Breach of Promise Read online

  After thirty seconds Paula looked as if her mother had died. She was silent, her face draining of color in the fashion of an old ghost movie. Just before I asked what was wrong, her face transformed into an incandescent smile. Then the tears came.

  She said something and put the phone down.

  “That was Phyl,” she said. Phyl was Paula’s agent.

  “Good news?”

  “Look at me, honey,” she said. How could I not? She was in the grip of something. She put her hand on my arm and with her other hand grabbed Maddie’s fingers.

  “Antonio Troncatti wants me for his next film,” she said.

  The name, the news, hit me like a rolled-up Varietyacross the face. Antonio Troncatti was the director of the moment, the new anointed one. A thirty-five-year-old Italian whose first movie had been nominated for Best Foreign Film. His next project had been for TriStar, a portrait of Napoleon starring Sean Penn. It was a huge international hit. That caught everyone by surprise because it did not contain the action elements usually required for big foreign box office.

  The rumor now was he was in preproduction on a major thriller to be shot mostly in Europe. And every actor in Hollywood wanted to work with him.

  “Wow,” I said in a half whisper.

  “Wow!” Maddie screeched. She had no idea who Antonio Troncatti was, of course. She just wanted to be part of the fun.

  “I can’t believe this,” Paula said, her voice and face otherworldly.

  “How did he happen—”

  “To pick me? Phyl says he wanted an unknown for the role, but a certain look. I guess I have it.”

  “What about—” I nodded my head toward Maddie.

  “What do you mean?” Paula said. I could tell I’d just deflated her a little.

  “I mean, are you going to be in Europe, shooting?”

  “I don’t know, Mark,” she said sharply. “I don’t know anything yet. Can’t you just be happy for me right now?”

  I recovered quickly. “Yeah. Sure. Of course. You’re going to be a big star. You hear that, Maddie? Mommy’s going to be a big star!”

  “My heart is beautiful!” Maddie said.

  But my heart was not beautiful. To be perfectly frank, I was envious. Acting couples are that way. It’s a competitive business, and when your spouse gets the big break you have been hoping for yourself, it’s one of those good news/bad news things.

  I have to admit that, when we got married, I thought I was the real actor in the family. Paula was on a soap. Not a bad thing. The money is good, the work steady. But it’s like the minor leagues of media. I never wanted to be on a soap, just in films or a solid TV series.

  My unspoken plans were for me to get into feature films, starring roles, and Paula to follow along afterward. Maybe make her big splash in one of my own movies.

  Call it male pride. Ego soufflé. That’s the way it was. Paula could sense it, too, on the drive home. She gets quiet when she’s upset, and a little line forms in the flesh between her eyebrows. I call it the John Gruden line, after the Tampa Bay football coach whose sneer is now legendary among followers of the game.

  Maddie, happy in her car seat in the back of the Accord, looking at a picture book, ignored us.

  “When’s it supposed to start?” I asked.

  “I don’t know any of that yet.” Paula looked straight ahead. “Phyl will fill me in.”

  “Phyl you in? I get it.”

  Paula did not see the humor. Neither did I. I had done standup comedy for a while, on open mike nights, and I knew when a joke was lame. That was lame.

  “Troncatti,” I said.

  “What’s Troncatti?” Maddie asked from the rear.

  “An Italian pasta,” I said. “You make it with Alfredo sauce.”

  “Daddy’s joking, honey.” Paula turned around, protecting her child from the bad jokes of the driver. “Antonio Troncatti is a famous moviemaker. Mommy’s going to be in his movie.”

  “With sauce?” my daughter said.

  “Good call!” I slapped the steering wheel. “Alfredo sauce and pretentious dialogue.”

  Paula spun around to look at me. “What are you doing?”

  “What?”

  “Why are you putting him down like that?”

  “I’m just joking.”

  “It’s not funny.”

  Maddie said, “Not funny, Daddy.”

