love is the delightful interval between meeting a beautiful girl and discovering that she looks like a haddock.” John Barrymore. And that dude knew a thing or two about beautiful women.

  O: (In a sultry murmur) Touché, Sam, touché. Now, are you sure you’re not talking about yourself there?

  SAM: What do you mean?

  O: Well, maybe it’s you who’s attracted only to a woman’s looks, because it’s certainly not Wilbur. I’m proof of that, right? I mean, Wilbur—just like you, ’cause you’re such a player and all—is surrounded by beautiful women all day long…And yet, each night, he calls me…whom he’s never seen, never even plans on meeting…just for the witty repartee, or whatever. Go figure. You know, Sam, if you were to ask me, I’d say that Wilbur’s thoughts on that subject run akin to Baudeliere’s: “There are as many kinds of beauty as there are habitual ways of seeking happiness.” Don’t you agree?

  SAM: (After a moment of thoughtful silence) Touché to you, O…So where does that leave us? How do I keep you from taking his calls?

  O: Last I looked, Sam, it’s still a free country. As long as Wilbur hasn’t lost my number, he can call it at any time, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

  SAM: I’ll make a deal with you: I’ll pay you not to take his call. How’s that?

  O: (Laughing incredulously) Oh yeah?…And how will you do that?

  SAM: Anyway you’d like it. If you want, I’ll pay you in cash. In fact, go ahead and double your rate. I’ll even put you on a retainer, whatever.

  O: (After a moment) I think you’ve got it all wrong.

  SAM: Whattaya mean? I said you can name your price! Hey, this is a once-in-a-lifetime offer that will be withdrawn at the end of this call, so, if I were you, I’d jump at it.

  O: No, lover, you’re not hearing me: I want to know what’s really at stake here. Because any deal we make has got to be worth something to both of us.

  SAM: Jeez, woman, don’t be greedy, or this doesn’t work for either of us. And by the way, I got your number from Hu—from Wilbur, so trust me when I say he’s in on this and wants to break off this…this little addiction as badly as I need—want him to.

  O: Level with me, Sam: Why do you really care?

  SAM: (Pauses. Then, in a voice that lets her know that all cards are truly on the table) Because he’s my oldest and dearest friend. Because the life he’s built for himself is about to go up in smoke. Because if he screws it up, he doesn’t just screw it up for himself, but for a whole lot of people who count on him for their livelihood.

  O: (After another very long pause, so long that Sam thinks they’ve been disconnected) Okay, Sam. Under one condition.

  SAM: Name it.

  O: You tell me his real name.

  SAM: That’s it? No retainer, no cash, no nothing?

  O: That’s it.

  SAM: How do I know you won’t blackmail him if I tell you?

  O: I don’t want a last name, just his first name. But no lies. That’s how this works. And this is a once-in-a-lifetime offer that will be withdrawn at the end of this call, so, if I were you, I’d jump at it.

  SAM: (Laughing. Besides, what are the odds that she’d ever figure out who he really is?) Okay, you sold me. It’s…Hugo.

  O: Well, that’s…unusual. Almost as unusual as Wilbur.

  SAM: So, we have a deal?

  O: I always keep my word. But that won’t necessarily solve your problem.

  SAM: Uh…why? What do you mean?

  O: So he doesn’t call me. What makes you think he won’t call someone else? There are a lot of us out there, you know.

  SAM: Huh…Good point…I dunno, ya got me.

  O: Can I make a suggestion? Let him call. I can put the charges on any card you want. Even yours. And because he’s your client, too, you can always bill it back to him. You know, “photocopy” or “transcription charges,” whatever will pass the Mr. Tax Man sniff test. Of course, you’ll have to make it clear to him that my number is the only one he can call. Not that he’ll mind, because I always make it worth his while…

  SAM: (Now wishing he hadn’t recorded their conversation) Hmm. Yeah. Okay, that might work.

  O: You know, Sam, I can make it worth your while, too…

  SAM: Sweetheart, you already have.

