Adulation (2 page)
Using the names Jack and Diane temporarily (the John Mellencamp song had just played on theradio), he read what he’d just written, reciting the dialogue and hearing
Winters in Hyannis
stars Robbie Marsh’s and Gabby Hanson’s voices in his head as he did:
INT. PUBLIC RADIO STATION STUDIO - MORNING JACK (average-looking, 30-something) sits at a radio console drinking from a mug that says COFFEE BEATS SEX on it.
DIANE (Jack’s wife, also 30-something, pretty, although she putseffort into her looks) enters in a huff, pulling off her winterouterwear on the way to her seat.
DIANE
Sorry I’m late. Where’s Barry?
JACK
He’s in the john, and why are you late?
DIANE
I told you I was going to the eye doctor today.
JACK
Yes, you did. What for?
DIANE
For a consultation.
JACK
Who goes to the eye doctor for consultations?
DIANE
I’m thinking of getting my eyes lasered.
JACK
You wanna get your eyes lasered?
DIANE
Yes.
JACK
Does this involve a military contract?
DIANE
It’s a medical procedure, idiot. It’s called LASIK surgery. A way topermanently fix your eyes so that you no longer have to wear glasses
or contacts.
JACK
What’s so bad about glasses or contacts?
DIANE
Wouldn’t it be neat to always have clear vision?
JACK
It’d be neat to shoot lasers out of my eyes rather than have someone
else shoot them at me.
Oh, man. He could actually smell the stink emanating from the screen, but he knew he had to push on. Hetried to outshout his inner critics by assuring them that it was just a rough draft, that he would revise andall would be right in the world again. And it was premiere week for
Exposed
, he reminded them, whichamounted to an avalanche of television appearances, guest blog posts, interviews, photo ops, and anythingelse the studio wanted him to do. To his knowledge, he was the only screenwriter who carried as muchcamera time as someone like Robbie Marsh or any other big-time screen star. Reporter after reporter,male and female alike, described him as “handsome,” “charismatic,” and “charming.” As far as he wasconcerned, he was just a white guy from Long Island with eyes both the shape and color of almonds, longlashes, a complexion that was part tan from the California sun and part gray from twenty-plus years ofsmoking, high cheekbones and a square chin, and straight hair that seemed to behave only when cut into atapered, wispy, neo-Beatle mop top that he constantly brushed back with his hands. (His agent had hired astylist who’d tried to give him other looks: the flat-top buzz cut made him look like a militant Muppet, andany strand that fell past the middle of his neck screamed midlife crisis.)
Charlene Dumont often used the same descriptive words as the reporters, although he never knewwhat she saw in him. She, after all, was stunning: long, luxurious locks of bottled auburn hair, eyes thecolor of the beach waters of Pulau Redang in the South China Sea in Malaysia (their lashes actuallytouched when they kissed), a five-foot-seven-inch body (she was just a half inch taller than he, albeit tenyears younger) that was meticulously sculpted thanks to two hours of Pilates five days a week, and aspeaking voice that could arouse him during a recitation of the Patriot Act. She did drama. She didcomedy. She did TV and movies and Shakespeare in the Park. She could even dance and sing a little bit. If she ever picked up a pen, he’d kill himself.
Charlene’s celebrity attracted the gawkers and papa-
rat
-zi, as Danny called them—her stardomwas blinding compared to his, and he knew it was possible that that also kept them at odds. Danny’s fanswere in love with his writing; Charlene’s fans were in love with
her
. Of this much he was certain.
And it was that adulation that kept him doing the interviews and the promotion, kept him in thespotlight, even when it meant having to report how many years he’d been sober, or having to answer thequestion regarding the possibility of wedding bells for him and Charlene in the near future, or whether thelatest split was for good, or if Charlene was ever going to star in a Danny Masters show or film, or whathe thought of Charlene’s latest movie, guest appearance, fashion magazine spread, etcetera—rather thanwhat he should be talking about: the
writing
. Adulation was worth having to suffer through strobe lightsand camera flashes and microscopes, right-wing evisceration of his political views and editorializing,left-wing evisceration for not getting more directly involved in “the cause,” and the occasional mentallyunbalanced fanatic who somehow managed to find out where he lived or what kind of car he drove. Looking over his shoulder whenever he walked along a public street had become habit. And that was thedouble-edged sword of fame. One minute he sought out the attention; the next minute he avoided it. If onlyhe could negotiate the whens and wheres of the spotlight on
his
terms. If only he could negotiate publicand private.
As long as they all stayed away from Ella, then they could have him. That was the deal he’d made
with himself and Frannie.
The cursor had begun mocking Danny yet again when his iPhone rang to the Gershwin tune of “How Long Has This Been Going On.” His pulse quickened when he saw Charlene Dumont’s photo (a sultry black-and-white tease from a
Harper’s BAZAAR
shoot) accompany the ringtone. A Pavlovian response.
He picked up the phone and touched the screen. “You know what I miss?” he said without evenbothering to say hello.
“What do you miss?” said Charlene in a way that indicated she knew this indulgent ritual all toowell.
“Landlines. I miss big, fat, ugly telephones with rotary dials and cords that could cut off the circulation in your finger if you wrapped them too tightly and ring so loud they would make you jump in your seat.”
“So get a vintage phone from the props department at the studio.”
“Yeah, but then I wouldn’t get to see your lovely face on my phone when you called.”
“This is your problem, Danny. Choices. You either have too many or none at all.”
Danny took another sip of cold coffee, made the same squinching face as before, and moved from his desk chair to the leather couch in his office. He leaned back and propped his feet on the coffee table. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?” he asked.