  “Look at your book,” I told Maddie. “Mommy and Daddy are talking.”

  “Talk, talk, talk,” Maddie said.

  We drove in silence along Ventura. It was crowded tonight, and I hit every red light. Each one was like a little slap in the face.

  Finally, I said, “Look, I’m sorry. All right? I want you to succeed. I really do. This is great news. I just feel, I don’t know—”

  “Jealous?”

  “Honest? A little.”

  Paula put her hand on my arm. Her hand was hot. “Mark, you’re a great actor. I really think that. I think you should be getting your break soon. I want it to happen for you. I know it will.”

  Back at the apartment I waited until Maddie was asleep before stirring up some hot chocolate for Paula and me. I took it to her with a big swirl of whipped cream on the top. She was watching a movie in the living room— All About Eve, one of her all-time favorites. She smiled as she took it and gave me the first sip.

  “You know, I like being a man,” I said.

  “And why is that?”

  “Because when I retain water, it’s in a canteen.”

  “Oh please.”

  “And a phone conversation takes thirty seconds, max.”

  “Very funny.”

  “But the thing I like most about it?”

  She looked at me.

  “I get to be married to you.”

  Two weeks later I had a knock-down-drag-out with Paula. She had officially signed on to do the film with Troncatti. There was still a part of me that hoped something would go wrong. Film cancelled. Change of mind on the casting. Selfish, I know, but I couldn’t help feeling it.

  When the contract was signed, the reality was like a refrigerator dropping on my foot. Paula was going to be doing interviews, preproduction promotion, media stuff. She had a hundred other things to do trying to get ready to go. One night in the apartment, she asked me to help her go over her list, see if she’d forgotten anything.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Maddie.”

  She gave me her signature roll of the eyeballs, which only ticked me off.

  “I mean it,” I said. “You’re going to be in Europe for what? Four months?”

  “Give or take,” she said.

  “And when are you going to see your daughter?”

  “Mark,” she said, pulling off her glasses—they were blackframed and she never wore them in public, but when she pulled them off she seemed like my fifth-grade teacher about to chastise me—“four months is not a big deal.”

  “To you maybe, but what about Maddie?”

  “Bring her over.”

  “Right. And meanwhile I quit auditioning.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  The way she said it entered my pores like an arctic wind. She might as well have said, Your career isn’t exactly taking off, like mine, and you haven’t had a paying gig in eight months, so how can it be wrong to have you fly over where I’ll be making myself into a legend?

  “That’s just like you all of a sudden,” I said. “You’re the center of the universe now.”

  “Maybe I am. Maybe it’s my time.”

  “You sound like George Segal in Look Who’s Talking.

  “Huh?”

  “When he cheats on Kirstie Alley and tells her, ‘I’m going through a selfish phase.’”

  “That is so mean.”

  “Comparing you to George Segal?” I can be nasty when I want to be.

  “You don’t want me to succeed, do you?”

  At that precise moment I was not sure if I did. I could feel her star ascending like it was launched by some heavenly Cape Canaveral, while I sat here back on earth, a boulder in Death Valley.

  I did want her to succeed. Part of me was so proud of her. She was going to become a major star, I had always believed that. And she was my wife.I never felt so good as when I walked into a party with Paula on my arm. Everyone would stop what they were doing and just stare—at her—and then they’d look over at me, thinking Who is that lucky guy?

  But I also didn’t want her to go away. And I yelled at her about it.

  Paula yelled back. She had a good, strong voice. Great for theater work.

  My voice is stronger, however, and I used it. Paula got so mad she started to cry and took off one of her shoes and threw it at me as hard as she could. She missed and I laughed. (To this day I am sorry about that. It was a cruel and ugly thing to do, and I did it because I wanted to win.That was all that mattered.)

  And then Maddie came into the kitchen where World War III was commencing.

  “Guys!” Maddie said emphatically, “this is not what you do!”