  O: (All husky musky nuance) That’s what I want to hear, lover, ’cause I aim to please. Oh, and by the way, we’re talking about Hugo Schmitt, right? The director?

  SAM: (After a cold drop of sweat rolls down his spine) I never…I never said that.

  O: That’s okay, Sam, you didn’t have to. I’ve heard his voice on enough TV interviews to recognize it, now that I can put a name to the voice…God, he is a genius! What a master at pacing! I swear to you, I saw Beyond Heavenly at least four times.

  SAM: Yeah, unfortunately, you and only six others. Thank God for overseas box office.

  O: Yeah, I hear that in France they think he’s a deity!

  SAM: Right. Viva la France.

  O: Mais oui…

  SAM: So, um, how much do I owe you for this call?

  O: We’re at seventy even. Tell me, Sam, was it as good for you as it was for me?

  Within the next twenty-four hours, Sam had accomplished the following:

  First, he got Hugo to take Lucinda on a ten-day vacation to Las Ventanas al Paraíso, a secluded resort in Cabo San Lucas. Waiting there for them was a roaring fire, an open bottle of Veuve Clicquot La Grande Dame, a lovers’ massage, a box of assorted sex toys (remnants from the not-so-dearly but definitely departed Chastity), a family-size tube of an orgasm cream sold only in Europe, and a ten-day supply of Viagra.

  Sam’s directive to Hugo was simple: “Don’t come up for air.”

  Upon hearing this, Hugo got that strangled look on his face, as if he’d just been given a life sentence. Too bad. If Archie’s accountants got hold of Hugo, he’d find out the hard way that Cabo was nothing like Pelican Bay State Prison.

  Next, Sam met with Archie at the mogul’s usual banquette in his favorite hangout, Dan Tana’s, to get him onboard with the Hugo/Kat/Nathan project, which he sold to Archie as “Sideways meets Before Sunset…with the dark humor and the youthful joi de vie of Garden State.”

  At first Archie didn’t get it. “After the Sunset? Wasn’t that some lousy Pierce Brosnan crap?”

  “No, no,” answered Sam. “It was that French girl and Uma’s ex talking each other to death, for six hours or something.”

  Now Archie remembered it. “That kid looked anorexic, or something. Hugo’s not planning on hiring him, is he?”

  “No. As a matter of fact, we’ve got some great new talent in mind. His name is Nathan Harte. We’re putting him opposite Katerina McPherson.”

  “Works for me. She’s got a great set of knockers. Not like that French girl.”

  “So, you’re in?”

  Archie paused, then shrugged. “Hugo’s never been good business. But he’s family.”

  Sam breathed a silent sigh of relief. So Lucinda hasn’t filled Archie in about the credit card charge. Praise the lord.

  “
And who knows?” Archie continued, despite a mouthful of medium-rare prime rib. “Maybe this one will actually make money…Speaking of which, do you think you can talk her into doing a nude scene?”

  “Nope, not even for a fifteen-million-dollar paycheck. She’s a real artiste, that one.”

  “Thought not. Hey, no harm in asking.”

  Of course Sam picked up the tab.

  And at five-thirty on the dot, Nathan showed up at ICA.

  With Nina.

  Watching them together—her obvious love and pride in her husband, coupled with his transparent sense of ownership in her—made Sam’s heart break just a little. She gave a deep laugh as Nathan, with a cocky flourish, signed his ICA contract. Looking up at Sam, she said as reverently as if she were in church, “Thank you.”

  He smiled broadly and nodded, wondering if she’d feel that way in a month, when production on the project had started.

  And Kat had begun her seduction of Nathan.

  Nope, it dawned on Sam as Nathan shook his hand vigorously, that’s when she’ll realize that she actually hates my guts.

  And for the first time in his life, he hated himself; particularly when Nina, before following Nathan out the door, impulsively kissed Sam on the cheek.

  He did not look forward to going home alone that night.

