Amie Barrodale - You Are Having a Good Time

Libby turned and looked over a shoulder at herself. “Isn’t it a little 2004?”

“Not at all,” the clerk said, “not for night. The sleeveless corset top makes it now. I mean, yes, it’s not Oscar de la Renta pink, but who wants that for the ten thousandth time. You’re unconventional.”

He went away and came back with a pair of shoes. They were black patent platforms. Libby put them on. She thought she looked like Minnie Mouse.

“Aren’t they a bit much?” she asked. “The contrast.”

“The platform helps you.” The clerk held up the right shoe. “It’s an illusion.” He drew a line, showing her that a three-inch heel appeared to be four-inch.

“Not the heel,” Libby said. “The black against white.”

“Oh.” He looked disappointed. “You want to go with a silver or a skin tone?”

“I guess not.”

She admired the shoes. She walked a few steps and turned.

“You’re shy!” he said. “I love it.”

* * *

It was a beautiful day. It was sunny. On the red carpet, a few reporters stopped her. A woman asked her what it was like to work for Victor.

“Well,” she said, “it was a new experience, of course.”

“Are you ready to take home that award?”

“I’m certainly ready to go home.”

The reporter looked confused. Libby lost her footing for a moment, and the reporter regained hers. She said, “What are you wearing?”

“The dress is someone I picked out in Stella McCartney.” She corrected herself: “It’s something I picked out from Stella McCartney.”

“And your rings?”

“Those are all family heirlooms.”

A jazz band played inside. Good and generous people wore their fine clothes. There was space, and light, and air. Libby’s mother said, “It’s full of magic. It’s a magical evening.” Libby thought about the speech she would make. If she actually won. At first she had planned to say, “Thank you,” but then she had written a speech. It was on a notecard which her mother kept for her, along with extra Valium, inside her purse.

Libby said, “I’d like a glass of white wine.”

People were watching her. Some openly, and some were just aware of her. She spoke to a few people she knew from other movies. Her former heroes watched her from different parts of the room. Everybody wanted a chance to speak to her. She spoke briefly to Victor. He said, “You look so pretty,” in a voice that was funny, as if he were surprised. He acted like a friend, like it hadn’t ever happened. Like he hadn’t cut her as the lead and made her Cynthia’s backup girl. Like he hadn’t ignored her for almost two years.

“I’ve missed you,” she said.

“I’ve missed you! This is my wife, Terry.”

She shook hands with a woman who looked powerful and hard. The woman said something polite.

Libby remembered the afternoon they shot the sex scene, when Victor took her aside. After all that time craving direction … He had sent the crew away, and he had changed his manner completely. It was just the two of them, and Mike, on set. She’d spent so many hours in her bra and underwear she felt like she was fully dressed. He was looking at the ground, looking off into the distance, shaking his head, doing the little routine he did when he wasn’t getting what he wanted out of her. It was their fourth day shooting the scene. She had been miming sucking Mike’s cock for four days. He rubbed her side with his fingers.

“You had a smudge.”

She shrugged.

“Do you want to put on a robe and walk with me?”

“Actually, what I’d really like is to sit down.”

“Why don’t you get a robe on and come to my Winnebago.”

In the trailer, they sat on opposite sides of a Formica table. He had an elaborate vacuum coffeemaker, and as he filled the bottom jug with water, he asked her why the scene wasn’t working. She said she thought it was the blow job. She said that it made her uncomfortable.

“What’s making you uncomfortable?” He filled the top funnel with ground coffee and put it onto the bottom jug. “It’s just me and Mike. I mean, I can understand feeling uncomfortable at first, but after the initial, natural discomfort, I would think you could relax into it. I mean, I couldn’t. But you’re such a great actress.”

She nodded. She watched the water boil, rise, and mix with the ground coffee. He took it off the burner and set it on the table to his right. He said, “I learned how to use one of these when I was a kid. My stepfather used them, and he always asked us to make his coffee for him. He had two children of his own, but neither of them would do it. I always did because I had these deep feelings for him, homoerotic feelings, and I thought maybe if I got his coffee right…”

“Hm.”

“Do you know anything about stitches?”

“What?”

“I cut open my knee a few days ago, and it’s—” Victor lifted the leg of his trousers. He had a gaping wound.

“Why didn’t you go to the hospital immediately?”

“I hate doctors. Is it that bad?”

“Victor. Yes.”

“Bad enough I should go now?”

“Well, no. I mean it’s too late now.”

Victor dropped his pant leg. He ran his fingers through his beard. It was the first time he’d spoken to her this way since their phone conversations.

He said, “I’ve been thinking about the love scene quite a lot, and I’m concerned. It isn’t a matter of discomfort. “Where is the love in this scene? Is Kate in love with her husband?”

“Not at all.”

“Then why does she give him a blow job?”

“I think she’s tired, and it’s easier than saying no.”

“Not a very good reason.”

“Well,” Libby shrugged.

He blew on his coffee. He sighed. He said, “Can I tell you the truth? I need you to be aroused in this scene. What would you do if I—” He stood up and crossed the Formica table to stand beside her. He put his hands on his belt buckle. He said, “What would you do if I took these off?”

* * *

Libby realized Victor’s wife had said something and expected an answer. She bumbled. His wife smiled and said, “I read an article all the young girls are wearing them. So hip!”

Victor took her arm—“So nice to see you. Good luck!”—and he moved along to the next person admiring him.

Libby and her mom had thirteenth-row seats, on an aisle. But at least Victor was behind her. That meant something. He would feel that. She gave him a few glances, but he honestly didn’t seem to notice.

“I need a Valium,” she said.

“Are you sure? You’ve already had two, sweetheart.”

“I need one.”

Her mother palmed them to her with exaggerated caution, as though she were passing her a vial of cocaine.

At the top of the second half of the show, Libby’s presenters took the podium. Libby didn’t hear any of the words they said. The presenter opened the envelope and read another actress’s name.

As the actress made her way up to the stage, Libby felt somebody staring at her head. She turned and saw that it was Victor. Their eyes met, and he smiled awkwardly. He waved one hand. It was an impulsive gesture. It was kind of floppy, and almost gay.

At first, Libby told people that Victor waved at her and smiled when she lost. Then she changed it a little and said he puffed an imaginary cigarette. But neither fib captured her feelings. She felt tremendously ashamed. She felt like the shame was something Victor had done to her. As the years went by, when Libby remembered the night, all she could see was the gesture that never happened.

Lately I have been dreaming of an old woman. In the dream, the woman and I are walking. I say, “You must think I’m crazy,” and the old woman says, “I don’t know. If I left you, then I would have to go back to taking a different man every night.”