  We looked at Maddie. I looked at Paula. Paula looked at me. Then Paula started to laugh. And I started to laugh. Maddie put her hands on her hips and said, “This is not funny.”

  2 “Mark, I’ve been thinking.”

  Paula and I were in bed. I’d just finished getting Maddie settled by letting her read Dr. Seuss to me. I chose Marvin K. Mooney Will You Please Go Now!All the way through I was thinking about Paula. She would be going soon.

  “Good,” I said. “A woman who thinks is very sexy.” “Not about that.”

  “Can I change your way of thinking?”

  “Will you listen?”

  “I’m listening.” I folded my hands on my stomach and looked

  at the ceiling. It had a brown water spot in the corner. Funny, but

  I hadn’t noticed it before. Did it come after the last rains? “It’s about you and Maddie.”

  “What about me and Maddie?”

  “I think maybe we can work something out while I’m gone. To

  help.”

  “Help?”

  “You know.”

  I got up on one elbow, looked at Paula. “No, I don’t know.” Paula sighed. “About taking care of her.”

  “What, you’re saying I can’t handle the job?”

  “You said so yourself.”

  “When?”

  “When you were bagging on me going to Europe. All that about

  your career suffering.”

  “What are you, an elephant? Never forget?”

  “It was three days ago. It’s not like last year.”

  “Why are you bringing this up now?”

  “Duh, because I’m about to leave.”

  “Forget about it. We went through this.”

  “No, you went through this.”

  “Then you said okay.”

  “When did I say okay?”

  “When you didn’t say anything. That was a silent okay.” She shook her head. “This is starting to sound like a bad Seinfeld script. I’m telling you I’ve got an idea. You want to hear it, or do you want to bat around lines?”

  With a hand to her shoulder, I said, “Or something else?”

  She pulled away from me. “Stop it. I’m serious. I’ve been talking to Mom and she’s willing to come out here.”

  The dreaded Mword. “You want your mother to come out here for the entire time you’re shooting?”

  “She says she doesn’t mind. She’ll lease a house.”

  “A house?

  “That’s not a problem.”

  “I guess not. But I’ve got a problem.”

  “Mark, you—”

  “No.” I rolled off the bed. My feet hit the floor like asphalt pounders. “I don’t want your mom taking care of Maddie.”

  “It’s only to help, while you’re—”

  “It won’t stay just helping. Your mom will try to take more and more—”

  “Maddie will still live here.”

  “Well, thank you.”

  “This is for Maddie.”

  “You don’t think I can do this? Take care of my own daughter by myself?”

  When Paula didn’t say anything I got mad. “I don’t want your mom within five states of this apartment.”

  Paula got up, so she could face me. Fighter to fighter. “That is so unfair. She is Maddie’s grandmother.”

  “And about as fond of me as, what? A rash? A festering boil?”

  “Stop.”

  “That’s what she thinks.”

  “You won’t give her a chance.”

  I pounded my chest with an open hand. King Kong. “What chance has she ever given me? Huh? She thinks her precious daughter got hooked up with a loser!”

  Before Paula could say anything we heard a pounding on the wall, coming from Maddie’s room. And then her voice, muffled but emphatic: “Hey, some people are trying to sleep around here.”

  Now that shouldhave been funny. Coming from a five-year-old with perfect timing. But I didn’t so much as smile. Neither did Paula. We let a chill settle between us, silent and misty.

  “Paula?”

  “What.”

  “Don’t worry about Maddie and me.”

  She did not reply.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “What now?”

  “Remember when we went to see Doctor Zhivago? At the Dome?”

  “Yes.”

  “Remember the part where Lara’s leaving the hospital? After Zhivago’s fallen in love with her? And the cart pulls out and watching it go, you can see on his face he thinks he’ll never see her again?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he walks back in and that yellow flower is starting to die—”

  “I remember, yes. What about it?”

  “That’s how I feel right now.”

  I felt the bed move, and then she was up against me, her breath on my face. “Dope, this isn’t a movie. I’m just shooting one, okay?”

