Suddenly Jack looked up at me. “Hey, would you mind shutting that fucking thing off,” he said.
“Sí, señor.”
“Oh, it’s you. Sorry about that. I’m at the end of my… I’m just… I’m going to lose the fucking movie. My first real lead and it’s all going to shit.”
I nodded but I couldn’t even fake sympathy. Try working sixty hours a week for four dollars an hour like Paco, try living on a dollar a day in Havana. But although I was unable to give him a simulacrum of concern, I hadn’t meant to look contemptuous. Jack smiled. “Yeah, I know what you’re thinking: Spoiled Hollywood motherfucker, doesn’t know a goddamn thing about the real world. Yeah? Something like that.”
I shook my head.
“Listen, I know about the real world. I worked hard to get where I am today. Fucking hard. Thousands of auditions. Not hundreds, fucking thousands. You know, I lost out on one of the leads on Battlestar Galactica by a whisker. Gave it to a goddamn Brit. Since when have there ever been Brits in outer space? TV, I know, but steady work, look at Katee Sackhoff, two shows now. Look at me, if Gunmetal fails again I’ll have nothing. Empty slate until the summer. That’s an eon in Hollywood, I might as well be in a fucking coma.”
“Who are you talking to? Are you on the cell phone?” Paul yelled down the stairs.
“See? Hear his voice? He’s shitting himself. It’s not just about the money. It’s a house of cards. This movie falls apart, what’s Plan B? There is no Plan B. And then there’s the strike. Fucking writers. And then our guild goes out. That’s a year. And there’s a whole new crop of young actors up for your part. I should be in the fucking Cruise war movie. I can do an accent.”
“Get off the phone, Jack! Don’t discuss this with anyone. We don’t know what’s happening yet.”
Jack walked to the bottom of the stairs. “I’m not on the fucking phone, you dick! Ok?”
“Then who are you talking to?” Paul shouted.
“Nobody. Ok?”
Nobody. That summed it up. But somehow it wasn’t so bad. Jack had a twinkle in his eye as he spoke, as if he knew he was giving a performance, hamming it up even for the maid.
“What did you say?” Paul shouted again.
“I’m not talking to anyone,” Jack replied, and this time he actually winked at me.
“Good. We don’t know anything. If I can’t get CAA, I’ll call Danny Tucker at Universal,” Paul yelled back.
“Do that. I’m dropping a load here. And you’re wrong, I’m glad we’re not in L.A., pressure would be killing me. Oh, and by the fucking way, isn’t that your job, to take the pressure off me?” Jack yelled.
“Fuck off to your house, I didn’t tell you to come over. Shit, shut up, I just got through to his secretary,” Paul shouted and closed a bedroom door.
Jack stood at the bottom of the stairs, teasing his hair.
I turned on the vacuum and again began cleaning the study, lifting the throw rugs and running the old machine underneath them. Jack watched me for a second, walked over, and pulled the plug out of the wall.
“My head is killing me. Can you possibly do that with a sweep or a brush or something, or can you come back tomorrow?”
“Sí, señor,” I said.
I put the vacuum in the downstairs closet and began walking to the front door.
Jack came after me, stopped me with a hand under my elbow. “No, no, wait, today is fine, but please, no noise. And I’m really sorry about all the swearing. Lot of pressure on us at the moment, you know. I lost this movie once before. If it falls apart now, I mean, I don’t know.”
“Ok,” I said.
I rooted around under the stairs for a broom and found one that looked like a prop from a movie set. The bristles were one big useless wedge. Jack went into the kitchen to get a drink. I looked at my watch. It was eleven o’clock. I was making good time. After Paul’s, Jack’s house was the last on my route. Apparently, on a normal day, I’d go down the hill and start cleaning some of the homes in lower Fairview and finish up by cleaning the shops on Pearl Street. But we hadn’t had a normal day yet and Esteban wanted us to stay away from Fairview while he found out if the INS was still lurking.
It meant that after Jack’s I would have the afternoon free to see Mrs. Cooper-the second interview subject on Ricky’s list.
I was nearly finished sweeping when Jack came back into the living room, sat on Paul’s sofa, and flipped on the TV. He was sipping a pink foaming beverage and muttering to himself, “Bastards, all the luck. That bald fucker.”
The identity of the bald fucker was not immediately obvious but when a saturnine man with receding hair appeared at the front door I wondered if I was about to see some real fireworks.
“Can you get the door… uh, María?” Jack said.
I went to the door, opened it, and the man pushed past. “I’m expected,” he said. Jack looked up but did not seem particularly enthused.
“Hey, Jack, how ya doing? How’s the vacation going?” the man said.
“Bob, Bob, Bob, I’m screwed, old buddy.”
Bob sat in the chair opposite Jack. “You seem upset. What’s the matter?”
“Uhh, Paul got this urgent call this morning from Bill Geiss at CAA. Focus is pulling the movie from spring. Earliest we can roll now is fall-if it’s going to roll at all. I don’t know what the fuck is going on.”
“What movie is this?”
“The only movie, Gunmetal. Man, I had all my eggs in that Titanic. Jesus. Turned down a coupla things. Supposed to be in L.A. for rehearsals in two weeks. And of course Greengrass is in Fiji or somewhere, can’t be reached.”
Bob nodded. “What does Paul say?”
“He doesn’t think it’s dead. He’s trying to get information. Tell you, this fucking project has been jinxed from the start. The things I’ve been through. You’ve no idea. The retooling. The re-fucking-imagining. Halo and Doom killed the original video game concept. Now it’s about a nineteenth-century Brit thrown into the future.”
“Sounds promising.”
“Yeah, it does. Originally it was a Jude Law vehicle, about a million fucking years ago.”
“Is it the writers’ strike? Those bastards are lucky we allow them in the building. In Selznick’s day he’d have fired the lot of them.”
“No. Nothing to do with the writers, it’s something else, I don’t know what’s going on.”
Bob smiled reassuringly. “Look, don’t get yourself worked up. You don’t know anything yet.”
Jack shook his head. “I don’t need to know. I’m jinxed, man. I could’ve had Colin Farrell’s role in Minority Report. Missed that by a whisker. That was a star-making vehicle, Christ. Me and Cruise for real, not just ‘Here’s your coffee, sir,’ in MI3. Would have buddied up. Jesus, I’d’ve let him convert me, I swear to God.”
“You should watch that tape on You Tube, you have to be certifiable,” Bob said with a chuckle.
“Yeah, insane all the way to the bank. In Hollywood they’re third only to the gays and Jews. No offense, Bob.”
Bob smiled. “None taken. I’ve heard worse. I worked with Peckinpah.”
“Really. What was the project?”
Bob shook his head. “The reason I bought a house here was to get away from the bullshit and shop talk.”
“Sorry, yeah, me too. Yeah, you’re right. You’re right. Let’s talk about something else. When did you get in?”
“Last night.”
“From L.A.?”
Bob turned to look at me. “Can she be trusted?”
Jack smiled. “María? Me and María go way back. Don’t be fooled. She’s not a maid, she’s remaking that Ally Sheedy movie, this is her method. Ain’t that right, María?”