In vino veritas, and the producers were the first to start, tongues loosened.
“Maxie, Maxie," Kit Murphy began in a slightly wheedling tone, "what would it hurt for Arnold and me to come out just for one day to see some dailies, maybe visit the set, schmooze with the crew?”
Max's face clouded slightly.
Arnold jumped in. "We're not talking interference. We're not talking reporting back to the studio. We're only talking interest, Max. We're interested.”
Before Max could answer, Caresse, fortified by sev- eral tumblers of Coca-Cola, announced, "If you're so interested, you might be interested to know I'm off the picture."
“Caresse!" her mother admonished. "You know this isn't true.”
There was a pause as everyone waited for Max's response. When it became apparent that he wasn't going to say anything, preferring to help himself to the large bowl of mashed potatoes left on the table and taking a generous swig of wine, Kit spoke up.
“She's right, isn't she, Max? You know the publicity has already gone out. And we agreed—these guys, Caresse, Evelyn, Cappy, they're `the money' remember..."
“Look, whose picture is this? And so long as we're reminiscing, let's not forget about the artistic-license clause."
“We haven't forgotten about it, but what's going on?" Arnold Rose's voice was a whole lot more threat- ening than Kit's had been. A fascinated kitchen staff gathered close to the pass-through. They could hear every word and, by bending down low, could peer in. Arnold and Kit reminded Faith of good cop/bad cop. She wondered whether it was their standard modus operandi.
“Nothing's going on." Max's voice was studiously casual. "I've changed a few scenes, used the baby more, but Miss Carroll is not out of the picture. And, as her charming mother said, she knows it," he added.
“But I'm out of here. Come on, Mom." Having stirred up her hornet's nest, Caresse was bored again. MTV was a whole lot better than this.
“Sweetheart. It's not polite to leave before dessert." Jacqueline sounded wistful. Maybe she didn't want to miss the cake.
Caresse was at the dining room door. "Oh, Mom, for God's sake, we'll stop at Friendly's if you want. The food is a whole lot better, anyway.”
In the kitchen, Scott grabbed at his chest and pretended to pass out. Faith thought of Pix's words. "Spare the rod and spoil the child" had never seemed more apt.
“Let her leave if she wants to." Evelyn's dismissive tone gave way to parody. "I'm sure the poor child is merely overtired and overexcited.”
Jacqueline did not fail to recognize the allusion, and flushed.
Alan reassured her, "Don't worry about it, Jackie. We'll see you on the set tomorrow morning. I'll get your driver.”
He then strode into the kitchen so quickly that the caterers had to scramble madly td get away from the pass-through to other locations. As the door swung completely in, they presented an impassive, uninterested front. "Mrs. Carroll and Caresse are leaving now," he said to one of the chauffeurs who was sitting in the breakfast nook with the others, playing cards. The man jumped up immediately and went out the back door. Alan spoke to Faith: "Could someone help them with their wraps? And several glasses could use touching up."
“Certainly," Faith replied, reaching for a decanter of the Bordeaux she'd prepared and handing it to Scott. Tricia went to fetch their coats. Alan's presence in the kitchen reminded Faith that he had neglected to tell her where the cake was. They had searched high and low but hadn't turned up a crumb.
“I haven't been able to find the birthday cake."
“Don't worry"—he smiled secretively—"it's all set. You just put out the plates with the sorbet and leave room for the cake. We'll be bringing it in from the den."
“This must be some cake," Niki commented after he'd returned to the table. `Little Caresse' is going to be sorry she missed it.”
Scott had returned and was eating a piece of lamb with his fingers. "I don't think `Little Caresse' is ever sorry, but I'd love the chance to try to make her be”
Faith was looking through the pass-through again. It was time to clear the plates from the main course. The unpleasantness had apparently been swept under the thick Oriental rug and everyone was talking to his or her neighbor. Cornelia's unmistakable voice rose above the others. She was expounding on the influence of Hegel on Sergei Eisenstein to Cappy Camson across the table. "The triadic process is so obvious in Ivan the Terrible," she said. "Thesis, antithesis, synthesis—it's positively riveting." Cappy nodded amiably. He had moved his chair closer to Evelyn's. Sandra WIlson had left the table—the powder room? Faith felt as if she was watching a play or a movie. The next act was about to begin. Marta stood up and took Caresse's empty seat beside Max, placing herself between him and the two producers. Faith was sure she was not misinterpreting either the ironic glance Marta gave Cornelia in passing or the intent of Ms. Haree to act as a buffer between her director and producers.
The Parisian chocolates had been placed on the table and Max thanked Cornelia. "I know the Stuyvesant touch." She colored almost prettily and looked about to note her rival's reaction, but Sandra had still not returned. Faith was waiting for a signal from Alan to serve the sorbets—a trio of apricot, Granny Smith, and black currant. She opened the hatch a little farther. Cappy and Evelyn were deep in conversation. Max, protected from the demands of his producers by Marta's bulk, cast his eye absently around the room. His gaze came to rest on Evelyn at the opposite end of the table. He watched her for a moment, then spoke to Nils, next to him.
“Nils, I haven't seen Evelyn all evening. Trade places, won't you? I want to hold her gorgeous hand, and you can tell Cappy about the town hall scene for the hundredth time, so maybe he'll get it right.”
Faith couldn't see Evelyn's face, but Cappy did not seem overly thrilled with the change in seating or the director's caustic remark. The actress got up and moved next to Max. He greeted her with a kiss and whispered something in her ear. Then he threw one arm around her shoulders and left it there.
Alan Morris had also been absent from the room, and upon entering, he came directly to the kitchen. "It's time!" he announced. "I'll need this young manhere to help me with the cake, and perhaps you'd like to cut it, Faith. The meal has been superb and I know Max will want to thank you.”
Faith was a little puzzled. Niki was right, this really must be some cake. She went to get a knife, then followed Alan and Scott out of the kitchen. Tricia started the sorbet. The glasses for red wine were removed and replaced with flutes filled with more champagne. A moment later, the table was startled into silence at the sound of music. Solemn music. Religious music. Chants from the Bay Psalm Book. Then Alan and Scott wheeled a dolly in with an enormous cardboard cake on it. Slowly, the top lifted off and Sandra Wilson dressed as Hester Prynne in period clothes emerged, her head bowed and her hands clasped together at her waist. A huge scarlet letter was pinned to her breast. She stood demurely as the music continued. Everyone smiled politely. Suddenly, with one swift motion, she knocked the sides of the cake down, tore the letter from her dress, flung it at Max, and proceeded to execute a very professional striptease as the taped music changed to one of the sexiest renditions of "Happy Birthday" anyone had ever heard since Marilyn Monroe sang it to JFK. The room exploded in applause and laughter.