  In Hollywood, there is no such thing as an overnight success. Heck, the last five years of Nathan and Nina’s lives were proof of that.

  However, once a Hollywood hopeful (such as Nathan) got even an inkling that he was finally on his way to being made, naturally he presumed that success would make its move fast.

  Very fast.

  Say, as fast as an industry player in the Skybar’s rooftop pool lounge during last call on a Saturday night.

  In their own ways, both Nina and Sam tried to warn Nathan that this might not be the case. Sam had a couple of auditions in mind, and of course things would come up periodically, but in the meantime Nathan should peruse the casting notices religiously for roles that he felt were right for him…so that he could go up against two hundred other guys who all felt exactly the same way.

  The name of the game was to get out there and audition, audition, audition—for movies, TV, commercials, whatever.

  “Hey, do you have a commercial agent?” asked Sam. “No? We have a division here in the agency that handles that. I’ll line you up with Suzette over there…And maybe Kevin in the TV division, too…You know, for some immediate pocket change, like a movie of the week, or a guest shot on a Law & Order or CSI or something, until this movie you’re up for gets greenlighted. But that should happen any day now, so don’t worry. And you’re a shoo-in, believe me. I don’t have to tell you, guy, but your future is in features all the way…”

  Even if the film was greenlighted, and Nathan got cast in it, the paycheck wouldn’t necessarily be more than a little above SAG scale, Sam warned him, but he’d negotiate a gross point or two, on the back end. After all, appearing in a Hugo Schmitt film was mostly about the prestige.

  He also pointed out to Nathan that the average movie took at the minimum a year, maybe even two, from the first day of shooting until it hit the theaters. Even longer than that, if it was a dog that no one wanted to distribute. That said, Nathan’s paycheck would be doled out piecemeal as well—that is, once his contract had been hashed out, renegotiated, double-checked, then approved by legal, yada, yada…

  In other words, Nathan and Nina could be dining on mac-and-cheese for a very long time yet.

  In the meantime, there was a lot the actor could do in preparation for when success inevitably found him—which, Sam assured him, was only a matter of time.

  For Nathan, the prep work was the easy part. Already he was spending at least an hour or so a couple of times a week at the 24 Hour Fitness at the Arclight, where he could work on his pecs and at the same time make some much sought after industry contacts, albeit with more B- and C- than A-listers. Now he’d work out every day.

  And he’d been taking lessons with his acting guru, the esteemed Euphegenia Du Barry, since he and Nina had landed Hollywood. But now that he had Sam Godwin, “Don of the Dealmakers,” (à la Hollywood Reporter) as his agent, he could ramp up those key activities to an almost-daily basis, too. In fact, he told Nina seriously, he should hire a private physical trainer, and work with Euphegenia in private, too: real proof that he’d arrived.

  Sweet.

  Of course, all of this would mean quitting his job at Disneyland.

  Immediately he tossed out that concept to Nina. “What other client of Sam’s works there?” Nathan pointed out. “None. You won’t find real actors there. Besides, I have to keep myself available for any auditions Sam and his people set me up on, right?”

  Nina saw his point. Then again, they still needed to come up with the money for all those extra acting lessons and gym workouts…

  And for the upkeep on that cute little ’61 Corvette roadster that Nathan bought on a whim the day after he’d signed his ICA contract, because, he insisted, it was one of the few used cars “hot enough to fit my new edgy image…” (That is, on the few occasions it wasn’t sitting on a tow truck on its way to a mechanic’s bay in San Dimas.)

  All of this was exciting…and certainly scary.

  Particularly the money part.

  To make this gamble work, O would have to take on an extra shift or two.

  Sensing her concern, Nathan added, “Don’t worry honey. Sam thinks that the audition for that movie will happen sometime toward the end of next week, and the role is supposed to be big. Really big.”

  His eyes opened wide, as if to will Sam’s declaration into fact, if only for her benefit. “He also says I’m exactly what the director is looking for. To a Tee. I’ll ace it, too, since I’ve been preparing for it with Euphegenia. What’s taking so long is that director is still locking in the final financing.”

