was bad and people had faith in each other and the world.
Charles himself had moved back to the topic of Lucy and was spinning a dream of the little town she must have come from. Her accent gave her away, he said. It was Southern, wholesome, without a hint of sarcasm.
She winced a little at the word “wholesome.” Smitty had called her “wholesome looking”—while he was laughing and pinching her butt.
She’d let herself drift into a daydream by the time Belinda Holmes suddenly said, “Tell us, Lucy, are you really such a good person?”
“You don’t have to answer that,” he said irritably.
“Why not let her answer?” Belinda said, tossing her head back. When she turned to Lucy, her voice was a challenge. “Unless for some reason you don’t want to.”
Lucy’s eyes darted around the room, but she didn’t see one person crack a smile. Even the group of actors who were rumored to be twenty-four-hour speed freaks looked as serious as if they were in church.
The church of Charles Keenan, she thought. She figured he was waiting for her to say yes, so his speech would make sense, but she was so nervous, she blurted out the truth. “No,” she said. She looked down at the beautiful wood floor, each plank gleaming, not a speck of dust in sight. “I want to be a good person, but I don’t think I am.”
She looked up when Charles started clapping. A slow, steady clap, each one loud enough that she wondered it didn’t hurt his hands. Soon the rest of the crowd had joined him and she realized she’d never been more confused in her life. But she wasn’t angry. Maybe she really was meant to be an actress, she thought, since she liked even this bizarre applause.
Over the next hour or so, two agents slipped her their cards. One said, “You are incredible,” and the other simply told her to callhim tomorrow. It felt exciting, even though she knew it was only because of Charles Keenan’s interest that they were interested in her. And that won’t last, she thought later, sitting next to him on a white couch that had to be eighteen feet long, eating slices of the most delicious strawberries and mangoes she’d ever tasted in her life. Now that she wasn’t angry, she couldn’t think of a single thing to say to him. Even when he asked what she thought of his movie, she said, “Great.” It was her true reaction, but how boring.
By the time the guests started leaving, she was mainly just relieved. She was dying to be back with Janice in Janice’s old VW, smoking a joint and laughing, rehashing all the strange details of this very strange night.
She did manage to tell him she was going. When he asked her to come into the dining room for a moment first, she nodded and let him lead her into the deserted room.
The chandeliers were dark, but the room wasn’t, thanks to the shadows of the giant floodlights outside playing on the wall. She could see a tennis court and swimming pool in back of the house, and she remembered again that this man was a millionaire many times over.
“Before you leave, I’d like to kiss you,” he said. “Is that all right?”
He must have taken her silence as a sign that she didn’t mind because he leaned down and put his lips on hers, surprisingly lightly and gently, as if he were kissing a newborn baby. It was so different from the way Mr. Smitty had kissed her that she felt tears spring to her eyes.
“Is something wrong?” he said. His voice had become so kind, and she felt foolish but even sadder.
“No,” she whispered.
“May I kiss you again then?”
May I? she thought. Like something from one of his movies. Next thing you knew, he’d be calling her “ma’am,” and she’d be wearing gingham and calico.
At that moment, the idea struck her as incredibly romantic.
She said yes, and he did kiss her, over and over until she was dizzy. But then he walked her to the front hallway and let her leave with nothing but a good-bye.
Back in the VW with Janice, riding down
Charles himself had moved back to the topic of Lucy and was spinning a dream of the little town she must have come from. Her accent gave her away, he said. It was Southern, wholesome, without a hint of sarcasm.
She winced a little at the word “wholesome.” Smitty had called her “wholesome looking”—while he was laughing and pinching her butt.
She’d let herself drift into a daydream by the time Belinda Holmes suddenly said, “Tell us, Lucy, are you really such a good person?”
“You don’t have to answer that,” he said irritably.
“Why not let her answer?” Belinda said, tossing her head back. When she turned to Lucy, her voice was a challenge. “Unless for some reason you don’t want to.”
Lucy’s eyes darted around the room, but she didn’t see one person crack a smile. Even the group of actors who were rumored to be twenty-four-hour speed freaks looked as serious as if they were in church.
The church of Charles Keenan, she thought. She figured he was waiting for her to say yes, so his speech would make sense, but she was so nervous, she blurted out the truth. “No,” she said. She looked down at the beautiful wood floor, each plank gleaming, not a speck of dust in sight. “I want to be a good person, but I don’t think I am.”
She looked up when Charles started clapping. A slow, steady clap, each one loud enough that she wondered it didn’t hurt his hands. Soon the rest of the crowd had joined him and she realized she’d never been more confused in her life. But she wasn’t angry. Maybe she really was meant to be an actress, she thought, since she liked even this bizarre applause.
Over the next hour or so, two agents slipped her their cards. One said, “You are incredible,” and the other simply told her to callhim tomorrow. It felt exciting, even though she knew it was only because of Charles Keenan’s interest that they were interested in her. And that won’t last, she thought later, sitting next to him on a white couch that had to be eighteen feet long, eating slices of the most delicious strawberries and mangoes she’d ever tasted in her life. Now that she wasn’t angry, she couldn’t think of a single thing to say to him. Even when he asked what she thought of his movie, she said, “Great.” It was her true reaction, but how boring.
By the time the guests started leaving, she was mainly just relieved. She was dying to be back with Janice in Janice’s old VW, smoking a joint and laughing, rehashing all the strange details of this very strange night.
She did manage to tell him she was going. When he asked her to come into the dining room for a moment first, she nodded and let him lead her into the deserted room.
The chandeliers were dark, but the room wasn’t, thanks to the shadows of the giant floodlights outside playing on the wall. She could see a tennis court and swimming pool in back of the house, and she remembered again that this man was a millionaire many times over.
“Before you leave, I’d like to kiss you,” he said. “Is that all right?”
He must have taken her silence as a sign that she didn’t mind because he leaned down and put his lips on hers, surprisingly lightly and gently, as if he were kissing a newborn baby. It was so different from the way Mr. Smitty had kissed her that she felt tears spring to her eyes.
“Is something wrong?” he said. His voice had become so kind, and she felt foolish but even sadder.
“No,” she whispered.
“May I kiss you again then?”
May I? she thought. Like something from one of his movies. Next thing you knew, he’d be calling her “ma’am,” and she’d be wearing gingham and calico.
At that moment, the idea struck her as incredibly romantic.
She said yes, and he did kiss her, over and over until she was dizzy. But then he walked her to the front hallway and let her leave with nothing but a good-bye.
Back in the VW with Janice, riding down
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