Carrie Fisher - Postcards from the Edge

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Suzanne explained, “Whitney Houston is clearly not retaining water. She’s obviously getting somebody to do it for her, so let’s—”

“God, that’s perfect!” Lucy said. “Can I do that?”

“Yes, do that. Do that,” Suzanne said. “I can help you on something self-deprecatory.”

“Oh, God, oh, God,” Lucy said. “There’s the studio. I wish you could come out with me. You could just walk out with me like I’m your dummy or something, and we’ll never explain it.”

“Could you drop us at dressing room B up there on the left?” Suzanne said to the driver.

“All right, I’m just going to let you take over now,” Lucy said. “I have a heartbeat as big as the hills.”

Suzanne got a Diet Coke from a vending machine while Lucy got her hair and makeup done. It turned out Larry Walker was not going to be on the show— he was the canceled guest that Lucy was subbing for —but by the time she got out of makeup she was so self-absorbed she related this news to Suzanne with no sense of irony. Down the hall, the theme music for The Richard Collins Show began playing.

“I look okay?” Lucy said.

“You look fine,” said Suzanne. “You look great.”

“You won’t lie to me, right?” Lucy said. “You’re going to watch me and tell me how I am, and you’re not going to lie?”

“I won’t lie to you,” Suzanne said. “Look, there’s a cute guy over there, the one with the gray shirt. Why don’t you go talk to him?”

“I can’t,” Lucy said. “I’m too nervous about the show, and to add a guy on top of that… I can’t.”

“Oh,” said Suzanne, smiling. “Your priorities are sort of juggled around at this point, aren’t they?”

“Don’t make fun of me,” Lucy said. “You can make fun of me all night long, but don’t make fun of me now. It erodes my real sense of who I am.”

“All right, all right,” Suzanne said. “So, who’s out first?”

“I’m out first, and then the author, and then I think Emily Frye, that actress who got the movie neither of us did.”

“ Top Priority?” Suzanne said.

“Yes, the girl who got Top Priority .”

“You’re kidding,” said Suzanne. “Well, try to be as great as possible.”

“Oh, good,” Lucy said. “The pressure isn’t on. That’s good. My buddy.”

A tall man came up to them and said, “Lucy, you’re on.”

“I’ll wait for you in the green room,” Suzanne said.

“You better,” Lucy said. “You better wait for me.”

Suzanne walked around the corner and went into the green room. There were several other people in there, among them an attractive-looking man who looked like he was from New York. He was wearing a green corduroy jacket with patches on the elbows, a multiplaid shirt and a tie, and jeans and Hush Puppies. He had brown hair and wore glasses. Suzanne thought he had an air of studiousness about him, of not stability but something near stability. Of calm, almost. She nodded at him slightly and walked past him to another tiny couch, where she watched the television monitor in the corner.

It was quite an unattractive room. There was a big lamp in one corner, three couches, and a shag carpet. A woman wearing a dress with pearls on was drinking coffee on the third couch. She was wearing patent leather shoes with peach bows on them. A young girl who must have been her daughter was holding her purse for her. The girl was wearing a pink sweater and had blond hair down her back. Suzanne glanced briefly at the man in green corduroy. He was probably the author, she thought. He looked like he was wearing a writing uniform.

Suzanne looked back at the monitor, where Richard Collins was still doing his opening monologue. The probable author got up to get some coffee, then came over and sat next to her. “Aren’t you the girl who was in Seventh Tea House?” he asked. “Suzanne Vale?”

Suzanne was startled and embarrassed, and said, “Yes,” as if the question had been an accusation.

“That was very good,” he said.

“Really?” she said. “Well, thank you. You liked it? You like that kind of movie?”

“Well, no, I don’t really, but yes, I did,” he said. “I thought it was a well-made film and I certainly appreciated how difficult it must have been for all of you to be in it. Are you on the show tonight?”

“No,” said Suzanne, grateful for his taking control of the conversation. “My friend Lucy is. She’ll be on in a minute.”

“I read an interview with you once and you were very funny,” he said. “I can’t remember what magazine.”

“Probably in Omni ,” Suzanne said. “So, who are you?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “Jesse Templeman.”

“The author?”

“Oh,” he said, surprised. “You know my work?”

“No,” said Suzanne. “I knew there was going to be an author on the show. What have you written?”

“Well, actually, I’ve written a novel,” Jesse said. “It’s called The Appetite People .”

“Really?” Suzanne said. “And you’re promoting it, so you must be proud of it.”

“I am proud of it, yeah,” he said. “I worked on it for quite some time. It’s difficult to get a publisher.”

“Do you live in New York?”

“Well, actually I’ve just moved out here,” he said. “I’ve been living in New York, but they bought my book to make a film out of it and I’m writing the screenplay. I didn’t want somebody else to do it. I don’t know that I’ll be staying here after that. Hey,” he said, nodding toward the monitor, “isn’t that your friend?”

“Oh my God,” said Suzanne, realizing Lucy had already been on for a little while. She had promised to watch and tell her how she was. “Can they put the sound on? Can someone put the sound on?”

Jesse leaned forward and turned up the volume. Richard Collins was laughing very hard. Lucy said, “I mean, I’m too old to be in the Brat Pack and too young for my own exercise tape. What am I?” Richard Collins laughed harder.

“She’s very funny,” said Jesse.

“She is funny,” Suzanne said. “She was very nervous.”

“I’m nervous myself,” he said. “I feel dumb doing this, but my publishers… you know. Do you live out here? I guess you do.”

“Yes,” said Suzanne.

“Well,” Jesse said, “maybe we could… I don’t want to seem presumptuous, but maybe we could have lunch or something. Or go out sometime. What do you do to relax?”

“I don’t relax,” said Suzanne. “It’s sort of a therapy goal of mine.”

“I see.”

“But what I do that’s the closest I get to relaxing,” said Suzanne, “is I drive around and listen to loud music.”

“Well, maybe we can take a long loud drive sometime,” he said.

Suzanne looked back at the screen and saw that Lucy wasn’t there anymore. “Oh my God, I’ve gotta go find my friend, she’s gonna kill me,” she said. She scribbled her number on the flap of the envelope Rehab! had arrived in, tore it off, and gave it to Jesse. “This is my number,” she said. “Good luck on the show.”

“Thanks,” said Jesse. “I’ll call you sometime.”

Suzanne rushed past the tall man who was coming to get Jesse and saw Lucy running down the hall toward her. “Did you hear what I said about my father?” she asked hysterically. “He’s gonna kill me. He’s never gonna speak to me again.”

“No, honey, it was fine,” Suzanne said calmingly. “You were funny about the Brat Pack thing—”

“Did I have lipstick on my teeth?”

“You were fine,” Suzanne said. “But what did you say about your father?”