56
SUMMER 1975
It was as if a curse had been lifted from the house, because his father had been scheduled to fly for the next week. In the intervening days before going to New York, Kirk had called three times to apologize, but Lila hung up on him. He even sent a telegram saying he was sorry, that he was drunk and ran his mouth. But she tore it up. And on Wednesday they left for New York City.
They flew first class because it made Lila feel jet-setty. And using Kirk’s name she got their tickets for free.
He had been on planes before, but never first class, where the stewardess served them freshly cut roast beef from a cart, fancy vegetables, and curly fries. Lila even let him sip her champagne. She was nervous but in high spirits, insisting that he was her good luck charm.
They landed at Kennedy Airport and took a cab into Manhattan, where they checked into the Algonquin Hotel, which Lila said was a great old gathering place for theater people and writers. Because it was a convention weekend, their previously reserved room had mistakenly been double-booked, and the only available accommodation was the bridal suite. But the hotel said that they would not be charged the bridal suite rate. Lila rolled her eyes in exaggerated dismay and said, “Well, we’ll just have to make-do.”
Giggling, they went up with the bellhop and dropped off their things. The place was an elegant three-room complex with a large master bedroom with a king-size bed, a kitchenette, and a living room with a baby grand piano. It was overdone, she said, and Kirk wouldn’t have approved. But this was her big chance, so what the heck! Besides, Kirk wasn’t here.
Even before Harry Dobbs had called about the screen test, Kirk said that Lila was chasing white rabbits. But it was clear from his attack at the wedding how much he was threatened by her move toward independence. If she ever established herself and became financially independent, she said that she would divorce him.
The audition was scheduled for ten o’clock the next morning, so they walked around Central Park and down Fifth Avenue and over to West Forty-ninth Street where they toured the NBC studios, then took the elevator to the Rainbow Room. They ate dinner at the Brasserie, which Lila said was where lots of newlyweds came. By eight thirty they were back in their suite because Lila wanted to get a good night’s sleep so she’d be rested for the screen test. She showered in the large bathroom then changed into a long white nightgown. When she was through, he showered then came to bed in his T-shirt and underpants. When he opened the bathroom door, the place was dark. His heart sank because she was in bed with her back toward his side. He crawled under the covers.
“Good night,” she whispered over her shoulder.
Maybe it was a test, he told himself. Or maybe she really was too tired. He sidled up to her and whispered, “Good night,” looking for a sign. She rolled over and kissed him on the cheek, then turned back on her side away from him.
He lay beside her in the dark, feeling crushed. They had had such an exciting day, and now she rejected him. All he wanted was for her to hold him. To press herself against him, to rekindle the fire she had started. But she did not turn, and in a few minutes she was making feathery sleep-breathing sounds.
For maybe half an hour he lay awake listening to her. Listening to his heart click in his ears, kept awake not by hurt but by the anger gurgling in his blood.
The next morning Lila arose before him and was in the bathroom. When she emerged, she was dressed and ready to leave. She gave him a peck on the forehead. “Wish me luck.”
“Yeah, break a leg.”
“Thanks,” and she was gone.
He got up and took his medicine because his head was throbbing painfully.
The tryout was held someplace in Greenwich Village. Even if he could have joined her, she did not want him present in case it didn’t go well. That was just as well since his head hurt so badly that he went back to bed and slept until noon. He took another painkiller and went downstairs and got lunch in the restaurant. After that he walked up Broadway and wandered around until about two, then headed back to the room to wait for Lila. He felt miserable.
It was around four when she called the room. Her voice was flat, and her only message was: “I’m in the bar.”
He could barely breathe as he stumbled out of the room and made his way to the elevator, his heart pounding violently, fearing that he might throw up in front of the other passengers. But he didn’t. On the first floor he made his way across the lobby and to the bar, feeling faint.
Lila was alone at a rear table, a glass of dark liquor in her hand. Her face looked like a death mask. As he shuffled over to her he thought he might actually not make it, that he would pass out and crash onto the floor. But as he approached, her face opened up like a flower.
“I got it.” She threw her arms around his neck, and he did all he could not to burst into tears.
From the bar Harry Dobbs came over with his drink in hand, his face beaming. “You should’ve seen her,” he chortled. “She was terrific. She knocked the casting director off her ass. Be proud of your mom, son, she’s going places.” He guzzled down his drink and clunked it on their table. “Gotta go and let you two celebrate.” He slapped him on the shoulder and gave Lila a kiss. “Today is the first day of the rest of your life, so enjoy the ride, gorgeous.”
The waitress came over and he ordered a Roy Rogers. “So tell me about it.”
“Well,” she said, and told him all about the audition. About the young tyro actress named Jodie Foster who played a prostitute, how talented and pretty she was—a part Lila could have done were she fourteen herself. She told him how Martin Scorsese was there and how he came up after her reading to say that she was great. “They’re going to start shooting my scenes next week, would you believe?”
“Can I go?”
“Of course. You’re my good luck charm.”
He sipped the warmth from her eyes and felt his insides glow.
They took dinner in the dining room across the hall. Like the bar, the room was dim and furnished in dark wood and red leather with large gold-framed paintings on the walls. The waiters were dressed in tuxedoes. She ordered two appetizers, oysters Rockefeller and grilled tomatoes. He had a steak with fries and salad. Throughout the meal Lila was animated, looking happier than he had ever seen her.
As he sat across from her, he couldn’t help but think how beautiful she really was. As Harry Dobbs had once said, she had perfect facial architecture, a face with no bad angles—as if God had made her with His own hands. She was dressed in a beige pantsuit and a white blouse. Her hair was like sunglow.
“What’s it like to be you?” he asked.
“Now there’s a question I’ve not heard before.”
“I mean, what does it feel like to be so beautiful, to have people look at you like you’re a famous painting?”
“Wow. That’s very sweet of you, but I’m not sure how to answer that. But looks aren’t everything.”
“Still, it must be something else to be you.”
Ever since she was a child her face had unlocked doors. It was all there in her photo album—even in the early ads for facial soaps, hot chocolate, and peanut butter. Then winning a teenage beauty contest in Macon, which led to a national TV commercial for face cream. For years she had become known as “the Creamella Girl.” That was followed by her first movie role, an uncredited slave girl to Lex Barker in Tarzan and the Slave Girl, which got her a television appearance on Lassie back in the 1950s. Over the years she continued doing small parts, but nothing, she said, with the promise of Taxi Driver, which would give her three speaking scenes. Maybe this was the first of a thousand ships.