  “Don’t make me go to Russia looking for you.”

  “Deal,” she said.

  3

  And then, sooner than I could imagine, it was time for Paula to go make her movie. We—Maddie and I—did not take Paula to the airport. The studio sent a driver around. For some reason that made me feel like a forgotten man. But I kept a smile on my face, for Maddie’s sake.

  Paula kissed and hugged us. Maddie cried a little, but tried to be brave. Paula promised to phone her a lot.

  The last thing Paula said to me, after a final kiss, was, “Be good.”

  In a morbid, ugly, horror movie sort of way, that isfunny.

  After Paula left, Maddie was very clingy. She had hold of my jeans and wouldn’t let go. I walked around the apartment with this five-year-old growth on my leg.

  “Don’t go away, Daddy,” Maddie kept saying.

  “No, cupcake,” I said. “I’m here. I just have to go to a meeting this afternoon.”

  “No!”

  “Honey, it’s for my work. Mrs. Williams is going to watch you.”

  She pulled my jeans hard. “No! I wanna go with you.”

  “It’ll be boring. I’m going to have to wait around and—”

  “I can color.”

  How could I argue with that? We packed up a couple of her coloring books—SpongeBob SquarePants and Powerpuff Girls— and hopped in my Accord for the ride to CBS on Radford.

  The gate guard, a skinny old guy in a dark jacket (even though it must have been ninety outside), gave Maddie a scowl as I checked in.

  “She’s not on the list,” the guard said, looking at his clipboard like it was incriminating evidence.

  Before I could open my mouth, Maddie said, “That’s my daddy!” She had a look on her face that was not to be trifled with.

  I smiled sheepishly at the guard. Who broke out into a toothy grin. “Go on,” he said. Maddie the charmer had done it again.

  My audition was in a production office next to Studio C. In the reception area, in between potted plants and ostentatious urns, sat about half a dozen guys roughly my age.

  The competition.

  I recognized one of the guys from my acting class, Steve Monet (pronounced like the painter). He gave me a half smile and wave, the kind that said, I know you’re up for this, old buddy, but I sure hope you drool during the reading.

  The receptionist handed me my “sides,” the two pages of dialogue I would be reading in order to land this national spot for Colgate. I sat in the one empty chair, put Maddie on the floor in front of me, and started reading the lines.

  “That’s pretty desperate,” Steve said.

  “Huh?”

  “Bringing your little girl to the audition. Going for the sympathy factor?”

  “Funny.” I went back to my sides.

  “I mean, you really going to bring her in with you?”

  “She wanted to come with me.”

  “Oh. That’s right.”

  “That’s right what?

  “I read about Paula. She’s doing the Troncatti film.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Making you Mr. Mom?”

  “Something like that. Hey.” I held up the pages, a signal that I needed to get back to business.

  “Troncatti’s a wild man,” Steve said. His half smile slid from one side of his face to the other.

  That was too much. He was playing with my head, I was sure, because he wanted me to flub the audition. But his ploy worked. My mind created a picture of Paula and Troncatti, laughing it up on the set, having a good old time. Too good?

  Snap out of it. This is Paula’s break. Yours is coming. Read the lines.

  “What’s the kid’s name?” Steve asked.

  “You mind?” I said. “I want to get ready.”

  “Take it easy, man.”

  Maddie looked at him. “My name is Madeleine Erica Gillen and I’m five years old.”

  “Whoa,” Steve said, throwing up his hands in mock surrender.

  Maddie went back to coloring Powerpuff Girls.

  When my turn came to read, Maddie wanted to go in with me. I got a cold eye from the casting director, a man, and a tepid smile from the producer, a woman.

  “Nice touch,” the producer said.

  I read my lines to the camera and got the traditional “We’ll call you” from the casting director. It sounded like a door closing and being locked from the inside.

  Actors are paranoid, but then again, everyone is out to get us.

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