Secrets (8 page)

The atmosphere was somber, no one said hello to her that day. Everyone knew what was coming. Word had gotten out. The victims had been warned. And Jane had to fight back tears when the director spoke to her. He described the scene, the carnage afterwards, and made no mention of what he was doing to her, in real life. That he was taking a role from her that she had cherished for ten years. In fact, this was the first day of her eleventh season on the show. Her first day and her last. She didn't even want to think back to when it all began. She couldn't bear the thought of it.

She went to her dressing room upstairs, and packed her things into the suitcase she'd brought. Four more black wigs, a sweater, a sweat suit and a pair of shorts to wear between scenes sometimes. She had left a pair of slippers there, and dozens of little jars of makeup, a dozen bottles of nail polish. She packed it all while praying she could do the last scene without getting hysterical. She knew what a shock the scene was going to be to the audience, and like Lou, she thought the director was making a big mistake. And word was out, by Christmas, all the old faces would be gone.

The stand-ins were in place while the light men worked when she got downstairs. They were being used so the lights could be adjusted properly, and suddenly Jane envied them. She would have loved to stay on as one of them, as anything ' she felt as though she were leaving home for the first time. It had been easier leaving Buffalo than it would be leaving this show.

There were twenty-five or thirty people around, and the walls of the set were being slid into place, and it seemed an eternity before the warning bells sounded for the last time, the air conditioning was turned off to eliminate the noise, and the sign flashed on to tell them they were on the air.

The scene was even more devastating than Jane had feared, and as they shot her face in the fatal car crash that would end her career, her tears and sobs were genuine, as was her last ghastly scream. Jane fainted as they went off the air.

The director had disappeared when the rest of the cast helped her to her dressing room. And there was no cast party for them. There were tearful good-byes, last hugs and final promises to stay in touch, as Jane drove the Mercedes wagon slowly off the lot for the last time, crying all the way home, and trying to concoct a suitably awful hospital story for her family to justify the way she looked when she got home. Lou's flowers were waiting for her there, and mercifully all the kids came home late from school. Jason was living at UC Santa Barbara, and the girls had hockey practice that day. Even Jack gave her a break. He called to say he had an unexpected meeting to attend and he wouldn't be home till nine.

She lay on her bed and cried for hours, and never even answered the phone that night. There was no one she wanted to talk to. Her life on Our Secret Sorrows was a thing of the past, her career was over at last, just as Jack had wanted so long ago, and life looked bleak to her as it stretched ahead. Bleaker than it ever had before. And mercifully, she was asleep, still wearing her clothes, when Jack came home that night. And having had too much to drink, he passed out before he had a chance to begin the nightly sex ritual with his wife. He left her alone, dressed, heartbroken, and exhausted by the rigors of the day. He had no idea what she'd been through, what she'd done for the last ten years, or even who she was.

Bill Warwick was tired by four o'clock in the afternoon, after waiting on table all day at Mike's. There was a lull, with the only customers sitting at the bar, or playing pool, and he was chatting with Adam when the phone rang on the bar.

It's for you. Bill looked surprised as Adam handed him the phone, and suddenly wondered if it was Sandy. He couldn't remember whether or not he had told her he'd be working there. And he'd been worried about her all day. He wondered where she was, and how stoned she was. But it wasn't Sandy. It was Harry, his agent.

Hi, kid.

How'd you find me here?

Your answering service gave me this number. Where are you? He'd forgotten he'd left the number with the service after all.

I'm working, for a change. I'm waiting table at my favorite bar.

Tell them you just quit.

Any particular reason? A starring role in a movie perhaps? He was kidding as he sat down at the bar.

Would you settle for Mel Wechsler's new series? There was a pause as he gloated silently at his end, and Bill stared into space, wondering if it was only leading up to another disappointment. He's casting for it now, and it's going to be a biggie. A real hot one. I heard about it last week, and heard he was looking for a guy about your age. We sent him your reel, and he wants to see you.

Bill whistled and looked at Adam with a grin.