  “After the audition, when will you know for sure that the role is yours?” she asked cautiously.

  “Soon, hon. real soon. And once I get my fee, it’s your turn up to bat. No more Tommaso’s, on your feet all day. It’ll be my turn to support you.” He pulled her down into his lap and gave her a long, loving kiss.

  “That’s good. I’m retiring O, too…just as soon as that check of yours clears the bank. Yes! I can’t wait to quit! I’ve already checked into voice-over lessons, so that I can start auditioning for radio spots or cartoons. It’s the perfect kind of freelance to do while Jake’s at school.” The worry left her eyes. She was all smiles again.

  “Sure, whatever makes you happy, babe. We’re Team Harte, remember? All for one and one for all.”

  That was all she needed to hear.

  And so Nina worked around the clock, for Nathan’s extra acting lessons, his gym membership, his car’s maintenance, and his new headshots.

  Then again, she wasn’t working just for him, but for them.

  For Team Harte.

  O: Hello, handsome. Boy have I missed you. So, how’s my favorite guy?

  WILBUR: O, darling…Jeez, I’ve missed you, too! I’ve been…well, out of the country.

  O: Well, sweetheart, welcome home.

  WILBUR: (After a guilty silence) Uh, well, you see, that’s just it…I’m not home yet…

  O: Oh…You’re at work?

  WILBUR: Sort of…I’m with my wife…in Cabo.

  O: (Laughing) Gee, Wilbur, you lead a hard life…Speaking of hard, how’s that going?

  WILBUR: (Frantically) It’s not! That’s just the point! I…I need your help. Or else my life will go up in smoke. Didn’t Sam explain?

  O: Yep, he did. By the way, speaking of Sam, sorry but I’ve got to ask: Does this call have the Sam Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval?

  WILBUR: Fucking A, this call has been preapproved and pre-billed on my very private preprogrammed “only to O” Platinum Moto, at that. In other words, the sky’s the limit.

  O: Good. Because I’d never want to get you in trouble, Wilbur, y
ou know that, right?

  WILBUR: I feel the same way about you, doll. Really, I do.

  O: So, um, you say you’re with your wife?

  WILBUR: Yeah. And…truthfully? It just ain’t happening. Get my meaning?

  O: You’re coming in loud and clear, Wilbur. So listen, I think I have an idea as to how we can be together…down there.

  WILBUR: You’re coming down? Here?

  O: In a way. Try to follow me, Wilbur: If I were with you, right now, you’d be hard as a rock, right? You’d be running your hands gently all over my soft sweet body…

  WILBUR: (Blissfully) Yeah…I see you now…I—I can feel you beside me.

  O: Well, Wilbur, there’s something I want you to do. Better yet, what I mean is that there’s something I don’t want you to do.

  WILBUR: (Confused) What’s that?

  O: Come…that is, until you get back to your room…and your wife.

  WILBUR: But that’s just it! I can come with you. I just can’t with her.

  O: Yes you can, Wilbur. If you just do as I tell you. And here’s what I want you to do: I want you to buy a couple of silk scarves at the hotel gift shop and take them back to your room with you. Then I want you to ask your wife to allow you to blindfold her—and make love to her. Ask her to blindfold you, too.

  WILBUR: That sounds…sort of kinky.

  O: (Giggles devilishly) I know, Wilbur. Isn’t it? And it makes it perfect for me…to be with you.

  WILBUR: How do you mean?

  O: Well, while you’re both blindfolded, you can imagine that I’m there, beside you. You can kiss her, gently…on the lips, then down her neck, softly moving to her right nipple and taking it in your mouth…and sucking, sucking hard…harder…until it explodes at the touch of your tongue. Then you’ll move to her left nipple, licking it voraciously, awakening it, too…while your hands gently explore every square inch of her soft, supple skin. Prodding every nook and cranny of her with your fingers, until she is wet, and throbbing and hot, and moaning for you to come inside of her…