“Are you serious?” he said.
I went to the restaurant door and opened it, and I was really astonished. Really surprised to see again the sand and grass beyond. I closed the door and looked at the workman’s face. It was almost maniacal with glee as if he had arranged this trip for me. As if he were some sort of God and I had asked him “Is life serious?” and that’s why he had answered me, “Are you serious?”
I walked Janelle to the sound stage where she was shooting and she said to me, “They’re so obviously fake. How could they fool you?”
“They didn’t fool me,” I said.
“But you so obviously expected them to be real,” Janelle said. “I watched your face as you opened the doors. And I know that the restaurant fooled you.”
She gave my arm a playful tug.
“You really shouldn’t be let out alone,” she said. “You’re so dumb.”
And I had to agree. But it wasn’t so much that I believed. It wasn’t that really.‘ What bothered me was that I had wanted to believe that there was something beyond those doors. That I could not accept the obvious fact that behind those painted sets was nothing. That I really thought I was a magician. When I opened those doors, real rooms would appear and real people. Even the restaurant. Just before I opened the door, I saw in my mind red tablecloths and dark wine bottles and people standing silently waiting to be seated. I was really surprised when there was nothing there.
I realized it had been some kind of aberration that had made me open those doors, and yet I was glad I had done so.
I didn’t mind Janelle laughing at me and I didn’t mind working with that crazy actor. God, I had just wanted to be sure; and if I had not opened those doors, I would have always wondered.
Chapter 42
Osano came to LA for a movie deal and called me to have dinner. I brought Janelle along because she was dying to meet him. When dinner was over and we were having our coffee, Janelle tried to thaw me out about my wife. I shrugged her off.
“You never talk about that, do you?” she said.
I didn’t answer. She kept on. She was a little flushed with wine and a little uncomfortable that I had brought Osano with me. She became angry. “You never talk about your wife because you think that’s dishonorable.”
I still didn’t say anything.
“You still have a good opinion of yourself, don’t you?” Janelle said. She was now very coldly furious.
Osano was smiling a little, and just to smooth things over he played the famous brilliant writer role, caricaturing it ever so slightly. He said, “He never talks about being an orphan too. All adults are orphans really. We all lose our parents when we grow into adulthood.”
Janelle was instantly interested. She had told me she admired Osano’s mind and his books. She said, “I think that’s brilliant. And it’s true.”
“It’s full of shit,” I said. “If you’re both going to use language to communicate, use words for their meaning. An orphan is a child who grows up without parents and many times without any blood relationships in the world. An adult is not an orphan. He’s a fucking prick who’s got no use for his mother and father because they are a pain in the ass and he doesn’t need them anymore.”
There was an awkward silence, and then Osano said, “You’re right, but also you don’t want to share your special status with everybody.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I said. Then I turned to Janelle. “You and your girlfriends call each other ‘sister.’ Sisters mean female children born of the same parents who have usually shared the same traumatic experiences of childhood, who have imprints of their same experiences in their memory banks. That’s what a sister is, good, bad or indifferent. When you call a girlfriend ‘sister,’ you’re both full of shit.”
Osano said, “I’m getting divorced again. More alimony. One thing, I’ll never marry again. I’ve run out of alimony money.”
I laughed with him. “Don’t say that. You’re the institution of marriage’s last hope.”
Janelle lifted her head and said, “No, Merlyn. You are.”
We all laughed at that, and then I said I didn’t want to go to a movie. I was too tired.
“Oh, hell,” Janelle said. “Let’s go for a drink at Pips and play some backgammon. We can teach Osano.”
“Why don’t you two go?” I said coolly. “I’ll go back to the hotel and get some sleep.”
Osano was watching me with a sad smile on his face. He didn’t say anything. Janelle was staring at me as if daring me to say it again. I made my voice as cold and loveless as possible. And yet understanding. Very deliberately I said, “Look, really I don’t mind. No kidding. You two are my best friends, but I really feel like just going to sleep. Osano, be a gentleman and take my place.” I said this very straight-faced.
Osano guessed right away I was jealous of him. “Whatever you say, Merlyn,” he said. And he didn’t give a shit about what I felt. He thought I was acting like a jerk. And I knew he would take Janelle to Pips and take her home and screw her and not give me another thought. As far as he was concerned, it was none of my business.
But Janelle shook her head. “Don’t be silly. I’ll go home in my car and you two can do what you want.”
I could see what she was thinking. Two male chauvinistic pigs trying to divvy her up. But she also knew that if she went with Osano, it would give me the excuse never to see her again. And I guess I knew what I was doing. I was looking for a reason really to hate her, and if she went with Osano, I could do it and be rid of her.
Finally Janelle went back to the hotel with me. But I could feel her coldness, though our bodies were warm against each other. A little later she moved away, and as I fell asleep, I could hear the rustle of the springs as she left our bed. I murmured drowsily, “Janelle, Janelle.”
Chapter 43
JANELLE
I'm a good person. I don’t care what anybody thinks, I’m a good person. All my life the men I really loved always put me down, and they put me down for what they said they loved in me. But they never accepted the fact I could be interested in other human beings, not just them. That’s what screws everything up. They fall in love with me at first and then they want me to become something else. Even the great love of my life, that son of a bitch, Merlyn. He was worse than any of them. But he was the best too. He understood me. He was the best man I ever met and I really loved him and he really loved me. And he tried as hard as he could. And I tried as hard as I could. But we could never beat that masculine thing. If I even liked another man, he got sick. I could see that sick look on his face. Sure, I couldn’t stand it if he even got into an interesting conversation with another woman. So what? But he was smarter than I was. He covered up. When I was around, he never paid any attention to other women even though they did to him. I wasn’t that smart or maybe I felt it was too phony. And what he did was phony. But it worked. It made me love him more. And my being honest made him love me less.
I loved him because he was so smart in almost everything. Except women. He was really dumb about women. And he was dumb about me. Maybe not dumb, just that he could live only with illusions. He said that to me once and he said that I should be a better actress, that I should give him a better illusion that I loved him. I really loved him, but he said that Wasn’t as important as the illusion that I loved him. And I understood that and I tried. But the more I loved him the less I could do it. I wanted him to love the true me. Maybe nobody can love the true me or the true you or the true it. That’s the truth-nobody can love truth. And yet I can’t live without trying to be true to what I really am. Sure I lie, but only when it’s important, and later, when I think the time is right, I always admit I told a lie. And that screws it up.