Think I have a chance? He didn't dare hope, he had built so many castles in the air, and they had all fallen at his feet like so much sand. But maybe this time ' that was the beauty of the business. There was always hope, always another chance, always tomorrow.

I think you have a good chance. He wants to see you at ten tomorrow morning, and I have a copy of the script. I want you to read it tonight. And, baby, you're going to love it. He would have loved a dog food commercial at that precise moment, but a Mel Wechsler series was too much to hope for. Can you come by the office and pick it up?

I'm working till ten. Can I pick it up at the house?

I'll drop it off at your place on my way home. And I want you to promise me you'll read it. I don't give a damn what Sandy pulls on you tonight, or if she OD's. Lock yourself in the bathroom and read it.

I'll read it, I'll read it. Believe me, you don't have to beg.

Good. And call me after you see him.

You got it. He hung up with a boyish grin, and looked pleased with himself as Adam smiled.

Something new?

That was my agent.

I figured.

He didn't even dare tell his friend about the Wechsler series they were casting. He didn't want to do anything to jeopardize his chance. Hell, maybe one of the guys at the bar would overhear and want to try out for it too, and he didn't want to lose the part. He felt as though he were walking on air for the next six hours, and he wasn't even tired when he got home at eleven that night. There was a moment of dread as he opened the door, fearing that Sandy might be in bad shape, and would cause a scene. He just wanted to be left alone to read the script Harry had left in the mailbox for him. It was there, just as he'd promised it would be. And the cottage was empty when Bill walked in, except for Bernie, the Saint Bernard, waiting for him and the scraps he had brought home from Mike's. He let him out in the garden, put the scraps in his bowl, and helped himself to a beer from the fridge before sitting down with the script. He was still worried about Sandy, but it was a relief not to find her at home. He just didn't want to have to deal with her problems. Not tonight. He wanted to read the script, and prepare for his meeting with Mel Wechsler the next day.

It was one o'clock when he finished the script, and his heart was racing he was so excited. It was the best part he'd ever read, and it was tailor made for him. He knew he could do a hell of a job, if he could just convince Wechsler of that. He couldn't sleep when he got to bed. He just lay there thinking of the script, and the kind of series it would be. Just thinking about it made him want it so badly he could taste it. It was four o'clock when he rolled over in bed, still half awake, and he thought he heard a noise outside, and figured it was Sandy. But it wasn't. It was probably a raccoon, foraging for something to eat in the garbage cans. Sandy never came home that night, and he was half relieved and half worried about her as he shaved the next morning. Life was a hell of a lot simpler without her, but that was sad too. He remembered what they had once shared, and thought of what it could have been like, if they had ever had a chance at a real marriage. He wondered if they ever had, or if the relationship had been doomed from the beginning. He hadn't wanted to believe it then. He still remembered their honeymoon at the Mauna Kea in Hawaii, and how sweet she had been to him. She was always sweet to him, but that wasn't enough anymore. It didn't compensate for the agony she caused him, worrying about her day and night. But he couldn't afford to think about that now, neither the good times, nor the bad. He had to concentrate his whole being on his meeting with Mel Wechsler. That was all he could think of now.

He waited for the bus, thinking of the script again, and the trip to Wechsler's offices in Burbank didn't seem long at all. He was so excited he could barely breathe as he walked onto the lot, and gave the guard his name. He was expected and they told him which building to go to. He walked across the lot, and into a building, down a long hall, and into an anteroom with four secretaries in it and a wall of books and paintings. He gave the nearest secretary his name, and was told to take a seat, and he suddenly wondered why he had come. He would never get the part. It was just too big a break. And he probably wasn't ready for it.

Mr. Warwick. They announced his name just as he was deciding that he should probably never have come, and he stood up, feeling like a small boy waiting to go into the principal's office, but his fears began to dissolve as he was ushered into Mel Wechsler's inner sanctum. He reached across his desk with an outstretched hand and a warm smile, his brilliant blue eyes taking in every inch of Bill Warwick.

Hello, Bill. Thank you for coming. Bill wondered briefly if he was kidding. He would have walked over ground glass and rusty nails to get to this meeting. I like your reel.

