Faith didn't need Corny's long pause to indicate emphasis. Her voice had underlined the words sufficiently. It would be on the final for sure.
“It wasn't?" she asked obediently.
“No, she was at a spa, if you know what I mean.”
Faith was pretty sure she didn't mean sixteen glasses of water a day and a seaweed wrap. "Was it alcohol or drugs, or did she have some other kind of breakdown?"
“That would be telling:' Corny said, smugly fastening every button on her unbared breast with annoying swiftness.
This was good gossip, but Faith knew there would be no more. The moment had passed. Preoccupied, Cornelia stomped steadfastly back toward the set, obviously thinking how much better a consort she would make. More like the virgin queen, Faith reflected. Anyway for now, and quite likely forever, Miss Stuyvesant would have to be content with the crumbs from Evelyn's table.
They were both surprised to see Max himself at the canteen truck with Sandra Wilson and some of the rest of the crew, instead of sequestered in his trailer or on the set as usual. They were laughing and it was obvious from their good humor that the morning's shoot had been successful.
“Mistress Fairchild—Faith, if I may—whatever these are, they are wicked and as addictive as ... well, let's merely say addictive. You are going to have to cater all my films," Max called out.
Faith was inordinately pleased. It was nice, of course, when the Ladies Alliance at First Parish praised the tiny buckwheat walnut rolls she filled with thin slices of Virginia ham and a touch of honey mustard, but to hear it from a famous person—this was something else again. She just might have to become a Maxwell Reed groupie herself, no matter whose quotations he cribbed.
Cornelia had immediately insinuated herself into the group around the director, and from the way she regarded Sandra, her fellow PA, it was apparent to Faith that Evelyn O'Clair was not the only fly in the pancake makeup so far as Corny was concerned.
They were all diverted by the arrival of Caresse Carroll with her mother literally following at her heels. Caresse was running, and when she stopped, planting herself firmly in front of Max, it was clear it wasn't the exercise that had brought roses to her cheeks, but annoyance—a lot of annoyance.
Caresse was very, very angry.
“Who the hell do you think you are kicking me off your stinking movie! Do you think I wanted to work for an old weirdo like you!" she shrieked. Her whole body was rigid and the only part moving was her lips. She looked like the little girl she'd played in Adopted by Aliens after they'd snatched her body.
Her mother put her arm around Caresse's shoulder, attempting to lead her away, whispering something that sounded like "Now, dear, it's not worth ..."
“Get away from me!" Caresse rudely pushed her mother, sending her almost tumbling to the ground, and without pausing for breath continued her tirade. Jacqueline Carroll had tears in her eyes.
“We have a contract, mister." Caresse took a step forward and was shaking a tiny finger that threatened to become a fist at Max. "And you'd better remember that or you'll be sorry!"
“Are you finished?" Max asked quietly. He didn't look at all disturbed, yet the words were menacing in their steeliness. He might just as well have pulled a whip from his coat pocket and snapped it in the air. Caresse stood still, openmouthed, but not for long.
“No, I am not. Fuck you! And fuck the whole movie!"
“Are you finished?" he said in the same voice, a voice that belied his casual stance. He folded his arms across his chest. The cast and crew remained frozen in position. Nobody wanted to miss this scene.
“I'm waiting. Are you quite finished?”
Caresse hadn't said a word.
“Good. Now then, I have no idea who told you you were off the film. You're not. It's true I have been rethinking a few of Pearl's scenes and we may use the infant in somewhere we had originally thought we would use the older child. But nothing, I repeat nothing, has been decided."
“Bullshit," Caresse said, looking Max straight in the eye. 'Bullshe-it." She drew the word out and walked over to her mother. "Come on, Mom, we're outta here. If he wants me, he can call my agent."
“Much as I admire the exit, I can't let you do it, Caresse" Max approached Jacqueline and softened his tone, "Believe me, Mrs. Carroll, I don't know how the rumor started and I will find out. Caresse is listed on tomorrow's call sheet and I want her to rehearse with Marta after lunch. Please let's not allow this misunderstanding to get out of control.”
Caresse had continued to walk off after Max's first words, and now she called back to her mother, "Mom! Are you coming or not?" Jacqueline gave Max an encouraging nod and murmured, "I think she's a little overtired"—that time-honored apology of mothers everywhere.
“Yeah, like Nero's ma said when he played with matches, `The child simply needs more sleep,' " whispered Niki to Faith, who thereupon had to walk away to recover her composure. She took the opportunity to make a visit to the "honey wagon," as the toilets were quaintly called. She passed Marta Haree, who had been watching the whole scene from a distance. There was no mistaking the sardonic amusement on her face, and Faith thought Marta was someone she'd like to get to know better. Certainly the woman was extraordinary-looking. Her fine red frizzled hair surrounded her head like a Pre-Raphaelite aureole. Her face was pale, with mostly delicate features—high cheekbones, a pointed chin, almond-shaped green eyes. The exception was her nose: large, slightly crooked, dominant. It was hard to tell whether she was heavy or the bulk was an illusion created by the many layers of clothing she affected—trailing gypsy like garments in bright colors. Surely Marta Haree was a stage name, but it suited her. There was something a bit secretive—and seductive—about her. She didn't mix with the other actors, spending her time alone in her trailer or with the director. Like her weight, her age was difficult to calculate. In some of Reed's movies, she played octogenarians; in others, ingenues. Faith put her somewhere in her late forties or fifties and decided there was more than a trace of Magyar in Marta.
Returning to the catering tent to put the final touches on the black bean soup and other things on the menu for lunch, Faith passed Max and Evelyn, arm in arm, deep in conversation. They stopped when they saw Faith, and Evelyn smiled engagingly. "Could you prepare a tray of something delicious for me to eat in my trailer, dear? I missed the morning break and I'm absolutely ravenous." It was difficult to imagine calories put to better use, and Faith told her she'd see to the tray immediately.
“Thank you. One of those nice little PAs will be along to get it." Evelyn bestowed yet another smile on Faith and then continued to stroll with Max. They picked up their conversation when Faith was almost out of earshot. His words were muffled, but Evelyn's were piercingly clear. "I'm tired of telling you, Maxie. I don't care what you want. Once and for all, I want her off the picture”
Back at the tent, Faith quickly put together a tray for Ms. O'Clair: a large, steaming bowl of black bean soup topped by a dollop of sour cream and fresh chives (see recipe on page 324); some of the buckwheat walnut rolls with ham that she'd missed; a salad; and a ramekin of crème caramel, along with Evelyn's drink of choice—Perrier mixed with diet Coke. As Faith worked, she thought about the fragment of the conversation she'd overheard. Caresse obviously was "her." But why did Evelyn want her off the picture, especially at this stage of the game? Wouldn't any objections she'd had have been made when Max was casting in the first place? Maybe she hadn't heard "Never act with children or dogs"—or hadn't believed it. Whatever her opinion had been earlier, she was certainly definite now. Faith added a small bud vase with a single pale pink rose, a damask napkin, and appropriate cutlery. She knew from past experiences that catering to the stars meant exactly that.