“Your birthday, of course. And I finally got to see
Exposed
.”
His stomach completed a somersault. “What did you think?”
“Please, honey. Did you really think for one second that I would find it anything less than brilliant?”
Actually, he did.
“Maybe you’re a little biased,” he said.
“You’re gonna get the Oscar this year. You know that, don’t you?”
He cringed. “Don’t! Every time someone says that, I look for the lightning bolt that’s going tostrike and kill me. I’m thinking about wearing rubber-soled shoes from now on.”
“Geezus, you’re more superstitious than a baseball player who wears the same socks withoutwashing them throughout the entire playoffs because he thinks the team’ll lose if he does.”
“So, what, you think I shouldn’t shower until the Oscar nominations come out?”
“Seriously, Danny,” said Charlene. “The film was terrific. The performances were out of thisworld. You and Paul and everyone did an amazing job.”
Danny couldn’t contain his smile. “Thanks. I’m glad you liked it.” He paused for a beat. “Did itmake you fall in love with me again?”
Charlene’s sigh gave him the answer he was hoping for.
“So how ’bout dinner tonight?” he asked. “Consider it your birthday gift to me. I’ll even pay.”
“I’m still in New York. Doing a benefit show tonight.”
He should’ve known this, he realized. And he knew she was irked that he didn’t.
“I’ll fly out and meet you.”
She sighed again, this one sounding more like she was tired, possibly of him. “Don’t. I’m on abreak from rehearsal, and I just wanted to tell you that I saw the film and loved it. It’s some of your bestwork. And wish you a happy birthday.” She paused for a beat. “Loving you is never the problem, Danny. You know that.”
He let the silence linger for a moment, not because he wanted to but because he needed a momentto compose himself. “Well, it was very sweet of you to call. Thanks.” The words came out stilted. “I’vegotta get back to work. I’m starting a new pilot. The TV show I was telling you about.”
“You breaking out into your usual cold sweat?”
“Feels even worse than usual because of all the excitement for
Exposed
. Between that and
Winters
, the goalposts got twice as high and moved back forty yards.”
“You’ll get over it. You always do,” she reminded him. “And let me know if there’s a part in it for
me.”
He held out the phone and looked at it, as if Charlene could see the look on his face and know itwas really meant for her, remembering when he used to do the same thing with a landline and thinking thegesture had more dramatic effect back then. “Are you kidding?” he asked. “Seriously, are you?”
“Oh, Danny,” she said, and he could almost see her batting her eyelashes, giving him the coy lookthat he could never resist.
“Don’t do this to me, Char. You know I’d write you a part in an instant if you asked. You alsoknow I have no plans to be upstaged by you anymore.”
“So our sweet moment is over?”
“You started it.”
“You know that whole wearing-rubber-soled-shoes-to-protect-you-from-a-lightning-strike is a myth, right?”
“You auditioning to be the next Mr. Wizard too?”
“OK, I gotta go,” said Charlene, her voice lacking affection. “Congratulations again. And happy birthday.”
“Bye, Charlene.” He clicked off the phone and tossed it on the couch, missing big, clunky telephone handles that made a satisfying
slam
.
He wanted a cigarette. He also, to his surprise, found himself wanting a drink. Those impulses had, for the most part, faded over the years. Rather, he had learned to live with them to the point that he hardly noticed them. But every now and again, that particular thirst would demand to be quenched, and he’d learned to be mindful of it, to talk himself through it until it passed. To quench it with a call to Ella or Paul, or smoke a cigarette instead, or walk around the studio lot. Anything but the bottle.
As if reading his mind at that moment, Ella called; his iPhone played some obnoxious song by
some pop star that she had insisted upon as her designated ringtone.
“I’m so sorry I can’t be there to celebrate with you, Daddy,” said Ella. He loved that she still called him “Daddy” from time to time.
“Not as sorry as I am,” he replied. Every year he spent his birthday with her, but this time she was on an overnight field trip at a marching band competition in Dallas.
“It’s a big one too. Forty-five, right?”
“That’s not so big.”
“Just don’t go start Botoxing or anything like that.” He could almost see her rolling her eyes in disgust.
“Guys Botox?”
“Well, aren’t you at that age where men start going off the deep end?”
“Who told you that?”
Ella didn’t answer.
“How’s Dallas?” he asked.
“Haven’t seen any of it. We’ve been practicing nonstop.”
“Well, good luck with your competition tonight, darlin’. I’m sure you’ll nail it.”
“If we can get the horns in sync, yeah. What are you gonna do for your birthday?”
“Probably watch a movie.”
“Don’t guilt me, Dad,” said Ella in a voice that sounded exactly like her mother.
“What makes you think I’m guilting you?” he replied, a touch annoyed, probably more at Frannie
than Ella.
“Just ’cause I’m not there doesn’t mean you should sit in a dark room by yourself. You have
friends. Go out to dinner with them. Go see a Laker game, or whatever sport is playing right now.”
“Maybe I will,” he said, almost believing it.
“Where’s Charlene?” she asked.
“Charlene’s in New York,” he said, deflated.
“Oh.”
“I miss you, El.”
“Me too. I’ll see you soon, Dad.”
Danny returned to his desk and downed the last of his cold coffee. He sat in front of his laptop, read the few lines of dialogue he’d written, and deleted all of them. Once again, the cursor winked at him coyly, in that same seductive, manipulative way as Charlene, like the sirens luring Odysseus and his fellow travelers to their doom. By the end of the day, sandwiched between phone-tagging his agent and back-to-back interviews to promote
Exposed
, he’d completed the equivalent of two good minutes of a one-hour show.