Thank you. He felt suddenly tongue-tied and very frightened, and he couldn't think of what to say, but Mel took care of it for him.

Have you read the script?

I have. Bill's eyes came to life, and he smiled a smile that would have melted a million women's hearts. It was precisely the look Mel wanted for Sabina's son on the show. The female lead in Manhattan was going to be the head of a corporation, aided by her son, detested by her daughter, adored by her lover and colleague, an older actor, a role Mel hoped to offer to Zack Taylor. And the other strong woman's role would go to the sister of the lead, a woman who has no interest in the corporation, at first, and then eventually fights her sister for it, her children, and her lover. It was a story of power struggles, and the inner wars of a corporation, led by strong, greedy, glamorous people. And Mel could see Bill perfectly as Sabina's son. The script called for a man in his late twenties, and Bill looked close enough.

I loved it. Bill's eyes shone with sincerity as he said it. There's a lot of meat in all the roles, and particularly the one I liked. He beamed like a little kid, and felt shy in the gaze of Mel Wechsler. It was like seeing the Wizard of Oz, knowing how powerful he was with the networks, and how successful with all his shows.

I'm glad. We love it too. I think it's going to be the biggest show on any of the networks next fall. We want to start shooting in December. Bill stared at him as though listening to God, and afterwards felt stupid for not having said more, but he couldn't think of a thing to say to him. He just kept thinking of the show and how badly he wanted to be on it. How would that work with your schedule?

Uh ' my schedule?' His mind went blank. What schedule? Working at Mike's, or Dating Game? Or bailing Sandy out of jail? There was that too. I ' uh ' fine ' I don't have any commitments at the moment. It was like being nine years old and he could have kicked himself for being so tongue-tied. I'm fairly free, in fact, at the moment.

Mel Wechsler smiled, the brilliant blue eyes taking all of him in. He was young and nervous but he liked him. He had seen what he was capable of on his reel, and he was pleased. He didn't want any half-baked actors on this show. He wanted only the best for Manhattan. And he thought Bill was. He was handsome, sexy, young, and a damn fine actor. You're good, Bill. Very good. He mentioned the bits that had pleased him most. He had also seen him in a movie made for TV the year before. It had been cheaply made and poorly directed, but Warwick's performance had been flawless.

Thank you. I haven't had as much opportunity to show my stuff as I'd like. I've been doing mostly commercials lately.

Everyone goes through it. Mel smiled. This is a tough business. How long have you been at it?

Ten years. It seemed amazing even to him. Ten long years of auditions and minor successes and failures, summer stock and commercials, and any part he could get as long as it didn't sacrifice his professional integrity. It had been a long hard climb, but even as he sat here, in Mel Wechsler's office, it suddenly didn't seem all that long. And it was worth it.

That's a respectable length of time.

I went to UCLA and majored in drama before that.

And you're ' ? He was fishing for his age, most actors didn't tell the truth, but he was young enough that he might. In any case, he looked the right age for the part, and that was all that really mattered to him.

Thirty-two.

Perfect. Eloise Martin's son, Phillip, is twenty-eight, possibly twenty-seven. We haven't quite pinned it down yet, but thereabouts. That's fine for you. It also depended on how old Sabina was willing to be in the role, if she took the part, but he figured to have her play pretty close to her age. You also look the part. There are going to be a lot of women in love with you once we're on the air, teen-agers, grandmothers, women your own age. There will be the usual madness, or maybe even more so. Posters, pinups, press coverage, God knows what else in this case. You're going to be a big star after this, Bill. He wondered if that meant he had the part, and he held his breath as he waited. I take it you're unencumbered. Publicly, in any case. Mel had made inquiries, and he liked what he heard. He was clean-cut, hardworking, and well liked by almost all the directors he worked for. Mel Wechsler didn't like drugs, dropouts, or headaches with his cast. He didn't like people showing up late for work, staggering around the set drunk, or screwing everything in sight, so that it interfered with shooting schedules and people's attitudes once they were on the screen. He ran a tight set, and he intended to keep it that way for Manhattan. You're not married, are you, Bill?